BERWICKSHIRE BARD R. Wim CALDER m HIS SONGS AND POEMS THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES J^*^*' A BERWICKSHIRE BARD. — ^ BERWICKSHIRE BAED Ube Soiios an& poems OF KOin^KT MCLEAN CALDEK. EDITED, WITH I MIIODUCTOJIV MEMOllt, BY W. 8. CROCKETT, Author of Minxtrchii of the Merse, etc. J. AND R. PARLANE, PAISLEY. JOHN MENZIES AXI) CO., KDINBURUH AND (iLASlJOW. HOULSTON AND SONS, LONDON. 1897. C- nu An To tY\e ^orders J^ssociation in j^ondon, I IF WHICH ROBERT M'lEAIH CALDER WAS A PATRIOTIC MEMBER, Cbis (fbition of Ijis Songs ;mb poems IS DEDICATED. CONTENTS. Paae Prefatory Note ... ... ... ... ... 13 Memoir ... ... ... ... .. ... 17 I.— MEMORIES OF POLWARTH. My Faither's Fireside ... ... ... ... 59 My Faither's Fiddle ... 61 Polait Burn ... 63 The Atild Schule Hoose on the Gi'een 65 The Love o' my Schule-boj' Days 66 The Auld Theekit Hoose 67 My Horn-spune an' Luggie 68 The Chimla Cheek ... 70 Langton ^Vater 71 Langton Brig 74 Chouslej' Bi'ae 76 The Auld Smiddy Door 77 The Packman's Loan ... 79 The Auld Barn-yaird ... 81 Penny's Brae 83 Jasper's Mill... 84 The Quarry on the Hill 86 Bj- Fogo Braes 88 The Kirk on the Brae 89 Up the Burn... 90 Dancin' in the Barn ... 92 The Leadin' In at Polart 95 Aroun' the Village Thorn 98 Ane o' Oorsel's 100 In Days Gane Bye 101 Moorland Musings 104 When we were a' at Hame 106 I like my Ain Fireside 107 The Auld Folks o' the Village 109 Puir Wull 's awa' 111 " Fasten's E'en " 113 Hallowe'en Memories... 116 Hogmanay ... 117 The Blaeberry Plantin' 119 Davy's Ha' ... 121 lu CONTENTS. Yitldum < iiiuii to tlie Kirk at PoUut Lounsdale Huughs Bygone Diiys Page 123 12") II.— HAME SANOS. St. Andrew's Day The Thistle ... It's Hard to Leave the Hame ... I Love to Dream of Home Hame-sick My Boyliood's Hame .. My Hame across the Sea Far f rae Hame San{js o' Hame .My Hame amang tiie Hills My Heart is Hame in Scotland Scotia's Sangs Where the Heather is in bloom Ance mair amang the Heathei' I must come back We hae been lang acquent Home of Youth, I leave thee . . . We were a' brocht up together We were Cronies at the Schule When the Kettle's on the Swee When the Bairnies say (Uiid-nicht When auld friens meet The Wee Anes at Hame Hame at E'en An Auld Settler The (Uoamin" Hour ... By the Burnie Side ... On the road hame Come Again ... 187 131) 1 42 143 144 147 147 I4S 149 150 151 152 153 154 1.55 l.")6 157 1.58 1.59 ICO Mil U)2 163 165 166 168 Kin 171 171 111. SON(;S SET TO MUSIC. Wait a-wee an' dinna weary ... My Heart warms to the Tartan When the Bairnies are fiae Hame Heaven is where our Father is Kiss the Bairns foi- Me Under the Orchard Trees The Land of tlie Maple for Me Constant Still " Love will bide when Simmer's gane" Little Bluebell The little Patch of Sunshine ... H.md ill Hainl 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 185 CONTENTS. 11 The Border Lads Lassie Dear ... When the Summer Buds unfold " Shouther to Shouther "' The Muirland (Men The little White Cot in the Clearing My bonnie Border Lassie Our Coortin' Days When the Kye gang to the Muir Wiiere Duty Calls ' ... Keep a Corner in j'our Heart for Me Page 186 187 ISS 189 19lt 191 192 193 194 195 196 IV._POEMS FOUNDED ON FAMILIAR SCOTTISH PROVERBS AND SAYINGS. ov^vyx XXkJXX X X\J\J \ XlJXVX^tC Creep before ye gang ... .cvx^ x^ kjjn. X XXI \ » 't At tla> Rich Man s Door ... ... ... 'i-J-j Siniinfr Fiii-n's ... ... .. -•''" lt'.saSair ThingTroubk- ... ... '2o!> At the Heel o" the Hunt ... ... pj<> Never tro Baek on a Friend ... ... ... i^fjl It 's a' the .saniL' to Me ... ... ... 262 The Morn we never saw ... ... ... 2()S Ki,s.-< the Sair I'lace ... ... ... 26") Come in Aliint ... ... ... 2()() Hunt the (iowk ... ... ... ... ... 20S Wait and Hojie ... ... .. "-^'i Heaven i.s no' .«ae far awa' ... ... ... 2^^! When the (h\v.-< are creepin' in... ... ... -i- I'llfecht till'! AR03alM0u.se ... ... ... ... 28-2 Welland Stream ... ... ... ... 284 The Sunset Hour ... ... ... -'"^fj Dreaming of Mother ... ... 287 Draw in your Stool an' sit doon ... ... 288 Indian Summer ... ... ... ... ... 289 How shall we honour him ... ... ... .. 2!)l' On thf Dtatli of David Kennedy, the Scottish Vocalist ... 2!Mt Wh(;re shall our Loved Ones Rest .. .. 21»-J Mithers Bonnie Lass ... ... ... .- 2i>H NaeMair -''.14 FaitlKM-'s A in Bairn .. ... 2U.) Will 11 Daddy Comes Hame ... .. .•• 2!H) The Bairnie'tak's after his Faither 2t)7 To plea.se the Bairns ... ... 29S The Wanincr Year ... .. H(K) Bii-tliday Mu.sinfjs ... ... :^"'2 Tin- \\'ay-<;aun o' the Year :iu4 ILLUSTRATIONS. Robert .M'Lean ('aider ... /'r(iii/i-s/>irrr North Side of .Market Place, Duns .. .. !'.• I'olwarth (Jrecn and Thorn ... 2.") Lantern canied by i^ady (irisell Baillie -^i' I'olwarth Church (from a sketch) 35 Polwarth Church ... 127 Site of the Old Ca.stle of Polwarth 1''7 PREFATORY NOTE. Shortly after the death of Robert M'^Lean Calder, the suggestion was made that a new and enlarged edition of his poetical writings would prove acceptable to many of his old friends and the public generally. Mr Calder, I believe, had intended to prepare such a collection, but circumstances at the time were unfavourable ; and now since he has gone, that task has fallen to other hands. I gladly undertook, at the request of several who were interested in the proposal, the work of arranging the very large amount of material placed in my hands by Mr Peter Calder, London, brother of the deceased bard. The present edition contains but a tithe of what had been penned. It seems perfectly marvellous how, notwithstanding the demands of a busy professional life, Mr Calder found opportunity for indulging his poetic gift. It was his one hobby, and he appears to have been indefatigable in its cultivation. A preference has naturally been given to those productions based on scenes and incidents in his native Berwickshire. He was devotedly a man of the Merse ; and one is glad to know that his name and work 14 I'RKFATORY NOTE. Hie lovingly cherished all over the county. At I'ohvarth, where his haj^py V)oyhood days were })assed, a tangible I'einiiidor of his association with that historic hamlet is shortly to be erected, l^olwarth is proud of her poet, and the little kirk on the brae, of which he so frequently wrote, will soon have added to it this fresh touch of interest and romance. We do well to so shrine the memory of our sons of song. Thouijh Kobert McLean Caldci cannot be ranked amoiii; the outstanding poets of his country, he at least deserves a worthy place on the roll of minor bards. He attempts no lofty Hight. His productions arc of the simplest character, and it is their very simplicity that wins our admiration and sympathy. He is essentially a poet of the home. The fireside, and the joys of domestic life the ceaseless play of sunshine and shadow on the cottage and the hearth the (juiet, unatiected, untarnished round of rural labour — the vivid memories of past scenes iind incidents^ — are the themes that have most stirred his soul and inspired his pen. He has not failed in the high mission he set before him — no aim more noble — to comfort and ciicer his brethren of lowliei- lot. There are many to-day in Berwickshire, and in other parts of the world, for whom life with all its toil and woriy has become a sweeter existence ])ecause of the manful message of this liuudile singer. The accompanying memoir, from lack ot informative material, is necessarily confined to the main incidents of a somewhat uneventful career. But, indeed, for such a life there could not be expected the heavier manipulation of a PREFATORY NOTE. 15 complete biography. Such as it is, it reveals that the writer of the verses comprising this volume knew whereof he voiced so well and so truthfully the ups and downs which meet so many amid these changeful scenes. His message is earnest and faithful ; and sent out now in new guise, it may serve to stimulate and strengthen other souls "speeding onward in the race of life." It remains to acknowledge the courtesy of Miss Warrender, author of Marchmont and the Humes of Pohvarth ; Messrs Wm. Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh ; and the Editor of the Bwder Magazine^ for the privilege of reproducing several of the illustrations. W. S. Crockett. tweedsmuir, Peeblesshire, November, 1897. A BERWICKSHIRE BARD. MEMOIR. ROBERT MCLEAN CALDER was born at Castle Street, Duns, Berwickshire, November 19th, 1841. He was the fourth child of a family of nine sons and one daughter born to George and Elizabeth Calder. The Calders had long been settled in the county. A common tradition of the family claims descent from the Thanes of Cawdor. The English Calders, it may be interesting to note, affirm the same ancestry. George Calder, who was born at Abbey St. Bathans, is described as a man of strong character and quick intellect, holding somewhat advanced views on religious and political questions, an extensive reader, and withal, " a man whose powers of mind were far above the ordinary run of a country villager." Bringing to his home in very early life a bride from the clan McLean, whose grand-parents had crossed from Mull and travelled south with Sir John MacDonald, who had inherited the estate of Whitehill, one can scarcely conceive of a happier alliance, or which contributed more to the general welfare of her family. The warm 18 A iiki:\vi(Ksiiii;k hakd. Celtic character of the mother mirrored itself in more than one of her children ; licr kt'cn intellectual faculties shone out, perhaps, most of all, in the subject of this memoir ; whilst her deep religious convictions were a savour of sweetness and a source of strength to all who were privileged to know her. " My mother," writes one of her sons, "had a noble and refined mind, and high literary faculties ; and had opportunity and time been granted her, she would, I am convinced, have left memorials of her talents ; but my father married very young and family cares began early, and continued all through life. Her memory to me is very sacred, and I look upon her as one of the noblest spirits I ever knew — a gentle, unselfish, and heroic woman. I shall never forget my last interview with her by her deathbed, as I had unavoidably to leave for London. I fancy I see her, looking down at her thin, emaciated frame, and repeating clearly and distinctly, and with true eloquence — for she was a fine reader and reciter — •Soon slial! llii.s eaitlily fniiue, dissolved. In death and ruins lie ; But better mansions wait the just, Prepared above the sky. An house eternal. l)uilt l>y (iod. Shall lodge the holy mind. When once those prison walls liavo falk-n By which 'tis now confined.'" It is no exaggeration to say that such mothers are the saviours of the people. Their influence, unknown on the broader arenas of life, confined chiefly to the narrower boundaries of home, has nevertheless made itself signifi- ilEMOIR, 21 cantly felt through the character and life of those receptive souls whom a good Providence has blessed with a home atmosphere at once religious and patriotic. Young Calder had reason to be thankful for such a home, and for so faithful a mother. To her he owed his future, and the sterling, pure purpose that graced his life. The town of Duns, though the largest, is not the county town of Berwickshire. But most of the business of the county is transacted there. And if not always a stirring place, it is a fair example of a Scottish market- town. Duns is associated with several important incidents in Scottish history, and not a few distinguished men, from Duns Scotus downwards, have been natives of the place. At Duns, George Calder followed the occupation of a baker and miller. It was a hard life, but he faced it manfully and kept up his spirit in wonderful degree in spite of many difficulties. In this uphill fight he was aided by the counsel and cheer of a wise and winning helpmeet. A woman of profound faith and gentle disposition, an excellent housewife, and just the kind of soul best fitted to lend inspiration to the humblest tasks was this Highland maiden whom he had wooed and won. In 1846 the Calders quitted Duns. Henceforth their life was to be spent in a quieter sphere. Polwarth, to which hamlet they removed, is distant only a few miles from their former abode. The parish lies in almost the very centre of the county, and is, with one exception, the smallest in the shire. But it is one of the prettiest and fullest of romantic memories. Scottish song has shrined its sweet-sounding name. Scottish story has 22 A i;i:i;\vi(Ksiiii;h: r.Aiin. gathered aronml it a wealth nf honourable association. Pohvarth-on-the-Green is a name familiar to all lovers of the national minstrelsy. It would indeed be diflficult to stifle the poetic feeling amid such surroundings. Nature has dowered the place with uncommon attractiveness, and there is the added charm of history in its most varying phases, whilst romance and old tradition have not wholly lost their glamour ie amid the quick march of modern days. " The long brown slopes of Lammermuir seem to pause before making a rapid descent into the Merse, and tlie wooded crest of Kyles Hill looks boldly forth across the wide expanse of plain that sweeps to the foot of Cheviot; and there — where the heather ceases, and the rich grass fields run up among the sheltering plantations — nestles the little village, which for centuries has been known as Polwarth- on-the-Green. It is a singularly picturesque spot." ^ In form not unlike an English hamlet of the attractively romantic type, it gathers itself with a kind of easy, self- contented air around the one dominating feature of the place — the Green. "There are no formal rows of houses : ash trees of innnense size and great age overhang the thatched cottages which are dotted about in groups of twos and threes. Each has its garden, bright with flowers ; while interspersed among them are little hedged-in paddocks, where generally a ])ony is grazing. There are only about twenty inhabited cottages now, for the village is dwindling away ; but within the memory of persons still alive, there were nearly double the number."^ ^Marchmont anil the Humes of Pnhmrth, p. 2— Miss Warrender. Wm. Blackwood & Sons, Edinburgh, 189:1. MEMOIR. 23 One is therefore not surprised to find the spirit of poetry at work in such a place, so primitive, so blessed of Nature, so rich in imperishable memories. Long be- fore Allan Ramsay wrote his Pohvart-on-the-Green an older song and melody had been current in the district. Both are now lost, all that survives being the first and last four lines of the Tea-Table Miscellany version: " At Polwart on the Green, Ifijou 7/ meet me the morn. Where levers do convene To (lance about the thorn, A kindly ■welcome ve shall meet Frae her wha likes to view A lover and a lad complete. The lad and lover you. Let dorty i dames say na ^ sa"cy As lang as e'er they please, Seem caulder than the sna' While inwardly they bleeze : But I will frankly shaw my mind, And yield my heart to thee ; Be ever to the captive kind That langs na to be free. At Polwart on the Green, Amang the new-mawn hay, Wi' saugs and dancing keen, We '11 pass the heartsome day. At nicht if beds be o'er thra/i;/ laid And thou be twined of thine, Thou shalt he irelcome, my dear lad, To talc^ a part of mine. A much more graceful composition, bearing the same title, was written early in the present century by John Grieve, an Edinburgh hat manufacturer, one of the 24 A r.KKWK KsiilKK KAIID. Ettrick Shepherd's most intimate friends, to whom he dedicated Mador of the Moor, and introduced as Bard the fourteenth in the Queen's Wal-e : — " 'Twas suimiiLT-tide ; the cushat sang His am'rous roundelay ; And dew, like clustered diamonds, hang On flower and leafy sjiray. The coverlet of gloamin' grey On everything was seen, When lads and lassies took their way To I'olwarth on the Green. The sjiirit-moving dance went on, And harmless revelry Of youn<;- hearts all in unison Wi' love's soft witcherie ; Their hall the open-daisied lea, AVliile frae the welkin sheen The moon shone brightly on the glee At Pohvarth on the Green. Dark een and raven curls were there, And checks of rosy hue, And finer form, without compare, 'J'lian ]iencil ever drew ; But ane. wi" een o' bonnie blue, A' hearts confessed the ((ueen, And jiride of grace, and l)eauty too. At INjlwarth on the Green. The miser hoards his golden .store. And kings dominion gain ; While others in the battle's roar For honour's trifles strain. Away such pleasures, false and vain For dearer mine have been Among the lowly, rural train At Polwarth on the Green." MEMOIR, 21 Both of these lyrics refer to a very ancient and pleasing custom which long prevailed at Polwarth, and is founded on the following tradition. " In the time of Robert II. (1371-1390) Sir Patrick de Polwarth died, leaving an only child, Elizabeth, the last of her race. She carried the broad lands of Polwarth and Kimmerg- hame into the Sinclair family by her marriage with Sir John Sinclair of Herdmanston. Their great-grandson, John Sinclair, died in the fifteenth century without male issue. The estate of Herdmanston devolved on his brother. Sir William Sinclair (from whom the present Lord Sinclair is descended), but his lands of Polwarth and Kimmerghame went to his daughters, Marion and Margaret. The heiresses were young and beautiful ; and among the many suitors that flocked round them, those that met with the greatest favour in their eyes were two brothers, George and Patrick, the young Humes of Wedderburn. The ladies' uncle. Sir William, fearing that their lands should go out of the family, not only refused his consent, but removed his nieces from their castle of Polwarth to lonely Herdmanston, his stronghold on the northern slopes of Lammermuir. Though closely immured, they contrived, by the help of an old beggar woman, to send a messao'e to Wedderburn. A dav or two later, a gallant train, headed by the two young lovers, rode over the hills and drew rein beneath the castle walls. An angry parley followed the demand for the restoration of their lady-loves ; but the " Men o' the Merse " were too strong to be resisted, and Sir William had the mortifi- cation of seeing the heiresses borne away in triumph. The double marriage was celebrated at Polwarth, and *28 A iJKiiwicKsiiiKK i;aim». the wedcllng-dance took place around the thorn tree."^ In commemoration of tliis incident all future marriage- parties danced round the thorn, and the custom con- tinued in force for several centuries, but gradually eeased in consequence of the privacy with which marriages are now conducted, and the fall of the original tree. Another rhyme of unknown origin celebrates this curious old-world custom. '' At Pohvart-on-the-Green We oft hae merry been, And merry we '11 be still While stands the Ky lie's hill ; And round the corn-bing We'll hae a canty fliny-; And round about the Thorn We'll dance till grey-e'ed morn Shall lift her drowsy bree On mountain, vale, and lea. At Pohvart-on-the-Green Oui- forebears oft were seen To dance about the Thorn. When they gat in their corn ; Sae we their sons wha be. Shall keep the ancient glee. Nor let the gree gang doun While I'ulwart is a toun." But the poetical associations of Polwarth are of an earlier date than Ramsay's or Grieve's day. It is a remarkable feature that these are chiefly connected with one family — the Humes, the great house of the district, the overlords and owners of the entire parish, ' Mnrchmoiit ami (lit Hinncx of Pohcarth. p. 15. MEMOIR. 29 The ancient Border house of Hume, of which the Polwarth Humes were a not unimportant branch — represented still by an Earldom — has long played a prominent part in Scottish history. Not a few of its members have filled conspicuous positions in both Church and State. Some have signally distinguished themselves in military affairs, while peace has be- queathed its honours no less renowned. In the republic of letters the Polwarth family is worthily remembered, and Scottish poetry is indebted to several for their cultivation of its art. Sir Patrick Hume of Polwarth, the sixth laird, a noted favourite at the court of James VI., is re- membered for his share in the famous "Flyting betwixt Montgomerie and Polwart," a somewhat scurrilous composition in which the contending parties do not hesitate to hurl at each other the most opprobri- ous epithets, yet with all good feeling, and not, as one would imagine, the bitter outcome of a real quarrel. Sir Patrick is the author of a more sensible poem. The Prorriine, addressed to the king, and favourably received by his majesty. Alexander Hume, Sir Patrick's brother, minister of Logie in Stirlingshire from 1597 to 1609, a gifted poet-preacher of the Scottish Kirk, preserves his memory in those Hymnes and Sacred Songs which long delighted the hearts of the pious Lady Culross and her Presbyterian followers. The principal poem in the collection — The Day Estivall — is Hume's masterpiece. It is one of the finest descriptive poems in the langaiage, and no doubt received much of its inspiration from the witching scenery around the Ochils. Alexander Hume is also the author of some six tractates on religious 30 A i;ki;\\I( KsiiiiiK i;.\i;i). subjects ; one of these being a tolling- defence of church government by Presbytery, which gained for him the commendation of Row the historian as one of the " faithful witnesses against the hierarchy of prelacy in this kirk." In the seventeenth century flourished an- other Patrick of the same noble house, a learned com- mentator on Milton, and a writer of Latin odes. But the best known versifier of the family was Grisell. No name is held in devouter memory by the men and women of the Merse than that of their sweet-faced . Prinsle was also a native of" Duns, born in the same year as his friend. After passing with distinction thi'ough the Training College at Edinburgh, he was appointed Latin Master in Forfar Academy, and is now settled near Manchester as the head of a large institu- tion. He has published several scholastic works of high merit, and is well known as a writer of thoughtful and graceful verse. Both young men kept up for many years a regular poetical correspondence. Apprenticeship over, like so many others in the same line of business, Calder was bent on seeing for himself the more fashionable life and keener enterprise of Loudon. Accordingly, having obtained a situation in the extensive establishment of Messrs Marshall and Snellgrove in Oxford Street, he bade good-bye to the simple rustic life of the Merse, for the more stirring scenes of the million-peopled city. While here, he was one of a band who started an illustrated paper called the Tomahatvk, to which he contributed a series of poetical sketches, entitled, " Job Lots from behind the counter," and many others. From this situation he passed into the employment of several (jther firms, and for a short time also was engaged in business in the Isle of Wicjht and in the Lincolnshire town of Stamford. Then he was led to consider seriously the question of emigration. Several of his acquaintances had crossed to America, and were fallen on prosperous times. London offered many facilities, and had many attractions for young men in business; but even London did not possess the enter- prise and go-aheadness so characteristic of its Western rivals. Thus were many well-meaning and industrious young mercantile assistants constrained to try what fortune might bring them in the Greater Britain beyond the seas. Along with this we must place Calder's in- herent passion for travel, for sight-seeing, for romance, for a life of novelty and change. ' -mh^ ' i, - - - Tiiiii7.irii..rt- ^K ' '-jHH^BHEfti. ^, k „^i.J -. . ^-*- --'.■' ^^ ^ >^ _>v^ ^ , ■.--■■■•- * C .... - - ^^ - -*^, From a Sketch. POLWARTII CHTJKCH. Accordingly, in 1866, he took his departure from London and sailed for New York. The American Civil War had happily ended, but the joy of the victors had been marred by regret at the assassination of Lincoln, the Good President. Better times, however, had dawned for the Republic. Commerce was revived, and a more 36 A r.KliW K KSlllltK KAKI). peaceful spirit shed its hopL'ful itifiueuce on all classes. Breathinij freelv, there was now room and due occasion for men to seek anew the common pleasures and relax- ations of life. And, among others, the concert-room and the theatre, where the soul might be soothed and inspired by a good song well sung or a noble drama skilfully represented. Mr Lloyd, of the famous Lloyd and Bidaux's Minstrels, was at New York arranging for an extended tour in the States. To him the young emigrant was introduced, well armed with commenda- tions as to his character and musical gifts. Mr Lloyd at once enlisted his services, and Calder very soon be- came a most popular member of the troupe. Within the next three or four months they had visited many of the chief cities and towns, being everywhere enthusias- tically received. This was just the kind of life Calder enjoyed. He saw the country, he learned much in the school of human nature, and was able in after years to tiirn to good account those first experiences of the American Continent. This engagement being ended, he turned his thoughts in the direction of Canada. It was really with the intention of settling in Canada that he had gone out. But he was all the bettor able to do this from the extra dollars he had earned in the role of minstrel. In 1867 he crossed into the newly formed Dominion. The British North America Act had just been passed. The Provinces of Ontario and Quebec, Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, were united under the name of the Dominion of Canada. At Chatham, in Ontario, he succeeded in finding a situation in the dry croods establishment of Mr John Hyslop, a native of Galashiels. Here were spent some of his happiest years. MEMOIR. 37 The town of Chatham has a population of nearly six thousand, the Scottish element largely predominating. Mr Calder had ample scope for his eminently social qualities amongst this community. Few men were more widely known. With heart and soul he entered into the life of the town, unselfishly giving up his time and talents for its pleasure and welfare. He was a constant con- tributor to the local newspapers and wrote regularly for the other journals of the country. Xot a week passed without something from his pen in the Chatham B'tnner and the Scottish Araerican Journal, a paper which has done much to foster the literary tastes of Scottish Americans. He wrote generally under a nom de r/uerre, but the author's real name was well enough known. Naturally he came to be recognised as a leading spirit in the social life of the town. The clubs sought after him. The various societies found in him a vigorous upholder. He was a host in himself. He possessed an attractive personality. Old and young alike were his friends. Citizenship bound them together ; but in the case of very many there was something stronger than citizenship — the ties that knit them to the sundered homeland of their fathers. The Scot is said to yield to no nationality in patriotic feeling. He carries with him wherever he wanders a big bit of his country, in the traditions with which his memory is stored and the songs which frame themselves upon his lips. All the world over the distinctively Scottish Associations are doing admirable work in the fostering of that perfervidium ingenium Scotorwm amongst all who in any way are allied to this little northern land. In Canada almost everv town has its Caledonian 38 A r.KltWICKSIIIKK IJAItl). JSociety or otlici- f^cuttish liistiliilinii. Certain it is that amonsr the most loval sons of Scotia, whose lot is now cast far from her shores, are those who have thus banded themselves together for the maintenance of the old home life amid a foreign environment. The stranger in a strange land does not readily forget the land he has left behind, and as the years speed their flight, each one but makes firmer the bond that unites him to the dear memories of the past. The Scottish community at Chatham had established a St, Andrew's Society. On the very first celebration after his arrival in the colony Mr Calder took a prominent part in its proceedings. He was then in his twenty-sixth year, and had won an assured place in the hearts of very many Scoto- Chathamites. Year after year he was present at the gatherings of this flourishing society, and on one occasion, at a Burns's Anniversary, proposed the toast of the evening in a speech full of poetic fire and charac- terised by fine discrimination and high literary merit. He composed verses for these celebrations and sang them himself. Endowed with a rich tenor voice — he was, according to one critic, one of the finest tenor singers in Canada — and possessing a masterly knowledge of music, his songs were rendered in the most pleasant manner, with correct expression and true feeling. Possibly his greatest achievement was the gaining of tlie gold medals awarded by the St. Andrew's Society of Ottawa for the best poems on Saint Andrew's Day and the Marriage of the Princess Louise. The Committee had great difficulty in awarding the prizes, from the fact that the several poems sent in were nearly equal. Among the competitors were some of the best writers of Scottish MEMOIR. 3iJ poetry in Ontario and Quebec. Both medals came to Chatham, worthily inscribed with the name of Robert M'^Lean Calder. " Saint Andrew's Day " will be found among Hanie Sangs of the present volume, and "The Royal Marriage " under Miscellaneous Poems. He had not yet reached his thirtieth year, but all over the Dominion, and in many of the States, his name was now becoming well known, and by the banks of the Canadian Thames he was more sought after than ever. Chatham was his adopted home, and to Chatham he gave his best. His Manuscript Book records only a tithe of his labours for the town. He was in evidence in all departments of its history. Not that he was obtrusive or pushed himself into its various undertak- ings. These were brought under his notice, and if helj) were needed, he was not the man to refuse. Had he gifts in the way of organisation, of singing, of reciting, of penning a simple song for any special occasion, then it would be done and no more said about it. He was passionately fond of music, and was an accomplished teacher of the art. Curwen's Sol-fa method, which has done so much to popularise and simplify musical in- struction, was unknown in Canada. Mr Calder was the first to introduce it, and he did so with conspicuous success. For eleven years he held the post of precentor in Saint Andrew's Presbyterian Church at Chatham, and during a brief residence in Toronto he was also precentor in Bay Street Presbyterian Church, the pastor of which was the Rev. Dr. Jennings, a fellow-student of the late Rev. Dr. Ritchie of Duns. As a leader of church praise he was very popular in Canada, and held strong but sensible views on the subject. He did not 40 A i:ki;\vi(Ksiiii;k i;aim). believe in mere choir singing, and hiul a system of iiis own whereby the congregation as well might become acquainted with any new or difficult tune. " It was the testimony of many Canadians whom 1 nu't on their visits to England, that after he left they never got a leader to properly fill his place." " He had fine musical abilities, and could sing a song in splendid style. He was the life and soul of a social party. When in Canada he was a great friend of David Kennedy, the Scottish vocalist. I remember him telling me that one night when talking with Kennedy about Scottish song, he asked him if he had ever introduced ' The Laird o' Cockpen.' Kennedy said he had never seen anything in it. My brother differed from him, and offered to sing it. He did so, and acted the song as it should be done. Kennedy was struck with his perfor- mance. He practised it, and introduced it at a concert on my brother's model, and it became at once one of his most popular representations." The town of Chatham could also boast of a Dramatic Club. " Rob Roy " was the piece produced during the season of 1868, and Mr Calder in the part of the hero — Frank Osbaldistone — " represented the charactei- to perfection." " His songs added materially to the success of the play, and were repeatedly encored." Few clubs in the Province could have taken hold of a drama of the character of " Rob Roy " and carried it through so triumphantly. Other representations followed. Mr Calder took a prominent part in most of them, and was on more than one occasion " decidedly the star of the evening." Through his exertions a local minstrel troupe of ten artistes was got together, and all were effectively MEMOIR. 41 drilJed by him for their respective parts. Chatham concert-goers were fully benefited by Mr Calder's residence in their midst. Men with his powers of organisation and gifts of song are always in demand. In all these undertakings he acted without the slightest thought of reward. He was one of the most unselfish of men. Hard at work all day behind the counter, his spare hours were devoted to his own mental improvement and to furthering the happiness of very many in Chatham. But his stay there was about to be broken. He accepted of a new situation in Toronto as clerk and book-keeper in the American Hotel, and arrived in that city early in 1869. In Toronto, which has probably the largest Scottish population of any city iu Canada, he was at once quite at home, being as much a favourite in its musical circles as during his residence in Chatham. The Caledonian Society of Toronto en- listed his services for its annual Hallowe'en Concert, " where his clear tenor voice of ample power was very advantageously displayed." Toronto, however, with all its attractions, its strong Scottish life, and the presence of several old acquaintances, was only second in his eyes. "He has come to the conclusion that Chatham was the best place after all, and he has returned to his former situation. He will be welcomed back bv our citizens, by whom he was universally esteemed during his stay amongst us. He is likely to remain here permanently this time." Such is the announcement of one of the local newspapers in Chatham. In December, 1869, he took part in the annual celebration of the St. Andrew's Society of Chatham, when his new lyric, "The Land of the Maple for me," was sung in public for the first time. Towards 42 A HKinVICKSHTRE I'.AlJn. the beginning of 1870 he paid a visit to the States, ami wrote from Philadelpliia a series of racy letters for the Banner. In July, \>^1\, he was back to the old country and revelling among the scenes of his youth. 'J'o his favourite Banner the promise had been made that he would contribute a number of " Notes by the Way." The first of these, dated July 31, 1871, is characteristically penned "From Polwarth-on-the- Green." The hamlet of his boyhood was a blessed vision for the wanderer's eyes. His parents were still there, but there were blanks in the family circle, and not a few old familiar faces were wanting from well- remembered haunts. There is ever a touch of sadness ready to break in on the gladness one naturally feels on being back at the old home after a few years' absence. The memories of the past are strikingly vivid. We seem not alone in imagination to re-live the dead days, but as if again we were actually experiencing all they brought to us of joy or sorrow. Nowhere can this feel- insr be better understood than through the life of a Scottish village. Here, for the most part, each one understands the other. History lies like an open page; the little details of life are known all around, yet the sense of neighbourliness, in a true community, cannot but assert itself. Young and old have much in common. It is true that rivalries and jealousies come sometimes too frequently to the front ; but to the wanderer re- tm-ning for awhile to the scenes of his childhood, these aiv all forgotten, anil friendship hallows the hours. AuL'ust, 1871, was a memorable month in Scottish annals. The centenary of the birth of Sir Walter Scott was being celebrated. All over the country, from crowded MEMOIR. 43 metropolis to remotest hill-country hamlet, the patriotic sense of old Scotia was not slow to pay honour to the memory of one of her most illustrious and heroic sons. The man of letters, as poet and romancist, who wrought as Scott did for his country's best weal, is worthily styled a hero, and worship of the heroic in Scott can never be misplaced. Mr Calder attended two of the commemo- rative gatherings — at Edinburgh, where Scott was born, and at Galashiels, so near Abbotsford where he died. He was disappointed with the open-air demonstration at Edinburgh. "It did not come up to a State fair," he heard one Yankee remark at the hotel dinner-table. But of course the real literary celebration was a much different thing. That at Galashiels appears to have satisfied him. " Taken as a whole, it was a grand success, and as far as outward display goes, was far ahead of either Edinburo^h or Glasgow." At length, after three months' touring about Scotland and England, he returned to Canada, and commenced business on his own account in Chatham. He was almost immediately thereafter appointed precentor in St. Andrew's Church, and elected secretary of the St. Andrew's Society. This same year he won the jDrize medal for his poem on the Royal Marriage. But although he still took a keen interest and a large share in the literary and musical life of the town, he found that managing a business of his own demanded a curtailment of his former actively public work. A commercial career he was beginning to see required concentration, and so he set himself to keep pace with the pushing business methods of the West. His duties as choir-master were a sufficient relaxation from the 44 A I'.KKWKKSIIIKK I'.AIIK. luircl, sumetiiiK's dull, ruuliue of shop life. These he maintained with an energy born of real love for the subject, and with appreciation by all who were privileged to have him as interpreter of sacred praise. And so the years sped on. His common-place book does not reveal much regarding this time. It is ahnost certain that during the next years his mind was fully occupied with his daily employment to the exclusion of many of those large-hearted and generous services which vvere the delight and passion of his life during the earlier years at Chatham. Sorrowfully has it to be recorded that he was troubled by business anxieties. He succeeded well until the introduction of Sir John Macdonald's Protective Policy, which Avent far to crush trade in the Canadian border towns. His health, also, had jjrown somewhat inditferent. Though never of a vigorous constitution, he was strong and wiry enough. But the worries through which he was called to pass told heavily on his general health. Nothing so impairs the physical framework like mental anxiety. Very reluctantly did he resolve to give up. Had he remained, it might have meant more than complete ruin l)()tli financially and physicall}'. To the regret of many kindly and good citi^^ens in Chatliam, he announced his intention of returning to England. He was the re- cipient ot many messages of .sympatliy and fervent God- speeds for the future. Parting gifts were devised and cheering words arranged to be spoken. A number of friends deterniined to tendei- him some slight evidence of their esteem and acknowledgment of his valuable .^services in so many musical entertainments for benevol- MEMOIR. 45- ent objects. The following address was presented, accompanied by something more tangible : " We, the undersigned, have learned with regret that you are about to quit Chatham, where you have lived so long and gained so many friends. Your gentle courtesy, and musical and poetical talents often delighted us in many a merry meet- ing ; while your strict integrity and unswerving loyalty to good principles have won our unfeigned respect. It is there- fore only right and becoming that we should, on this occasion, testify in some tangible way our genuine appreciation of your character. This testimonial we have put in the form of a purse containing one hundred dollars, which were contributed in the shares expressed after our respective names. Accept then, we beg of you, this small sum as an earnest of our hearty good- will towards you, as an expression of our esteem for your many talents and virtues, and be assured that we will watch with interest your future career wherever you may be." His choir likewise presented him with an address, a gold watch, and other valuable tokens of respect, " We, the members of St. Andrew's Church Choir, who have spent so many pleasant and profitable hours under your efficient leadership, regret very much that your new sphere of action compels you to sever your connection with us, and cannot allow you to leave without showing in some way our high appreciation of your abilities as a leader, of your gentlemanly conduct towards us, and your willingness at all times to aid in our entertainments with your musical talents. We therefore beg of you to accept the accompanying gift, not as compensa- tion for the benefits which we have derived from your instruc- tion, but as a small token of the respect and esteem in which you are held by us as a friend. In so doing, we feel confident we are expressing the sentiments of the entire congregation of St. Andrew's Church. We wish you a pleasant voyage, many happy meetings of long-divided friends, and a speedy return to our beloved country, where you will always be a welcome visitor in our Canadian homes." IG A i;ekwicksjiii;k I'.akI), Mauy other friends were glad to testify to their admiration and love for one who had endeared himself to them by his sterling qualities and supremely amiable disposition. TTo had spent in all fifreen years in Canada; perhaps, in spite of much pain, the happiest and best part of his life. He pursued there the life of a true Scotsman. Amid success he was not puffed uj). Amid adversity he learned how to suffer patiently, knowino- that he who endureth to the end shall behold the passing of all shadows. The last entry in his diary is from a newspaper extract : — " Mr Calder bade good- bye to his Chatham friends on Monday evening, and departed on the night express for New York eii route for England. A large number of friends were at the station to see him off and wish him a safe voyage." He arrived in London about the middle of October, 1882. From that time until his death, he was associated with his brother, Mr Peter Calder, in the shoe-trimming and embroidery trade, a long-established and llourishing business. From his settlement in London in 1882, he began to take a close interest in all Scottish affairs. Specially was he drawn to the study of Border life and poetry. His native Berwickshire had many attractions fur him, and scarcely a week passed without some poetical con- tribution to the new.spapers of that county. His name became better known than ever. His early essays in rhyme in the same journals pleased, for the most part, his own acquaintances ; his productions now attracted the attention and secured fur him the friendship of an ever-widening circle uf readers. He made yearly pilgrimages to Scotland, and renewed many happy days MEMOIR. ii at Polwarth. But the old home had been broken up. His mother had passed away in 1875, and the father a few weeks previous to his son's return. Comparatively few remained in the place of their birth of those who had been his schoolmates and early associates. Nearly all the old "worthies" and "characters" had disappeared. New faces met his as he wandered through each well- known haunt. No wonder that he bewails in touchino- rhapsody the sad changes which had come over this sweet and blessed spot ! In 1887 an event of considerable importance occurred in the life of our bard. This was the publication of Hame Sangs, a small volume of 140 pages, containing a selection of his best work (London: King & Co., 50 Booksellers Row, Strand) ; a brief prefatory note tells that " the themes being homely, are treated in a homely way : still, they may serve to echo the senti- ments of Scotchmen who have wandered far ' owre the sea,' and who yet retain a strong affection for everything pertaining to their native country." The little book was most favourably received by both the press and public of Britain and America, and the author was honoured with kind and encouraging letters from many eminent Scotsmen at home and abroad. The Marquis of Lome thanked him for his " pleasant verses." Mr Gladstone "heartily entered into the spirit of his verses." Professor Black ie characteristically wrote that " they are full of nature, and love, and truth, and fine wisdom. As genuine Scottish feeling The Thistle is an excellent glorification of our kingly weed, and The Royal Mouse is a poem that would have done credit to Burns. Under the Snoiv is a beautiful elegy." Madame 48 A i;i:i;\\ KKsniHK r.AHh. Antoinette Sterlino- — that most consecrated songstress of our time — "read the book with <^reat pleasure." From across the Atlantic many appreciative tokens came to the grateful author. The Canadian journals were unanimous in its praise. The Chathavi Planet avowed that " to read some of his more pronounced stanzas you can easily fancy yourself perusing a page of Burns. He has the true ring of Scottish poetry, the style of versification, the rugged metre, all very perfect, and he may fairly be classed among the best of the Scottish poets." This was high praise in- deed, but not undeserved. A larw number of criticisms were couched in similar strains. Name Sav(/!^ proved a popular addition to Scottish minstrels}' ; almost the whole of the first edition being bought up immediately on publication. It was the author's intention to have issued a second volume of verse, but the time fur that never came. Into other hands that task has fallen, and the fulfilling of it has been a labour of love. For the next eight or nine years little has to be recorded in what was now a comparatively quiet and uneventful life. Business claimed its due attention. But verse-making was not discarded, nor did interest fiag in British and Colonial politics. Mr Cnlder's political leanings were on the side of Advanced Liberalism ; and on not a few occasions he rendered yeoman service to the cause. He was a member of the Pimlico Radical Clui>, and wrought hard by voice and pen on its behalf Many of his musings breathe a strongly democratic spirit ; but always well tempered with the divine principles of Christian brotherhood. " His sympathies were very broad, and his intense hatred of oppression and wrong often led MEMOIR. 49 him to take extreme views on the question of Socialism ; but in the main he adhered to the Socialism of Christ." But his tastes were not in the direction of politics and noisy public meetings. His delight was to get home after business to the cosy fireside with his books — the best companions of his life — and there, surrounded with all that recalled incidents and reminiscences of the past, he would sit and muse, and shape his thoughts into some sweet song. With one Association in the metropolis he closely and enthusiastically identified himself This was " The Borders Association in London." All over the world, wherever Border men have settled, they have clubbed together in this way for the promotion of good fellow- ship and the preservation of the patriotic feeling. It is computed that there are somewhere about one hundred thousand Border men and women in London. From amongst these, several of the keener spirits formed themselves into the above Society, which has been of incalculable benefit to many new-comers from the Borderland. Mr Calder threw himself with character- istic ardour into the undertaking, and all along was an especial favourite ; in fact it was largely owing to his exertions that the Association was begun. He was poet- laureate, and voiced in appropriate song the feelings of every member. The following is part of a letter from the secretary of the Association : — " Mr Calder was a most valuable member, and his earnest work therein formed the groundwork of the Association. His assistance at our meetings was very much appreciated by all, and during the later part of his life, when disease had laid hold of 4 5U A BERWICKSHIRE HARD. hiin, iind he uo longer could attend the meetings, his thoughts were witii his t'ellow-Borderers ; and iu a letter I had from liim just about the time before he took to his bed, he says, ' I am sorry I cannot attend the meet- ing of the Border Raiders, being too ill ; I am only a shadow of my former self, and .iin as weak as a kitten and as thin as a net-stabb. Another thing my illness has done, it has knocked all the poetry out of me. The machine won't work.' I visited him a day or two be- fore he died. His thin wasted face lit up when I entered the room ; he thanked me for the good wishes I conveyed to him from the members, and he said, 'I'll just need to try and warsle through,' which unfortunately for all he did not. The Association lost a well-beloved member, and 1 a good friend and wise counsellor." A visit to Scotland for a few weeks during 1895, when he witnessed the celebrations at Earlston in con- nection with the taking over of the Tower of Thomas the Rhymer by the Edinburgh Border Counties Association, was the last visit he made to his native country and county. He was never iiappier than when down in Scotland on his annual holiday : and he always looked forward with keen anticipation to that pleasure. But he was then not at all in good health. The illness which ultimatelv cut him ott' was manifesting: itself The clear bracing airs of Tweedside, the romantic spell of the Border country, and the genial companionship of many whom he had come to recognise as attached friends, diil much to inspire him with the hope that he might yet recover. But that was not to be. He got back to London and resumed work at MEMOIR. 51 Warwick Street. The spirit was willing as ever, but the body was becomiog gradually feebler. At length he had to take to his room, then to his bed, until finally it was only too apparent that his work was over. "His last days were passed in singular patience and resignation. He did not like to converse long, he was so weak. He told me he liked best to lie and think, and that he felt quite happy in his contemplations. I had many opportunities of reading to him, and many a hallowed conversation we had when he felt more able for it. I told him one mornincj that I did not know a line he need regret havino- written. He said he never wrote anything with the intention of hurting any one ;. but he added, ' I must now begin to act up to my own philosophy.' I would add that a gentler or more un- selfish soul never lived. He was a true child of nature, without any ambition to be rich, contented when he had enough, and ever ready to help the needy to the utmost of his means. His loss to me can never be repaired." So writes the brother who came closest into his life. On Monday, April 13, 1895, Robert McLean Calder entered on the last of all journeys, and in that journey he was not alone. In life he had learned to know whereon to lean whenever the shadows of the valley might gather. He was in his fifty-fifth year. At the close of the week all that was mortal of one who had sung so sweetly was laid to rest in Norwood Cemetery, in presence of a large number of friends and admirers, and his brother pronounced over the grave, when dust had mingled with kindred dust, those final words, 52 A BERWICKSHIKK BAUD. " Here lies one who possessed one of the most unsrltish spirits that ever inhabited a human frame." For one who had sung so much of love it is surprising that he never married, but in contentment with his lot, strove to make better and brighter the larger life of those who came into contact with his own. Yet many mourn him among his own kin, and for them there is to-day the supreme satisfaction that their departed dead did not live in vain. The announcement that Robert McLean Calder, " the Berwickshire Bard," had for ever ceased his singing, was received with feelings of deep regret by all classes in Berwickshire, and through all the wide Border. Since 1882 his name had been prominently before the readers of the county newspapers in the weekly contributions to which so many looked forward with pleasure. He was distinctively a Merse poet. His effusions were largely inspired by Merse manners, traditions, and scenery. The patois of Berwickshire is uppermost in his song. He did not attempt much beyond his native doric. To write in praise of the places endeared to him from Ions: association was the delight of his life. And what was a joy to him begot joy in others. Like lUuns, there was ever present to liini " A wisli that to my latest hour Shall strongly heave iny breast, That I, for puir auli's Song — a very pretty piece — was thus suggested : One morning, on a dull November day, when having his breakfast, his landlady called his attention to a sunbeam dancing on the opposite wall, and made .some remark about a glint of sunshine bringing hope amid the gloom. Next morning he read her the poem I allude to. He told me that one very stormy morning, as he was going to business, he buttoned up his coat and said to himself, ' We maun just warsle through' ; and before he got to the house he had com])osed the poem of that title. The poem, Heaven is no' sae far aiva', eminently expressed his own feelings. He could always extract the intensest pleasure from the (juiet contemplation of nature. He told me one day that he would rather go out into the park or the fields in the company of a little child than with men to converse with. He was always at home amongst children or Howers, or roaming amidst nature's wildest scenes 'far from the madding crowd.' My brother possessed the soul of a true poet ; in fact, I often thought that on many points he strongly reseridiled Burns. His politics, for example, would have cheered the heart of Robin ; and in religious leanings he was nuich the same. He had a profound belief in the loving Fatherhood of God. Jle could not understand the man who jirofessed the religion of Christ, and rode rough-shod over his fcllow-iucn to further his own amliitions and ends. He had a tirm faith in practice, and very little in profession. He carried a very .small lamp, but a gt)od supply of oil ; and, perhai)s unfortunately for him, his keen powers of detecting inconsistency in others prevented him from permanently allying hini.self to any particular church. He was MEMOIR. 55 more the scribe sitting at the foot of the Mount of Transfigura- tion, rather than the disciple entering into the inner circle to the presence of Christ, but adoring at a distance, his natural timidity keeping him back from ostentatious display. The Sermon on the Mount was to him real and literal. He had much in common with Count Tolstoi in his teaching, and believed the Church of to-day had wandered far away from the real teachings of the Master." /IDcinories of polwartb. " There 's nae place like ane's native place, Nae hame like ane's first hame ; It matters na hoo puir an" cauld, Oor love is a' the same. We 're drawn by some mysterious tie That nae man e'er defined, To the sacred spot, hooe'er remote, Where licht first on us shined." — WiUiam Brockie^ MEMORIES OF POLWAETH. MY FAITHER'S FIRESIDE. Oh ! the hame of my childhood, hoo can I forget The bright scenes that cling to my memory yet, Thro' lang years o' absence frae that cherished scene, Wi' ocean's wide billows careering between ! My heart never yet has forgot the bright days When as yoimkers we speeled up the heather-clad braes — Or the sweet hallowed spot where true love did preside, In the auld cosy nenk at my faither's fireside. Nae distance or time can ever erase Frae my heart the gay scenes o' my dear native place, — The auld theekit cot, wi' the stile in the yaird. The byre an' the barn where the poultry were reared ; The bonnie thorn trees that grew on the green. An' the burnie meandering sae crystal an' sheen ; But the scene aboon a' that has stood time an' tide. Is the auld cosy neuk o' my faither's fireside. Hoo aften in dreams o' the nicht I am there. An' mingle wi' lang-parted cronies ance mair. As there, in his auld elbow chair in the neuk, My faither sits readin' some paper or bulk ; My mither is mendin' my corduroy breeks I had torn in some o' my mad speelin' freaks, While my ae sister, Aggie, oor suppers provide. Ere sleep reigns owre a' at my faither's fireside. 60 A np:i{\vi(KsniHr, i:ai;i). Or ag;iin, amid iiiiU'LL-nl hiiigliter an din, We callants wad gather oor peeries to spin ( )n the muckle hcaith-stane, where the dancin' glint ()' the big peat tire shone on faces content; Faces frae cares an' griefs mair free I never hae seen 'mang the prood an' hie, Nor hearts as fiee frae a' envy an' pride, As gathered hmgsyne ronn" my faithers fireside. On cauld winter nichts, when the wind an' rain Patterin' fell on the window pane, We hae danced for hours to the fiddle's strains, Or got in a corner a' oor lanes. To tell owre stories, aft tauld before, 0' ghuist an' bogles, an' wai'lock lore. Or sung the sangs that are IScotias pride. That sounded sae sweet at my faither's fireside. My faither's auld neebours wad aften pop in. Just to hae a bit crack uwre what was gaun on, The news or the gossip frae steadin' or toun, Gin the craps were thrivin' or markets were doun ; And listcniii' to a' as they cracked .sae crouse, I .sat in my corner as quiet 's a mouse. Till my een nae langer open wad bide, An' I dosed sae snug by my faither's fireside. There's no' a scene o' those days o' yore I 11 e'er forget while I 'm to the fore : The dance an' fun at the harvest kirns, The fishin' s|)lorcs in the muii-land liurns, Clindiin' for scroggs in the aidd kirk park, Or playin' at bogley whan nicht grew dark. Or spaein' fortunes as we sat side by side. On oor cuttv stools by my faithei's fireside. Nor hae I ever the lesson.s forgot — The Hible lessons my 'faither taught, Or the solemn stillness reigning there When we read the buik, or we knelt in prayei' ; MY faither's fiddle. 61 E'en noo I remember his solemn words, An' my mither's counsels my heart still hoards, As she sought in prayers my young heart to guide An' I knelt at her knee by my faither's fiieside. But those days are gane, an' will ne'er return, Yet oft wi' sic thochts my heart does burn, As my youthfu' days I live owre again, Forgettin' my manhood's sorrows an' pain ; An' oh ! gin I could my wish but hae To visit that spot noo far away, I 'd joyfully cross owre the foaming tide To spend my last days by my faither's fireside. MY FAITHER'S FIDDLE. Hoc aft in happy times gane by, When but a wean some three feet high. My heart has been elate wi' joy As, chair astriddle, I 'd aft alane delight to try My faither's fiddle. Or when the weary day was dune, An' by the ingle gather'd roun', I 've watched whene'er my dad took doon The auld green bag, I wearied sae to hear the tune, "An' rax my leg." An' when we heard the tuiiiug notes, We sune were aff oor cosy seats Beside the fire o' blazin' peats ; Up to the floor. When flingin' aff oor heavy boots We raised a stoure. Nor did we cease the mirth an' glee, Till tired an' wearied sair were Ave : Wi' hearts as licht as licht could be We sought oor rest, An' in sweet slumber closed oor e'e, An' pillow press'd. 62 A BKHWICKSIIIKK HARD. When stack-yairds were wi iihinty cliul, An' farmer-l)0(ldics' hearts were glad, I've seen the hinds gan^ dancin' mad ^\ hen work was dune, An' ilk blithe lass wad pick her lad An' dance liki- fun. But when the harvest kirn took place, Then joy was seen in ilka face, An' lasses wi' a witchin' grace Sae neat an' braw, Made Jock an' Tarn alike confess " That it beat a'." An' when thy canty strains began, Thou kept them a' in mirth an' fun, An' auld an" young wi' noise and din Made rafters ring, Till daylicht tauld the nicht was dune — New cares to bring. I 've seen thee, too, on auld year's nicht, Mak' lads' and lassies' hearts beat licht. An' youngsters' faces beam sae bricht. An' hearts beat high Wi' expectation and delicht, An' purest joy. Then, when the partners danced and reeled. Then loud and lang the nnisic pealed. While cat-gut held thou uadna yield, Tho' sair the tussle, p]xccj)tiir when the fiddler cliield Wad weet his whustle. Wi' gallant lads an' maidens coy. An' youngsters daft wi' mirth an' joy, I've seen the merry nicht slip bye, Till new year's morn We welcomed in wi' lilithe strathspey Around the thorn. POLART BURN. 63 Oh ! afteii hae I blessed thy power To yield us thus a happy hour, — To sweeten a' that sad and sour Oppressed my heart, An' gie auld care a canty clour, — His richt desert. Still, when I hear thy canty sound, I 'm to my feet wi' lichtsome bound. Or when the merry sang gangs round Wi' heartsome glee, Nae mair wi' grief my heart does stound ; Frae care I 'm free. Or when wi' plaintive accents played. When sang o' lover lowly laid Throws o'er my soul a holy shade Wi' heart richt sair, I 've sorrowed for the hapless maid, To fancy fair. Lang may thou cheer my droopin' heart Ere I frae this world's sorrows part. An' when I feel the keen, keen dart 0' grief an' pain, I '11 seek to soothe the bitter smart. Thy canty strain. POLART BURN. The frost has nipt the heather bloom, The brackens hing their dowdie leaves- The hips are red upon the brier. An' paitricks whirr amang the sheaves.; Nae mair the bees roam owre the muir. Or, laden wi' their sweets, return, As I, to sniff the cauler air. Stray up the glen by Polart burn. Here mony a happy day we spent When we were laddies at the schule ; We sought the heather-linties' nests. Or gump'd for mennents in the pool : (il A i;ei:\vi(K."siiikk i;ako. We wist nae hoo the time sped oti, Until we heard the cowboy's horn : Yet, laith to lea', we liiigerd on "Till gloaniin' fell o'er Polart burn. We Vc Avander'd 'mang the heather knowes, When frae oor feet the niuir-oock whiir'd. Or wander'd by the lower haugh Where first the cuckoo's note was heard : Syne haiueward we would tread its banks To watch the moss-grown mill-wheel turn, Or note the foamin' mill-race rush To blend its flood \vi' I'olart burn. There, wi' the love oui Ixnhood knew, We wander'd — prodigal o' time — When eyes were brighter, lips mair sweet. Than ever met wi' in oor prime ; Noo sad the memory that comes back, — Its brightness never can return, — An' phantom hopes Hoat 'mid the haze That c'ening brings o'er i'olart burn. The schuleboy friendships then begun Hae still grown closer year by year, Tho' a' oor mates are scatter'd wide, In cauld nor'-land, or southern sphere : And scarce a simmer time comes roun' But ane or ither maun i-fturn To see ance mair their native hamc An' boyhood's haunts by Polart burn. An' noo, amid the city's stii\ The l)usy mart, an' crowded street, Aft will my fancy wander free, Ilk shady nook and calm retreat ; Or as })cside my fire I sit, Inclined o'er liygane joys to mourn. The sunny glints come back again. Whene'er I think o' I'olait buin. THE AULD SCHULK HOOSE ON THE GREEN. 65 THE AULD SCHULE HOOSE ON THE GREEN. Oh ! weel I remember the schule hoose That stood fu' snug 'neath the trees, Where the blaeberries grew in the plantin', And the heather invited the bees ; AVhere the bairnies' voices rang merr}' , As, wi' faces an' daidb'es sae clean, The}^ scampered awa' thro' the bushes To the auld schule hoose on the Green. Oh ! I mind when mysel' a bit laddie, — When life wore its sunniest smile, — How blithel}' wi' licht heart I lilted, As I scampered through hedge-slap an' stile ; Or climbed the scrogg tree in the meadow,- — Or waded the burn clear an' sheen, — Tho' aften I loitered owre late for The auld schule hoose on the Green. Still mem'ry delights to dwell upon The scenes o' those happiest days. The burn where we gumpit for mennents ; Or the bluebell an' gowan-clad braes Where we twined flower wreaths. for the lassies — For Mary, an' Lizzy, an' Jean, Wha ilka morn toddled there wi' us To the auld schule hoose on the Green. Oh ! I mind o' that wee theekit schule hoose Wi' the rose bushes grown at the door, » An' the apple trees in the wee garden, Wi' bonnie white blossoms hung o'er ; The desks where we scribbled our copies. Or aftener, ate sweeties unseen. While the lassies were clippin' and shoowin' In the auld schule hoose on the Green. An' still aft I think o' the plantin Where the geans an' the blaeberries grew. For aften we 'ye sat there an' feasted Till our faces an' daidlies were blue ; fiCi A 1;K1;\VI( KSIIIKK llAKI). An' our legs wi' the whuns were a' scartit, But whilk we ne'er cared for a preen ; We were blithe as the lambkins that sportit Near the auld schule hoose on the Green. An' weel can I miiul how we huntit The squirrel high up the fir tree. Or the young cusha doo that had ventured Got the nest afore it could flee. Where we shunned the deep well where the hunter Had fa'n in, an' ne'er was mair seen, When the bell ca'd us l)ack frae oor sportin' To the auld schule hoose on the Green. Oh, aften I think o' those playmates Noo scattered far, far frae their hames, — Where the laddies still search in the plantin' For the trees where we cut oot oiu- names, While they tell anc anither the story,— That in many a strange foreign scene Are the laddies wha years were before them At the auld schule hoose on the (rreen. I ken na if e'er I may wander Again by that auld cherished spot. But "those bright cloudless hours o' my childhood An' those playmates shall ne'er be forgot : While deeply engraved on my mem'ry Shall aye be each fair hallowed scene, As in fancy I aften shall linger By the auld schule hoose on the Green. THE LOVE 0' MY SCHULE- BOY DAYS. Tiikkk's a langsyne fancy comes back to me When I think o' my Scottish hame ; There s a lowe o' love that rekindles again, That brings back a dear ane's name ; An' ancc mair I wander the boruiie glen Whore the clear wimplin' l)urnie plays, Ati' the priinrose blooms on the banks 1 roamed Wi' the love o' my schule-boy days. THE AULD THEEKIT HOOSE. 67 The flowers were gay in their brichtest hues, And the woods in their freshest green ; An' there wasna a cloud to darken the sky, Or a sorrow to mar the scene ; Oor voices rang wi' as merry a lilt As the birds that sang on the sprays. As I daidled aboot in the simmer hours Wi' the love o' my schule-boy days. The burnie murmurs the same auld sang By the banks where the liazels grow. But it has nae langer the cheerie soun' That it had in the lang ago : For it tells o' my schule-mates scattered wide. Far awa' frae its banks an' braes, — An' it tells o' a mound near by, where sleeps The love o' my schule-boy days. It canna be sinfu' to cherish the thocht, That when dune wi' this warl' o' toil, We '11 meet in that bonnie land aboon, As if parted a little while ; That the years gane by will seem as a day When freed frae earth's dreary haze ; An' in happier scenes ance mair I '11 renew The love o' my schule-boy days. THE AULD THEEKIT HOOSE. Just owre the wee briggie that crosses the burn That rins by the fit o' the Green, There 's a humble bit cottage wi' ivy-clad wa's, Where mony blithe days I hae seen : The inside is hamely, yet tidy an' neat, Its inmates are kindly an' douce, An' there 's aye a warm welcome whenever I ca' On the folks at the auld theekit hoose. Hoo cantie we 've been by the auld ingle-side, When the lang winter nichts had set in ; We sat in the glow of the cheery peat fire. When the story an' sang wid begin ; 68 A nEKWICKSHIKK I'.ARD. We sang the sweet lilts o' oor aiii native land. When our heroes were A\'allace and Bruce, Or listened to auld-farrant talcs that were tauld In the ncuk o' the auld theekit hoose. 'Twas a jiicture o' hamely contentment an' cheer, ThaL riches or state couldna Ijring ; Auld Jock by the ingle, his pipe in his cheek, Was as happy as kaiser or king. Auld Babbie sat there wi' her wark on her knee : On the hearth stane lay Kover an' puss ; For even the cats an' the dougs Avould agree 'Neath the loof o' the auld theekit hoose. Whene'er I return to the auld village Green, To the scene o' my boyhood's bright days. The joys o' the past come again to my heart As I roam by the burnies an' braes : An' here wi' auld cronies, still faithfu' an' true, We meet a' sae frien'ly an' crouse. To crack owre the scenes o' the hajjpy langsyne, In the neuk o' the auld theekit hoose. MV HORN-SPUNE AxN' LUGGIE. Oh ! weel I mind my boyhoods hame, An' a' its scenes sae checrie. An' thochts come l)ack tliat pleasures gie When life is wairsh and drearie ; — The humble cot, wi' but an' ben, — The ingle-neuk sae siuig aye ; The weel-scoored bink where stood my ain Wee horn-spune an' luggie. My life has hain its ups an' doons, Wi' joys an' sorrows lilended. An' yet the.se scenes come back, as gin My childhood ne'er had ended : The village Green 's the same as when We played at ba' or muggie, Whilk gied a zest to mony a feast Got horn-spune an' luggie. MY HORN-SPUNE AN' LUGGIE. 69 That horn-spuue wi' whistle in "t, — That luggie brichtly polished, Are just as real to me, tho' a' Youth's dreams hae been demolished : But tho' the glamour's gane for aye, An' life's noo geyan ruggie, A glint o' joy comes back at sicht 0' horn-spune an' luggie. I like to see the dear auld spot. The cot where I was born in, Xor feel a shame in speakin' o' The struo-crles o' life's mornin' : I raither pride me in the fac' That puirtith was nae bogie, An' frua:al lessons w-ere imbibed Frae horn-spune an' luggie. Sin' then, I've mixed araang the great, Wi' titles an' distinctions, An' sat at mony a festive Itoard In gay an' gilded mansions ; But gie to me, 'boon a' their stews, Or wines that just befog ye, A feast o' halesome parritch oot 0' horn-spune an' luggie. Auld Scotia's sons the warld owre Hae shown a sturdy valour ; They mak' a name where'er they gang. An' lauch at thoucht o' failure. Tho' hard the struggles o' their youth, Wi' whiles a scrimpit coggie. They 've speeled the brae to walth an' poo'er Frae horn-spune an' luggie. The sturdy chiel's frae Scotland's hills Hae shared Avar's strife an' glory. An' left a record o' their deeds Embalmed in sang an' story : rO A IIKKWICKSHIHE IJAKD. An" wlieio uwrc (li.stuiit 1;uk1.s they range To share life's stern tug aye, May they look buck \vi' honest pride Oti hoin-snuTif' ntul ln2:^io. THE CHLMLA CilKEK. TiiK snaw lies deep on the miiirlands. An' drifts are in valley an' cleugh, The ■win' Inlaws keen through the plantins An' siyhs wi' ;in eerie souirh. As hanie frae my wark I hurry The huml)le comforts to seek, \\ here the wife an' weans are enjoyin" The wai-mth o' the chinda cheek. Nae grandeur is there tu entice me, But oor table "s ne'er scant o' fare, We 've aye had eneuch for oor needs yet, An' we dinna hanker for niair ; There 's a farl o' scones on the gii'dle — The kettle is hiuig on the cleek. An' a halesome supper awaits me When I will to my chimla cheek. Then the bairnies, red-lijjpit and rosy, Bright-e'ed, broon-leggit, and clean — Their mither looks after the roguies, An' keeps them as neat as a preen ; An' when they hae put on their gownies The droandand o' slumber to seek, They maun cuddle awhile wi' their daddy In the bleeze o' the chimla cheek. An wlicn I'm alane wi' my Mysie, An' we con owic the daN's that are gane, I mcjny times speak o' oor courtiti', An' my speirin" gin she "d been my ain ; For it wasna when roanun' the woodlan's. Or in nature's sweet neuk — sae to speak,- I wooed her an' won i' the glimmer O" the auUl folks' ain chinda cheek. LANGTON \\'ATER. 71 Sin" then we hae had oor misfortunes, But oor pleasures hae no' be sae sma' ; 'Twas for better or waur when we marriet, An" we 've stuck to ilk ither thro' a' ; We ne'er were ambitious or Avorldly, Nor afar for oor joys did Ave seek, — Frae the rou£[h storms o' life there 's nae haven Sae safe as oor ain chimla cheek. We envy nae ithers their pleasures, Be they great folks i' mansion or ha', We ken that the richest hae troubles 'Mid their housin' an' buskin' sae braw ; Sae contented we '11 toddle togither, While the blessin' o' Heaven we '11 seek On the sim])le and innocent pleasures That lirichten oor chimla cheek. LANGTOX AVATER. Green are thy banks, thou boiinie stream, That wind est sweet by wood and field, Where summer's flow'rets, blooming sweet, Their fragrance to the zephyrs yield. Thy scenes are ever fair and bright, 'Neath springtide's smile or summei-'s glow. When with rich autumn's bounty crowned. Or winter's snow. Far up amid the heathery hills, There, murmur first thy tiny rills ; Then, flowing on through mead and dell. The burnies meet. With many a gurgling rippling swell. In calm and fair retreat. Now thro' the deep and craggy glen ; Now sleeping 'neath the hazel's shade. — Now rushing on thy course again. Making the valley's echoes roar As o'er the linn thy waters pour : Now calm and peaceful as before On thro' the silent glade. A r.KltW KKSIIIKK i;ai;1). Thy course is marked by many a scene, Kugged, yet fair and bi'ight, Where fitful thro' thy leafy screen The sun'-s refreshing rays are seen, Or Tjuna's silvery light ; Where, hanging in thy rugged steeps, The honeysuckle l)looms, And the trailing ivy creeps Where the sunshine never comes ; Where the cowslip and the fair primrose Lift up their modest heads, And tling their fragance all around. When hushed is every sound, As they catch the dewdrops' pearly beads When day draws to its close. When first Aurora's golden beams O'er the eastern hilltops stream. Then sweet the forest warblers sing Their hapin' songs of love. Which echo thro' the grove Till woods and valleys ring. Oh ! how I love to roam along By many a sylvan scene. And listen to thy song, — As oft in days of yore I wandered on thy pebl)led shore. And lia|i|iy wa.s, I ween ; But now .sad are the thoughts that rise, Aiul oft the toar-drops till my eyes. As thou recal'st the days gone by When gayest of the gay was I. Oft with the loved of childhood's days I 've sported on thy gowany braes ; Thy richest s])ots full well wc knew — The copse where the wild aj)ples grew And where the hazels hung, LANGTON WATER. 73 Down o'er the deep and craggy rock, Where oft the echoes were awoke By ringing langh of mirth and joy From many a fair and happy boy, The clusterino; bouo-hs amono;. Oft. too, we 've gone a-nesting there. For we kneAV each shady nook And slaethorn bower, Where the linnets loved their young to rear, — Where they loved to lave in the limpid brook At the sultry noontide hour ; We 've watched the bee on the opening flower, And oft, in merry chase, We've run o'er the 2;lade for manv an hour Chasing the gaudy butterflies — To us a rich and wondrous prize — 'Till o'er each happy face The rosy glow of health was spread. And home again we sped. There, too, Fve often happy been. When, with the maid I loved. By thy sweet banks we roved In some sequestered scene, AAvav from all the vexinsc cares Which marked my growing years. But, ah ! where is that maiden now 1 By thee, SAveet stream, She lieth low 1 Xo more her smiles, like sunshine's glow. Shall play around her brow ; No more her dazzling eyes shall beam. Or evening's balmy air Dance 'mid her golden hair. She sleeps, and on thou murmurest still ; And thus I love to wander here To listen to thy purling I'ill. As if her voice still met my ear. And bade my drooping spirits cheer With visions of a coming joy ; 74 A I!EKVVHksiiii;k i;ai;ii. When, all my waiifierings oer, I II tly to yon bright peaceful shore, W lieic, to the loved ones gone before, Sorrow ami sighing come no more, And tears no more shall dim the eye, For there at last All griefs of earth are past. But, lovely stream, still here I '11 rove, And list the songsters of the grove ; Here at the opening dawn I '11 come, Here at the eventide I roam. While sweetly thou shall gurgle on : And iho" thou dost remind uie still Of joys for ever gone, Yet will I lov(^ thee, peaceful, murmuring rill. LANGTON liliiG. I w.WDKi; at the gloaming tide. That lovely, heart-entrancing scene. Where Langton waters sweetly glide The mossy- covered banks between : With soul attuned to evening's charms, I view the scene so calm and fair. Where giant trees stretch foith their aims, As toying with the evening air. The birds sing sweet in every grove. Their notes re-echoing through the dell With tenderness — no lay of love From art-taught song could charm so well : I watch the swallows skim the mead. The troutlets leaping in the burn, The midges to its rippling dance. The rabbits sport 'mid rush and fern. How oft I in careless mood, 1 've strayed The verdant haughs, where cowslips bloomed. At dewy moin, when scented briers The gentle toying breeze jjerfumed ; LANGTOX BftlG. 75 And oft at eve, as now I rove In sombre mood to muse and dream, Or from the brig surveyed the pool, Where minnows through the water gleam. Mv thoughts 2:0 not to castle walls. Nor richly wooded wide demesnes, — The simple scenes of vale and hill Are hallowed by the poet's strains ; And these come back in whispered notes. The evening breezes waft along "'Mong Langton's blooming woods," where oft Has Sutherland attuned his song.^ Here by this spot for ages past Have love-sick wooers careless strayed, — That hour so dear to wooing hearts, — The magic hour 'tween light and shade : With whispered joys, they conjured up The coming days, bright as a di-eam, Or bending o'er the brigs low wall They watched the shadows in the stream. I picture them in after years, Hard toilers in life's chequered race ; — Their hopes and joys crushed 'neath life's load, Like dreams the morning rays efface : Yet others come — the same old tale — To muse and sigh, or fondly dream. To find life's pleasures at the best Are but a shadow in the stream. Yet find I pleasure here, to muse When evening's shades creep softly down, Like one escaped from strife and toil And Avarping cares of life in town : My heart feels lighter for the time. As, brushing present clouds away, I revel in the past once more, And feel the joys of youth's bright day. MVilliain Sutherlantl, the "Lanyton Bard"; see Mii'Strelsp of the Merse, page 137. 76 A i;i:i:\\i<'KsiiiHK i;aki». CliOUSI.KV [)\l\K Oh ! l;u)^".s tlio stretch frae Laiigtuti Ivirk L'ntil ye turn by C'lion.sley farm, Wi' ne'er a shelter frae the sun W licii simmer days are glintin' waim ; But when the gloamin' shadows fa' An' zephyrs sigh at close of day. A quiet meditative walk Vou may enjoy up Chousley brae. 'Tis then that lovers may be seen, When ilka bird has sought its rest, — When dew-beads hing on Howcr an' spray, An' love-licht blushes in the west ; The saft-drawn sighs, the whispered vows. Beguile the erstwhile tedious way : An' tho" the road were twice as lang. They 'd loiter still up Chousley brae. Frae iiiuny a vantage point is seen The oot-spiead garden o' the Merse, An' auld historic Border scene, The theme o' mony a poet's verse; Nae foreign shores, tho' e'er sae grand, Where Flora smiles in garments gay, Can boast a scene sae sweetly brioht, Or match the view frae Chousley l)rae. Yet when the wijitcr storms are rife, Au" snaw lies deep in wreath an' di'ift, When snell win's frae the Snufty-holes Send clouds careerin' owre the lift, Oh ! lanif an' drearv seems the road That in the simmer bloomed sae gay. An' shelterin' beild ye vainly seek, Till i>wie the tap y days, When youtli was in its prime, An' we soui,'ht the Loan in our reivin' laids In the pleasant nestin' time : For we keinied the spot where the robin bigged, The yorlin' an' katie wren, An' the favourite spot where the shilfa built In the hedge by the Packman's Stane. . 'Twas a' very weel i' the l)raid daylicht, 'Mang the sunshine an' the Howers, But wha alane wad hae cared to gang Thro' the loan i' mirk nicht hours 1 For the tales o' witches an' ghaists we heard Wad hae frozen your very bluid ; An' gin Ave had to gang near the spot, We but gang by anither road. An' a' the same we kenned fu' weel There were ithers that were na feared ; For lovers went there — but owre much ta'en up To tak' tent gin' the ghaists appeared : An' they raither liket the quiet road Where nae pryin' een cam' near. Where the fond, endearin' words they spoke Wadna fa' on sonic listenei''s ear. Aye, there's mony a wife in the village noo Wha's locks are gettin' grey, Wha's heart will warm at the mention o' The scene o" their love's biicht An' it leads to the auld kirk-yard. THE AULD BARN-YAIRD. Just where the wimplin' burnie Threads its pebble-bedded track, The Ijarn stan's by the roadside, That the auld folk ca' the " back " ; An' alangside where the thrissels Their jaggit tassels reared, Was the play-ground o' oor childhood, In the auld barn-yaird. To the struggles o' oor boyhood Oor memory ca's us back, To dnys, when on the whinny. We toiled to gather rack ; Tho' we wist nae that the acres By oor labour were prepared. For the gatherin' o' the harvest To the auld barn-yaird. 82 A 15KU\vhksiiii;k i;\i;ii. Tho" we Avatclu'd tlio clovci- l)loomin', All' the !:;r;uii to gowden tnifi, Xae thocht o' play or profit E'er gied us much concern : But wc watched tlie time appmachin' W'lien the stacks wad sune lie reared, An' \ve 'd phiy at tigg or bogley In the auld barn-yaird. At the time o" schule vacation, Blithe an' barefit we wad rin. To cheer the sturdy crofters At the gloi'ious "Icadin'-in " ; An' when the corn was dichtin'. An' the whirr o't could be heard, We smuggled i' the shelter 0' the auld barn-yaird. They were only bits o' kylies. But they looked sae nice an' snug, . As they stood securely theekit Wi' the rashes frae the bog ; AVhat enjoyment then we tasted As oor ciders' toil we shaied. When we thrawed the rapes for theekin' r the auld barn-yaird ! When the hairst was fairly ended An' secured was the corn, There was pleasant merry-makin' At the lang projected kirn : Oh ! the reels an' jigs they footit. As the lads an lassies })aired, Wi' mony a sly kiss stolen By the auld barn-yaird. Noo again the scene s ])cfure me, But nae stacks are to be seen, The dyke is doon, an' dockens <^;r<)\v the fa'i?r stanes atween ; PENNY S BRAE. §3 The barn floor is silent, For the flail is never heard; An' the yett is afF its hinges At the auld barn-yaird. The spot presents a picture 0' puirtith an' decay, For the humble toilin' cottars Are deid, or far away ; An' ruined cots, ance cheery Wi' the joys their inmates shared, Are deserted now and dreary Like the auld barn-yaird. Wi' shame I tent the reason For the ruin that I see. An' that drove my rustic playmates Frae these scenes o' infancy ; To the same auld shamefu' story 0' a near or graspin' laird. We maun trace the ruined homesteads An' the weed-grown barn-yaird. I hope the day will come yet That will change this dreary scene, Wi' the happy sports revivin' On that famed auld village Green ; When the honest thrifty rustics Share the wealth the'ir toil has reared, Wi' a cottage clean an' cheery. An' a weel-stocked barn-yaird. PENNY'S BRAE. 'Maxg a' the scenes where in my youth I wandered free o' care. At morning's dawn, or sunset hour. To snufF the cauler air. There 's ae scene o' the langsyne days Still owre my heart haudssway — The shady paths an' quiet neuks Alang by Penny's Brae, 84 A nEliWUKSlIlKE BARD. Twas thcri- my young friuiid J(:ib/ an" I, First sung oor sangs thegithor, Or lay beneath some spreadin' tree In sultry summer weather ; \Vi- little thuclit that frae such scenes We 'd wander far away, To cherish but the memories o' Oor nichts by Penny's Brae. There, aft when wandering alane. When simmer days were fair, I used to meet my shopmate Bub, An' kenn'd what brocht him there ; For in some (juiet gloaming hour He 'd meet sweet Betty Gray — Their favourite tryst on Sunday nichts Was doon by Penny's Brae. Still, as my memory wanders back, I seek that scene again, To meet beneath the trystin' tree My first fond sweetheart, Jane ; I seem to press her hand again, An' vow I '11 ne'er l)ctray The trustin' heart she plighted me Langsyne by Penny's Brae. An' now while I, a stranger, roam O'er many a foreign part, Some ither may have woo'd an' won Her young an' trustin' heart ; Tho' such may be, I '11 ne'er forget, Until my dying day, The memories o' the happy hours I spent by Penny's Brae. .JASPER'S MILL. In sadness now I view the spot So dear to ])oy hood's happy days — The old mill-dam, the sluice, and race, So snug between the fir-clad braes. ' Robert Pringle ; see Mivntrchi/ of (lie Mersc, pauc 2til. jasper's mill. 85 The scene out o'er the Lanuiiiebirks, Or up the -waters to the Muir, Recall the school-boy sports we shared, Or wayward rovings, free as air. Again does fancy paint the scene Where Jasper sat to feed the flame — The blazing kiln, the water-wheel, The dogs and cats we knew by name ; The troutlets jumping in the dam, The garden circled by the stream ; The ripples by the stepping-stones, Are pictured now as in a dream. Up on the Scaur we ve climbed the trees. For cushie's or for squirrel's nest, Eoamed o'er the Birks till fairly tired, Then back to the old mill to rest ; And there beside the old kiln door, When Jasper kept the fire ablaze. We chatted to the kind old man ; Ah I those were pleasant, cheery days. Now only, scattered here and there. Some stracfSilintr moss-clad stones remain To mark where stood the dear old mill, Xow viewed with thoughts akin to pain : We miss the splashing water-wheel. The whirr of stone and crank Avithin, The dusty miller's kindly words, Scarce heard above the clank and din. Gone ere the mill had disappeared, Old Jasper sleeps beside his kin. No relative had he to heir The land where his forebears had been ; To stranger hands the old mill passed. In years when we were far away ; Now they too rest from toil or care. And here we view the scene to-day. 8G A liEliW I(JK.>J11I;K liAltU. No mill, 110 niiller ! both arc gone, And silence reigns where all was stir ; The ruined cottage by the stream Adds to the desolation there : And now, where ruin's imprint marks W hat now is only but u naim'. That stream, the source of wealth and power, Flows calmly murmuring on the same ; Fit emblem of a fleeting world, A world of chatigiiig joy or care : We seek the old familiar spot To find but silent ruins there ; So like our fates, a dreary scene Of ruined hopes of love or fame ; And while we mourn what might have been. The stream of life flows on the same. THE QUAKKV ON THE HILL. We sat 111)011 the rustic seat That taps the Quarry Knowe, Ae sunny autumn day, when roun' A' nature was a irlow. We'd wandered thro' the plantin's shade To (iml the trees that bore The names we cut o' sel' an' mates Some thirty years l)efore : An' 1100, wi' minds attuned to thocht, We could reca' at will The happy hours we spent langsyne Uy the Q\uury on the liill. A garden fair lay at our feet, Far stretcliin' to the sea. Or southward, where the clouds sailed hjw, Owre Cheviot's hills sac hie ; We saw Hume's ruined castle stan'. Dark lined against the sky. The Eildon 's filling up the scene, W here Tweed rins rowin' bv ; THE QUARRY OX THE HILL. 87 An' yet, tho' grand the view thus spread 0' mountain, moor, an' rill, Oor thochts aye wandered back again To the Quarry on the hill. What was the spell that held us here. An' changed the moorland scene To ane o' beauty, that could draw The tear-draps frae oor een ; To mak' the heart-beats louder souu', The auld smile to come back, An' keep us, as it were, enthralled Wi' memory's sunny track 1 Ah ! here again, where aft as bairns We wandered at oor will, We met, auld frien'ships to renew By the Quarry on the hill. Hoo sweet the sunny hours we spent, Nane but oorsel's can ken. The scenes renewed o' boyhood's days. An' what Ave 'd seen sin' then ; The griefs an' joys we baith had felt. Yet lived thro' a' to meet True frien's as ever yet had sat Upon that rustic seat ; While in oorsel's the change had been. We met as brithers still, Tho' there was little change to note By the Quarry on the hill. An' yet the spot was different noo, Oor hearts had to confess, Altho' the heather bloomed as fair To woo the breeze's kiss. Noo silence reigned, where ance the soun' 0' toilin' hands was heard ; As doon the Quarry's depths we gazed, No bird nor insect stirred. 88 A r!KR"\vi<'KSTTii;K i;ai;i>. Sue like oor lives — aiicc .stir an strife, Xoo smooth as yonder rill, All pcaccfu' as a Sabliath morn, 15y the (^)uarrv on the hill. Still in that (.,)uarrv -s hidden depths May wealth untold yet he, As in oor hearts by sufFerin' seared, That worldlings carina see. Some great upheaval yet to come May bare these treasures rare. An' strengthen heart and soul again Oor jo3's an' griefs to share. But for the pre.scnt we're content To rest as calm an" still, Reca'in' bygone pleasures spent By the Quarry on the hill. BY FUCU BRAES. Oil ! dear to me's my native hame. Far frae the busy haunts o' men. Its gardens sma' where roses blaw, Its humble cots wi' liut an' ben ; Its stream, meandering in the dell. Where troutlets gleam in sunny rays, Its jjebbled strand, where aft as bairns \Ve baretit played by Fogo braes. I see the kirk upon the hill. The auld kirkyard where dear anc-j rest, I think I hear the pastor's voice. In counsels grave or airy jest. Sweet comfort to the auld he bi-ocht. The young he taught o" wisdoms ways. E'en joined the glee.some sportin' baiins In cheery romps by Fogo braes. I 've seen the giant rivers row Their swelling billows to the sea, An' still the humble burns at hame Had dearer, fonder charms for me. THE kii;k ox the brae. 8p I 've roamed the forest deep, where ne'er Had pierced the sun's maist searchin' rays, An' still I longed to hae a glint 0' simmer's charms by Fogo braes. 8ae auce again I fain wad roam Alang the mead or up the dell, An' see the haunted Quarry Knowe, Where first I trysted Avi' my Nell. An' could the joys come back again That ance were mine in childhood's days, I "d leaA'e the baubles wealth an' fame For peace an' rest by Fogo braes. But na, the fond enchantment 's gane, Thae joys can never mair return ; An' yet, while nature smiles sae sweet, Why should I owre lost pleasures mourn 1 I 'd happy be if I could hae A faint reflection o' youth's days, An' let life's ebbing years depart In happy dreams by Fogo braes. THE KIRK ON THE BRAE. GaX(; up the burn frae Cothill braes, Till it winds through Lounsdale haugh. Where primrose an' bluebell slyly peep Frae the bowers o' hazel and saugh, Each scene, each nook, brings back to me Faint echoes o' youth's bricht day. But a sadness mingles wi' a' my joy. When I see the auld kirk on the brae : For it 's there, in that grass-grown auld kirkyard. The dearest an' truest lie, Far frae the strife an' cares o' life, Till they meet again by an' by ; An' as years roll by, an' age creeps on, An' the locks get thin an' gray, Still closer tlie heart clings to the scene 0' the auld kirk on the brae. 90 A r.KKWICK.SIIIKE liAIMt. Mcnv ail' tliochtless as Ijainis we played 'Maii^ the mo.ssy heid-staiu's theie, All' crathered the "owaiis t(j weave in braids For our favourite lassie s hair : It was only when daylicht, growin' faint, Merired to the ^loaniiii' crav, That we hurried awa' to the village Green, Frae the aiild kirk on the hrae. The auld kirk has its history, too, 0' the Covenautin' days, "When 8ir Patrick hid in its darksome aisle, An' the troopers besieged Kedbraes ; An' niony a time wi' curious oen We hae marked, by the faintest ray, The restin' place o' the great anes there, 'Neath the auld kirk on the brae. Yet 'mid a' its sad an' solemn scenes, Its memories dark an' drear, A brichter fancy comes liack to me My waiiin' life to cheer ; It was there, by the bowers in Lounsdale haughs An' beneath the spreadin' slae, I first felt the glamour o' love's young dream, Near the auld kirk on the brae. Noo when I visit the spot again, Each auld familiar nook, I canna but picture our trystin" days An" reca' each word an' look ; Ah ! me, but the place seems no' the same, An' the glamour is gane for aye, An" a' thing is chaiigccl but tlie silent scene 0" the aiild kirk on the brae. Ul' 11 IK BURN. In childhood's days, when a' was bricht An' we kenned nought o' care, We had oor favourite haunts to roam l)y meadow, glen, an" muir ; UP THE BUKN. 91 When free fiae schule we laid our plans Where we wad spend the day, Then up the burn, the muirland burn, We blithely' hied away. Oh ! what a wealth o' sport was there In spring or summer days ! The search for heather-linties' nests, The rowin' doon the braes : The hidin' in the ferny howes. The races owre the lea, When ixp the burn, the wimplin' burn, We wandered wild and free. Not many sounds broke on the air In that sweet, peacefu' glen. But Avhen our merry notes were heard, The echoes rang again : We scared the muir-fowl frae its nest, The hare frae 'mang the bent, When up the burn, the bonnie burn, Oor blithesome hours we spent. We kenned where the primroses first Shone in their spring array. An' foxgloves reared their purple bells Beside the scaurie brae ; We pleated wreaths o' varied hues. To bind our lassies' hair. When up the burn, the windin' burn. They cam' to tryst us there. When autiuiin's mellow tints were seen, An' hips were on the brier, To gather haws an' hazel nuts We wandered here an' there ; Till laden wi' oor pooches crammed, An' bonnets heapit fu', Then doon the burn we sauntered then, Fit-sair an' tired enoo. 92 A i!Ki;\\icKsiiiiiK i;ai;I'. The herd, wha had frae early morn Roamed owre the mnir his lane. Wad list oor stories an' our sangs, An' wish them owre again ; We shared his bannocks an' his cheese Wi' appetites fu' keen, \\'hen, up the burn, lieside the brig, We rested on the green. Aft dae I wonder, where are noo The schulemates o' the past ; Has fortune aye befriended, an' Its sunshine owre them cast ? Or dae they mourn in far-aff' lands, Ance mair to tread the bent, Where up the l)urn, the muirland burn, Their hajjpiest hours were spent "? I canna speel the heather liills As I was wont to »>ni-.s didna srorn. But took their phice aniuiijj; tlieni a' In sports aroun' the famous thorn ; AVhen there was wark for a' to share, \Vi' mutual trust 'tween low an' high, An' time for sport to lessen care, An' mak' life smooth in days gane bye. Aft when a laddie liae I sat An' listened 1)V the ingle cheek To hear the auld folks' hamely chat Aboot the times o' whilk I speak ; I've seen them shake theii- heids wi' grief. Or heave a mutual mournfu' sigh, To think that in their time sae brief Sic change had been sin' days gane bye. I've listened while some patriarch tauld 0' village fairs held near the Green ; The spot still bears the name Hab's-Fauld — Nought but the name marks oot the scene ,-. I've heard them tell o' varied sport, When youths in trials o' strength wad try To van<|uish ithers wha'd resort For fricn'lv bouts in davs gane bve. ir*' I've seen mysel', when but a wean, In simmer when the days were lang, A crowd o' youths U[)(in the (ireen, Nicht after nicht wi' games fu' thraiig : Till darkness put a stop to a', An' hame their several roads they d hie- Aii ! mony a ane noo far awa' Still paints that scene o' days gane bye. When tnddJin' woe things, gaun to schule. We ve heard the Hail ring in the Barn, Or watched at nicht the auld hand mill, Wlicii crofters met to dicht their corn : IN DAYS GANE BYE. 103 AVe 've listened by some wee thatched cot To hear the merry shuttle fly, Or watched the smith's fire bleezin' hot, Where croods wad meet in days gane bye. The busy souters plied their trade, By garret window 'neath the thatch ; The tailor hame-spun garments made. When fashions didna vex them much ; An' when at e'en their wark was done The village band wad gather nigh, To gie the folks a hearty tune, That cheered them in the days gane bye. But picture noo that changed scene, The ruined cots wi' roofs fa'en in, No e'en a cuddie on the Green, Nor geese or ducks to mak' a din ; The very weans speak laigh an' saft. The herd scarce needs to count his kye, While mony a ane wha worked a croft Rack-rents keep doon, sin' days izane bye. The thocht will aften come to me, — What means this ruin an' decay "i An' can the spoiler wish to see That ancient hamlet swept awa}' 1 It seems as if this was the aim, To heed not honest puirtith's cry, But drive them to a stranger hame Frae that they kenned in days gane bye. Still let us hope that dear auld spot Will flourish as it did before. An' mony a rose-embowered cot Gie hamely comfort to the puir ; When toil will reap its due reward, Wi' richts the rich dare no' deny. Aye ready, hearth an' hame to guard. Like those wha lived in days gane bye. 104 A r.KRwrcKSHiitK i;\i;ii. MOOKLAM) MLSiMi.S. O'ki: tho niooi-.s I roviriij wiuKlcr, "Mid the piupk' .springing heath, Where the breezes blow around me Like ;i maiden's fragi-ant breatli ; Where the sun in mid-day s])lendour Sheds its glorious rays around, Over mountain, lake and valley. And the solitude j^rofound. Here I love to tiead the valley A\'here the gui'gling streamlet plays — \\'here the leafy screen aljove me Shields me from the sun's fierce rays ; Where the trout an' tiny minnoAV Wanton in the shaded streams, Where the wavini' trees reflected — Like a fairy land it seems ; Where the bright-eyed blooming flow'rcts Waft their perfumed sweets along, AVhere the heard but unseen cuckoo Sings her heart-refreshing song ; Where the cushat's mournful cooing From the forest greets my ear, And the wihi shrill-screaming ])ee-wit Sounds its pipe in ujjper air. Or I wander down the meadow, Leading to the gray old mill, Listening to the geese and peacocks Sound their clarions loud and shiill ; Or tlie niill-wheel, old and creaking, With its long familiar sound. Breaks the stillness of the valley Wakes the echoes all around. Or I roam where bees are humming Ivound the fragi'ant yellow lirooni, Li the daisy-dajtpled meadows Where the cup and clover bloom ; MOORLAND MUSINGS. 105 Where the perfumed milk-white blossom Of the hawthorn scents the gale, And the myriad tinted daisies, Like a snow shower, clead the vale. Where the blue-hell and the thistle, And the fox-glove deck the glade, To my memory recalling Spots where oft in youth we stray'd ; When our hearts were free and happy — When no cares sat on our brow ; Happy hours, alas ! departed, Gone, and past recalling now. Still I love to roam among them, — Still my fainting soul they cheer. And my spirit, soaring upwards. Seeks to leave her sorrows drear ; To my soul they tell of pleasures I have never tasted yet,^ Of a land where all are happy. Where no shadows ever flit : Where eternal summer reigneth. Clear and radiant, not a cloud ; Where no winter's snow descending Covers nature with a shroud ; Where the streams are ever flowing Stainless from the fount divine ; Where the sun, for ever beaming, Knows no fading, no decline ; Where the flow'rets, ever blooming. Sweetly scent the heavenly gale : Where the balmy, soothing zephyrs Waft along no mourner's wail ; But the happy songs of thousands From the sins of earth made free, — Where eternity rolls onward. Onward to eternity. lOG A I'.HIIWMKslllKK II.VKI). wiiKN WE \vi-:i;e a' at iiame. A.NCK iiiiiir I sec tlic village Green, An' a' its scenes that please — Its auld thack't liooses here an' there Anianu the sjjrcadin' tree.s ; The winiplin' bui ii, the bonnic yairds, Its Howes and knowcs the same As in the lang gane cheery days ^^'hen we were a' at hanie. But here an' there are strongly marked Time's sair destroyin' tooth, An' fell decay has left its trail Sin' oor blithe days o' youth : Nae cheery voices reach us noo 0" bairnies at their irame — The place is dreich an' dowie noo Since we wei e a' at hame. I mark the cot where first I saw The licht o' love an' joy, An' where within its huml)le wa's I played a l)lithesonie buy : Noo moss-grown is its dented roof, An' roun' the winnock frame The rose an' jessniine nae mair nod As when we were at hame. \'ct thochts come back o' joyous days. When a' was bricht an' fair, An' M'hen we roamed the banks an' l»raes Wi' hearts devoid o' <-aro ; An" I forget Time's blightin' change, An' picture a' the same As when we gathered roun' the hearth \\'hcn we were a' at hame. I see the bricht peat fire a-bleeze, The kettle on the crook, An' sang an' story cheer us as We snuggle i' the ncuk : I LIKE MY AIN FIRESIDE. 107 My faither an' my mither baith Had aye a constant aim To mak' oor cot a cheery spot When we were a' at hame. Noo in the auld kirkyaird near by Are dear anes laid at rest, An' ithers hae left hame an' frien's For new scenes i' the West : Tho' noo 'mang strangers far they roam In search o' wealth and fame, My fancj' paints the scene ance mair When Ave were a' at hame. An' maybe i' that ither warld. When Ave are dune \vi' this, The sAveetest drap that we shall fin' In Heaven's cup of bliss, Will be to meet ilk ither there, ReneAvin' love's auld Hame In the hoose o' many mansions, Avhere We '11 meet an' be at hame. I LIKE MY AIN FIRESIDE. What 's a' your pomp an' Avealth to me. Or a' the honours State can gie 1 They canna mak' the heart mair glad- — They cainia cheer Avhen life is sad. In fact, the various cares they bring Mak' peace an' comfort oft tak' Aving ; They canna add to life's true zest : I like mj' ain fireside the best. It may be humble in its wa}', A Avee thatched cot beside the brae ; A garden plot wi' auld-time floAvers, The birds' sAveet music 'mang the bowers ;. A but an' ben, a' tosh an' snug, TAva bonnie l^airns, a cat an' doug ; My bonnie Avife aye cleanly dressed : I like my ain fireside the best. 108 A r.i:i;\\ icKsiiiKK iiakh. Sae long as health is gi'en us a', We envy iiao tho rich an' braw : They seek their pleasures uear an tar, Wi' fashion as their guidin' star. An' tho' we hae but simple joys, Our hamely ])lcasure never cloys, While honest tuil brings welcome rest: I like my ain fireside the best. The scenes o' riot and debauch May hearts o' thochtless votaries catch ; For me an' mine, we 'd rather hae The even tenor o' life's way : AVe w^atch the pampered darlings pass Wha deem us an inferior class ; Their jaded, worn-out lives attest Oui' ain firside is aye the best. The worldly proud in fashion's ranks May hae their wealth in shares and banks, Their stately mansions in the squares. An' servants e'en that put on airs, Where liveried Hunkies Haunt aV)oot, An' pass their wine at ball an" rout; Sic emjity pleasures time will test: 1 like my ain tiresicKf the best. When winter comes wi' snaw an' drift. An' storms careerin' owre the lift, Our humble cot seems snug an' bien : When, toil-worn, I get hame at e'en. The couthie welcome that I meet Frae thochtfu' wife an' bairnies sweet (xie hamely comfort, peace, an' rest: I like my ain fireside the best. Then ne'er ma}' T meet joy or care (Jutside the hame my loved anes share ; Their smiles keep care outside the door, Wi" (liem I '11 share whate'er 's in store. THE AULD FOLKS O' THE VILLAGE. 10& An' should the pinch o' want appear, Wi' them life's struggles still I '11 share ; E'en then, wi' love's sweet heart-glints blest, I '11 like my ain fireside the best. THE AULD FOLKS 0' THE VILLAGE. In fancy aft I wander back To childhood's sunny days ; Ance mair I "m in the meadows, or The Ijurnie's lianks an' braes ; An' tho' the feelin's o' my j^outh Eevive wi' faintest glow, I canna feel the same delight As in the lang ago : For 'mang the frien's I kent sae weel^ An' trusted ane an' a', The auld folks o' the village noo Are wearin' fast awa'. My faither's house was aye the hoAvf Where couthie frien's wad meet To tell their tales o' langsyne deeds, Or lilt their sangs sae sweet ; The news frae far but seldom cam', Nor went they far frae hame ; The parish an' some miles aboot Was a' the warl' to them : Let ithers gang to foreign lands, In search o' wealth or fame ; The auld folks o' the village were Content to bide at hame. But hamely clad, an' plainly fed. Whiles burdensome their toil, As lang as they were blessed wi' health They happy were the while. Nor yet ambition had they e'er To rise aboon their lot ; The palace wadna be sae dear As was the humble cot : 110 A P.EinVICKSHIRK I'.ARD. The auld thatched cot, the garden jjlot, Their highest wishes ser'ed ; Tlie aulil folks o' the viUage ne'er Envied the wealthy laird. They looked aye to the Saljbath day For welcome peace an' rest, AVheii a' went decent to the kirk In weel-luiined Sunday's best ; The preacher's words were lessons plain That simple minds could learn, An' (loul)ts that loftier minds assailed To them brought no concern : To eat the fruit o' honest toil, An' trust God for the rest, The auld folks o' the village were In calm contentment blest. Noo things are changed ; the humble cots Are half in ruins laid, Wi' weed-grown yuirds that never ken The touch o' ho we or spade ; An' names for generations kent Are never heard o' noo, Exce])tin' on tlie grave-yaird stanes, \Vi' moss half hid fiae view : Tho' time an' fate hae wrought sic change, The i)laoe seems no' the same, The auld folks o' the village still Cling to the dear auld hame. Whene'er my footsteps hameward tiun, On simmer pastime bent. Aye fewer are the frien's 1 meet \\ i' whitni I was aetjuent ; I note the changes time has wrought, The gaps that death has made, An' sorrow dark comes owre my heart Where a' was ance sae glad : priR wull's awa'. Ill I ken my years nae lichter feel, An' heavier weighs life's care, AVhile th' auld folks o' the village sune Will welcome me nae mair. PUIR WULL'S AW A'. Auld Jockie's frien", puir Wull, is gane. An' noo he sighs an' grieves his lane ; , While neiboiirs roun' wi' waesome mane Let saut tears fa'. For death a faithfu' frien' has ta'en — Puir Wull's awa'. He was a doug o' famous breed, Wi' bushy flanks, an' noble held, Gifted wi' powers o' scent an' sjDeed That few could show ; A wink or nod was a' he 'd need, An' afF he 'd go. AVi' bairnies a' the clachan thro' He was a frien' baith tried and true. An' tho' his lugs an' tail they 'd pu', He ne'er let on, While mony a " })iece "he got, I troAv, 0' bread or scone. The cat an' he were cronies guid. An' shared ilk ither's plate o' food. Their ways an' humours understood Like human folk. An' smuggled close, as wooers would, By th' ingle neuk. In a' the journeys Jockie gaed Wull followed, tho' nae ca' was made ; Whene'er he took his staff or plaid. He 'd youtf wi' glee : An' when the hameward road seemed braid, A guide he 'd be. 112 A |;KI;\\ I(Ksiiii;k hakp. When ill the ditch -lock chanced to fa' Amang the driftin' wreaths o' snaw, Wnll wiMit to wliere a lieht he saw An' brought relief, Or else his chance to wake were sma' — His time but brief. But Jock the kindness paid him l)ack ; AVhen WuU, got auld an' scarce could walk, AVent to the well his drontli to slack, ' An' tuni'led in, Jock hauled him brinkwards in a crack, A\ i' druokit skin. When herdin' o' the cottar's kye. By hill ,111" dale or wet or dry. Beneath some beild the twa wad lie By moss or muir ; Yet runaways could ne'er get by, If Willi was there. if labbits started at his feet, When gettin' stitf an' no' sae Heet, To see Wull was a regular ti'eat Start on the run. While Puss, sunc in a safe retreat. Just thought it fun. \\ hen bicidcin .staiies on Chou.sle}' Brae, On mony a sultry simmer day. Close by the heap his dougship lay, Full at his ease ; Uwro lazy e'en to drive away The wasps an' flees. Noo a' his tricks an' play.s are dune ; In Jock's auld plaid wcel rappit roun', Beneath yon tree he 's sleeping soun' Beside the burn : W here bairnics frae the schule at noon Come there to mourn. "FASTEN'S E'EN." 113 The cat upon the hearthstane lies, An' raises aft its heid an' sighs ; Here, where they slept as warm as pies, On rug or chair, It gazes roun' \vi' sad surprise. For Wall 's nae mair. The lads wha drap in there at e'en. Where mony a time they 've merry been, Hae cause eneuch whiles to compleen 0' bright times gane, While Jockie noo wad just as sune Be left his lane. Weel, folks maun dee as weel as dougs ; What need we then to hing oor lugs, When death the life-thread rives an' rugs In cot or ha' 1 Let 's try to stan' Time's kicks an' tugs. Like Wull awa'. Gin faithfu'ness an' patience here Deserve reward beyond the bier, These brutes, wha thro' a hard career Hae borne their yoke. Should hae a chance o' yon bright sphere. Like ither folk. "FASTEN'S E'EN." 'Mang the memories o' the langsyne days O'er which my fancy aften strays. That waft me back to the govvany braes. An' ilka lang-left scene, i fondly lo'e that scene o' a', AVhen lads frae cottage an' frae ha' Met ilka year to play the ba'. An' baud their Fasten's E'en. My puir auld heart will aften thrill Wi' youth's bright recollections still — 0' hoo we played 'tAveen kirk an' mill Till the last prize was gi'en ; 8 A I;EK\\ irKsllllIK I'.AllD. Hoo lads M'V noebour lads wad meet, To spier for news, to crack, an' treat ; An' hoo blithe lassies too wad i^reet The sports o' Fasten's Iven. Even noo, my fancy still can trace The crowd that thranged the market-place, Where joy was seen in ilka face — Baith auld an' young, I ween ; For frail auld bodies then wad mc^t To crack at corners o" the street, An' drouthy cronies, too, wad wcet Their gabs at Fasten's E'en. The ba'-men, an' the tiddler loon, Play "Never let the Gregor doon," 'Till ilk shopkeeper in the toon His croon or shillin 's gi'en ; An' ere the sport at noon 's begun The 'prentice lads close up like fun. Prepared to scramble, jouk, an' run, For the sports o' Fasten's E'en. The laird comes doon frae his castle ha', AVi' loddies, too, sae busk an' braw, For he 's aye the first to toss the ba', An' mak' the sport l)egin ; The fiddler then, an' ba'-men chiel's, Play round the toun-house, lichtsome reels, Wi' callants shoutin' at their heels, For the fun o' Fasten's E'en. Then frae before the toun-house steps, Mid shouts, an" tossing up o' caps. The gowden ba' first u[)ward jiops An' owre their heads does spin ; In earnest then begins the j)lay, While back an' fore they stiagglin' sway, An' lassies cheer an' shout hooray ! P^or the sports o' Fasten's E'en. "FASTEN'S e'en." 115 Then comes the wrestling an' the sport ; 'Mid yells an' cries o' every sort They race pell-mell up lane an' court ; The like was never seen : They toss an' tumble, squeeze an' tear, While hats an' bonnets skim the air, — Nae fun at country hiring fair Beats this at Fasten's E'en. The married men the ba' maun hail, By ringin' wi 't the auld kirk bell, While single chaps rin for the mill To thraw't the happer in ; Sae there the wily lads keep guard By yett an' dyke o' the auld kirk-yaird, To win the laurels there prepared, For the fun o' Fasten's E'en. Then here a sc[uad o' country lads Hae cast awa' their cumbrous duds, Ready for ditches, slaps or wuds. An' for the mill to rin : They stick at neither burns nor stiles, Sae lang 's they win the lassies' smiles, — Nae money prize for them has wiles Like this at Fasten's E'en. An' sae the fun 's kept up until The last ba 's hailed at kirk or mill. An' ilka ane has got his fill 0' that day's sport, I ween ; Then to their hames at toun or stead The lads an' lassies hameward speed. Ilk Jock an' Jeanie as agreed Lang ere this Fasten's E'en. An' then the ba'men wi' their frien's Adjourn to some ane o' the inns. Where langsyne yarns the landlord spins 0' what he 's dune an' seen ; lie. A r.EinVICKSHIRK hahd. An" when the noise an' din hae ceased Then pork an' dumplin' crowns the feast, Washed doon wi' toddy o' tlie best, To wind up Fasten's E'en. HALLOW KivN MKiMOKlES. Come sit ye doon, my auld ^aiidwife, an' let us hae a crack. An' ance mair thro' the bygane years tread memory's storied track ; The happy days o' aidd langsyne, the cloudless an' the free. Come ance mair back to cheer us wi' ilk hallowed memory : For tho' "tis king sin' we, guidwife, left that hame far away, Still a' her scenes o' hill an' dale are dear to us to-day, An' wi' a schule-boy love I still think o' that happy scene. When roun' oor cosy ingle-side we kept oor Hallowe'en. Sic langsyne recollection aft yet my bosom thrills, When thinkin' o' my dear auld hame amid the heather hills: Wi' what licht heart I've sported o'er gowany bank an' brae, When to the auld schule hoose we hied ilk sunny morn away : But no' a happier day we spent, than when we roamed the glen, To hunt for hazel nuts to burn, when hame we got again, Or when, 'mid joke an' ringin' laugh, whilk ilk ane relished keen, We joined the fun-provoking sports in the langsyne Hallowe'en. What happy moments hae I spent on that all hallowed nicht. When lads an' lasses gathered roiui' the ingle burnin' bricht ! When mirth shone oot frae every face, an' a' were hajjpy there, For e'en the auld folks joined us wi' hearts devoid o' care : They joined us in the merry laugh, the gossip an' the sang. An' for ae nicht at least wc drove aw;i' care's withering stang : We blithely listened to their screeds o' Avhat they'd dune and seen On this same nicht, lang years ago, — the auld Scotch Hallowe'en. HOGMANAY. 117 An' Peggy, dae ye min' the time when I was courtin' yon, Those first fond years we aften met oor pledges to renew, When owre the hills I gaily sped to the anld trysting tree, My only thocht, to gain a look an' word o' love frae thee ; When there we wandered lang, an' talked o' days o' comin' joy— For secretly I 'd lo'ed thee, sin' a happy careless boy ; For ye maun min' that nicht, guidwife, some forty years I ween, I dreAv thee as my valentine, that langsyne Hallowe'en 1 Noo Ave are toddlin' doon the hill, an' snne maun reach the fit. Still wi' a glow o' youthfu' fire my auld heart flutters yet, When thinkin' o' that land I lo'e, far, far across the sea. An' the happy days that hae been mine, my ain guidwife, wi' thee ; Noo bairns' bairns roun' us rin, an' pouk thee by the goun. While, wi' the younkers on your knee, I like to hear ye croon Some auld Scotch sang, that aft has brocht the saut tears to my een, Or tell the frolics we hae had on the auld Scotch Hallowe'en. Then let us baud oor Hallowe'en as we were wont to dae Langsyne amang the schule-mates o' the auld hame far away ; We 're nae sae soople 's we hae been, an' canna join the fun, But wi' the bairns aroun' us, we can tell hoo things were dune When you an' I were bairns, too, as blithe as ony here, Wi' burnin' nuts, an' pu'in' stocks, an' ither frolics queer : An' let us hope, guidwife, that ere in death we close oor een. We'll see a few mair winters come to brinjj; us Hallowe'en. 'o HOGMANAY. The year 's noo hirplin' to its close, Seared, totterin', auld an' frail. While we are watchin' for the hour The infant year to hail ; 118 A i;ki;\\ k kshikk jjakd. An' memory hackward tak's a glint To youth's mair happy day, A\'hen we enjoyed the sports an' plays AVe held on Hogmanay. The best o' a' the Guizard time Was ance mair drawin' near, An' mony nichts before, we 'd a3'e Oor costumes to prepare ; While a' oor sangs we maun rehearse An' eke — the time-worn play, 0' "Here comes in (lilashon," wha Gets killed on Hogmanay. Dressed in oor gaudy paper-hats, Wi' sarks ootside ooi- claes, An' mimic swords hung by oor sides, At mirk we took oor ways ; An' first we took the Manse by storm, For there a welcome aye Frae minister to maids we had On ilka Hogmanay. Next to the laird's big-house we ca'ed, Where, in the servants' ha'. We were regaled wi' dainties, that But ance a year we saw. ^^'c sang, an' danced, an' acted there, When, ance mair in the play, A second time Ciilashon fell To hansel Hogmanay. To farm and cottar's hoose we gaed, An' aye a welcome gat, An' when oor sangs an' plays were dune To hamely feast we sat ; An' e'en where pence they could na gie We ne'er were turned away, But aye got rowth o' scones an' cakes To cheer oor Hogmanay. THE BLAEBERRY PLANTIN'. 11^ An' aft adventures, too, we met. As we gaed on oor roun', Wi' muckle merry din Ave made The sharp nicht air resoun' ; As when we tum'led in the burn When crossin' Cothill brae, Till stiffened sarks like coats o' mail Decked us on Hogmanay. Oor guizin' dune at stead an" toun, Where hoose to hoose we sang, We turned oor faces hameward, yet Ne'er thocht the journey lang ; For joke an' story filled the time We speeled up Chousley brae, An' hame owre Crummie Staps we went To finish Hogmanay. For, ken ye that, for years gane bye, Oor village aye had been A central spot, where lads an' queens, On that nicht did convene : Where dancin' in the auld mein-barns Was held till break o' day, When roun' the thorn we tripped a fit To wind up Hogmanay 1 An' noo, far frae that happy scene, I still think o' the past. An' picture scenes that ne'er shall fade While life itsel' shall last ; An' tho' I canna join the sports Wi' frien's noo far away, I live, in memory, ance again The joys o' Hogmanay. THE BLAEBERRY PLANTIN'. AXCE mair I 'm back to the village Green, An' roam owre ilk weel remembered scene. An' yet I canna just trust my een. For there 's something seems awantin' ; ll'O A I'.KItWirKslIllIK lIAIUt. Where luoiiy a s|)ot looks just as before, There are ithers I carina reca' as o' yore, For there seems sic a wonderfii' change come o'ei- Wliat we kcniit'd as the Blael)eny Plantin'. Vet this is the spot I ken tu' weel ; There 's the Hunter's Well, an' the road by the fieP, All" the hedges that aften we used to sjiecl \\ hen the birds in the spring were nestin' ; 'Twas here that we sported when bairns at schule, 'Twas here that as wooers we played the fule, An' trj^stcd the lassies when a' was still, An' the mune was lang shadows castin'. The gean-trees stand by the auld faile dyke, An' the stunted scroggs seem familiar like, Where we liarricd mony a buinmie's byke, 111 the hairst when we watched the shearin' : 'riu'ie "s the jirickly clumps wi' the bonny red rasps, A feast wc shared wi' the birds an' wasps, Familiar scenes that my memory grasps. An' yet 'mid the change, fu' cheerin'. We kenned the nooks where the l)laelicrries grew, Where we could just sit an" big liandfu's pu', An' feast till our hands and lips were blue, An' we stayed till tlie fa' o' the gloamin' : Or we hunted the s(|uirrcls frae tree to tree. As lang as the daylicht wad lot us see. For nae care, nae fear, nae fatigue had we, Th(t' frae mornin' wc had been idaiiiin'. By the benty-knowes where the linties built We rested whiles, an' our stories tell 't, For time wi' our hearts then had lightly dealt, An" nae joy in our lives was wantin' ; An' sae as the shadows began to fa', An' an eerie stillness fell deep owre a', Wc "d saunter hamo by the IJandy Kaw, Frae the gloom o" the Blaeberry Plantin'. Davy's ha'. 1*21 But a change has come owre the dear aukl scene, Nae trees stan' noo where they aye had been, An' the sunlight glints where it ne'er was seen, Where in simmer the shade was sae cheerin'. For the villagers tell o' a fearfu' blast That raged for hours oot the snell Nor-wast, When the sturdy trees were like reeds owrecast. Till it looked like a Yankee clearin'. Few blaeberries noo can be gathered there. The raspberry clumps are stunted an' bare, An' the branches that sheltered the timorou.^ hare Miss the shade o' the spreadin' beeches ; The footpaths we trod are wi' grass owregrown, As through the changed scene Ave wander alone. An' try to reca' a' the landmarks gone, An' muse owre the lesson it teaches. E'en the village itsel' is changed to me. An' its moss-grown ruins I grieve to see. The playmates I loved are far owre the sea. Or lie in the Kirkyard dreary ; I miss the aukl familiar scene O' the youths at play on the village Green, The sturdy bairns that were a' where seen, An' the voices that rang sae cheery. The aukl folks are gane to their lang last rest. Air their children hae sought new hames in the West, The pathways we loved are by feet unpressed, An' the stir an' the life are wantin' ; Few, few are the kent folks, aukl and grey, Xoo waitin' the ca' when they '11 slip away, Like the gnarled stumps that we watch decay, 'Mid the wreck o' the Blaeberry Plantin'. DAVY'S HA'. It s only but a theekit house that stan's beside the byre, A but an' ben, an' plenty room to snuggle roon' the fiie ; An' when the winter storms hae come an' wreathed the roads wi' snaw. The cosiest place to spen' an' hour is up at Davy's Ha'. li'L' A i;ki;\\ K ksiiii:k i;aki>. The Laii-(l liiniscl s ;i caiilii' chid", an' trusty frieii' forbye, A skeilie sort o' body aniang horses, sheep, an' kye ; Besides, he's got ii kindly turn, weel liked by ane an' a', For there's ave a smile aiT cheery word foi- thcni at T)avv's Ha'. There's nae guidwife to fume an' scold if things should ganji aLjee, To lock up press an' cupboard an' appropriate the key ; There's rowth o' a' thine; ane could want, an' sap, whac'er may ca', There is nae hungry welcome ever gi'cn at Davy's Ha', What hamely music I hae heard that made the rafters ring, When ilka ane his turn al)oot wad tell a tale or sing, When eilci' joys that might a halesonic lesson teach : P^or there were nae regrets to come nae after ills ava, But a' was happiness supreme when up at Davy's Ha'. As time rows roun' an' brings the siller glint to mony a pow. We still look l)ack wi' pleasure, an' auld memories fan the I owe : We picture aft the cosie scene ; an' noo, when far awa'. We ne'er forget the pleasant hours we spent at Davy's Ha'. YIDDUM. 123 YIDDUM. Never was there sic a loon As that laddie Yiddum ; He 's the terror o' the toun. Mischief -workin' Yiddum. At the schule or on the Green, At his pranks at morn an' e'en, A' the callants dread 'im ; An' the games they play when there He maun boss the whole affair, Nane daur nay-say Yiddum. Gin a hen or duck gets lamed, Credit 's gi'en to Yiddum ; Right or wrang a' mischief's blamed On the held o' Yiddum. Is it divots on the lums, Tammy-reekies stuffed wi' thrums — Guissies gi'en their freedom ; Turnip-bogles in the dark, Coupit carts, an' a' sic wark. Aye set doon to Yiddum. Gin hard words wad break his banes, Sma' chance then for Yiddum ; But he heeds na a' their sayin's. Wasted breath on Yiddum. Folks aboot the clachan say He '11 aye please himself an' dae As his ain deil bade 'im ; That nae guid will be his end, Gin he no' tak' thocht an' mend — Puir, ill-dreaded Yiddum. But beneath that ragged coat Beats a heart in Yiddum Wadna harm a mouse or stoat — Puir, misca'd wee Yiddum. Tho' deem'd ripe for ony ill. Deep doon in his briest there 's still — Gin ye could but read 'em — l-_'4 A i;i;k\\I(Ksiiii:k i;.\i:i». Kindly feelin's for tlic imir : SuHV'iin' creatures everywhere I''iii(l ;i frion' in ^'i(l(lunl. E'eii the maister at the schnlc Whiles will favour Yicklnni, For he sees lie 's no' a fule — Rattliii', ronipin' Vidduni. When the schule 's in, he 's aye there Kident at his books an' lear, Showin' he's got smeddum ; An' the laddies there maun grind Ear' an' late, to tak' the wind Oot the sails o' Yiddnm. Hut his mither kens him best. She has faith in Yiddum ; Noo his faitlier's gane to rest, She has nane but Vidduni : An' tho' wee an' barely clad — No' owre weel or fairly fed - She will ne'er upbraid him ; An' by look or word he ne'ei- Hurts the heart that lo'es sae dear Her wee curly ^'idduni. Aften will she pray alane For her Ijairnic ^'idduni. That he "11 strcniith an' wisdom irain When a man grows Yiddum : For he 's a' she has to lo'e, An' tho' wild an' tho'tlcss iioo, Aye she tries to lead him In tiie path that's free frae sin, Seekin' council frae abiuie ; Then nae fear for Viddum. There, we "11 let him lin an' pla}', Merry, laucliin" ^'iddl^ll, Sune eneuch will come the day Hringin' care to Yiddum ; GAUN TO THE KIRK AT POLART. 125 An' nae fear but when he grows, Folks, wha owre him shake their pows At the ploys he 's led 'em. Will respect him for his worth Mair than them o' titled birth — Honest, manly Yiddum ! GAUN TO THE KIRK AT POLAET. A Sabbath morn an' a simmer sky, Wi' never a clud aboon us, — Warblin' birds in the groves hard b}^ An' the wild flooers noddin' roun' us ; Ne'er can ye find sic a peaceful scene As comes to me noo at life's sombre e'en. When the villagers step o'er the famous Green As they gang to the Kirk at Polart. The kye are milkit an' afF to the muir, In the care o' the herd an" his collie, An' there isna a soun' to be heard in the air, While mirth wad be waur than folly ; The auld folks, douce in their Sunday rig, The young folks a thocht mair braw an' trig. Come doon the Back an' owre Jockey's Brig, As they gang to the Kirk at Polait. At the schule, the farm folks meet them there, An' exchange their weekly greetin'. An' the same auld topics come up ance mair. As at mony a bygane meetin' ; The weather an' crops are subjects dear. An' the prices o' stock they 're aye pleased to hear, An' it never varies richt thro' the year, As they gang to the Kirk at Polart. They leisurely chat gaun doon the hill — There 's Spadie as brisk as a laddie, An' Wattie ban's roun' his sneeshin'-mull For a pinch o' his famous Taddy ; Ili6 A liEltwirKMiiKi; i;ak1). There's Canny \\ illio frae Vertie's Eaw, Anld John (V the Tafts, an' Davi- frac the Ha', An' ithcr auld folks — 1 conhl name them a' That gaed to the Kirk at Polart. They dauner doon thro' the Packman's Loan, By the phmtin' at Deidiam's Entry, Past Murlie-rig road, an' farther on Where the l)ig palm tree stan's sentry ; The gates are o])en, an' just by the stile, On the kirk-yaird dyke they linger awhile, Or saunter roun' by the ancient aisle, As they gang to the Kirk at Polart. What a quiet spot is the auld kirk-yaird. That is a' thro' the week deserted. Except when some mourner's wail is heard By the grave o' some dear departed ! E'en noo on this joyous Sabbath morn Nae jarrin' noise to the ear is borne. For the talk is as meek as the faces worn When they gang to the Kirk at Polart. The bellman is heaid wi' his ding, ding, dong. High up in the i\y turret. An' they watch the manse folk comin' along. An' wait till they're nearly fori'it ; Then the Laird, wha has driven his ain shanks pair Doon Lounsdale's valley sae still an' fair. Is seen at the steps — an' they a' repair To their seats in the Kirk at Polart. If ye've never been into that famed auld place. It is "woitli your while to see it. For tho' changed, there is many an ancient trace 0' the past that will never lea' it ; There are tal)lets to mony a deid auld laird, v\n' the guid Sir Patrick, wha 's life was spared In the vault, where sweet Grisell nichtly shared His watch, 'neath the Kirk at Polart. > © .J LOUNSDALE HAUGHS. 129 There "s the white-washed cupples un' high-backed seats, The same as langsyne I mind it, Tho' the ivy 's gane that ance hi;ng in pleats An' roun' the auld pu'pit they t-wined it ; I hae seen it sway in the simmer breeze An' attract frae ootside the butterflies : It was something oor boyish n^inds to please, As we sat in the Kirk at Polart. There "s the seat where the beadle, auld John Grant, Sat a' thro' the sermon dozin'. An' snored awa', wi' supreme content, 'Till the service was near the closin' ; An' there was the square auld pew, select For the elders an' deacons — the Kirk's elect. Wham we younkers looked on wi' grave respect, When Ave gaed to the Kirk at Polart. An' weel I remember the lettergae's voice As he gasped an' droned oot the singin'. An', when a' was dune, a skirlin' noise Frae auld Leezie Hogg cam' ringin' ; Nor can I forget the minister's style, Wi' his hamely words an' his kindly smile. An' his prayers that ilk ane kenned the while, Aye the same, at the Kirk at Polart. But the years bring changes amid their train, New customs rise while the auld anes vanish, And saddened feeling-s are mine asrain 'Mong scenes that my mem'ry ne'er can banish. Of the haunts of that long-gone early day I 11 cherish through life this blessed house on the brae, Where my fathers oft met to praise and to pray. In the dear auld Kirk at Polart. LOUNSDALE HAUGHS. How oft in sunny summer days We wandered down the silent dell To gather scroggs, or geans, or slaes, Or pull the primrose on the braes. The foxglove and the pale bluebell. 9 130 A i:ki;\vi(ks}iii;k i;.\i;|). Here, too, when hearts were tuned to love. And nature seemed to share our joy, We trysted in the shady grove To plight our vows, Avhile fancy wove A dream of bliss without alloy. Ah ! that was bliss^whicli could not last, For little then we knew of care ; We thought not that time's withering blast Would wreck our hopes as on it passed, And leave our hearts all bleak and bare. Yet, when I roam again the scene. And see it just as in my pi-ime, I crush the thought — what might have been- And feel a glow of peace within That gilds once more my childhood's time. Bright memories of the past come back. And dear companions round me play ; AVc seek the old familiar track. While laughter light and boyish talk Beguile the sunlit woodland way. And though the clouds of care may loom. Our fancy still will brighter glow ; Away with all despair and gloom, When all our old loved Howerets bloom, And zephyrs whisper soft and low. Who could be sad in such a spot. Where beauty smiles on every hand. Where blooms the sweet forget-me-not. Where lilies on the waters Hoat, And pebbles glisten 'mid the sand 1 It were unfitting I should bring A tear or sigh to such a spot ; Nay, round it still let memory cling To brighten all, as time's Heet wing Brings age and sorrow as my lot. BYGUNE DAYS. 131 Then fare-thee-well ; and if denied To roam again thy banks and braes, I '11 cherish with a miser's pride These flowers, when o'er the ocean wide ; They '11 bring me back my childhood days. BYGONE DAYS. Oft at evening when I wander Where the sun's last beams are shed, And the t-\\dlight star is beaming With silvery rays o'erhead. Then a sadness comes upon me As, in fancy's eye, I see Those happy bygone days, O'er which my memory strays, When we sung our merry lays 'Neath the greenwood tree. In the sombre voiceless watches Of darkness and repose, When my tired limbs are aching, And my weary eyelids close, Then away in airy dreamland, 'Neath brightest skies, I see Those happy bygone days, O'er which my memory strays. When we sung our merry lays 'Neath the greenwood tree. In the city's noise and bustle, In its never-ceasing strife. For my daily bread I wrestle In this battle-field of life ; Yet 'mid all its toil and turmoil My fancy oft would flee Away to bygone days. O'er which my memory strays, ^^ hen we sung our merry lays 'Neath the greenwood tree. 132 A r.Ki;\vi(Ksiiii;K kakd. 'Mid the pleasure-seeking party And happy festal throng. I have watchd the whirling dancers Or listen'd to the song : Yet oft there came this feeling 'Mid all such revi-lrv, A longing for the days, O'er which my memory strays, "\\'hen we sung our merry lays 'Neath the greenwood tree. Far from home and friends residing, Tho' enchanting be the scene, It cannot this sad spirit From the by-past moments wean ; For they only keep reminding Of those scenes, where fain I 'd be. And those cloudless bygone days, O'er which my memory strays, AMien we sung our merry lays 'Neath the greenwood tree. When I seek to read the future By the cheering hope-lit beams Of that blissful time that's coming Foretold in poets' dreams, Then 1 cannot help recalling Those times so gay and free, When in the bygone days, O'er which my memory strays. We sung our merry lays 'Neath the greenwood tree. Uut however blight the present. However full my joy, I have not that airy buoyancy Of the careless laughing boy ; My hap})iness is fleeting, And like that bursting glee BYGONE DAYS. 133 Of those sunny bygone days, O'er which my memory strays, When we sung our merry lays 'Neath the Erreenwood tree. o^ Now, as alone I ponder Upon that sunny past. There 's a bright unclouded picture On fancy's vision cast ; In such my happiest moments, With throbbing heart, I see Those scenes of bygone days. O'er which my memory strays. When we sung our merry lays 'Neath the greenwood tree. II. Ibanic Saiujs. • It 's hanie, an' it 's hame, hame fain wad I be, An it's hame, hame, hame to my ain countrie." — Allan Cnnmn(]ham. " O ! let us ne'er forget cm- hame, Auld Scotland's hills and cairns, And let us a', where'er we be, Aye strive to be guid bairns. We "11 ne'er forget that glorious land Where Scott and Burns sung— Their sangs are printed on our hearts — In our auld mither tongue." — Andreio Waiiless. II. HAME SA^GS. ST. ANDREW'S DAY. Come, neebour Scots, ance mair forgather To celebrate wi' ane anither The memories o' the land o' heather, Tho' far away. An' toast oor Patron's name together, — St. Andrew's Day. Come, lassies, wi' your witchin' smiles, Again to cheer wi' Avomen's wiles; Come, labourers, frae your cares an' toils, Ance mair be gay, An' share the joy which aye beguiles St. Andrew's Day. Here mony a son o' Scotia's hills, Forgettin' a' his griefs an' ills, This day will range the glens an' dells Far, far away ; For 'tis a time ilk bosom thrills, — St. Andrew's Day. Nor dae we meet alane to think happy times, or toasts to drink ; A' ye wha mourn at poortith's brink Will find us aye Prepared to honour wi' the chink, St. Andrew's Diiy. 138 A r.KKWK KSIIIIIK I'.AlUi. W'c iiH'ct to talk o' what's been dune The poor frae pinchin' want to win, To keep the wolf, he 't del)t or dun, Frae 's door away, Till frae his heart he bless our ain St. Andrew's Day. We meet to wipe the widow's tear, Wha mourns o'er husband's early bier ; Her heart to lichten, she maun share Oor chai'it}'. Till blessin' a' in iieartfelt praA'ei-, St. Andrew's Day. Or she oppressed wi' poverty, Wha kings her frien's ance mair to see ; Make glad, when we can set her free, Her poa-bound way. To thank, when liume across the sea, St. Andrew's Day. Or they wha've sutl'ered poortiths ills Amang their native heather hills, An' come amang us sturdy chiel's To push their way, \\ ill ne'er forget, when fortune smiles, St. Andrew's Day. There's no' a da}' in u" the year We greet wi' sic a hearty cheer ; For Scotia's sons frae far an' near Their hearts obey, To hand oor i'atron saint aye dear, St. Andrew's Day. Vine east to west, baith south an' north. In ilka corner o' the earth, Will Scotsmen gie in joyous mirth Theii- feelin's play, To celebrate oor Patron's hirth, St. Andrew's Day. THE THISTLE. 139 An' in oor ain Dominion land, Frae forest wild to sea-girt strand, Scotsmen will meet, a mighty band, Respect to pay, When " chill November " brings to hand St. Andrew's Day. Oor wives an' dochters, too, maun greet This hallowed time wi' honours meet ; An' bairnies, too, maun hae their treat. An' grannies gray Tell hoo they kept langsyne the great St. Andrew's Day. Then let us hope that mony a year We lang may meet ilk ither here, Oor jokes to crack, oor questions spier, An', blithe an' gay. To welcome Avi' a joyous cheer St. Andrew's Day. An' in this land for years to come. While bui'nies rin, an' forests bloom. When hearts are sad an' pooches toom. Let nae ane say We failed to free frae grief an' gloom St. Andrew's Day. THE THISTLE. While memory backward tracks the time Sin' first I trod a foreign clime. In fancy aft the hills I climb Where waves proud Scotia's thistle ; By knowe an' cairn, by mead an' moor. By linn an' loch, by glen an' shore. My childhood's scenes I aft explore 'Mang heather, fern, and thistle. 140 A i;i:i;\\irKsiiii:K r.\i:i>. Hoo aft, in boyliood's sunny days, I've skelpit barefit o'er the braes. An' little carod tlio' heels and taes Were tanglin' \vi' the thistle : Or when its summer bloom was past, An' downy feathers wayward cast, I've grieved that imtumii's thieving blast Should bare the l)oiini(' thistle. I carena for your garden flowers, Sae trim an' neat in ladies' bowers ; There's anc aboon them a" that towers. The stalwart bearded thistle : Noo noddin' to the surly breeze, Noo hid beneath the hazel trees, Noo sunward baskin' where the bees Sip honey frae the thistle. Tiie flowers may languish in the field, \\ hen simmer days nae showers may yield ; It needs nae plantin's shade or beild. The hardy, burly thistle : Tho' sharp an' keen the blasts may blaw. An' ither flowers mav fade an' fa', It rears its head aboon them a'. The sturdy l)eai'dc(l tliistle. The sun may glint wi" a' its power. An' clouds deny the fresh'ning shower : Tho' dewdrops at the gloamin' hour Begem nae blade or thistle. Still nourished by its native earth, Defiantly it branches forth, Tho' bendin' 'neath the biting north, Still bravely wags the thistle. When warlike hordes cam' owre the main, Wi' hopes o' concpiest an' o' gain, A city's slumberers wad been slain If 't hadna l)een the thistle. THE THISTLE. 141 While barefit, for surprise prepared, They steal upon the drowsy guard, A warnin' cry o' pain was heard — Their curses on the thistle. An' so the thistle proved to be The guardian o' oor liberty ; Then wha can ever doot that we Are proud o' Scotia's thistle 1 On mountain heights it rears its head, Proudly an' stern, as if it said, " For Scotia's cause ye ne'er may dread, Sae lang's ye lo'e the thistle." Sae when we see its sturdy form. Aft bent an' toss'd before the storm, Oor hearts to Scotia's heroes warm, Sae like their native thistle : Tho' aft assailed by war's rude blast. When broadside Mars' red bolts were cast, They cam' triumphant forth at last, Unconquered, like the thistle. What tho' oor hardy mountaineer May rough and rugged still appear To pamper'd fools wha scoff an' sneer At ScQftia's cherish'd thistle ! Tho' hearts that beat 'neath silken gown Were saft as fleece or thistledoon. Still warm as breath o' balmy June Are hearts that lo'e the thistle. Here, parted frae oor sea-girt hame Still dotin' on auld Scotia's name, Oor hearts leap up wi' boundin' flame At mention o' the thistle. Her name, her fame to us are dear, Undimm'd by wealth an' fortune here ; We '11 teach oor children to revere The land Avhere wags the thistle. 142 A I'.KRWH'KsiiiKK i;ai;i). At times my lieait i.s uftcn fain To cross aiice mair the trackless main An' roam my native hills again, Where bonnie blooms the thistle, If l)ut a glint 'twere mine to see. Ere death's cauld hand had closed my e'e, That my last restin' place might be Beneath the waving thistle. IT'S HAKl) TO LEAVE THE IIAME. It 's hard to leave the hame Where sae mony years we 've been, It 's hard to leave auld f rien's, An' the pairtin' grief is keen ; Tho' the prospects may be bricht. An' the frien's we meet are dear, We '11 miss the kindly hearts We kenn'd for mony a year. It 's hard to leave the hame Where we 've sae happy been, An' wander far awa' Frae the auld hame on the Green. The thochts o' ither scenes May lure us for awhile ; An' tho' to thom wo meet We wear a happy smile, Deep down within our hearts A wae that rankles keen, When fareweels maun be .said To the auld hame on the Green. It 's hard to leave the hame, etc. We visit each dear spot ^\'ht'n i)aiitiM' time tlraws nigh, An' each familiar nook We leave wi' mony a sigh ; I LOVE TO DREAM OF HOME. 143 When frien'ship's ties are rent, An' last fareweels are said, The sunshine o' our life Seems then for ever fled. It 's hard to leave the hame, etc. But distance ne'er can keep Our thochts frae lingerin' here, Nor time efface the bonds That made each scene sae dear ; An' tho' we ne'er return To view that hallowed spot, The frien's we leave behind Will never be forgot. It 's hard to leave the hame, etc. I LOVE TO DREAM OF HOME. I LOVE to dream of home, Of kind friends far away, 'Tis then sweet mem'ries come, Like morning's cheering ray, Which from my drooping heart Dispel all care and gloom, And soothin' joj^s impart; Oh I happy dreams of home. Oh ; happy dreams of home, Around my pillow come, And tell me of the loving ones Who think of me at home. I love to dream of home, In fancy's pleasing reign, With loving friends to roam. And share their joys again ; Or sport in boyish glee By mead and sylvan scene, As oft in days when we Roamed o'er the village Green. Oh ! happy dreams of home, etc 144 A r.KitwicKsiiiKK i;.\i:ii. I love to (liL-am of homo. Sweet home, — oh 1 li:i})[)y tliemc When morning dawn is eome, To tell nie 'twas a dream ; I often wish 'twas moie, That I indeed were there. Within that cottage door, Their ha{)|)incss to share. Oh I happy dreams of home, etc. I love to dream of home, And though 1 never meet Those friends of j'outh, or roam Those scenes so fair and sweet : Yet, till my dying day, Whatever sorrows come, Till memory's decay T ']] love to dream of home. Uh ! happy dreams of home, etc. HAME SICK. I 'm wearin' doon the hill o' life, an' sune maun reach the fit \Vi' feeble step I toddle roun', or by the ingle sit : While in sweet dreams o' langsyne days the time slips saft- For my heart's awa' across the sea, 'mang scenes o' infancy; An' tho' for moiiy years I've been a wanderer frae her shores, Wi' stronger love as death draws neai;, I lo'e her glens an' moors, An' my heart is often hame-sick for ae look owrc fell an flood, Or a breath o' Scotland's mountain air that tires the patriot's blood. Just five an' fifty years gane by sin' I left hame an' fricn's ; A sonsy, In-awny chiel' 1 was, tho' only in my teens ; I 'd listened tales, an' conned owre Uuiks which fanned the youthfu' flame. To see the wide warld for mysel' an' seek a foreign hame ; HAME-SICK. 145 An" sin" that day owre mony lands my Aveary steps 1 've traced, Yet still the love o' childhood's scenes has never been effaced, But stronger grown ; wi' failin' 3'ears my ae desire has been To see the hame I left langsyne ere death has closed my een. The snaws o' age hae frosted owre my hafiets thin an' bare. An' my een grow dim an' feeble as the gloamin 's dra^vin' near : But my soul on wings o' fancy seems to break its bands o' clay. An' to revel in the dreamland o" the auld hame far away ; An' bonnie are the visions that licht my soul at times, Far grander than the boasted scenes o' myrtle-scented climes : They "re the scenes o' childhood's cloudless years, my native banks an' braes. Where I roved, a fair-haired laddie, wi' the frien's o' ither days. In fancy's e'e I'm ance again a laddie 'mang the lave. An' climb the mist-clad mountains where the ferns an' heather wave : Or listen to the music o' the bonnie wimplin' burns, Oi' the sough 0' simmer breezes amang the mossy cairns : 'Mang a' the favourite neuks we kenn'd, by meadow, hill an' glen, Wi' lichtsome heart, an' boundin' step, I rove them ance again. Or wi' a fond expectant heart I seek the trystin' tree Where first I met my life's ae love, now lost to earth an' me. Deep in my heart's most inward neuk vn' miser care I prize Auld Scotland's hallowed scenes where famed historic memories rise, — Her battlefields — dear cherished spots — where our fore- fathers bled. Victorious owre their country's foes, by Bruce an' Wallace led,— 10 14(; A i;ki:\vi<'ksiiii;e r.AKit. Ur the lom.'ly, wild, ruiiKUiLic .spots, hy niouiituiii, ^deii or liill, Where the Coveiiaiitcrs worshipp'd \vi' Peden an' Cargill, — Or waukeiiin" sadder memories — by mony a hme hill-side. The moss-clad eainis which mark the sjiot where Scotland's martyrs died. Wliile croonin' owre .some aiild Scotch sang, some lilt o' happier days, I seem to be among the scenes where Burns ance tuned his lays — Those deathless sangs which find a chord in ilka Scotch- mans l)riest, AVhene'er wi' joy elated, or e'er wi' grief oppress'd ; Or I wander, sad and pensive, by mony a grove an' rill. The scenes o' plaintive melody — the haunts o' Tannahill, — Or by the banks o' bonnie Tweed, wi' i)ilgrim step.s, I hie, A\'here sang the Border Minstrel, Scott, — high priest o' chivalry. At times I'm dow an' dreary, an' the tear-drap dims my e'e, Wi" the thocht that this, my last desire, may be denied to me : din sic the will o' heaven be, I'll huml)ly bow my heid, Contented, in a foreign land, to lay me Avi' the dcid ; But AA hile I 'm to the fore, I "11 ne'er forget the langsyne days, When 1 roamed amang the heather, or speeled the gowany braes ; Nor cease to hae a Scotchmans pride in ilka honoured name. That frae the path o' puirtith rose to win a lastin" fame. My weary life has been as fu' o' crosses as my plaid, All" welcome will be rest at last when 'mang the mools I 'm laid ; But oh ! gin I could hae my wi.sh, how peacefu' could I die I Tho' there were nanc to drap a tear, or heave a sigh for me: For I think Id sloc]) sae sweetly wi' the heather owre my heid, An" the bluebells droopin' lowly as if to innm n me deid. Could my last desire be granted ere the thread o' life is riven ; For ae sicht o' bonnie Scotland were like a glint o' heaven. I :my hame across the sea. 147 MY BOYHOODS HAME. My boyhood's hame, how dear to me I My heart enshrines each sacred scene ; Ance mair I see the hawthorn tree, Ance mair I roam the A'illage green : An' dear companions roun' me play As happy as in the days o' yore. An' auld frien's noo beneath the clay, I see beside the cottage door. My boj^hood's hame, my boyhood's hame, Oh I a' its scenes are dear to me ; Where'er my lot, to that dear spot My fancy wanders o'er the sea. I conjure up the hallowed scenes, Bricht wi' the sunshine o' youth's prime, I converse "wi' the langsyne frien's, Still young to me tho' scaured wi' time. We roam ance mair the whinn}' knowes, We speel ance mair the gowany braes, Wi' ne'er a care to cloud oor brows, Or storm to mar oor sunny days. My boyhood's hame, etc. What "s a' the gear that years hae brocht I Or a' the honours we hae won ! Can they bestow the cheery thocht When doon life's brae oor course has run 1 Na, na ; we willingly wad gie Oor hoarded pelf, or hard won prize, Oor boyhood's hame ance mair to see, An' feel again youth's cloudless joys. Mv boyhood's hame, etc. MY HAME ACROSS THE SEA. I 'ye heard you speak o' sunny lands An' far-aff Southern bowers, 1 "ve heard you sing in loyal strains " This Canada of ours " ; 148 A P.Kr.WK'KSlllUK l'.Ai;i». Hut there's a laiul "Ijuou a' the lave That 's dearer far to rae, Scene I)' my happy chihlhood's hours, My hame across the sea. Tho' lang an' mouy a day since I Bade hame an' fricn's fareweel, Yet aften dearest memories Will fondly o'er nic steal ; An" hring me back the loved o' youth, The happy an' the free, A\'ha aft my joys an' sorroAvs shared 111 my hame across the sea. I canna stop the tear that fa's When thinkin' o' the past. An' youth's dear frien's noo scattered wide Like leaves in winter's blast ; Or they wha sleep their laiii:; last rest Beneath some kirkyard tree, Yet link my heart still closer to My hame across the sea. Tho' here I 've found a happy hame. An' frien's 1»aith leal an' true. Yet noo when wearin' doon the hill, An' sune maun bid adieu To a' I dearly lo'e on earth. My only wish would be. To rest beneath my native sod In my hame across the sea. FAR FRAE HAM H. Far awa' in mony lands, Fricn's we kenn'd in )»yi,'ane days, Hameward turn to happier times Spent aniang their native braes ; A' the pleasures life may bring, P>e it honour, wealth, or fame, Canna till the void they feel In their hearts wln'ii far frac hame. SANGS ha:me. 140 Chijrus — Far frae hame the dear anes wander In bright lands across the faem, And our thochts are wi' them ever, Dearer noo wlicii far frae hame. Think they o" the humble cot, ]\Ieadows where as bairns they played, Flowery glens, and wimplin' burns, Muirland hills wi' heather clad ; Pictured in their fancy's e'e A' thing just remains the same. Only that these scenes sae dear Grow still dearer far frae hame. Scotia's sons, wherever met, Love to ponder owre the past, And reca' the sunny days When nae cloud o' care owrecast ; A' was sweet contentment then, Present joys compared are tame. Even the dreams o' bygane days Bring them comfort far frae hame. Can Ave wonder when thev meet, Auld-time thochts come back sae clear, Memories o' the youthfu' days Spent 'mid scenes for aye held dear ! Hazel bower, an' flowery nook, Lichted wi' their love's first flame, Fancy pictures bonnier still, Noo when pairted far frae hame. SANGS 0' HAME. Far frae the land I lo'e sae weel, Across the ocean's faem, A soothin' sense o' joy I feel At pictured scenes o' hame ; The hallowed spots where martyrs fell, For freedom and for right, Tlie ruined towers that yet can tell 0' mony a gallant fight. 150 A liKinVICKi^IllKK i;\l!D. Then sing to me the sangs o hamc That tell ;mlnt I will pray, that come Avhat may, 1 "11 see "t ])efore I die. My heart is hame in Scotland, Beside her gowany braes, An' there in dear nuld Scotland I 'd peacefu" end my days. SCOTIA'S SANGS. AiT I think on bygane days. When my heait was blithe an' gay ; When I joined the canty thrang In the auld hame far away. Noo I'm gettin' auld an' stiff, Canna join the merry Hing; A' the better I enjoy Hearin' sweet young voices sing "Scots wha hae'' or "Afton Water," " Kuiks o' Doon " or " Craigielca " : When I hear them lilted sweetly, Childhoods days come back to me. ^^ony a time when care an' dool Fling their shadow owre the heart, A' the cheery sunshine gane, A' the simmer frien's depart, Dai'k an' dreary seems the gate We maun be resigned to gang ; But the sunshine a' comes back When we hear a canty sang. WHERE THE HEATHER IS IN BLOOM. 153 "Duncan Gra}- " or "Kate Daliymplc,'' "Tibbie Fowler o' the glen" : Auld-time lilts sae clear to boyhood, Mak' me think I'm vouncr asjain. Can we wonder Scotia's sons, AVha hae wandered owre the faem, Like to hear their mither tongue, Or the cherished sangs o' hame 1 Aft I've seen the exile's joy, When some word or note was heard, Movin" him to smiles or tears, As his soul the music stirred. "Scotland yet" or "Dainty Davie," " Lassie, lay thy loof in mine," Banish a' the present sorrows In the joys o' " Auld Langsyne." WHERE THE HEATHER IS IN BLOOM. When the summer sun is shining Sweetly over land and sea. Then my heart, for Scotland pining, Longs for mountain, mead, and lea. Far my ardent feet would wander From the city's strife and gloom, Where the crystal streams meander And the heather is in bloom. Chorus — Sweetly blooming, breeze perfuming. Wood notes Avild, from brier and broom. Sunlight glancing, streamlets dancing, Where the heather is in bloom. Far in distant lands, the wand'rer Backward looks across the foam, For the fairest scenes of grandeur Cannot dim his love of home. Proudly he will tell the story To the children at his knee. Of his country's pride and glory. Of her struggles to be free. — Chorus. l'"'-l A llKKWK KSIIlltK I;AK1>. Deep within my l)i)Som dwelling Is tlie lo\(' of cliildlio'td's srcnes, And my hcait with i;ij)ture -swelling Beats responsive to the strains Df the love songs true and tender, Tieasured in my memory's store ; Then, in fancy oft I wander O'er the heath-clad hills once more. — Chorus. AXCE MAIK AMANG THE HEATH KK. Ance mair amaiig the heather Fain wad I like to Ije, Awa' frae a' the city's din. Its vice an' misery ; To where the fresh'nin' breezes lilaw. Where flow the limpid sti-tvims. That thro" the winters gloomy hours I 've visited in dreams. Ance mair amang the heather, A' carkin' cares forgot, I'd siTig as blithe 's the woodland birds, An just sic luunely note ; Nae foreign lilts could charm me there Like Scotia's sangs sae dear, Or Xatur(('s music, waftod on To please the listcnin' ear. Ance mair amaiig the heather I 'd wander withoot aim, A\'hei'ever faticy led me on, For tluMc I \\ bo at hame : The bluel)clls notldin' 'mang my feet, The brackens on the braes. By moorland glens Avhere in cor youth We gathered nuts ati' slacs. Ance mair amang the heather, I 'd seek nae happier state. Nor wad I envy rich or hie. The titled or the great : I MUST COME BA(;K. 15& I 'd lea' a' warldly thochts aside, An' wi' contentment see Xae object but the Heecy clouds Between heaven's blue an' me. I MUST COME BACK. Far though I wander away from the spot Dear to my heart as the home of my youth, Not one dear nook have I ever forgot, Xor friends who once plighted their honour and truth; And though those dear ones have wandered afar. Or lie calm at rest near the sweet hallowed scene, My heart fondly yearns for the dear home once more^ And I must come back to the old village green. It does my heart good, as the years go by, To visit the spot I loved as a boy ; Sunshine once more lights up the fair scene Of the dear old village green. Fortune has favoured, and fortune has frowned ; Sadness and joy have been mine in the past ; Sometimes my lot with prosperity crowned. Or again Avith the dark clouds of failure o'ercast ; But thi-ough it all has my heart, ever true. Clung to the memories that welcomely come, Bringing me only life's rosiest hue, As Imckward I turn to the dear old home. So, sweetly again let me taste of the joy That gilded my life when an innocent boy ; With light step again I would Avillingly roam B}^ the dear old cottage home. Let me forget all the sorrow and tears That well might have blighted my heart once so gay,. If it were not the glamour of youth's sunny years That still can dispel the dark shadows away ; Let me drive back all the falsehood and shame That over life's pathway stern destiny wove; To feel once again friendship more than a name, I must come back to old friends that I love. 156 A I'.KinvicKsHiitK i;ai;i>. Then, let me meet with the friends I once knew, Faithful and loving, kind-hearted and true : Nor will I seek from that haven to rove. From the dear i)ld friends I love. WE HAE BEEN LANG ACQ LENT! Oh ! sad 's the pairtin' ony day \\'hen frien's maun say fareweel, Maybe to n>eet nae mair, Avha kens, As time rows aft" the reel. An' sadder still gin pairtin's come When they've ilk ither kent Sin' they were bairns, an' can wi' pride Say, we've been lang uctiuent. When far frae hamc in ither lands My heart Avad hameward turn, While fancy wad reca' ilk scene, O' gowan, brae, or burn ; An' when a frien'ly letter came, By some auld cronie sent, The tears wad fa' as tho'ts reca' That we'd been lang acquent. When simmer cdmcs wi' smilin" scenes ( )' l)lo()min' hill an' glen, 1 111 fain to seek auld Scotia's shores, An" wander there again : An' when lang-pairted fi'ien's we meet, Whas lives afar are spent. We grasp the kindly han', an' say, We hae been lang ac(juent. An' noo, when time has left its mark. An' we've owre-tai)ped the brae, The dear auld friens wc loed sae weel Are slippin' fast away ; An' as the sant tears tricklin' fa' Owre heart-ties rudely rent. Our grief is deeper at the thocht That we've been lang ac([uent. HOME OF YOUTH, I LEAA'E THEE. 15T HOME OF YOUTH, I LEAVE THEE. Home of youth, I leave thee, To Avander far away ; And, thousch sad to sav farewell To each stream and flowery dell, I cannot stay. No ! though starts the bitter tears, Still I must depart ; And those scenes so fair and glad. With emotions strange and sad Fill mj' heart. I must leave you, friends of youth, Though we 've sported oft together, And have ever happy been. By the mead or moorland scene, 'Mid the heather. Father, mother, all, good-bye ! Loved of home, where'er I be. Look upon my vacant chair. Think of him who once sat there — Pray for me. Thus cheer'd on in life's rough way, Never shall I once repine ; Though misfortune's clouds surround me, Though the darts of sorrow wound me, Hope is mine. On I'll wander, hoping ever, Seeking help from God above ; He will hear my humble prayer, He will be my guide where'er I may rove. Home of youth, I leave thee ! Now each shady dell, Purling streamlets, flowery dales, Hazel bowers, and winding vales, All, farewell ! 158 A 1',kknvif ycjirs o' toil an' care, An' snnflered Avandeiin's here an' there, AVliat joy in life will e'er compare Wi' nioiiioiits sweet, As hands are kindly clasped ance niair, \\'hen auld fiien's meet ? The past may hae its share o' gloom. An' storm-tried thro' the blasts we 've come, The joy-strings o' oor hearts be dumb. Vet chords fu' sweet Will in oor withered hearts find room. When auld frien's meet. We'll skip the intervening time To days Avhcn, in oor youth an' prime, Again the gowany braes we'll climb, Wi' tireless feet, While fancy conjures scenes sublime, When auld frien's meet. An' tho' the scaurs o' age we bear, The wrinkled broo, the scanty hair, We '11 banish tho'ts o' dool an' care Frae memory's seat. An' nurse oor present joys the mair, When auld fi-icn's meet. We'll con owre a' the l)ygane days When we ran bare-fit doun the braes, As simmer sun or autumn haze Made life complete ; Nae clouds shall dim life's cherished rays When auld frien's nu'ct. \\ c 11 l)anish thots o' winter drear, Or gloomy way-gaun o' the year. When woods were bare an' leaves lay sear 'Neath snaw an' sleet, An" picture oidy scenes that cheer, A\'hen auld frien's meet. THE WEE ANES AT HAME. 163 Nae time is this for cauldrife wae, Black blasts o' grief to chill oor day ; I 'd rather think o' sunny May, An' flowerets greet, That come to deck the leafy spray, When auld frien's meet. Tho' we hae climbed life's rugged hill Since days when we were mates at schule, An' gained a place we try to fill In ways discreet, Ance mair we'll just be Rab an' Will, When auld frien's meet. Tho' thou hast gained an honoured place, That baith vour worth an' learnin' "race. While! was hampered in the race An' met defeat, As equals still noo face to face, When auld frien's meet. An' aye, at least when met as noo The auld-time memories to renew, We '11 wipe the intervening view Frae afi' life's slate. An' firmly cling to joys too few, When auld frien's meet. Again we part, perhaps nae mair To meet for mony a weary year ; But should kind Heaven oor lives but spare, We may repeat These soul-communings, aft owre rare, When auld frien's meet. THE WEE ANES AT HAME. 'Mang a' life's enjoyment there 's naething can cheer Sae weel as the love o' our bairnies sae dear ; Tho' humble the cottage that shelters us a', We 're happier, maybe, than them at the Ha' : They hae wealth that we haena, are prood o' their name ; But our riches we count in the wee anes at hame. 10 J A bki;wi(Ksiiii;k u.vitn. Chorus — The woo aiies ;it hiiinc, The dear aiies at hanie, Aye blithe are we there wi' Tho wee anes at h;inio. Far doon in the depths o' our hearts there 's a spot Kept free frae the gross things that darken our lot ; Nae rank weeds are there, but the fairest o' flowers, An' the sunshine o" hamc-love illumines the bowers ; But the sunshine wad be but a puir cauldrife Hanie That Avaukened nae joy for the wee anes at hanie. The sodgei- wlia fechts for his country an' Queen In lands far awa" frae his ain hills sac green, When dangers surround him, an' death may be near, His thochts aften turn to the hame-land sae dear ; He seeks na the guerdon o' honour or fame. But is nerved to the strife for the wee anes at hame. The sailor wha faces the storms o' the deep, In lang weary vigils his watch has to keep, "J'is then that the stai's peepin' out fiae the lift Kemind o' the dear native hanie he has left ; For th(^ same stars that ulint on the crest o' the faem \\'atch owro the dear forms o' the woo anes at hame. The cottar wha toils thro" the rain an tin' snaw. In lang weary days has this comfort thro' a' ; It's no' for himsel' that he struggles sae sair, But the hame-ties that cheer him, an' drive otl' despair. Are the nestlin's sae helpless, wha rightly lay claim To the bread he maun win for the wee anes at hame. Oh ! what wad this life be to niony wha toil. Tiiat the rich may enjoy a" tin; fruits o' the soil, Wha thro' the lang year drudge the same dreary loun', An' iirudiffd e'en tlie bite that their sair toil has \\. Hoo nioiiy times slie wished ance mair To tread the heath-clad bi-aes, Ance niair to hao a i^lint o' hame, An" there to end her days : An' while her heart wad dwell on this, An" saiit tears dim her e'e, She "d say : " I 'm owre auld noo for that Na, na ! it canna l)e." Vet while the lamp held on tu burn, An' memory held its sway, Wi' fondest love she aft recalled The auld hame far away ; She gloried in its spotless fame, Its fights in freedom's cause, Its martyr heroes wha laid doon Their lives for rii'hteous laws. Alas I that wish was neer attained : Death cut the vital thread ; An" noo beneath the maj>le l)OUghs She rests amang the dead. But while oor memory aft recalls That humble, honoured name, We'll think o' her in youth renewed, In a brighter, fairer hame. THK CI.OAMIN" 11 on J. Al' tlie witchin' hour o' iiiclit I hae watched wi' strange delight Thii twinklin' stars that stud the lift sae hie : I hae listened to the cry O' the howlets far an" nigh, Or the wind's weird sough in leafy bush an' tree I hae seen the rosy dawn. When the gowan-dotted lawn Showed dewy gems on ilka blade and flower ; l>ut I 've folt a sweeter spell In Lounsdale's leafy dell, \\'hen wanderin' at the fairy gloamin' hour. BY THE BURXIE SIDE. 169 In childhood's happy days, 'Mid primrose-speckled braes, AVe 'd wander there an' sport the hale day lang ; We heeded na time's flicht, Until the shades o' nicht Reminded o' the hameward road to gang ; E'en then the day seemed short For our pleasure an' oor sport, All' sweir were we to lea' oor fairy bower ; Tho' warned ere we went there, An' cautioned to be sure To be hame afore the shadowed gloamin' hour. But the happiest days o' a' That oor memory can reca', AVere when as lovers aft we wandered there, An' whispered vows were made Beneath the hazel's shade. An' love's first kiss was bliss beyond compare. E'en noo, when youth has gane, An' we wander there alane, Oor fancy can reca', wi' soothin' power, The blissfu' times noo gane, AAhen, as lover or as wean, We dreamed or sported thro' the gloamin' hour. BY THE BURNIE SIDE. There 's a little cottage stands By the burnie side, An' the droopin' willow bends AA here its pure waters glide ; It is but a humble cot AA^i' a bonnie garden plot, An' I 've aye a welcome got By the burnie side. The folk are leal an' true By the burnie side, AA^hile we fin' true frien's sae few As we roam the warl' wide ; 170 A r.KinVirKsillKK I'.AKh. But it's there I aye rej)air, Ilka day that I can spare, For tlu're's aye a kind word there, liy the Ijuriiio side. They mak' nae pretence to show By the burnie side, An' they may be reckoned slow By the crowds that past them ride ; Their speech may l)e uncouth To the wall's eais foi sooth, ]>ut it has the rinj; o' truth By the burnie side. The}' haena wealth, I own. By the burnie side ; But the C^ueen upon the throne Has less cause foi- honest pride ; For the helpless and the poor Find a welcome at their door, An' a share o' what 's in store By the burnie side. Frae the warl's cares I'd Hco To the burnie side ; An' frae frien's baith promi an' hie I Avad be cf)ntent to bide. Gin 1 could but hae a share 0' the peace that's reigniii' there. Free frae fashion's jminp ;iii' uhui'. By the burnie side. 'llicii )iiy blessin' on that cot By the burnie side ; Fvcr happy be their lot, \\ hatcver may betide ; An' w Iicii ca'd this earth to lea', !May their welcome yonder be As kind as that to me 1)V the bm-nie side. COME AGAIN. 171 ON THE ROAD HAME. After the wearisome toils o' the day, When mirk nicht sets in, and a lang road to gae, Tho' bleak the surroundin's, my heart's in a flame ; For the love-licht 's afore me, I 'm on the road hame. Hard tho' my toil be, an' scanty my fare, Wi' health an' guid spirits, I whistle at care ; The joys o' the city to me a' seem tame When the wife an' the weans ken I m on the road hame. Oot in the mornin' aft ere the day breaks, I think na o' hardships when dune for their sakes ; Tho' while shafts o' care seem to mak' me their aim, I shake ofl^" the load when I 'm on the road hame. In the mornin' o' life, like the laddies to schule, Sae sweir to start oot, an' owre late as a rule ; When schule tasks are owre, o'd, they no' seem the same,. They 're sae frisky an' cheery, when on the road hame. Aft in life's journey we '11 iind a stay brae, That tries us gey sair wi' the burdens we hae ; Yet thro' mirk an' mud, tho' we gang tired an' lame, We hae this consolation — we 're on the road hame. Auld age creeps on us, the winter draws near ; But why should we think o' death's comin' wi' fear 1 If back owre the past we can look withoot shame. We '11 be welcomed wi' joy Avhen at last we get hame. COME AGAIN. These are cheery words of welcome. Like some sweet old song's refrain, And we love to hear them uttered By some loved voice : Come again. Chorus — Welcome ever will you be While your friendship we retain. These our parting words to thee — Come again, come again. A I'.KinvH'KsiintK i; \m>. There are memories that we cherish Which the heart loves to retain, With the hand-clasp of affection, And the kindly : Come again. What thon^di distance now mav sever Fiicnds we left across the mam, Oft in fancy's ear we listen To the dear words : Come again. While amid our joys and sorrows, Hours of pleasure or of pain, This fond memory still delights us, Fare-thee-well,— but Come again. Though the j^ears bring many changes. Days we ne'er shall see again. This remains on memory's tablet. Graven deeply : Come again. Oh I we maj^ be sad and drear}', And our hearts be chilled with pain, But there 's sunshine in the welcome Of the kindly : Come again. III. S01U35 Set to /in)U5ic. Music, the tender child of rudest times, The gentle native of all lands and climes ; Who hymns alike man's cradle and his grave. Lulls the low cot, or peals along the nave."' — Mis y^orfon. Many of tlie songs that follow have been verj- popular both in this country and in Canada. Several well-known vocalists have been attracted to them, and through their delightful renderings of them have charmed not a few of patriotic spirit. III. so:n^gs set to music. WAIT A-WEE AN' DINXA WEARY. Wait a-wee an' dinna Aveary : Tho' your heart be sad an' sair, An' your youthfu' dreams hae vanished, Leavin' nocht but grief an' care ; Tho' the clouds be dark an' lowerin', Faded flowers lie 'neath the snaw, Simmer suns wi' bricht hopes burnin', Sune the mists will clear awa'. Wait a-wee an' dinna weary ; Tho' the winter s lang an' dreary, Simmer days will come to cheer ye, Gin ye '11 only wait a-wee. Wait a-wee an' dinna weary : The' ye 're maybe crossed in love, An' your springhood's hopes lie withered, Time will yet j'our cares remove ; Tho' the joys that langsj'ne perished Left a wound baith deep and sair, Maybe some true heart has cherished Love for you, deep an' sincere. Wait a-wee an' dinna weary, etc. Wait a-wee an' dinna weary : There are ithers sad an' Avae ; Sufferin' puir, wi' heav}' burthens, Strugglin' 'gainst adversity : 17() A I'.i;i;\\"I(Ksiiii:k i;ai;ii. For awhile forget your sorrows, Siuie ii' (■;iiikoiiii' cures will Hce, Gill yc'll southc the brokeii-hcMrted, Wipe the tear frae puirtith's e'e. Wait a-wee an' diniia weary, etc. MV HEAirr ^\■AU^l.s tu the taktax. Is th(3ie a land like Scotland, \\ i sons sae l)r;ive and free, Can show sae fair a record 0' dauntless chivalry 1 I love her cloud-ca])pC(l mountains, Her glens and wini})liir rills, AVhile my heart warms to the tartan An' my native heather hills. I love thee, dear auld .Scotland, Thy mountains heather clad, For my heart warms to the tartan. An' the lads that wear the plaid. AVe '11 ne'er forget her heroes, Wha fought in freedom's cause. An" laid the grand foundation 0' a' her righteous laws ; I listen to the lyrics V>y deathless poets sung, \\'hile my lieai-t warms to the tartan An' my native mithcr tongue. I love thee, dear aidd Scotland, etc. I hear the pibroch soundiri' A rousin' martial blast, Wi' shaLteicd peinions Hyin' The troops are marchin' past ; A hearty loyal welcome Soiuids in that loud hurrah, An' my heait warms to the tartan And the gallant forty-twa. I love thee, dear auld Scotland, etc. \VHE\ THE BAIRN lES ARE FRAE HAME. 177 In mony lands I 've wandered, Far, far across the sea. But aften hameward turnin', My thochts wad wander free ; An' noo I tread the heather, I fain would be at rest, Foi" my heart warms to the tartan, An' the land I lo 'a the best. I love thee, dear auld Scotland, etc. WHEN THE BAIRNIES ARE FRAE HAME. The house is dowf an' dreary When the bairnies are frae hame, An' ilka 'oor I Aveary When the bairnies are frae hame ; I miss their merry lauchin', Their friskin' an' their daffin', Their shouts an' sangs sae cheery. When the bairnies are frae hame. When John comes hame at e'enin', When the bairnies are frae hame, Tho' ne'er a word compleenin' When the bairnies are frae hame ; Tho' he seeks to hide his feelin', His thochts there 's nae concealin', For his looks confess his meanin' When the bairnies are frae hame. Noo, John, just write to granny To bring the bairnies hame, For withoot they 're here we canna Feel the hoose to be the same ; An' ilka day she'll see them. For when she comes here wi' them, We '11 just keep her, for we maunna Let the bairnies gang frae hame. 12 17S A r.Ki;\vi(Ksim;i'; hard. An' sae ance mair thei,'ithei', \\'licii tlic liainiies are at liame, Fii' blitlie will lie their mither When the bairnies arc at hame. We '11 just keep them aye beside us, An' what joy or grief betide us, We niauu share wi' ane anithei'. When the bairnies are at hame. HEAVEN IS WHEKE OUR FATIlilK IS. Little hearts which throb with pain, Little eyes which swim in tears. Let me take you to my heart. Let me quiet all your fears. I will teach you of that home Where our loved ones rest in bliss ; .Vll our troubled heurt.s need know — Heaven is where our Father is. Yes, there is heaven, calm, peaceful heaven, There are the dear ones happy ami Vilest, There with the Father they loved while on earth, There, in His presence oidy, is heaven : Yes, there is heaven. Hearts may cling to earthly tics ; These, alas ! will pass away ; Idols that we worship now, We will find arc oidy clay. All is fleeting here below ; One by one our friends we miss ; Eut this truth should calm our woe — Heaven is where our Father is. Yes, there is heaven, etc. Sweet the thought that those we miss Sym])athi.se with all our care. And rejoice to know we seek, After life, to join them there ; KISS THE BAIRNS FOR -ME. 179 And though doubts and fears assail, "We will cling in faith to this, That at last we may unite In that heaven where Father is. Yes, there is heaven, etc. KISS THE BAIRNS FOE ME My guidman 's far awa' frae hame, An' oh ! I miss him sair ; But, still, I ken that he is leal, An' lo'es me a' the mair ; For when his tender letters come Frae far across the sea, He ne'er forgets the weans, but says, "Just kiss the bairns for me." Oh I dool an' dark wad be my lot If 'twere na for the weans ; I 've aye their love to cheer me on, Tho' far may be my frien's. An' Aveel I ken the faither's heart. Wherever he may be. Gangs oot in kindly words o' love : "Just kiss the bairns for me." I hear their lauchin' voices ring, I see ilk rosy cheek ; An' when my thochts are far awa'. My heart 's owre fu' to speak. But when at nicht they cuddle doon. An' close ilk rougish e'e, I ne'er forget their faither's wish : "Just kiss the bairns for me." My prayers are aye that we ere lang May meet, an' part nae mair ; Tho' puir oor lot, wi' him we '11 a' Our joys an' sorrows share. But while he roams in distant lands, Tho' lang oor partin' be, I '11 ne'er forget his lovin' words : "Just kiss the bairns for me." 180 A i;ki;\\|(Ksiiii;k n\i:r). UNDEi; THE ORCHAKD TKEES. As aniid the sik'iit sadness Of winter's gloomy n. Time nor change my hopes would kill. Yet thy ardent vows are hroken. While niv heart is constant still. Oh ! how fondly memory lingers On the day.s, when, void of care, Love had touched with fairy fingers Future scenes, serene and fair. Now the skj' is darkly clouded. Storms of sadness work their will : Though despair my life has shrouded. Yet my heart is constant still. How I thought of thee when severed^ For I deemed thy heait was true. And my trust in thee neer wavered,. Anxious cares I never knew ; \vt there came a sad awaking, Future years with grief to till : Silently my heart was breaking. Yet I loved thee constant still. Though you wed for wealth and station .\tid despise my humhle love. Though time hi-ings no consolation .\ii(l my life a burden prove ; Still the bygone joys 1 11 cherish. Faintly though the void they till. And, till life or memory perish, I will suffer, constant still. "LOVE WILL BIDE WHEN SIMMER'S GANE." 183 LOVE WILL BIDE AVHEX SIMMER'S GANE. Winter's frost has nipp'd the roses, Winter's wind in sadness grieves, Yet a perfume sweet reposes 'Mang the dry an' wither'd leaves ; So the heart when sear'd wi' sadness, Blasted wi' the frosts o' pain, Clings to bygane scenes o' gladness ; "Love will bide when simmer's gane." When the years, nae pleasure bringin'. Keenly blaw their searin' blast, Still a heart-shine, brightly clingin'. Sheds a radiance o'er the past ; A' the fond endearments tasted. Loves we cherish'd, tho' in vain ; Tho' our hopes were rudely blasted, "Love will bide when simmer's gane." Tho' the clouds are darkly loomin' O'er the scenes awhile sae fair. An' the flowers ance sweetly bloomin' Deck the woodland scene nae mair. Spring will come again, invitin' To the Hower-deck'd mead an' plain, A' our bygane griefs requitin' ; "Love will bide when simmer's gane." An' when years creep on an' age us. An' the broo is bent wi' care. Shall we scan life's written pages For a time mair bright and fair 1 Needless to regret our losses. Grieve o'er ilka blot an' stain ; Tho' ere lang our journey closes, "Love will bide when simmer's gane." .84 A BERWICKSHIKE lUKD. LITTLE BLUEBELL. Down in the dell, where the streamlet, glides cheei'V, Now in the sunshine, and now in the shade, Where bees humming blithely seem never to weary, Gleaning their sweets fiom the Howers in the glade ; Glancing so modestly out from the shadows, Nodding its head to the zephyrs' faint swell, Brightly reflecting the sky's cloudless azure. Pride of the valley, the little bluebell. Little bluel)ell, waving bluebell, List to the fairy chimes rung in the moonlight : Little bluebell, modest bluebell, Pride of the valley is little blueljcll. Down in the valley, as modest and wiiniing As the fair tlow'rets that dapple the glade, Blithe as a fairy, Avith stei)s liglit and airy, Blooms in her spring-hood, my dear little maid ; Often I sing of her charms to the breezes, Oft to the song-biid her graces I tell, Often com2)are lier to flowers of the meadow, Dear to my heart is my little bluebell. Little bluebell, charming bluebell. List to its faii'v cliiines ruiiir in tlie moonlisfht ; Little 1.)luebeil, modest l)luebell, Pride of the valley is little bluebell. Never may winter blasts come near her dwelliui:, Never chill night-dews wither the l>loom, Safe in her home from the storm and the tempest. Ever the same when a-wooing I come ; Soon may the hour come, when, claiming her promi-e. Safe in my home and my bosom to dwell ; Years may roll o'er us, as happy and joyous As when I first met my little bluebell. Little bluebell, winsome l)luebell, List to the fairy chimes rung in the moordight ; Little bluebell, modest bluebell. Pride of the vallev is little bluebell. HAND IN HAND. THE LITTLE PATCH OF SUNSHINE. 18^ In my quiet little cottage I am working all the day, While the autumn mists and fogs are in the air, When now and then the sun glints out with sickly feeble Like hope-gleams 'mid the darkness of despair ; [ray, I have my cares and troubles, and my heai't will often sink At the gloomy prospect looming where the mists so thickly fall; When through my kitchen window comes a cheery golden blink, And a little patch of sunshine on the wall. 'Tis only just a little patch, no bigger than a hand, But 'tis welcome for the cheerfulness it brings ; It seems to bring a message from some brighter, better land, And clears my heart from grosser, meaner things ; The caged-bird seeks the corner where it feels the warm gleam. And trills its note of thankfulness that summer days recall, And memory goes back again to youth's unclouded dream, Through the little patch of sunshine on the wall. 'Mong all the clouds and sorrows that afflict us in our path, There 's a golden stream that glistens now and then, And the wildest storms of winter, that are charged with murkiest wrath. But prepare the way for brighter scenes again ; So, too, in life's declining years, when strength and spirits fail. As in age's sombre evening the depressing shadows fall. There's a comfort for the weary when they look beyond the veil. From a little patch of sunshine on the wall. HAND IN HAND. AVe have lived and loved together Through the years, 'mid joy and care ; Sorrow's trials have closer bound us Than the smiles of fortune fair ; 186 A i;Ki:\vi(Ksim:K i;ai:i>. Sweethearts yet as in the l)ygoiie, When our prospects all were bright. May our love be still enduring. As we near the darkling night. Ourrus — Hand in hand we'll go together Through the chequered vale of life And in (lark or sunny weather 111 be near thee, darling wife. Hand in hand we roamed as children I5y the hillside and the vale, Gathering flowerets hy the wayside, Weaving many a fairy tale ; Then ;is sweethearts, in the gloaming. When the liirhts and shadows blend, Whispering words of fond endearment, We have wandered hand in hand. Now our limbs are growing feeble, And our locks are thin and grey ; We can not bo long together. For the end 's not far away. But, till death shall come to part us, We will journey hand in band, Parting — l)ut to be united In that brighter, better land. THE BOKDEU LADS. ^i>— "The Battle of Stirling." Fkom Berwick's ancient town A band of Borderers came, And mot with speech and song to fan The patriotic flame : In stirring tones the Chairman said : " Breathes there a man with soul so dead. Who docs not love the heather 1 He is no credit to his race ; Such recreant Scot shall find no place Where Border lads foregather." LASSIE dear! 181 With song and toast, the hours "Went all too swiftly b}^ "While pictured scenes of glens and howers Shone bright in memory's eye ; And no uncertain sound went forth To that dear home-land in the north. The land of hill and heather : Sweet recollections warmed the heart, As each spoke of his native part Where Border lads foregather. Then let us hope that we Ere long may meet again To speak of Scotland's glories, we With pride will aye maintain ; And should it be our lot to roam To other lands across the foam, We '11 toast the kilt and feather ; Thus aye may social mirth abound, And trusty friendship shall be found Where Border lads foregather. LASSIE DEAR! When the mornin' sun is shinin' owre the hills, Lassie dear. An' glistenin' in the crystal murmurin' rills. Lassie dear. Let the hours sae swiftly flee, What is time to you or me 1 When we thus ilk ither see, Lassie dear, lassie dear. When the sheep hae sought a coolin' shade at noon,. Lassie dear. An" the burnie sings a quiet languid tune. Lassie dear, I wad meet thee there an' then, Where the wild flowers deck the glen. An" the joyous hours we 'd sj^en'. Lassie dear, lassie dear. 188 A i:Ki;\VI(k'SF[IKK I'.ARI). A boiinie nmiic is shiniii' in the lift, Lassie dear, Its i^liiits' l)i-oak tliro' the cloudlets fleecy rift, Lassie dear ; E'en then when shadows fa', An' a stillness reigns owre a', I wad meet thee doon the shaw, Lassie dear, lassie dear. When a' the village seems to be at rest. Lassie dear, The hour that wooers aye enjoy the best, Lassie dear, Thro' the fairy glen we 11 rove, "Where the rustlin' leaves above A\'liisper messages o' lo^•e, Lassie dear, lassie dear. For at mornin', noon, or at the twiidnt in that cottage, though ever so humble, Jilithc would I be as a l)ird on the wing. Never to weary, Though others are dreary, But with my dcai-ie A light-hearted king. MY BONNIE BORDER LASSIP]. Whkre rivers row to meet the sea. An' hills their crests are rearin', "Whore verdant valleys tempt oor feet, \\i' l)irds an" flowers sae checrin' ; By gentle slopes where bluebells gleam, On gowaned meadows grassy, The fairest flower that blossoms there 's My bonnie Border Lassie. As snaw on Cheviot's hoary crest, Sae pure's my Avinsome Mary, Like zephyrs saft in Bowmont vale. Her step is light an' airy : An' tho' she treats me wi' disdain, An' looks sao proud an' saucy. She 's niair to me than tongue can tell. My bnnnio I'oi'dor Lassie. I kenna if her heart may turn An' think o' me wi' favour, Yet I wad guard her wi' my life Frae him wha wad deceive her ; R>ut wha(!'er wins hei', tinu; will prove, Tho' warldly cares harass ye, They'll a' dispel before the smile 0' my dear Border Lassie. 13 OUR COORTIN' DAYS. 193 OUR COORTIN' DAYS. Oh ! Maggie, dae ye mind 0' our coortin" days, When in simmer we reclined On the mossy braes. An' the gowans braw I 'd pu', Wi' the wavin' bells sae blue, To bind aroun' your broo, In our coortin' days 1 Oh ! the mavis sang sae sweet In our coortin' days. Where the wimplin' burnies meet, 'Mang the hazels an' the slaes ; When the gloamin' shadows fell, An' we felt their soothin' spell, We has trysted in the dell, In our coortin' days. Dae ye mind the sangs we 'd sing In our coortin' days. When we made the valley ring Wi' our cheery lays ; Or we 'd whisper o'er an' o'er, As we 'd aften dune before, 0' the joys we had in store. In our coortin' davs 1 AVhen the moon lit up the vales, In our coortin' days, I hae tauld thee eerie tales 0' the midnicht fays ; For I kenn'd ye 'd closer press To my side, my bonnie lass, An' I cheered thee wi' a kiss. In our coortin' days. We hae journeyed side by side Sin' our coortin' days, A' our bairns we see wi' pride Takin' after our Avays ; 191 A r.KKWKKSTITRK P.ARD. An' tho' noo we're gettin' auld, An' we 're wrinkled, grey, an' bald, Our love has ne'er grown cauld Sill' our coortiii" days. Let lovers aye niak' sure, In their coortin' days. Their affection 's warm an' pure, As the sun's bricht rays ; For that love is but a name. An' a fitfu' cauldrife Hame, If in asre is no' the same As in coortin' days. WHEN THE KYE GANG TO THE ^lUHi. Oh ! hae ye seen my lassie, Oh ! hae ye seen my (jueen, On simmer da} s. By mossy braes, At Polwart-on-the-Green 1 I 'ra sure ye "d ken my lassie, Gin e'er ye twasome met, At early morn Beside the thorn When tlowers wi' dew are wet. Her cheeks aie aye sae rosy, Her broo is aye sae fair, When I meet my ain dear lassie As the kye gang to the muir. At milkin' in the morning, There 's no' a lassie there, Tho' buxom (jueens. Just in their teens, That can wi' her cy the cries of despair and woe, AN'here duty calls, they go. When duty calls to the flaming fire, Where the scorching tongues mount higher and higher, Wlien the Hames shoot out over roof and wall And the tottering pile seems about to fall, The fireman mounts 'mid the red-hot blaze, Nor thought of danger his progress stays. Till the helpless victims are saved at last ; No rest ihey seek till the danger's past. Through the burning blaze, through the smoke and To save from the jaws of a fiery tomb, [fume. Fearless they mount where the led Hames glow — Where duty calls, they go. KEEP A CORNER IN YOUR HPLVRT FOR ME. You have many friends who love you, And who pray the Power above you To guard and guide wherever you may be ; Yet though they love sincerely. And seek your welfare dearly. Keep a corner in your heart for me. Choi-US — I ask not all your heart, I 'm content to share a part ; Only keep a little corner in your heart for me. Tho' you may have lovers many, Yet not i)lighted vows with any. And art still a maiden young and fancy free, Don't forget me altogether, Do not let old frien(lships wither ; Keep a corner in your heart for me. — Ch(rrus. In the happy days of childhood Wg together roamed the wildwood. When skies were bright and life was full of glee ; Then whatever fate l)etide us, Tho' distant seas divide us. Keep a corner in your heart for me. — Cliorus. IV. poems foun^c^ on tamiliar Scottisb proverbs an^ Sainnos. "' The wisdom of man;y and the wit of one.''— Earl Russell. " The short expression of a long experience."— (7erra«ies. ■" Proverbs preserve the genius, wit, and spirit of a nation." — Bacon. " Jewels five words long, That on the stretch'd forefinger of all Time Sparkle for ever." — Tennyson. IV. POEMS FOUNDED ON FAMILIAR SCOTTISH PROVERBS AND SAYINGS. CREEP BEFORE YE GANG. Ye chiel's wha spend your brichtest hours On " trifles licht as aii'," Build towering castles in the clouds That end but in despair. Ne'er seek to jump owre far at first ; For tho' the roads be lang, The slowest 's aye the surest gate ; Sae creep before you gang. Ye see that toddlin' fair-haired wean That crousely gi'es his craw ; Oh ! hoo he struggles sair to reach The pictures on the wa'. By chair and table-fit he bauds, As slow he craAvls alang ; He 's learning noo the lesson, — he Maun creep before he '11 gang. In mony o' the walks o' life We bigger bairns here May learn a lesson fraught wi' truth, Hoo we our course should steer : The race is no' gi'en to the swift, Nor battle to the Strang, An' rich an' puir alike maun learn To creep before they gang. -00 A IIKKW'ICKSMIIIK P.AHTi. If routh o' riches be your wish, Ye ni:uHin;i end \vi' wishes ; The gowd will slip your tiugers thro' Like sum' fish thro' the meshes. Just tak' as muckle care to keep The petuiies fi;ie gauu wraui;, Nor grumble that they 're hard to get, But creep before ye gang. If ye want knowledge, ye will find "Tis hard to get the same ; There's nae royal road to learnin', Ye maun cUinb the hill o' fame. But be na frichten'd at the thocht 0' strugglin" sair an' lang; The first blow 's half the battle, sae Just creep before ye gang. 'Tis licht to seek for lionest fame, If ye wad only mind Ne'er to get puffd wi' warldly pride When honour's path ye find. Aye keep l)richt honour's star in view ^ As ye press thro' the thrang ; Ye '11 gain the summit some fine day, Sae creep before ye gang. But trust na fame or wealth to bring Ye joy an' peace o' mind ; It isna every wealthy chiel' Can true enjoyment find. The simplest joys are aye the best. They leave nae bitter .stang ; Sac cultivate a cheerfu' mind. An' creep before ye gang. An' trust na ilka sleep}' cove "Wlia seeks your confidence ; Aye keep your weather eye awake, An' lippen Providence ; CREEP BEFORE YE GANG. 201 Else ye will surely miss your way, Till thieves ye fa' amang, An' learn, by sad experience, To creep before ye gang. But think na the chief end o' man Is to find happiness, An' seek in wealth, or lear, or fame Ae drap o' lasting bliss. Na, na; just dae the thing that's richt. An' ye will find, ere lang, A conscience clear Avill smooth your way ; Sae creep before you gang. Oor younkers noo-a-days, I find, Talk big, an' boast like men : There's naething ye can teach them, for AVhat is 't they dinna ken 1 They 're lookin' owre sune oot the nest, But they maun learn, ere lang, To tak' advice frae aulder heads, An' creep before they gang. An' there are chiel's wha swagger fine, A' dress'd in borrow'd plumes, Ein lang accounts wi' snip an' snob, But think na o' the sums ; When some day, up the donkey goes An' down the}' come slap-bang, Till on their knees they spell the creed. To creep before they gang. Noo a' you coves wi' empty heads Wha hae a wish to learn, An' 3'ou puir chiel's wi' pooches toom Gin honest wealth ye 'd earn, Think na the goal is owre far aff, — The road owre steep an' lang ; Tak' tent, — ye '11 gain the prize, gin ye Will creep before ye gang. 202 A r.i;i:\\i('Ksiiii;K i;ai;I'. COME OOT FRAP: 'MANO THE NKEPS. Fill I callants, dae ye mind the tiiin' wlieii youth was in its prime, Oor schuh'hoy days— oor bnchte>t days — life's cheery, ck)udless time 1 What {)raiiks we played, what rievin" raids we |)hvnned baith iiicht an' morn, As thochtless as the maukins that wnc nilihlin' 'manoj the corn ; When l^aigies were just at their best, we 've ventured 'man^ the shaws. Nor thocht for sic misdeeds we yet slionlil feel the maister's tawse : Until a lunkled face appears — a voice oor paikment tlneeps — '• Ye decvils, buckies, that ye are. come oot frae 'mang the neeps." Aye mony ha])])y days we had at Polwarth-on-tlic-Green, When thocht Icssly we ventured where we kenn'd we sudna been ; Thro' slaps an' stiles, owre bank an' burn, to hunt for scroggs an' slaes, Or maybe hariy lav'rocks' nests by Marchmont's woods an' braes ; We catchcd the mennents i' the burn, or chased the startled hare, Xoi- thocht oor voices could be heard, or ocht to fricht us there ; But see us rin for life or death — when thro' the bushes creeps The keeper's doug, an' shouts are heard, "Get oot frae 'mang the neeps." When aulder grown, like a" tiie chicr.s. I \\ but to hae a las.s, An' mony a wiiniin' glance I cuist aroun' oor singin' class ; For there were sonsy lassies there wi' pawky rougish een. An' ane T took a fajicy till — the miller's dochter, .lean : l!ut whether I was rather slow, or no, I dinna ken ; But when I just was spierin' — "could I see her up the glen "- COME OUT FRAE 'MANG THE NEEPS. 203- Her lad — I ne'er jaloused she'd ane — between us canny creeps, An' wi' a dunch he says to me, '' Get oot frae 'mang the neeps." When oot I steer'd into the warl' to warsle for mysel', Wi' monv pitfa's 'mang my feet where thochtless comrades fell, I didna aye steer clear o' them, hut still I kept my grip. An' managed to get thro' the mire whene'er I made a slip ; An' then 1 'd aften think o' what my faither used to say, "Gin wicked, drinkin" comrades seek to wile your feet astray, You're sure to get yoursel' defiled gin ye consort wi' sweeps ; Sae when you 're like to tint your gate, come oot frae 'mang the neeps." In business, too, I ventured whiles a Avee thocht aft' the road, When no' content to save by sma's an' cautiously to plod ; I took a dab in railway shai'es, or else in minin' stock, An" used to di-eam o' wealth secured, until the bubble broke, Then, wi' a pooch as toom as when a laddie at the schule, I groaned o'er a' my bawbees gane, an' ca'd mysel' a fule : But when the cloud o' ruin breaks, an' daylicht ance mair peeps, I learned a lesson that wad last when oot frae 'mang the neeps. I 've no' forgot the lesson yet, an' aftentimes sinsyne. Whene'er 1 strayed frae duty's path, an' crossed the boundary line, — When sinfu" pleasures tempted me, and lured me into ill, I 've wavered — left the narrow road — but yet, when a' w as- still. When nicht cam' on wi' gruesome 2;loom, an' a' was dark an' drear, I 've kent the sweat come o'er my broo, my heart to quake wi' fear : An' whispered chidin's, frae the wee sma' voice that never sleeps, Eang i' my ears as i' the past — "Come oot frae 'mang the neeps." 204 A r.F.HAVrcKSIIIKK I'.AKD. DOON AT THE HEEL. Tills life is a warsle at best, ye '11 alloo, An' we hae niony back-sets before we win thro' ; But sic things we could thole gin it were na the way Your frien's look askleiit when ye tint what 3'e hae. \\'hen ye need na their help — oh 1 it's a' very weel, But their sang seems to change when you're doon at the heel. It 's a garment o' shoddy — a fabric o' thrums, The frien'ship that cools when adversity comes; Ye '11 hae plenty o' frien's in your l)richt simmer hours, AYhen your pathway is cheery wi" sunlicht an' Howers ; But let a bit frost come, their feelin's congeal, An' their hearts turn like ice when you 're doon at the heel. AVhen ye needna their help, oh ! they '11 mak' sic a phraise ; But ance ye get scanty o' meat an' o' claes. What tho' at your table they 've eaten an' drank "When they kenn'd ye'd a balance a' safe at the Itank, As ye briested the brae they wad help ye to speel ; But they '11 shove ye aside when you 're doon at the heel. If in manners and speech you're as rude as a cad, Your fau'ts they '11 o'erlook ; but you 're a' thing that's bad Gin ye hae a come-doon, thro' nae fau't o' your ain ; Ye '11 fin' ye '11 be left just to toddle your lane ; Ye may die in a ditch, 3'e may beg or may steal ; It's nae business o' theirs when you're doon at the heel. Ne'er nu'n' hoo ye got it, if siilei- ye hae. Ye 11 be flattered an' praised ilka hour o' the day : At kirk ye '11 be welcomed, sae lang's ye donate A share o' your ill-gotten wealth to the plate ; Gin they dinna just brand ye a liml) o' the deil. Ye '11 get the cauld shouther when doon at the heel. I'm sweer to l>elieve that a' mankind's the same. But it's best gin ye needna their praise or their l)lame ; Just steer your ain path, an' ne'er trust to the reed That's sure to gie wa\' when assistance ve need ; Keep your frien' i' your pooch hae a heart that can feel. An* a ban' that will help them that'.s doon at the heel. BE AS GUID AS YE CAN. 205 BE AS GUID AS YE CAN. It's no' gi'en to men to attain to perfection, Tho' whiles they rax oot an' get weel up the brae ; But because o' the fac', ne'er gie way to dejection, An' say, " It 's nae use, let us strive as we may " ; There 's naebody asks ye to try it, my man, But this ye can dae — be as guid as ye can. We a' hae oor failin's, it 's nae use denyin't, Tho' whiles we are laith to alloo it "s the fac', An' when taxed wi' the same, then we birse up defiant, An' try to mak' everything white, when it's black ; Far better to boo to the verdic' afF-han', An' to square the account — be as guid as ye can. Hoo often we see the bit bairns, like their aulders, AVi' nieves ready doubl't, just likely to fecht. For the hate o' the man in the wee briestie smothers, An' it 's just in degree gin the differ is aucht ; An' the words o' advice come wi' truth to the man, " Noo gree, bairnies, gree — be as guid as ye can." An' the lassies — the joy o' existence — God bless them, We ken they 've their fau'ts like their auld mither Eve ; But, just as they are, we are fain to embrace them, An' vow an' protest mair than 's safe to believe : Noo, lassies, ye hae a great poo'er in your han'. For weel or for wae — be as guid as ye can. We ken there is muckle to mak' us dejected. When lookin' aroun' on life's folly an' sin; We see wealthy rogues a' sae highly respected, Wi' cuffs for the puir folk wha labour an' spin ; Yet to grumble at fortune, or foolishly ban. Is to mak' maitters waur — be as guid as ye can. We 've a' muckle need the advice to be takin', An' no' look on ithers as only to blame — At oor neibours' shortcomin's eternally craikin', When we, mair mensefu-like, should be lookin' at hame ; Gin ye get aff the straucht, just own up like a man, An' in deed or in word — be as guid as ye can. 206 A I'.KKWICKSIIIIIK l!AIM». IT MilllT UAK UKEX W ALU. TllKKK i.siiii ;ui ill thiit owretak's us in life, Tlio' just at the time rather grievous to l)ear, But what, when we look roun' where trouble is rife, Will no' seem sae bad gin we'll only compare What ithers endure ; an' wherever we are. We 11 hae this consolation it niicht hae been waur. .Success disna aye croon oor etlbrts, ye 11 fin', But o' losses an' crosses oor life is made up : Aften serious eneuch to unl)alance the min', When fi-ae oor parched lips fate has dashed doon the cup; An' we think we've been born 'neath some ill-(>ineiied star, An' it 's nae use to strive — yet it micht hae been waur. The hopes o' oor youth rarely come to fruition, Tho' that is nae reason for ceasin' to strive ; An' tho' we ne'er reach the exalted position We longed for, yet guid may reward us belyve ; We maun ever be ready to dae an' to daur. An' meet life's reburts wi' " It micht hae been waur." Is it losses in business, the fruits o' lang years 0' labour an' thrift that hae suddeidy gone 1 An' we mak' a sad molliegrunt mingled wi' tears. As waesome's a coo in an unco lang loan : Hoots ! man, dinna sit doon an' luirse yoiu- despair ; [waur. Uin ye've health yet, an' strength, weel — it mirht hae been Or you're pinin' awa' — are ye blighted in life, When some lassie has j)layed wi' a lo\ e that was true '( An' ye see her anither's - a fair, Ijloomin" wife, Wi' the smiles an' caresses ance i)lighted to you : What tho' on your heart there's a dee}) painfu' scaur, Time will heal it, an' show ye it micht hae been waur. In fac\ there's nae ill that can come to us here That hasna its use, gin we only could see 't ; Behin' the black clouds there's a sun ever clear. That shall yet thrill wi' joy the wee flowers at oor feet ; Let us look 'yont the clouds to the sunshine afa.r, xVn' shut oot life's gloom wi' "It micht hae been waiu." WHUSTLE ON YOUR DOUG. 207 WHUSTLE OX YOUE DOUG. There 's nae mistak' aboot it, That Ave aften gang astray, An' funny things we say at times, An' daft-like things we dae ; An' aft we fin', when rather late, Far better wad it be Gin Ave could just restrain oorsels AVhen like to t^ano; agee. Sae just a Avee bit soun' advice I '11 Avhisper i' your lug, Whene'er ye tint yer gate, haud up, An' Avhustle on your doug. See yonder cummers gossipin' 'Boot ither folk's concerns. An' a' the Avhile neglectin' to Look after their ain bairns ; Gin they Avad only look at hame, An' min' their ain afiairs. They 'd be a hantle better aff. An' free frae vexin' cares. Sae just a Avee bit soun' advice I '11 Avhisper i' your lug, Your duty s plain, look to your ain, An" whustle on your doug. The bairns will no' gang far astray, An' gie ye cause to fret, Gin ye Avill dae your pairt, an' aye A guid example set ; An' should they gang a Avee thocht Avrang, An' chum wi' orra Aveans, Wi' canny han' just guide them back To hame an' lovin' frien's. Sae just a Avee bit soun' advice I 11 Avhisper i' your lug. Keep i' the straucht road aye yoursel', An' whustle on A^our dous:. •208 A r.KKWK'KSHlUK I'.AKli. When oiiy thing gangs wnuig wi' us, We're sure to shift tlie bhune, Or hue excuses ready-made, An' lee to hide oor shame ; But fairer, maidier wad it be To own the fau't's oor ain. Then after-thochts wad never come To cause us grief an' pain. Sae just a wee bit soun' advice I'll whisper i" yoiu" hig. Just ])ut the blame wheie it should licht, An' whustle on your doug. WHEN THE PAT KLX.S UWRE. AVe're aye owre wise ahint the han', I 've heard my faither say. An' gie advice to ither folk When ony wi-ang they dae : We tell them what they should hae dune Ere this or that occurred, But when we come to think awhile It's aften-times absui-d. Your afterwut is oot o' place. Prevention past your {)ower. Gin ye wait to seek the ladle Till the pat rins owre. When i' oor bairns a fau't we fin' It should at ance be checked. For tiny fau'ts, like weeds, will giow Till innocence is wrecked ; Wi' precept an' example l)aith Encouiaire them i' iruid, An' ne'er owrelook the wee-est fau't, But nip it i' the bud. For human iiatuie sunc will warp The sweetest temper sour, Gin you wait to seek the ladle Till the pat rins owre. SPIT ON YOUR HANDS. 209 Gill l)usiness troubles loom afar, It winna dae ava To shut your een to comin' cares, Till storms aroun' you blaw ; Get up an' pit your hoose to richts To meet the comin' Ijlast, An' tak' i' sail, as Jack wad say. Until the storm is past. In sunshine we maun be prepared For times when tempests lower ; For ye needna seek the ladle When the pat rins owre. E'en i' the truest love affairs Whiles something gangs agley, Sae dinna fail to own your fau't When there 's a chance to gree ; For hate may grow where love has been, An' hearts grow cauld an' sear; Sae speak the word, an' mak' it up Before you tint your dear. For should she tak' anither han', Hoo like a fule you 'd glower. An' vainly seek the ladle When the pat rins owre. SPIT ON YOUR HANDS. In a leisurely, thochtfu' kind o' way I was takin' a quiet walk, When I sat me doon near some bairns at play. An' listened a while to their talk : They were tryin' to loup owre a glaury hole, An' the biggest aiies took it clear. But a wee ane wavered, an' wadna jump Till they gied him a word o' cheer. "Noo, Johnny," they said, "it's easy eneuch We '11 see that ye dinna coup ; Ye needna be feared for a jaup o' glaur ; Just spit on your hands, an' loup." 14 210 A I'.KItWICKSIlIlM-; KAKl). An' I said to niysel', there 's a lesson here For men as wool as for weans : If there's oiiy thing wurth tryin' to dae, AVe shouKlna spare efllbrt or pains : lie na feared tho' obstacles stan' in yonr way, Press on wi' an ol^ject in view : Gin ye be determined to gain your end, Ten chances to ane ye '11 won through. Ye may be shoved liack moiiy times in a day. An' declare that it 's no worth a rush : Brace up, man, determined to carry your point ; Just spit on your hands, an' push. I've seen moiiy men wi' the struggles they '\e had Gie themsel's clean up to despair, Lose a' regard as to what ithers thocht, An' the future ne'er cost them a care. Could they hae heen moved a bi-ave effort to mak', Sic obstacles quickly wad Hee, All' wi' strength to endure, success wad be sure, Till they gained the tap o' the tree. Then diiiiia sit doon to glunch an' gloom, Only cowards their duty will .shiik ; liDiik u]) I there's a future a-lieid u' ye yet ; Just spit on your hands, an" work. liOok back owre the past to the guid an' the great, W'ha hae made their mark in the warl' ; lloo bravely they've struggled to speel the l>rae 'Gainst mony a dunt an' dirl. .\uld Scotia's sons in far-awa' lands ilae gained mony places o' trust. Because they resolved, as the Yankees wad say, To gain wh.at they aimed at, or "l)ust." A stoot heart will cliiiil) up the steei)est o' braes, While the timid will sit doon an' sigh ; But, if aucht is worth daein', it's worth daein' weel, Sae spit on your hands, an' try. DINNA DROON THE MILLER. 2\l DINNA DROON THE MILLER. It 's no' alane when biewin' o' A bowl o' whisky toddy That ane is apt to stint the mant, Until it has nae body ; Gae me nae brash o' water wi' A wee tate sugar sweetened, A mixture fushionless an' wairsh, Vie 're better far withooten 't. Just mak' the reamin' usquebae A dose to drive dull care away ; Ne'er stint the generous barley bree, An' dinna droon the miller. While some their pleasures grudgin' tak' In homeopathic doses, An' seem to hug their bed o' thorns In preference to the roses ; Sae ithers, whase life's problem seems To taste its full enjoyment, Ne'er let the whirligig be stopped For usefu' wise employment. A better way to me it seems Is to avoid these mad extremes, Drink wi' a zest when pleasure brims, An' dinna droon the miller. E'en love itsel', that sweetens a' Oor youth an' manhood's dreamin', Should be encouraged wisely, lest It curdles in the creamin' ; The lowe o' love maun burn slow To be in age a solace, Else we '11 hae nocht in life's decline But memories o' youth's follies. Tak' tent then, bairns, an' wisely use Life's sweetest gift, an' ne'er abuse ; Let love be honest, kindly, douce, An' dinna droon the miller. 212 A liKKWiiKsinnF, r.ARD. E'en frae the pu'pit ye will liear Pair sinners aft admonished, AVhilf frae his text the preacher roams, Till point an' sense hae vanished ; Sec hoo he '11 beat aboot the bush, Till a' his admonitions Are just saemuckle empty chart" 0' pithless repetitions. Then dinna mak' sae mucklc din, Launch forth tiie truth an' drive it in A stalwart foe to vice an' sin Will never droon the miller. Some ane has wisely said, there 's but A step 'tween pain an' pleasure. An' sure the latter aften cloys When folly heaps the measure ; An' sae there is a quiet sense 0' joy when pain is lessened ; "When violent \y.iugs aAvee subside, 'Tis bearable an' pleasant. Then let us pray that we may sup The richt ingredients frae life's cup, An' sec that Avhen we till it up We dinna droon the miller. AYE A SOMETHING. 'J'nis life is a »[ueei' kind o' mi.xture at best, 0' pleasure an' sorrow, o' sunshine an' rain ; For when we're eiijoyin t wi' happiest zest, There's aye a something to gie us pain. In youth, what bricht dreams o' the future we hae, 0' a life fu' o' cheeriest laughter an' .'^ang ; But ere manhood, oor dreams hae a' faded away, For there 's aye a something to put us wrang. In the race that we rin, aft oor hopes we renew. An' wc mak' pretty speed owre a well-beaten track "We put on a spurt, for the ]>rizc is in view, But there 's aye a something to keep us back. that's axither saxg. 213 Be it honour or wealth as the goal we desire, Wi' honest endeavour we strive late an' sune ; But when nearin' the object to which we aspire, There 's aye a something to pu' us doon. We ploo an' we harrow an' seed the Ian', An' dream o' fu' bickers an' bowies o' meal ; When we think that the crap is just ripe to oor ban', There 's aye a something to coup the creel. The love o' oor life m-Aj seem smooth as a stream, Xo' a ripple o' care its pure tide to alloy ; While o' constancy sure as the seasons Ave dream. There 's aye a something to mar oor joy. We may strive a' we can in the straucht road to walk, An' shun the temptations that lurk in tbe cup. To be honest an' upright in deed an' in talk, But there 's aye a something to trip us up. But the dullest o' lives has its fair siuiny spot ; Gin we nurse wi' contentment the glints that we hae, We '11 find, 'mid the storm-clouds that darken oor lot, There 's aye a something to licht up oor way. THAT S AXITHER SAXG. What 's weel eneuch in precept, aft In practice gangs agley ; We ditma dae the thing oorsel's, Tho' guid advice we gie : We point the straucht road to oor frien's, An' tell them where to gang. But when it comes to lead the way — Oh ! that 's anither sang. An' sae it is the warl' owre. Wherever ye may gang ; To preach an' pray, an' lead the way, Is quite anither sang. 211 A nERWICKsmitK P.Altl). I daursay ye '11 admit it 's true, You've seen the thing yoursel's, Hon the j)rocept o' the pu'pit a' Oor duty clearly tells ; Gin the practice o' the preachers wi*^ Their teachings dinna gree, There 's some excuse for mortals wha Get atl" the straucht a-wec. An' sae you'll sce't, where caste an' creed Are preached Avith fervour Strang, To square accounts in word an' deed Is quite anithcr sang. Hoo aften ye will meet wi' folk Aye gleg at findin' fault, An' e'en the wee-est slip ye mak' They 're sair astonished at ; They'll magnify it ten times owre, That a' the warl' may see. Until ye aften Avonder what A monster ye maun be. Altho' the mote be e'er sae sma', They'll search it oot eie lang ; But tak' the beam frae their ain een — Oh ! that 's anither sang. In cheery days o' coortin' time. When life is bricht Avi' smiles, \'e"ll hae lasses vow to lo'e ye, but Be wai-y o' their wiles ; For should a doon-come be vour lot. An' puirtith at your door, Hoo suiic they '11 see fau'ts in you that They never saw l)efore I For when you tint vour wealth, von '11 hae Your leesome load to gang: For love an' puirtith winna gi-ee — Na ! that 's anithcr sang. KEEP THE CHAIN ON THE DOOR. 215 The maist o' i;s can hardly count Oor hosts o' simmer frien's, Wha 'II stick to us as close as burrs Sae lans; 's we hae the means To treat them weel ; but gin we 're doon, Their help 's nae to be had ; While for past favours dune by us — Their memories are bad. It isna every ane wha threeps His frien'ship loud an' lang, That 's like to be a frien' in need — Na ! that 's anither sang. What boniiie resolutions aft Come to us ilka morn, When connin' owre oor past misdeeds, An' conscience plies its thorn : We think o' what we '11 dae an' say Should sair temptations come ; But oor intentions are like reek That 's whirlin' up the lum. For when the day has passed away, And brings reflection's stang, Oor vows and actions winna square — Na ! that 's anither sang. KEEP THE CHAIN ON THE DOOR. An Englishman's house is his castle, 'tis said, It may be a mansion, or cottage, or shed ; The saying holds good whether humble or high, So prepare to defend it when danger is nigh ; And when thieves lurk around you '11 be doubly secure If you take the advice — " Keep the chain on the door." In many more ways will the saying hold good . As a watchword through life, when 'tis well understood ; For a man's inner self, like the house where he dwells. May oft be beset by peace-banishing ills ; Foes wiry and cunning we shun and abhor ; So, as proof 'gainst their arts, " Keep the chain on the door." •21G A I'.KKW !. When listeiiiiig to those who can " th;nv the Ioml; bow," We feel just like giving advice to go slow ; " Least said, soonest mended," — a good wholesome rule For the ln-aggai't, who 's only a stej) fi-om the fool ; And "tis l)etter to err on the safe side for sure, With a silence discreet, and the "chain on the door." We can't shut our eyes to the sutlering near, And the poor who deserve both our comfort and cheer : l)Ut beware of impostors, who ply as a trade All sorts of devices for charity's aid ; There is no need to shut up your hearts to the poor. But, 'gainst deep-scheming rogues, " Keep the chain on the door." We are destined by heaven to enjoy what is good. And to take our enjoyments like good wholesome food ; iiut in all things, when tempted to run to excess, Lest amusement should cloy, this maxim embrace : In the pursuit of pleasure, its true joys secure. In a moderate way. with the "chain on the door." Now, love is a beautiful thing in its way. And at some time oi' other we 've all felt its sway ; Yet even in this we "11 l)e wise to take heetl, Lest it blossom too quickly, and run all to seed ; And if we would have this sweet joy to endure. We must mu'se it with care, and the "chain on the door." In ])ursuit of wealth, oh '. how eager we lun. And are never content while there's aught to be won : I')Ut tli(( race has its dangers the prize we abuse \\ hell we yearn for more than we need foi' our use; Let us ci-ush out that vain senseless crying for more. And enjoy its true /est with the "chain on the door. " If doubt should assail you in mattei-s of faith. Prepare to defend the old truths "to the death " : Not blindly to grope, but with reason to test All systems and creeds, and to cling to the best ; Lost false comfortcis fail you in life's trying hour. Hold the citadel fast with the "chain on the door' mak' yoursel' at hame. 217 MAK' YOUESEL' AT HAME. Our cot is but a humble beild, A hamely but an' ben, We 're humbly clad, we 're humbly fed, As a' our neibours ken : To uppisli style, or fashion's smile. We scorn to mak' a claim ; Vet welcome a', whene'er they ca', To mak' themsel's at hame. Then let your frien'ship show itsel' 'Thout fashion's phraise or fetter, An' kindly mak' yoursel' at hame '; Your frien's will like ye better. The rich folks in their lordly ha's Hae favours to dispense. But seldom weahh does guid by stealth And nae tho't o' recompense : It 's aye the puir that help the puir In deed as weel as name ; At puirtith's ca' they welcome a' To mak' themsel's at hame. I hate to see folk, Avhen they ca', Sae unco proud and hie, I canna thole your formal folk, Sae stiff wi' what they gie ; I like the couthy, honest hearts Wha treat ye aye the same, An' gie a canty welcome aye To mak' yoursel's at hame. We 're only hamely folks oorsel's. An' tho' our haudin 's sma'. Our neibours, wha will tak' pat-luck. Are welcome aye to ca' : We '11 share wi' them the best we hae, An' greet them aye the same ; As aften as they care to come We'll mak' them feel at hame. 216 A r.KinvirKsilli:K |;ai;ii. CA' YOUR GIRD. Life for a' the warl' is just Like a game wc callaiit.s played, Ready wi' oor girds to liirl, Startin' fair, the mark we tae'd; Kenniu' that we 'd hae to rin Fast an' straiicht the game to win, As the startin' word was iiieii, Ca' your giid. Aye, but there was sure to be Some ane gettin' aff the straucht, Ithers, fairly losin' hope, Sune gied up to strive foi aught; An' the lesson a' were learn in', Gin life's prize was worth the earnin' "Was to keej) tlie wheel aye turnin', Ca' your gird. Never slacken in your purj)0sc, Keep the goal aye in your e'e. Like the channel stane in curlin', Strauclit goes birlin' for the tee ; Ever heed tlie frien'ly Avarnin', A' temptations stoutly spurnin', Keej) the wheel o' eydenco tunn'n', Ca' yoiu- gird. Let your aim in life be single, Never wavcrin' frae the richt. An' tho' darklin' days oppress 3'e, Times will yet be clear an" biicht; Gin ye '11 but wi' zeal endea\our To keep ])ushitr, movin' ever. No' frae this ae object waver, Ca' your gird. Ne'er in titfu' spurts engagin', Constanc}' be aye your law ; Slowly tho' the gird be turnin" Keep it movin", or 'twill fa'. ca' canny. 219 Sae in time, gin we keej) ploddin', Nae rebuffs or back-sets bodin', We may yet redeem life's Flodden, Ca' your gird. Nor, the' rocks an' ruts we meet, Maun we gie up in despair ; Gin we bravely face the warst, Obstacles will disappear : Up the hill tho' toilin', strivin', Breathless at the broo arrivin', Owre the brae we '11 sune gang skivin', Ca' your gird. If the goal be wealth or fame. Love or learnin', place or power, There 's nae favoured road to them, Work we maun to win the dower ; An' it maun be work unceasin', Ne'er abatin', but increasiu' — A' great triumphs point the lesson, Ca' your gird. Nor when we hae gained oor end Shall we be content to rest ; Life withoot some noble aim Soon wad lose its joy an' zest ; AVhile the lamp o' life is burnin' We should aye new truths be learnin', Ever for new triumphs yearnin', Ca' your gird. CA' CANNY. If at times ye 're discontented wi' the present, Just ca' canny ; Tak' tent, — the future mayna turn sae pleasant, Eh ! my manny. Ye '11 find that on a sudden Your wings are fairly laden, An' ye '11 flounder in the midden ; Sae ca' cannv. 220 A r,Er;AvriKsi[ir;F. 1!Ai;i>. If your heart in love's fond mesh is fairly necklcd. Just ca' canny ; ^'^c '11 get time to rue when :uice you're fairly buckled, Eh ! ni}' niaiiny. Tho' noo ye think your treasure Will bring j'c nocht Imt pleasure, Eh ! man, there's luck in leisure; Sae ca' canny. Gin it's wealth, wi' a" it liriiigs, for whii'h ye hanker, Just ca' canny ; Mind that greed eats in the heart just like a cankeu' ; Sae, my manny, They that hasten to be rich Sometimes whonimle in the diLch, While conscience plies her switch ; Sae ca' canny. There is nae near cut to knowledge or to learnin', Sae ca' canny ; Set your face toward the goal, an' iirer be turnin', Kh ! ni}' manny. (Jin ye plod on day Ity day, Learning something bv the way, Ve will some time tap the brae ; Sae ca' canny. My laddie, gin ye want to learn a trade. Just ca' cantiy ; Skilled mechanics dinna rise up ready made, Eh ! my maiuiy. Never think that sma' details Are just fit for ploddin' snails ; Slow but certain, j^cldfHn fails ; Sae ca' canny. Never sigh for things ye scorn to earn by labour, Just ca' canny. Nor cast an envious look toward your neighbour. Eh ! my manny. A KIND WELCOME HAME. 221 Honest Avork can ne'er degrade, Be it handlin' pen or spade ; Never be abune your trade ; Just ca' cannv. A KIND WELCOME HAME. AVhen the Avearisome toils o' the day are past, An' hameward we trudge owre the road or the field, Sometimes gey ill happit to keep oot the blast, "Wi' neither a hedge or a plantin' to beild, Aft darksome an' dreich wad the road seem to be. An' oor life, day or nicht, Avad be joyless an' tame, Gin it Avere na the scene that Ave fancy Ave see, An' the surety o' gettin' a kind Avelcome hame. AYhen fickle Dame Fortune, sae sly Avi' her tricks, Aft leads us a dance we AA^ad rather no hae. An' fit-sair, as gin Ave 'd been treadin' hot bricks, Noo limpin', noo pechin', Ave briest up the brae, Hoo often Ave 'd hae to gie Avay to despair. An' shauchle alang Avithoot object or aim, If it were na the loA^e-ties that lichten oor care, An' the thocht o' Avhat Avaits us — a kind Avelcome hame I The rich an' the puir baith alike hae their care ; Tho' Avealth proves a solace to mony an ill. Yet hard, strugglin' toilers aft happily share True heart-glints that puirtith can never dispel ; Hoo aften the canker o' care wad tak' root An' croAvd oot the joy-glints that ne'er reach a flame, The warld's scorn or cauldness can ne'er mak' us doot The Avarmth o' the Avelcome that Avaits us at hame. A' thro' oor life journey Ave Avarsle alang, Noo tired Avi' oor burdens sae Aveary to bear, — Noo cheered Avi' some heart-stirrin' music or sang. That brings back the past Avhen oor pathAvay was fair ; An' tho' for the present oor sky may be dark, An' the prospects ahead are just muckle the same. Beyond a' Ave ken that, Avhen dune wi' life's wark, "There 's a joy in the hope o' a kind Avelcome hame. •2'22 A r.Kitw K KsiiiKK ii.\i:i». LOOK IN r Till-: BY-GAUN. Ari.i) Dod o' the Mill is a canty anld chiel', His heid an' his heart are as richt as his meal ; Tho' noo he 's weel on for the threescore an' ten, He's cheerier an' chirpei- than mony young men. He aye has a welcome sae haniely an' kind : An', tak' him a' thro', there are few 3'e will Hud Gie a warmer hand-shake, an' a kind welcome back, Wi' — "Look in i' the by-gaun, an' gie us your crack." I travel the kintra the hale o' the year, In summer sae cheery, in winter sae drear. An' mony a time, as I trudge thro' the Merse, It 's wearisome wark when the siller is scarce ; Yet aften, when dooncast wi' want o' success, My troubles a' flee as I near the auld place. An' think on the pairtin' when last by the track — " Look in i' the by-gaun, an' gie us your crack." Noo the wiic 's just as cheery an' couthy as him, An' her heart o' "uid-nature is fu' to the brim ; She 's a3'e clean an' tosh in hor looks an' attiie, An' the same can be said o' the ncuk by the fire : There's the cosy broon teapat — the clean shiny pup — For she's no' ane o' them that wad giudge bite or sup, Wi' a — "Draw in your stool na, an" hae a bit snack ; For we're aye glad to hae ye ca' in for a crack." Ye hae frien's wha's guid-wurtl ye d no" inuurii shouhl ye tine, Nae doot your experience is muckle like mine ; An' ithers, tho' nae bluid-relations at a'. Wad ne'er sec ye set wi' your l)ack to the wa' : Their hearty han'-grip, an' a word o' guid cheer. Send a warm thrill o' joy thro' your veins to career : "Ne'er wait for the askin', ye 're aye welcome back : Aye look in i' the by-gaun, an' gie us your crack." Like the gicen grassy spots in the wide dreary muir, liike the sun-glints in winter, this warl' o' care Has its bright cheery neuks, its sweet wayside flowers. Its frien'ships an' favours, in life's darkest hours ; COLLIE, WILL YE LICK 1 223 All' cheerier far than the clear simmer's day Are the smiles an' kind words that we share on life's way, When guid-byes are joined wi' a true welcome back ; " Aye look in i' the by-gaun, an' gie ns your crack." COLLIE, WILL YE LICK ? Awa' wi' a' the scurvy loons Devoid o' generous pairts, Where self has gained the upper han'. An' wizened up their hearts ; What cauldrife comfort meets ye there When, may-be faint or sick, They haena mense eneuch to ask Gin, Collie, mil ye lick ? I hate these mean, tight-fisted folks Wha scrape, an' save, an' hoard, Wha's kist-ucuk or auld stockin'-fit Is wi' the bawbees stored ; They grudge themsel's their meat an' claes, While to the puir an' sick They ne'er were kenned to say as much As, Collie, will ye lick ? Again, there is a class o' folk, Wi' hearts no 's big 's a midge, Wha, if they dae a kindly turn, They dae it wi' a grudge ; The puir they treat as lepers, wha They 'd touch na Avi' a stick, An' if a bite or sup they gie, It's— Collie, will ye lick? Far be 't frae me to lichtlie them That dinna weel deserve 't, Wha's charity is dune by stealth, An' may -be no' observed : Gin dune at a' wi' honest aim, I '11 recognise, fu' quick, A heart that winna staw puir folks Wi'— Collie, will ye lick '! 224 A r.Ki!WicKsiiii;i': r,\i;ii. Then when ye due a kindly turn, Or gie a kindly word, Hooever little ye can spaie Frae your ain stinted board, Gie't wi' guidwill tho' dry the crust, Instead o' 1)Utlercd thick 'Twill cheer far niair than govvpeus gicn Wi'— Collie, will ye lick 1 PUT OUT HANI) AN' IIKLT VOUKSEL'. What's the use o' sittin' gruniblin' When there 's duties to be dune, Like a lot o' bairns grcetin' 'Cause they canna get the mune 1 Cast that peevish spirit frae ye, Buckle up, an' try a spell O" hard wark : let this l)e your motto — Put out haml an' help yoursel'. Mony a man has got it in liini To mak' heidway in the warl'. But distrusts his powers, an' wavers Like a chicken-heaited churl. Mak' nae boastin' resolution, But determine that ye shall Make or mar by honest action ; Put out hand an' help yoursel', There arc loiterers aroun' us For their keep to it hers look. Think the warl' owes them livin'. An' they '11 hae 't l)y hook or crook. Gie nae heed to siccan havers. Patient toil will ere lang tell ; An' wi' health, you're independent: Put out hand ;in' help yoursel'. It is pcetifu' to see folk Lifeless, listless, morn an' noo?i, Idly waitin' an' e.xpectin' To step in some deid man's shoon : what's the guid 1 225 Better far to buckle at it, Try hard honest wark a spell, There 's less chance o' disappointment ; Put out hand an' help yoursel'. E'en then, losses sair may thwart ye, An' your life seem naught but gloom, Dinna sit an' nurse your sorrows, Rax yoursel' for elbow room ; Care may kill a cat, but guidsakes, Gin ye '11 warsle, time will tell, There 's nae charm like push an' courage ; Put out hand an' help yoursel'. Let them mump an' grieve wha like it, They are just like bairns at best. Cast your troubles a' ahint ye, Dae your pairt an' trust the rest ; An' ye '11 find that sturdy action Sune will banish every ill, Bringin' peace an' solid comfort ; Put out hand an' help yoursel'. WHAT'S THE GUID ? Life is fu' o' toils an' troubles. Thorns an' thistles 'mang the flowers ; Joys an' waes — like April sunshine Blinkin' oot atAveen the showers. But hoo apt we are to grunt, Keepin' aye oor griefs in front, Shuttin' oot the sun's warm glint. What's the guid 1 Hech ! we hae eneuch o' trouble Withoot makin' things the waur ; A' the grainin' an' the worry Winna mak' our troubles sma'er. Owre life's wearies never froon. Chase them aff wi' cheery croon, Never let your spirits doon, What 's the guid 1 15 226 A i;i;k\vi(Ksiiii;k i;ai;i>. Things may a' gang wraiig in business, Can we mend tlicin acks 0' oor hrithers an' sisters who fa' in their tracks. For hoo aften a hand gi'en to help them alang Wad start them afresh on the road they maun gang, Till safe, thro' the sncconi' thus timely bestowed. Their thaid bear. The needy an' sulVerin' to help oot the mire, Wi' a purpose that nae opposition could tire ; KISS AX" (illEE. 235 Gang ye in His footsteps, an' dae what j'e can To brichten the life o" your puir fellow-man, An' ye 11 win the approval an' smile o' your God, That ye gied some puir pilgrim a lift on the road. KISS AN' GKEE. Eh ! it disna mak' ye bonnie When your faces wear a froon ; I wad raither see ye smilin', Cheery, chirpin' a' in tune. AVhat means a' the sulks an' glunchin' AVhen ye should be fu' o' glee 1 Stop your angr}^ words an' glances ; Like guid bairnies, kiss an' gree. Lovers, wooin" in the gloamiu", Happy, thochtless, free frae care, May your path be aye as pleasant, ^Lay your sky be aye as fair ; But gin jealous tifts an' quarrels Part ye only for a wee, Ere it prove a life-lang sorrow, Better far to kiss an' srree. Fricn's wha lang hae kent ilk ither. Kindly, helpfu" thro" the ^"ears, Hidin' fau'ts that flare oot sometimes In the best o" folk's careers : Ere the shadow o' a rupture Parts ve like the surmn' sea. Clasp the hand held oot in frien'ship, An' in spirit kiss an' gree. Young an' auld alike, iiye mind ye, Trustv, faithfu' frien's are few ; Cherish them ye hae, an' never Seek to wound a heart that 's true : Tho' ye think it may be childish Thus the same advice to gie, Heart-aches cease, an' life 's made brichter,. When, like bairns, ye kiss an' gree. 23G A ^,K!:^\•If■KsIm:K r..\i:i). uuK SIDE vi:t. On ! weel I mind oor boyhood's days, In winter's .snaw-clad scene, What mimic liattles we hae fought Upon the village green : ^\'i" charge, an' storm, or liold assault, We garred oor foes retreat, An' raised a shout o' victory — For oor side yet. In simmer days, wi' shinties armed, We made the ktnu-r to flee, An' never heeded clours or fa's 8ae lang 's we hailed the tee ; We i)layed determined we should win, An' tho'tna o' defeat. While aye we raised the bantam cry — For oor side yet. The warld's just fu' o' muckle bairns A' busy at their games, Whiles honourable, or otherwise, \\ i' guid or selHsh aims : It's a' the same — they blaw their horns The public ear to get, An' rally followers to their camps — For oor sitle yet. This game o' war, whilk nations play, No' for their people's guid, But greed an' grab — fresh lauds aune.xed, Bought wi' oor heroes" bluid : — We deprecate these cruel wars As needless, base ; an' yet This jingo spirit blinds us a' — For oor side yet. Even politics are af fc a game Amanij the oots au' ins, A tug-o'-war for place an' power, Nor aye the best that wins : COME AWA' BEX. 237" They promise fair : but, lack-a-day ! Their -words they sune forget, While puir dehided followers cheer — For oor side A'et. The sects are at it, tootli air nail, Wi' shibboleth an' creed, AVhile aft, amid the din, the pair's Xeo;lected in their need : O The kirks will dae nae guid, while they This spite an' spleen beget, Ein doon a' ither creeds, an' shout — For oor side yet. We look abroad on ither lands, An' sometimes look wi' scorn, An' thank kind Heaven, wi' pridefu' voice,. That we are British born ; AVhat better are we than the lave. Gin oor deserts we get ? That Ave should boast, an' crousely craw — For oor side yet. Na 1 let us simmer doon a bit, An' ken oor proper place, Sae lang as we dae naething Avrang To bring deserved disgrace ; Let ignorance boast, let pride exult, As men let us admit The senselessness o' a' this cry — For oor side vet. COME AW A' BEN. It's a plain, hamely sayin', but couthie it soun's, When ye gang in the kintra awa' frae the toons ; Ye ca' at some auld thackit cot on the way. An' spier — " Hoo the guid folks are fettlin' the day 1 ' Nae cauldness or stiffness their manner betrays. Aye kindly at heart though unlearned in their ways - " Oh : thank ye for spierin' ; we 're geylies, ye ken ; Nae doot ye '11 be weary't, sae come awa' ben." 238 A i;ki:\vh KsMiKK i;ai;|). Wi' the hungry or feeble that ca' at their door They'll aye >share their wallet, tho' scanty their store; There's a seat in the neuk by the glint o' the Hie, You 're welcunie to rest, gin rest ye require ; A tap at the door, an' the guidwife will say, "We're no' wantin' onything, thank ye, the dny " : But a second glance tells them its some ane they ken. An' it's, "Hoo're ye the dayf an' a "Comeawa' ben." Oh ! weel dae I mind when I coorted my Jean, As bonnie a lassie as tripped owre the green ; Tho' aftcn we 'd met by the auld trystin' tree. To whisper oor love vows wheie nae ane could see : I tho't it was time at the anld folks to spier For the hand o' my lassie my fortune to share ; 8ae wi' mony niisuMvin's I gaed up the glen. An' sune was invited to "Come uwa' lien." I blushed an' I stammered, but 1 managed to tell "I was thiidviii' o' settin' up hoose for mysel' ; That I 'd fixed on their lass as my helpmate for life," When the auld man consented, an' sae the guidwife : Then I turned to my lassie an' vowed tu l»e true, " My heart an' my hoose are baith waitin' for you. An' gin ye like to share them, there 's nae lassie I ken Wad be made half as welcome, sae come awa" Iten.' Frae that day to thi.s we've had nucht to regret. An" tho' gettin' auld, we're just like wooers yet ; Oor bairns are aroun' us, baith mensefu' an' kind, While oor happiness seems wi' tiie auld hoose entwined An' noo, lookin' back owre the years that hac gane Sin' the day that 1 spier'd her gin she'd be my ain, I bless the auld folks wha ance lived in the glen, An' their first welcome gi'en me to "Come awa' ben." BE CANN^' Wr THE CKEAM. It's just as muckle's I can mind. When but a waddlin' tot, I've heard my worthy granny say Some things I 've ne'er forgot ; BE CANNY \\[ THE CREAM. 239 An' thus my memory still retains Her frugal, thrifty theme, As owre oor hamely meal she 'd say, Be canny wi' the cream. The mind as weel 's the body aye Maun hae its solid food, An' trifles that may please awhile Confer nae lastin' good ; Seek knowledge that will stan' the test, An' win the warld's esteem ; But ne'er to pleasure be enslaved ; Be canny wi' the cream. When phantom pleasures lure us on. In j^aths where snares are rife, Wi' promises o' joys that fade An' blight the charm o' life, See that your craft is safe an' soun' Ere that ye 'tempt the stream. Nor venture far frae shore : but aye Be canny wi' the cream. The love-glint that lights up oor hearts. When we are young an' auld, If fanned owre free may flicker oot, An' leave us in the cauld : True love, e'en when we 're up in years, Should be mair than a dream ; Sae gin ye 'd hae 't to last thro' life. Be canny wi' the cream. Should passion, wi' its scorpion whip Hid 'neath a wreath o' flowers, Tempt us to lea' the narrow road For love's illicit bowers. Think o' the sting that 's sure to come Tho' a' may pleasant seem ; An' a' thro' life tak' heed, an' aye Be canny wi' the cream. 240 A nKinvKKsiniiK i'.ap.d. Aye try to live witliiii your means, An' lay a wee aside, Sae as to liac 't in darksome days. All" for auld age provide ; Gin spendthrift ways see youth's bright days Depart, then, puii'tith grim Your later life will joyless mak' ; Be canny wi' the cream. Then just tak' tent while yet there's time, A' ye on pleasure bent ; Seek that as weel that wisdom gies, An' ])rings ye sweet content: 1 wadna frown wi' jaundiced e'e, An' see ye sad or prim ; But tak' ye this advice frae me — Be cannv wi" the cream. HAUD THE KAIL HEX. What ploys an' pranks we used to hae When we were bairns at schule ! What games o' shinty, hunt the hare, An' peerie, ba', or bool ! Baith lioht o' heart an' fleet o' fit, We 'd loup owre ditch or yett. While words o' cheer the laiii^ards hear. To hand the kail het. An' this was aft a motto iri'en For something mair than j)luy ; To keep us at oor tasks at schule, Nor idle time away ; Hoo we wad s])ur ilk ither on When irksome sums were set, Ne'er to despair, l)ut grind the mair. An' liauil the kail het. ^\'hen schnlin' days were owre an' gane, An" life s real work began, That sayin" still wad urge us on, In mony a scheme an' plan : HAUl) THE KAIL HEX. 241 Gin stiimblin'-blocks wei-e in oor way, An' difficulties met, To clear the road Ave d harder plod. An' hand the kail het. Eh ! Aveel I mind when love's first flame Was waukened in my breast, An' there was ane 1 lans;ed to win I lo'ed aboon the rest ; When ither lads were wooin' her, I didna sulk or fret ; But 'mang the ruck, I chanced my luck To hand the kail het. Where in the race o' life we find That competition 's keen. We must keep moA"in' wi' the rest. Nor sit doon an' compleen ; Ne'er fear, altho' the hill be steep, The goal far aff as yet. Keep up the rate, nor grow] at fate, But baud the kail het. I 've nae use for that thowless breed Wha snail-like snoove alang, An' when ill-luck owretak's them, sweai- The warl' is a' gane wrang ; Their want o' push an' energy 's The last thing they regret ; An' fail to score, when ithers daur To baud the kail het. The langer that I live, I see This truth stands baulder oot. If things are worth the fash ava, We 've got to stir aboot ; It winna dae to sit an' glunch When obstacles are met ; The prize is there for them wha dare To hand the kail het. 16 24-_' A r.KltWICKSHIKK I'.AKli. It's folly to rush ;it a ihitii^ Withoot baitli thotht an" tact, But it's a i^rcater hlmider still 'I'o think but never act : He sure before ye tak' tlie loup There's firm _<;iMin' for youi- Ht, Syne dae your best an" trust the rest But hand the kail hct. (4 KIP VOTK NETTLE TIGHT. In a" the great concerns o' life, An' e'en in snia' things tae, There's plenty aye to tax your sti-cn^th. An" Itaulk ye on your way; Half-hearted action winna dae To hand ye in the right, It 's thoroughness an' grit you need, Sae grip your nettle tight. ij'ui it is work ye hae tu ilac To keep the hanie secure, To gain ilk day the bread ye want An' keep care fi"ae your door : When only stern unflinching toil Brings in the sup an" bite, There s iiae time then for idle play, Sae grip your nettle tight. Gin troubles come to i)lague ye whiles, An clouds o care appear, \Vhat need ye play a coward's part, An' shake wi' idle fear ? Face boldly up the blast that comes : Ye "11 Hey auld care wi fright. If ye '11 but (laur tlic warst he threcps. An' gi'ip yniir nettle tight. The thocht o" some mishap to come Will aft unnerve 3'e m;iii- Than troul)lcs that arc full in view, All hem ye fiunt an" rear ; GRIP YOUR NETTLE TIGHT. 1^4^ Imaginary troubles aft, An' real anes too, tak' flight, If ye but hae the pluck in time To grip your nettle tight. Worry has had mair victims yet Than either toil or care, It dries the joy-springs o' the heart, An' leaves life bleak an' bare ; But what guid e'er did frettin' dae To end or mend your plight '? Keep aye a cheery heart thro' a', An' grip your nettle tight. Gin scandal or ill words are aimed To injure your repute, When covert hints ye aften find A hard thing to refute, Face boldly up the charge, if made, An' gie it nae respite ; Ye '11 squeeze the venom oot o't, if Ye grip your nettle tight. When sair temptation eggs us on To dae the thing that 's wrang. Or wander in the paths of vice, Amid the giddy thrang. It winna dae to toy wit, or You 're sure to get a bite ; But it is harmless after a'. If ye just grip it tight. An' when your faith in higher things The shafts o' doubt assail, Wi' truth in your right hand, ye can 'Gainst a' sic foes prevail. Just face the error boldly up. An' drag it to the light. The sting o't ne'er will harm ye, if Ye grip your nettle tight. U A I'.KIIWIi KSIIIKK I'.Altl). KILL AN FKTCll M\\\i. TiiEiiK surely nuum l)e something wrung, An awfu' utl" tlu! stot, \\'hen "numg our l)usv workin' hives (xrim want is aft their lot : While wealth is made by t(»il an" skill. An" })lenty fills the land, Starvation thins the workers' bluid, An' aft unnerves their hand ; An" while they live fi-ae hand to mi>nth. An' scanty aft their fare, Wi' them wha neither toil nor s|)in It's fill an' fetch niair. \\ hile weary days an nichts are sj)ent To stem grim puirtiths tide, Sma' chance is there for them to save, An' for auld age provide : Wi' st()oj)in" gait an' stiffened limbs The a^ed toiler bears The crusliin' tliot that want an' wae Will curse his closin years : Nae ease or comfort can they claim, Nae shield fi-ae sordid care ; While wi' the il rones wha they 've eni-iched It s fill an fetch mair. They "ve robbed us o' oor common lands, Where ance we wandeied free, \\ here coo or cuddy grazed at will, An' bairns could spoi-t in glee ; Nog we can just look owre the dyke. An' see what we hae lost By graspin hands wha claimeil the lot. An' never spiered the cost. They'd keep the sunshine in themsol s. Tliey "d tax ye for the air ; For to the landlords irreedv maw It's fill an' fetch niair. FILL an' fetch ^L\1R. 245 The birds an" beasts that roam the muirs Are no' for you an' me : The fish that seek the upland burns, An" e'en far oot at sea, They claim them a', an' hedge them roun" Wi' penalties an' pains ; The earth is for the landlord's use, An' a' that it contains ; But you, ye ploddin", common crew, They daur ye touch a hair ; While their desires ken nae restraint, But fill an" fetch mair. I wadna care for wealth mysel', It aft brings worryin' care, ■Gin I 've enough to dae my turn An" help the eydent puir ; For weel I ken, doon in the slums, By circumstances driven. Are those wha wear the pauper's garl>, Wi' souls as pure as Heaven. An' oh ! it mak's me 2;rieve to sec That they wha weel could spare Aft droon the cries o' Avant an' wae Wi' fill an' fetch mair. This curse o' greed for hoardin's sake Dries up the heart's best springs, Sae that in time the joy ye had In life's maist simple things Is crushed beneath the sordid weight 0' lucre's chillin' drift, •Until there 's no' a shread o' soul In all your being left ; Nae generous feelin's for the weak. The sufferin', an' the puir; But self the aim an" end o' life : W^i' fill an' fetch mair. ?4(i A i;ki;\\ KKsiiiKK i;aki>. All whclhur it s to swell tluMr purse, Or else to grease their crup. There 's aye the miser cry for niair ; Thoy kciinn when to stap ; JSelf is their only aim in life, Self is their vulgar creed, That may be summed up in a ■word- Plain, bald, unvarnished greed. The warld was made foi- their deiiiiht,. They claim the l)iggest share, They hac nae tho't for ought ootside, But fill an" fetch mair. But thei'e's anither class wha live In shiftless, spendthrift ways, \\'ha never tak' a tho't boo they Will spend their closin' days ; Enjoyment for the present, shuts The future from their view. An' then owre late they mourn their fate When a' their gear's run thro' : The present's a' they care to scan, The morrow brings nae care ; As lang's their bowio bauds the meal. It's fill an' fetch niaii'. Lul there will be a reckonin ilay : Tak' heed, ye revellin' crew, If ye hae hopes beyond this life, Then dae your (luty noo. "I was an hung(!red "" think o' that, An' grasp the truth in time, For a' your specious (pubbles fail When lie unveils yoiu' crime: " Ve fed me not" — an' never tho't 0' duty to the puir ; Ve had your Dives day, wha's creed Was fill an' fetch mair. THE morn's ANITHER DAY. •241 Then 5-e wha wear the threadlxare garb An' live frae hand to mouth, Hae faith that right will yet prevail, An' error bow to truth ; But ye maun dae your part to bring This happy state aboot, When they wha toil an' plant the seed Shall likewise eat the fruit ; Then there will be nae achin' hearts Or hopeless, starvin' puir, When labour stoutly daur refuse To fill an' fetch mair. THE MORN'S AXITHER DAY. It 's human nature after a' To see life's darkest side, Tho' there are cheery natures, wha Are blithe whate'er betide : They coort the sunshine when it comes, An' keep cauld care at bay ; They live in hope, for aye they ken The morn 's anither day. When life has donned its blackest hue An" a' is bleak dismay ; While every avenue ye seek Shows ne'er ae cheerin' ray ; Ne'er mind what croakers prophesy 0' comin' dool an' wae. Nor count your cares before the}' come- The morn 's anither day. When business troubles rack the brain All' breakers loom aheid, When day an' nicht nae rest you get, An' comin' storms ye dread ; Keep peggin' on, an' mind that fret An' Avorry winna pay ; There 's aye some glint ayont the mirk- The morn 's anither day. ■-MS \ I'.KItWK Ksllli;)-: i;.\i;|i. Vuur toil may bring but snia' lewaitl, But puirtith, pinch, an' want, The ootlook dreary, dull, an' dark, Tlie stootest heart niiclit daunt ; Tu tell despair an discontent It 's nae use to gie way ; Brace up, a change may be at hand — The moi'ii "s anitlicr day. Gin ye liae tint your lass, an" think That life has gane a-gee, There 's maybe yet a truer heart That fain wad comfort ye ; Xeer mourn the jaud that's thrawii ye owre, .lust let her tak her wa}', \e 11 thank her for 't, an' woo again — The morn "s anithcr day. The disappointments that we meet Are apt to mak' us fret ; But what s the guid 1 To pine an" sigh Neer mended matters yet. Keep aye a stoot heart to the warst That ill-luck blaws your way • The darkest hour"s afoie the dawn — The morn "s anither day. Up then, an' storm the forts o' care That seem to block your path, Nor heed the nuuky sky, or list The tempests chillin" wrath ; Aye mind the calm succeeds the gale. An' clears the mists away ; Sac live in hope whate er l)etide — The morn s anither dav. IT S IIAKDI.Y WORTH VOl'K WHILE. Wii aie'ek you dae, be stu-e you're licht. An then gang straucht aheid. An dae your |)art, whaeer may doot The motive o" your deed ; it's hardly worth your while. 249 But if a selfish, warldly aim Is a' for which ye toil, The after-come will surely prove It 's hardly Avorth your while. Hoo true it is that gathered gear. When got in crooked ways, AVill sune tak' wing, or prove a curse An' blast your later days : If you think happiness is bought By heapin' up the pile, You '11 find oot to your cost, ere lang, It 's hardly Avorth your while. If that pure love which Avedlock brings (Or should, at least if true) Be but a mercenary scheme Wi' selfish ends in view, If you think you can reckon on The warlds approvin' smile. Or ask Heaven's blessin' on your hame. It 's hardly worth your while. Where pious speech and conduct is For business ends pnt on, While harmless joys ye deprecate Wi' sanctimonious groan ; When ready tears, aye on the tap, Stream a la crocodile. Gin ye think that the world 's deceived, It 's hardly worth your while. AVhere scenes o' sufferin' meet your gaze, An' puirtith's piteous cry Kings in your ears, you shut them oot, An' proudly pass them by ; If pure humanity ye scorn As vulgar, mean, an' vile. An' think your duty you hue dune. It's hardly worth your while. 2riO A berwi(;ksiiii:k i'.aim). The wurld is fu' o' pitfa's that Will tax your wit to shun. E'en when you seek to steer your course Wi' guidance frae aboon ; But if in your ain strength you pride, An' heaven's aid revile, Some ugly fa's will yet remind — It "s liaidly worth your while. Tak' tent then, ere it he owre late. An' ne'er be proud or hie, An' gin ye fa' — as will the best — Let that a lesson be For future conduct, 'mang life's ruts. Or help owre fortune's stile ; But to sit doon an' mourn your fate — It's hai'dly Avorth your while. LOOK WIIEKE YOU'KE GAUN. Skk the bairnies at play as they loup an' they ri?i. (3r play keck-a-boo as they jouk not an' in, A' heedless o' dangers that lie in their way. As careless an' thochtless their wayward feet stray Till a stang frae the nettles, a jag frae the thorn. Or daidlies or breeks wi' some hidden nail torn ; Or maybe, when slap i' the glaur they hae faun. They're aften reminded to look where they're gaun. What are we but bairnies o bigger degree, An' aft as canisteeiie as younkers can be ; Aft reckless o' dangers that lie in oor road, An' no' takin" heed e'en where ithers hae trod ? We learn the same lesson aiciiin an' nirain, \\ hiles aften impressed wi' some measure o' i)ain, Till, brocht up fu' sudden, we sune understan' Tliat to steer in the right we ni.inn lonlv where we're gaun. What i)uir feckless creatiu'es we are at the best, Frae the time that we first ventute oot o' the nest. To the frail totterin' step that tells nature's decay. An' we find the road rough near the fit o' the brae ! LOOK WHERE YOU 'rE OAUN. 251 Oor lang life's experience at maist has been lost, For we ne'er seem to learn frae the dangers we 've crossed. An' we still fum'le on an' get upset an' thrawn, An' we 've need o' the counsel to look where we 're gaun. Hey ! hand up, my man, ye look cheery an' bricht As ye travel alang in the sun's glancin' licht ; But diniia just count on aye ha'ein" owreheid The sun's Avarm glint, or bauld signposts to read; For the mirk 's sure to come, whether welcome or no'. An' gin ye wad be safe, just gang cautious an' slow. Or ye may get benighted an' lost, till the dawn Ance mair gies the hint just to look where you're gaun. If pleasure is a' that ye live for, beware ! For "neath the blown roses lurks many a snare ; The present may be a' that ye can desire. But think on the time when o' pleasure you '11 tire. You "11 wish you could just hae the time owre again, An' hae to confess that your chances were vain ; Sae, if ye wad be safe when life's curtain is drawn. Let judgment hae scope, an' just look where you 're gaun. Gin the road o' ambition be tliat which ye seek, Or a fame that may reach you besmirched wi' the reek : Or love, that ye think will set life a' aglow. An' you 'd stake a' you hae for ae smile o' your jo : Or wealth, for its ain sake, or what it can bring. An' you think you wad just be as happ}^ 's a king : There, stop ye an' think gin the great o' the Ian Are as happy 's ye think, an' just look where you're gaiui. There is something aboon an' ayont warldly care That the rich canna filch frae the lives o' the puir ; There 's a wealth o' contentment that springs frae the heart That the humblest can own gin he '11 act but his part : But e'en in the struggle to reach that safe goal There 's mony a back-set the bravest maun thole ; An' if ye wi' contentment the future wad scan, Let your life-maxim be, aye to look where you 're gaun. .)-,.> A i:Kin\ H KSIIIKK I'.AlUt. At ceil, when life's sunset is merged in the mist, An' ye wait Imt the ca' to the lajig-lookcd-for rest Fr;ve the struggles an' cares that hae marked your life thro', An" your faith will the day-di-eaiiis o' life's s])ring renew. Let (loots an [)er{)lexities crowd as they may, Keep the soul's e'e aye fixed on a yet l)richter day — A day that will ken neither sunset nor dawn, As the promised rewurd gin ye look where you're gaun. MAii: rilK AlUUN. W'h Ai's the use o' sittin' whinin' At the lot we hae to dree 1 A' oor grief is mair than useless (xin we'll only thitdv a wee ; We had lietter thole the present, Nouiishin' a hope inborn, That tho present joys hae vanished, There will may-he mair the moin. We hae sti nggled thro' the winter To the gladness o' the spring. We hae banished care an sorrow Till oor hearts are like to sing ; Tho' today there's gloom an' miikness Everywhere we like to turn. An' the sunshine 's in the background ; Weel, there may-be mair the moin. Catch the sunbeams as they flicker. Nurse youi' joys as ])est you can : Aye to seek the gloomy icaclies Ne'er contented ony man : <;in there Ix; the faintest glimmer, Seek it oot : nor treat wi' scoi'ii Ony faint rays strugglin" earlhwjud. For there may-be mair the morn. Oh, hoo aften Hope eludes us. An' we ken-na where to steer l''oi' a woi'ij or look o' comfort That will l»ring a glint o' cheer! MAIR THE MORN. 253- Hoo we scan life's wide horizon, An' the sma'est glow discern, Bringin' e'en a little promise, Wi' a hope o' mair the morn. AVhen we get at times disheartened That oor eftbrts ne'er succeed, Tho' we dae oor best an' bravest. Failure seems to loom aheid ; Dinna slacken in your purpose. Treat a' croakers' bodes wi' scorn : Gin success but comes in dreepin's. Trust there may-be mair the morn. Sometimes e'en the sma'est trouble Fairly seems to weigh us doon ; Vet, when cares heap up the measure, Block oor path, an' hedge us roun', We oet roused frae oot oor dazement Kennin' that the tide may turn, An' the wee-est joy 's a l)lessin' That foreshadows mair the morn. A' the frettin', a" the worry, Winna turn a thread that 's wrang ; It will only liring the wrinkles An' the stoopin' gait ere lang : Sae, gin ye can warsle thro' it. Let misfortune blaw her horn, That s the tune the Auld Coo died o' ; Laugh, an' look for mair the morn. *&' Up an' at it then wi' vigour, " Never let the G-regor doon " ; Face the warld's storms an' l)uffets. An' defy your cares a' roun' : Soon you '11 see them at the gallop, A' their jaggin' prickles shorn. Like the mists that rise an' vanish When the sunshine comes at morn. '254: A i;i;i;\\icksiiii;k i;\i;ii. A MAN AK()I:K \<)l K .Mill IKK. LaN(;syne, when hut a baini at schiile, Ciey (lull at lesson Icainin', Aft cnvyin" them wi' brichter pairts The niaistcr s praises earnin' ; An' weel I mind my first success, I passed ahoon anither ; He clajjped my heid, an' said, " \uu 11 he A man afoie your mither." I took his words as kindly gi'en. An' strove to win his praises ; For then I didna understan' The meaiiin" o' sic phrases ; 15ut a' the same, it spurred me on Mair knowledge yet to gather. Determined that I yet wad be A man afore my mither. May-be my schulemates kenned the joke. An' lauched at sic a greeny, Yet T was in i-eal earnest then, Tlio hut a toddlin' weanie ; Sae, let them lauch as lang's they like, I let them rin their tether. An' set mysel" to strive an' be A man afore my mither. Oor stern auld dominie was ane We seldom kenned to utter A word o' cheer when ane did weel, Or urged them to do better; An' when he did urdjend a wee To pat you on the .shouther. His owrc-come aye was this, "You'll be A man afore your mither.' ^^'hen, aulder grown, 1 heaid the phrase An' understood its mearu'n", I never thocht I had l)cen fuled, Nor gaed aboot com})leenin' ; AT THE RICH MAX's DOOR. 255 I just turned roun' an' tell't the same To mony a yoiinger brither, "It's true eneuch, my bairn, you'll be A man afore your mither. Sin' then I 've aften thocht, altho' The words may be deceivin', There 's mony a Imirn been urged to strive When fickle tasks were grievin' ; 'Twas weel they kent nae better, but Were helped like mony anither, Wi' that sure prophecy, "You'll be A man afore your mither." Sae lang 's it helps the bairnies on, An' cheers their first endeavours, I '11 ne'er let on, nor mak' them think It 's only senseless havers ; They '11 soon find oot, as time rins on, 'Mid wark an' cares together ; Sae strive, my bairnies, strive to be A man afore your mither. AT THE RICH MAN'S DOOR. We envy aft the rich an' great, an' think their life a' bliss, That a' their lines rin smoothly, an' there 's naething gangs amiss ; But yet the rosy-cheekit fruit 's whiles wormy at the core. An' there 's aye a slippery stane at ilka rich mans door. 0' a' life's cares an' troubles they hae just to tak' their n.. ^';^'^'^-i share, An' puirtith's lot is aftentimes mair free frae sordid care ; For wealth brings mony worries they are fated to endure. An' there's aye a slippery stane at ilka rich man's door. Then there are aft temptations that the puir ken nocht aboot, An' sinfu' pleasures toyed wi' they'd be better far without; While simple, pure enjoyments aye mair lastin' peace secure. For there 's aye a slippery stane at ilka rich man's door. 256 A i;ki;\vi('Ksiiii;k i;.\i;|'. The, tliiiijis th:it l>iiii,u iii;ii.st pleasure arc wlmt Ho.ivon lias gi'en us free, All" nature's treasures spread arouu" are sent for you an" nie ; Tliev oaiuia shut tho sunshine not; tho\ i^in thf\ hail tin- power, Snia' irlints indeed wad evei' reach the i)uir man's door. Gin puirtith i^ets a tuni'le. weel. it hasna far to fa\ An' aft escapes wi" little scaith that scaicely hurts ava : But when the proud folk coup the creel they get an aufu" elour. For there's aye a slippery stane al ilka rich luaii's door. .\ltho" the puir aft find it hard to manage bite an' sup, ( )!• week to week mak" I'aith ends meet an' keep their credit up : Vet lang as wark is plentifu' their crowdie is secure, While there's aye a slippery stane at ilka rich mans door. You've heard it said that riches may tak' wings an' Hee awa , An' high folk when they tint their gear just founder where they fa' ; No like the man wha hains his wealth, they caiiiia tide it owre. An' the .slippery stane seems slipperier at the rich man's door. When .some hy Fortune's windfa' get a heizo up in the warl' Aboon the heids o' ncibouis wha maun still dra- i)nirtith's harl. Prosperity aft proves a curse when dootfu' pleasures lure ; An' there's aye a slippery stane at ilka licli man's dooi'. Then dinna covet what they hae, or iheir exalted place ; For a' their great ad\ antages aft lands them in disgrace : Cxin principle is wantin' they are sure to bite the stour, For there 's aye a Rli])pery stane at ilka rich man's door. SIMMER frien's. 257 SIMMER FRIEN'S. Life is dreich eneuch an' dreary, Sae the mair we prize a frien' When the smiles o' fickle fortune Are baith few an' far at ween ; Kindly hearts that share your sorrows,. Help you frae their scanty means, Cheer you \vi' their words o' comfort;. These are true an' trusty frien's. There are plenty ever ready, When you hae a fav'rin' breeze, To admire, an' fawn, an' flatter, Aye as mealj'-mou'd ye please : See them when your bark 's in trouble, An' her timmer creaks an' streins. They 're awa' to smoother waters ; Vain your trust in Simmer frien's. When your balance at the banker's Totals up a guidly sum. You 've nae need to whistle for them,. Uninvited, here they come ; While they 're treated at yoiu' table In your heyday festive scenes, Wha could then believe hoo hollow Are the vows o' Simmer frien's 1 Aye ! but should you hae a dooncome, An' you hae to pinch an' hain. They 're conspicuous by their absence ;. Faith, you '11 look for them in vain. A' your kindness is forgotten ; You may beg for wife an' weans, They 're awa' an' owre the Borders Like the lave o' Simmer frien's. You '11 repent it, gin you trust them Ere their honest worth you prove, An' you find their protestations Only spell oot cupboard love. 258 A I!Ki;\\I('Ksiiii:k i;.\i;i». When you hae to plan an' reckon Hoo to nurse your scanty moans, K5une tliey 11 sec you've nocht to gie them An' you '11 lose your .Simmer fricn's. You an' I, I wat, hae met them Thick as haws in harvest time, Aye sae smilin', aye sae gracious, While your prospects loom oot prime : Reckoned at their fullest value, They 're no' worth a raw o' preens ; Hearts wi' selfishness encrusted Turn oot ever Simmer frien's. Ye can aye hae plent\' loun" ye When the prospect 's fair aheid, Wha will turn tail an' desert ye In your anxious time o' need : In this life's stern uphill battle, Daily waged for wife an' weans, For a han' to help you onwards Dinna trust to Simmer fricn's. When ye find a right guid Billie, Stick to him, he 's worth it a' ; For ye can rely wi' safety On his help, hooever snia' : Maybe he's no' much to pairt wi". But that little's freely gi'en, Wi' nae thocht o' favours seekin' ; He's a leal an' faithfu' frien'. An' beware o' them wha 're ever Heady wi' their words o' praise, Wha can see nae fau'ts, but owre yuur Sma'est virtues mak' a phraise ; An' wh(>rc'er your course may tak' you. In your ain ban's keep the reins ; Better far ae faithfu' neibour Than a host o' Simmer frien's. it's a sair thing trouble. 259 IT 'S A SAIR THING TROUBLE. There are few upon this footstool That can claim exemption sure Frae the ills that flesh is heir to, And the trials we maun endure ; For tho' ilka ane's experience Is as varied as can be, It 's a sair thing trouble When the warst ye hae to dree. Ye may gather wealth in go w pens That ye kenna hoo to spend, An' ye want for naething earthly, Yet it canna buy a friend ; An' should ye hae a dooncome. An' ye fairly lose your grup, It 's a sair thing trouble When there 's nane to help ye up. We seldom think o' stintin' Against puirtith to secure, An' we fairly seemed to revel When the moothpock 's rinnin' owre ; But when we 've reached the bottom, An' oor last provision 's shared, It 's a sair thing trouble When ye 're no' owre weel prepared. There are times in oor life's journey AVhen the sky gets overcast, AVheu we reel an' stagger under Misfortune's cauldrife blast. When we see nae glint o' sunshine Thro' the mists an' fogs o' care, It 's a sair thing trouble When alane your grief you bear. When we look for help or succour To tide us owre the warst. To friends we used to swear by Wha in promises were first ; 260 A iiKKWii'KsiiiKK i;.\i;ii. They are gaiie like spring's Hrst blossoms When the frost has settled keen ; It's a sair thing trouble When ye "re left to strive your lane. Oh : the hoUuwness an' shanimin' That surrounds us every day ; We never seem to gauge it Till misfortune blocks oor way : An' we look in vain around us For a look or word o' cheer ; It 's a sair thing trouble When your lanely course you steer. E'en the rich are no exempt frae 't Ony mair than puirer folk ; Trouble comes to high an' lowly, An' we a' maun bear the yoke : Aye ! we a' meet on a level When oor hearts are stunned wi' grief ; It's a sair thing trouble E'en when wealth brings nae relief. But gin ye hae faith to lippen To the word o' promise gi'en, That your every pang is noted An' your every tear is seen ; Ye can look l)eyond the present To a time when grief shall end, While there's Aiic will share your troubles As a true and faithful friend. AT THE HEEL 0' THE HUNT. It 's a maxim that 's true o' a' countries an' climes, To succeed, ye maun try to keep pace wi' the times ; For if ithers push past ye an' get to the front, You '11 till' yoursel' left at the heel o' the hunt. We maunna look back on the past wi' its ways, Content, like oor forebears, to tak' things wi' ease; We aye maun be ready to share in life's brunt, Or languish ahint at the heel o' the hunt. NEVER GO BACK ON A FRIEND. 261 In a'thing we dae, we Avill fin' this is true, Whether business or study the path we pursue ; Gin we lag in the race, then aside we maun shunt. An' be fated to drag at the heel o' the hunt. In this age o' progression things move like a flash, An' sometimes we need baith the spur an' the lash ; Nae maitter what obstacles we maxin confront, It means winnin' the race, — or the heel o' the hunt. "A faint heart ne'er Avon" — weel, ye ken the auld saw, Tho' coortin 's no' tied doon to method or law ; Biit the slow, cautious wooer %v ill get leave to grunt, An' mourn a' his lane at the heel o' the hunt. Then be up an' daein' whate'er be your lot; Be eydent, an' mak' for your mark like a shot; Keep the goal in your e'e as ye push to the front, Or mak' up your min' for the heel o' the hunt. NEVER GO BACK ON A FRIEND. As you journey through life, though the road may be rough, And with trouble you have to contend. True friendship will smooth all the crosses you meet, So never go back on a friend. Let brotherly love be your motto where'er A kind-hearted neighbour you find ; For firm true affection is rare in this world. So never go back on a friend. If once he was Avealthy, but now broken down. And his riches all gone like the Avind ; Though poor, if his heart be as true as of yore, Then never a;o back on a friend. When calumny raises a cry 'gainst his name, To scandal an ear never lend ; Always speak a good Avord, or say nothing at all, And never go back on a friend. 262 A BKHMirKslllKK l',AI!I». Always stretch out :i li.iiid to those in distress, r>ut ail ('iiii>ty liaml never extend ; Advice may lir i;i>()(l, Imt tlie hungry 'twont fill, So never go hack uii a tiiciid. So remember wherever your lot may he cast. Let your motto he, "leal to the end," And you '11 never have cause to mourn the loss Of a good, honest, truc-hfartcd fiiend. IT'S A' THE SAME TO ME. Lp:t fortune smile or fortune froon. It 's a' the same to me ; I never let my spirits doon, P>ut lauch wi' hearty glee : Auld care gangs doiterin' hy my door, He daurna show his nose oot owre ; Nae matter though he glunch an' gloAver, It 's a' the same to me. Tho' I hae neither lands nor gear, It 's a' the same to me ; I 've something that I hand mair dear Than a' that wealth can gie : r toil alarig for wliat I hae, Tho' that hut sci-\es frae day to day ; An' while grim |>uiitirli keeps away, It 's a' the same to me. The rich ride past in gilded state. It 's a' the .same to me ; I jog alaug my humltle gate, Tho' rough the road may he : I note the cliarm that nature flings Owre vale an' hill, the Ijird that sings ; While free to share sic pleasin' things, It 's a' the same to me. I hae nae hankerin' after fame. It 's a' the same to me : Let ithers rise an' mak' a name, I '11 cast nae envious e'e : THE MORN WE NEVER SAW. 263 But in my place I '11 be content, An' count my days an' years weel spent ; If free frae woe, an' safe frae Avant, It 's a' the same to me. I never heed what neibours say, It 's a' the same to me ; I never care what ithers dae, I let the boddies be : Gin they '11 but keep their ain gate en'. An' lea' me to jog on my lane, 0' them an' theirs I '11 ne'er complain, It 's a' the same to me. Gin Maggie gies me the go-bye, It 's a' the same to me ; I'll treat her just as saucily. An' let the lassies be : Gin she can fin' anither jo To lo'e her better, what for no' ; She 's free to choose her laddie 0, It 's a' the same to me. Tho' frien'ship flit like morning dew. It 's a' the same to me ; I '11 sune fin' ithers, leal an' true. To share life's joys wi' me : If them that I hae trusted lang Get cauld as ice, there 's something wrang ; I '11 ne'er tak' tent the road they gang, It 's a' the same to me. THE MORN WE NEVER SAW. That thief. Procrastination, Maun hae mony a hearty laugh When he sees us unco ready Ony duty to put aff. What does 't matter — thus we reason- If we lose an hour or twa 1 We can mak' it up the morn ; But the moin we never saw. -64 A J'.KRWICKSHIKE l!Ain». Hoo we waste the precious mi mites Till they stretch oot into lioors, An' forget the wecl-tlmniberl maxim That the present time is oors ; We are lavish o' a treasure That we never can reca', The' we aft re-hear the adage, That the morn we never saw. AVeel ! there's maybe some excuse for't, When the task we hae to dae Isna just sae awfu' j)leasant, An' we shun 't as lang 's we may ; But gin we are bound to face it, Tak' the jol) on richt awa', — \\ ait na that convenient season On the morn ye never saw. Is it business care that worries, ^ An' ye hope 'gainst hope that sune That everlastin' liurdon 0' hard times will change its tune 1 It will otdy come by ettbrt ; I'ut your back against the wa', An' tak' time by the forelock. For the morn ye never saw. Altho' time heals mony troubles That are aften hard to bear, I^inna count on help frae ithers. For ye hae to dae your share : 'J'ho' the tide may turn withoot ye That is ruled by Nature's law, Tak' it at the Hood, an' trust na To the morn ye never saw. In oor youth what thochtless wastric, Aye ! an' even in oor prime ; Ane wad think there was nae end o"t, We're sae prodigal o' time : KISS THE SAIR PLACE. 265 But when up in years, my callants, Ye wad fain the past reca', Then nae mair are moments squandered, For the morn we never saw. Just a word in application — As the parsons say — to teach Hoc we prize the years that 's slipt us, An' are far ayont oor reach : But 'twill dae nae guid to grumble That oor chances noo are sma' ; Set to wark to mak' the best o't, For the morn ve never saw. KISS THE SAIK PLACE. See the wee bit toddlin' bairnie Staggerin' owre the cottage floor, Quits its grip an' tines its balance, Gies its wee bit head a dure ; See the mither rin to raise it, Croodles owre 't, an' strokes its broo, "Let your mammy kiss the sair place ; There, my bairn is better noo." When, as laddies, we were promised Whiles a treat in schulin' days, An' admonished to be eydent Owre oor " Lennie's " an' oor " Gray's " ; ^ Gin we risked to play the truant. We for this were richtly ser'ed. For the Maister left a sair place, An' oor faither did na spared. When in calf-love days you 're jilted By some lassie you admire. An' you think the warld 's grown dreary, An' you 'd fain frae it retire ; 1 Lennie"s Grammar and Gray's Arithmetic ; two classics in school fifty years ago. I remember them well ; bound in fuU leather. Books were books then. — J. P. 2G6 A liKKVvirKsillKK i;\i;h. Foolish laddie, you re hut learnin" What vour elders keti owre weel : Women's wilos leave moiiy a sair place Time alone can kis.s an' heal. When misfortunes blast has found us Cowerin' neath some scanty Ijeild, When cor erst-while frien's desert us, An' to dark despair we yield ; Gin some kindly, generous nature Gies us e'en a word o' cheer, 'Tis a balm that soothes the sair place Better far than gifts o' gear. When the heart is bowed wi' sorrow Aftentime owre deep for words, An' the warld, that ance could cheer ye, Noo nae solid peace affords. Then some neibour's kindly action Seems to lift a load o' pain. Brings ance mair the smiles an' sunshine. As the mither soothes the wean. Let us, then, where puirtith pinches, Gie what little help we can. An' tho' clad in tattered garments, Dinna let 's despise the man ; For beneath these rags there may l»e Ti-ner heai-t as e'er was born. Which will feel its sairs mair keenl\' When the world has nought but scorn. CO.MK IX All INT. Yor '\'K nae doot seen a flock o' sheep In canny shepherd's care. Whiles nibblin' in the grassy ditch As 'yont tlie road they steer ; The watchfu' collie rins an' youflls When some wee lammie strays. Till ordered to "come in ahint," \\'hen promptly he obeys. COME IX AHINT. 26T E'en like the shepherd wi' the doug That minds its maister's Avords, AVe hae to watch oor life's desires Just like sae mony herds ; An' should we ance owrestep the mark, Before we gang owre far, A timely stern " come in ahint " May save frae something waur. If Ave could aye oor passions guide, That aft wad lead us wrang In ways o' sinfu' pleasures, bought Wi' mony an after-stang ; When slee temptation whispers saft, "The Avarl' will never ken," Then conscience cries, " Come in ahint,"' An" saves us muckle pain. Oor bairns wad sune be maisters gin They gat their wilfu' Avay ; Sae we can ne'er begin owre sune To teach them to obey : An' when rebellious, as at times The maist o' them will be, The faither's stern "come in ahint"" Will curb their wills a-wee. Sometimes when lovers quarrel, an' The breach no' like to heal, Tho' pairted, as if ne'er to meet. They like ilk ither weel ; Throw pride aside gin you're to blame,. An' own your faut richt oot ; A whispered saft "come in ahint" Will brins' them back nae doot. 'O If we hae wandered frae the faith Oor faithers held sae firm, An' speculative themes hae lured Wi' their seductive charm ; 268 A r.KiavicKSHiRK baih). There comes a time when we are fain To hae the auld faith back, An' reason cries "come in ahint," In humbler ways to walk. Gin tilde's a deil to tempt puir folk To whiles gang ott" the straucht, Just keep a sharp lookoot, an' set Your conduct as you ought ; Ne'er be beguiled 1)v honeyed words To dae what brings disgrace, Just mind him to "come in ahint," An' keep his proper place. II (NT THE GOWK! TiiK fules are no' a' deid yet, as Frae day to day appears — ■ Young fules, for whom there's some excuse, An' waur anes up in years ; They 're a' on bubble schemes engaged. Or fuli.sh ei-rands bent, \Yhilk turn oot but a hunt the gowk. When time an' siller 's spent. The j)hantom pleasures that we seek. An' strive for late an' ear', Aft turn oot like the Deid Sea fruit, Or bring us nocht but care ; The prospects aye seem bright eneuch, I iitil we reach the goal. All' llieii it's l)Ut a hunt the ijowk To gull some silly fulc :See yonder youth wi' anxious e'e The sportin' paper scan. To find the stakes he risked arc gane, An' he's a puirer man ; >Could he but see ahint the scenes, I loo wires are deftly jitdled, llo'd find himsel' a hunt the gowk — Ain't her greeny fuled. HUNT THE GOWK ! 269' The love ye lavished nicht an' morn On yon fair blushing queen Gied promise o' a sweet return, An' a'thing looked serene ; But when she left ye in the cauld, An' chose anither mate, Ye fand 'twas but a hunt the gowk, But fand it oot owre late. We sometimes dream o' climbin' up To heights o' wealth an' fame, An' naething will content us but A much belauded name : Mair like we '11 flounder in the bogs Where social wrecks are rife, To find it 's but a hunt the gowk That 's blighted mony a life. Gin we wad be content to plod An' tak' oor pleasures slow, An' seek the simple joys that leave Nae aftermath o' woe. We 'd hae nae cause to grumble then An' rail at Fortune's froon ; We wadna play the hunt the gowk, An' aye be hauden doon. What tho' we toil baith nicht an' morn To hoard a pickle gear, An' lea' oor minds to rin to weeds For want o' healthy lear ; When youth's bricht days are past an' gane,. We '11 at the last repent ; For siller 's but a hunt the gowk That brings nae pure content. It 's no' alane on April first They fulish errands gang. For there are some sae warped an' thrawn They 're sure to choose the wrang ; -J70 A i;ki;\vi(Ksiiikk i-.aiih. Some see their error, un' reform (4iii they 've been fuled but ance ; r>ut tliere iii-e life-lang hunt the gowks Tluit never can learn sense. WAIT AND HOPE. •Cease repining, troubled heart, Time will soothe the bitter smart; Now, though (lark the clouds may lower, Summer comes with sun and shower ; Wait and hope. Though thou may'st have loved and yearned For a love yet uru-eturned ; Though thy wealth of lo\'e were wasted For a mutual love untasted, Wait and ho])e. Kindness wins a kindred feeling, And the heart, yet um-evealing, Love's mute mysteries may yet True felicity beget; Wait and hope. May-be thou hast loved ami lost, Shadows o'er thy pathway crossed ; Though forlorn thy life may be. There are brighter days for thee ; Wait and hope. Come, no longer sadly shun Summer breezes, summer sun ; Let not winter's storm-clouds roll O'er thy dark, despairing soul ; Wait and hoi)e. And as sure as summer brings Flowers and fruits and pleasant things, So thy i)ath will bloom anew \Vilh a mutual love and true ; Wait and hope. HEAVEN IS no' SAE FAR AWA'. 271 HEAVEN IS NO' SAE FAR AWA.' This world has mony beauteous spots, And wonders rare that reach the heart ; We cannot gaze on God's great work An' think o' Him as far apart ; We see His footsteps 'mang the flowers, An' hear His voice when breezes blaw, While nature everywhere affirms That Heaven is no' sae far awa'. An' there are mony worthy souls Amang the puir aye daein' guid, To cheer the widow 'mid her tears. An' children in their orphanhood ; On Christ's example they rely. To teach the world that after a' Kind words an' deeds are valid proofs That Heaven is no' sae far awa'. Amid the darkest city slums, AVhere vice an' greed together herd, Where foul debauchery shuns the licht An' human lives are warped an' blurred, There still are hearts like jewels bricht, Forced low by puirtith's iron law, Wha's lives nae foulness can besmirch, For Heaven is no' sae far awa'. I put nae trust in them wba preach That power for guid is gi'en to few, Yet hug some dim uncertain dream, 'Twill a' be richt ayont the blue ; Noo is the sure accepted time To labour at the Maister's ca', An' show, amid life's darklin' scenes. That Heaven is no' sae far awa'. 'Tis no' the creeds which men profess. Nor yet the shibboleths they preach, But heart-communin's true an' guid The Faither's listenin' ear will reach : 272 A I'.KKWrcKSFIIKK I'.Ani). For liuman hearts are grander far Than mightiest creeds the world ere saw ; AVliile huml»lo upright Hves prochiim That Heaven is no' sae far awa'. While lisLenin' to tlie prattlin' words That give a charm to balndiood, You tell me that their nature 's vile, That there is no' a trait o' guid ; I care not M'liat your creeds assert, Christ's words I deem a higher law. An' childhood's innocence to me Proves Heaven is no' sae far awa'. Let men hae but some end in view, To raise the fallen, aid the puir, 8ae then, when they are ca'd awa', They '11 lea' the world mair l)richt an' fair To-day 's the time for labour's task. An' tho' your efforts be but sma', E'en here you'll reap a rich reward, For Heaven is no' sae far awa'. WHEN THE DAYS ARE.CKEEPIN' IN. The simmer Howers are witiiered, The simmer wiiuls are gane, An' yellow leaves lie scattered On upland an' in glen ; The burnie lilts sae dolefu' As its drundie waters rin. An' the sun curtails his glances When the days are creepin' in. The stacks hae a' been thackit, We 've laid aside the plough, Tlie tatties a' arc iiowkit. An' the simmer dargs are thro' ; An' noo beside the ingle, In the neid< sae snug an' clean, Sae canty we foregather When the days are creepin' in. I'll fecht till i dkk. 27S Noo winter 's comin' surel}', Wi' cauldiife win's an' snaw, We 're thankfu' for oor biggin', Altho' oor cot 's but sma' ; We envy nae the riches Sae inony try to win ; We hae oor simple pleasures When the days are creepin' in. An' for the helpless ootcasts We never grudge a bite ; AVe 're fain to gie them shelter Frae the nippin' winter's night : For we think o' oor ain laddie Far frae a' his kith an' kin, Amang strangers may be fendin' When the days are creepin' in. Auld age comes on us creepin', For oor simmer days are past, An' sune we maun be sleepin' Amang the mools at last ; But yonder, where oor hope is, Free frae a' stains o' sin. There will be nae cheerless Avinters When the days are creepin' in. I'LL FECHT TILL I DEE. I 'm a peaceable chap when I 'm tethered at hame, Wi' the ties o' my bairns, an' my couthie guid-dame ; I quarrel wi' nae ane, nor yet interfere Wi" the neibours at ban', act they ever sae queer ; But should they misca' me, or wreck my guid name. Or seek to bring discord among us at hame, I 'm ready to gie them as guid as they gie, An' for hame, wife, and weans, faith, I '11 fecht till I dee. If ye 're coortin' a lass that ye think muckle o'. An' she in return thinks the warl' o' her jo, Ye surely wad shield her frae a' kinds o' scaith, An' listen to naething to weaken your faith ; 18 •J7J A r.KKWK'KSHIKK I'.AUI). Uut should sdine mean suitor, wi' uudcrhan" iiirts, Hudoavour to siudcr 3our twa trustiii' lu-aits, Ye 're nae man ava, gin ye no say wi" me, For the lassie I hVe I will fecht till I dee. Ye 're puir sliauihlin' creatures that ken na theii- mind, But are just like the leaves blawn a' airts wi' the wind, Wha hae nae richt principle guidin' their acts. An" i-etail idle gossij) as gin it were facts. Awa" uot my gate, I "ve nae use for sic crew ; Gie me the upricht man that's faithfu' an' true, Wha "11 stick to the straueht road tho' a' gang agee. An" for honour's sake 's ready to fecht till he dee. There's nae word I ken that's sae rauckle abused. Or oftener by the l)ase-spirited used, Than TiOyalty —oh ! but it covers a lot U' ill-deeds that leave on oor standard a blot ; Sic wrang daein', tho' dum- in tlie name o' oor Queen, Is a thing I'm ashamed o" — despical)le, mean ; They may prate o" sic loyalty wha like f(jr me. But for honoiu- and justice I 11 fecht till I dee. There are folks wha can talk o' their friendships fu' gleg, Wha to help ye in trouble will no lift a leg, Their offers o" help come when a" thing is fair. When your purse is weel lined an' you haena a care : I5ut the first cloud o" sorrow sends them a' adrift, An" ve're left to yoursel' "mid misfortune to shift ; But for frien's -vvha wad share their last shillin' wi' me, Should 1 need it, for them I wad fecht lill I ilee. I wiiuia boo doon to the greatest on earth, If a" he can boast o's his fortunes an' biith. Nor yet to a party that bolster up wrang, Aji" ignore puirtith's cry in the grip o' the straiig : But where they bring fairly their deeds to the licht. Redress grievous ills, and conserve what is richt, Tliey '11 get my sui)port, tho' it's a' I can gie ; l>ut 'gain.st legal oppression I '11 fecht till I dee. /iDiscellaneous poems. "Accept my best thanks for your book, into which I have looked ^vith great pleasure. Your songs are full of nature, and love, and truth, and pious wisdom, and genuine Scottish feeling. ' The Thistle ' is an excellent glorification of our kinglj- weed ; and the ' Royal ilouse ' is a poem that would have done credit to Burns." — Letter from Professor Blackie. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE ROYAL MARRIAGE. While fevered nations cease their burning strife, And war-worn veterans seek their homes again ; While mourning widows 'mid their blighted life, And orphans in their prayers. Think of the loved who fell on battle plain, Unmoved by sighs and tears ; And patriot hearts with holy feelings swell For the brave ones in duty's cause who fell ; Within our peaceful kingdom, far and near, "Mid city life, in rural cot and hall, A nation's voice is raised in loyal cheer On the bright bridal morn : ■God bless the fair Louise resounds from all — God bless the Lord of Lome ; And Scotland sees with patriotic pride Her son united to a peerless bride. On mountain tops the lurid bonfires blaze, As when of old to herald war's alarms. But now the thoughts of peace and joy they raise. And call the happy free Not to repel a proud invader's arms — - 'Tis England's jubilee ; And peer and peasant join with one accord To hail the maiden and her happy lord. '27^ A UEUWICKSHIRK I'.AKD. Our t.iir doiniiiioii, luyal to the core, Vies with our mother-land to wish them joy ; And Scottish hearts, where'er the wide world o'er. One .sentiment express, That heaven will watch them with a lo\ ing eye. And guard, protect, and bless With love felicitous that will abide ; Not the cold form which mocks a purchased bride. If such were needed, 'twill our hearts unite In closer bond to our beloved C^)ueeri, N\ hose virtues shine with a refulgence bright, Though sorrow clouds her heart : A mother to her people she hath been. And we must act our })art. Like loving children ready to obey. When called to peaceful scene or battle fray. Campbell, the scion of a noble race, AVhose deeds of valour shine on history's page, May'st thou through life their worthy footsteps trace Though now in battle-tield No longer clansmen glorious warfare wage Or deadly claymore Avield : Thine be the path which art and science claim ; Here add new lustre to thy honoured name. For thee, fair daughter of a noble (.(Jueen, We wish thy life as happy, pure, and good ; Thine be the Christian's better part to win, And shine in all thy deeds : May never grief within thy heart intrutle. As neath thy mothers weeds : Thine be the queenly virtues we admire ; Thine be the genius of thy no])le Sire. o^ So when thou hear'st our acclamations peal ; So when thou seest torch and taper gleam. Know that our hearts are ever staunch and leal, And true to all that s free : KOBERT BURNS. 279 Deem not our vows an empty worthless dream ; AVe will be true to thee, Long us thou keep'st thy wifely honour bright, And holdst thv lord's heart as thv love's true right. 'o" And we, though parted from our fatherland — The land thy mother loves with many ties — With willing hands and willing hearts Avill stand To guard thy happy home : Our country's stainless memories we prize Wherever we may roam, And dearer for all time because of thee Will be to us that land across the sea. EGBERT BURNS. (written* for a CALEDONIAN" SOCIETY GATHERING.) While gathered here frae a' the airts, Wi' mirth an' sang to cheer oor hearts, Ae name, 'boon a', a lowe impairts To Scottish veins ; He wha auld Scotia's fame asserts In Doric strains. Dear Ploughman Bard, wha's meteor flicht Gleamed but a span, then sank in nicht, Yet left ahint a glamour bricht 0' sang sublime. An' gilded wi' poetic licht The stream o' time ; Thy name an' fame become mair dear As time rows roun' the circling year ; An' Scotia's sonsy bairns, where'er They may foregather, Delichted, list thy lilts to hear Frae ane anither. 280 A !'.ki;\vi. ) Where shall our loved ones rest In their last unbroken sleep 1 Shall it be Ijy the river's brink, Where it is still and deep ; Where its murmurs waft along 'Mid the zephyr's gentle sigh, Where the night-bird's scream is heard, And the echoes make repl}' '? Where shall our loved ones rest 1 Shall it be in the fragrant shade, In the leafy waving dome, By the spreading maple made ; Where the grass grows fresli and green, And the cricket's chirp is heard. Where the leaves are trembling low, Like a lover's whispered word ? Where shall our loved ones rest ? Shall it be where the night-dews weep, And the twinkling stars above Their silent vigils keep ; Where the winding stream below. And the waving pines o'erhead, Join in a mournful strain, A requiem for the dead 1 Where shall our loved ones rest 1 Shall it 1)0 by the wintry wold, Where the driving clouds are dark, And the storms blow bleak and cold ; Where the sere and yellow leaves At the north wind's breath shall fall. And a spotless shroud descends So gently over all 1 Where shall our loved ones rest ? Shall it 1)0 where the summer flowers And the merry songs of birds Are first in the sylvan bowers 1 MITHER'S BONNIE LASS. 293 Ah ! yes, let us lay them there, Where flowers shall each grave adorn, And tell of the life renewVl On the resurrection morn. MITHER'S BONNIE LASS. AVe hae a fair-haired lauchin' wean, As fu' o' mirth and glee As ony friskin' lamb that sports Upon the gowany lea ; An' should ye spier her name, she "11 look Wi" roguish, lauchin' face, And say, "I'se dot no usser name — I 'se mither's bonnie lass." Ay, 'deed, she 's mither's lassie noo, The younglin' o" the fauld, An' oor hearts cling closer till her, As we feel we 're growin' auld ; We watch an" guard wi' ceaseless care Frae a' the storms that pass. That no' a bitin' blast can harm Oor mither's bonnie lass. An' when she says her prayers at nicht, An' cuddles 'mang the claes. We ask kind Heaven to be her guide In a' her comin' days ; We nichtly plead that she may hae The Spirit's savin' grace. To keep her pure as she is noo, Her mither's bonnie lass. Her mither's heart aft pleads Avi' Him Wha blessed the bairns langsyne. To hae a watchfu' e'e upon This wee, wee tot o' mine ; To shield her in His lovin' airms Frae a' sin"s foul disgrace. An' be thro' life a Guide an' Frien' To mither's bonnie lass. 294 A BERWIf'KSTriRK l:Ai;i>. NAE .MAli;. Sldwly ell Rings oot ;i soleniii fuiienil knell On the bitin' winter aii\ A moiirnfu' dirge for the loved and ganc, While the funeral march, wi' its sad refrain. Tells o" ane wha will march again Nae mair. Slowly the crowd o' mourners go Thro' the eager air an' the drivin' snow To the kirkyaird, bleak an' bare. AVhere the elm tree })oints, wi' bony arms, To the joyless river an' dreary farms, Owre ane wha '11 hail spring's buddin' charms- Nae mair. He is laid to rest, the salute is fired, The train o' mourners hae u' retired ; ^^'hile the band, wi' lively air. Wakens the echoes frae grove an' plain, Whilk silently listened the funeral strain ; But, gay or sad, lie will listen again Nae mair. Cauld in death is his kindly heart. Silent his tongue ; frae street an' mart His frien's will miss him sair. But as the years roll swiftly by. We '11 lo'e the spot where his ashes lie. While his name shall fade frae oor memory Nae mair. The nicht is sad wi' the widow's wail, An' infant fears are soothed wi" the tale (A light 'mid the dark despair), If faither comes not, they '11 go to him, Wheic their cup o' joy will be fu' to the brim.. \\ here hearts are sad, and eyes grow dim Nae mair. faither'8 ain iuirn. 295 FAITHEK'S AIN BAIRN. Faither's ain bairn is a blue-e'ed lassie, Wi' lint-white locks hingin' doon owre her broo, An' the blush on her cheeks like the roseate daAvnin', Or the crimson flowers wat wi' the simmer dew. Her step is as licht as the breath o' the zephyr That scarce stirs the grass hy the brae-side or cairn ; As she rins thro' the meadow, the gowans she tramps on Spring up frae the tread o' faither's ain bairn. Her voice is as sweet as the sang o' the mavis Whilk sings aye sae saft at the close o' the day, An' she '11 lilt an' she '11 sing the hale day thegither. As she gathers flower-wreaths by burnie or brae. The ither wee lassies will toddle thegither, Awa' thro' the woods amang heather or fern, To meet my wee lassie ; for nocht they lo'e better Than the sangs an' the stories o' faither's ain bairn. In the lang winter nichts she '11 sit by the ingle Watchin' the Hare o' the dancin' lowe. Or wi' saft dimple fingers she smooths oot the wrinkles That she wunners to see in her faither's brow. It cheers me to list to her innocent prattle ; An' her sweet winnin' ways, to a' sae endearin', Sune mak' me forget the cares o' life's battle. As I kiss the fair cheek o' faither's ain bairn. Ilk mornin' an' nicht, when the knee we are bendin' To Him that 's the Giver o' a' that we hae, Wi' deep, fervent zeal I press the petition, That oor lassie may never be taken away : That she may be kept frae a' trial an' temptation. As pure as she 's noo, is my deepest concern. Till some likely laddie may woo her an' win her ; Tho' she'll ave be to me her faither's ain bairn. -J9r> A BEUWicKsmiiK r..vi;i». WITKX 1)AT>DV ('O:\rKS HAME. I KEN ii canisteerie wee laddie, w li;i keeps Baitli anld folks an' youiii^ folks at hamc on the gang : Frae the time that he waukens, straucht on till he sleeps, There 's nae rest where he is the weary day lang. His playthings are constantly shifted aboot, An' tho' the cart 's broken, the cuddie is lame, He 's as happy s a king either indoors or oot ; But his greatest delicht is when daddy comes hame. Sae cheery 's the rogue, tho' on mischief aye bent, He 's a general favourite wi' strangers that ca' ; Gin new toys are gi'en him, he's never content Till he sees the inside, be "t engine or ba'. An' tho' the last present be never sae braw, Before the day's owre wi 't the novelty's tame, Then the cat gets a thro'-gaun that ends in a claw ; But a'thing is changed when his daddy comes hame. AVhen he gangs for a Avalk wi' his auntie or me, His cat, like a collie, comes trottin' alang. Then hear hoo he'll lauch when it rins up a tree. An' jumps like a S(|uirrcl the branches amang ; But listen the yells when he sees a stray doug, An' no' for himsel' is he feared for the same, But Girsie, wee Girsie, he shields wi' a hug. An" he'll watch it an' guard it till duildy comes hame. The laddies, wha pass as they gang to the schule. Will sonu'tinies look in just to play for a wee. An lie 11 lend them his toys— bat, barrow or bool, An' the way they enjoy 't is a pleasure to see ; For hours after schule-time the fun 's at its height. Their lessons forgotten when thrang wi' their game : It ne'er troubles them hoo tho time tak"s its flight. An' their ploys dinna cease until daddy comes hame. But see him at e'en on dad's knee in the neuk, A smile on his face an' his een open wide. He listens to stories ne'er learned frae a buik, 0' giants an' faii'ies - an's ncei- satisfied : THE BAIRNIE TAK's AFTER HIS FAITHER. 297 He '11 try to keep wauken when Nature says na ! Whiles nocldin' an' winkin', ilk nicht it 's the same, Till at last, to the fair land o' Nod he 's awa', In the arms he lo'es dearest, when daddy 's at hame. Aye ! aften I whisper a prayer by mysel', That Heaven may protect him where'er he may gang ; When — his laddie days owre — he maun fend for himsel', An' oot in the warl' he maun mix wi' the thrang : May the vices an' sins that are ilka where rife Ne'er lure him aside to the byways o' shame ; But, pure as his bairnhood, ilk day o' his life Be as happy as noo wi' his daddy at hame. THE BAIRNIE TAK'S AFTER HIS FAITHER. We hae a bit laddie doon bye at the hoose. An' the mither aboot him is cantie and crouse ; As for me, vvha am generally sober an' douce, They say I am prood o' him raither : Wi' his carroty pow he is unco like me ; He 's a kip to his nose, an' a cast i' his e'e, An' a' the auld wives in the clachan aairee That the bairnie tak's after his faither. 0' the wee ane's complaints he has had his full share, The kink-host an' measles, — an' twenty things mair ; Yet he 's stoot an' weel-faured a' the howdies declare, Whilk comforts the heart o' his mither : Yet 'mang a' the troubles, an' drawbacks sae rife, He tak's to the bottle as nat'ral as life, An' aften I smile as I tell the guidwife That the bairnie tak's after his faither. When the lassies drap in hoo he coo's an' he craws, An' glams at their ribbons, their gum-flowers an' braws, Or expresses his joy wi' goo-goos and da-das. While the lassies guffaw to ilk ither : As for me, when I see a' the cuddlin' gaun on, I think o' the days afore Kirsty was won ; For in a' this curdooin' sae early begun. The bairnie tak's after his faither. 29S A I'.HKWK KSIIIKK i;.\i;|i. Your rattles an' toys he no cares for a precii, Nor (lolls — whilk the lassocks are fond o', I ween : But see hoo lie "11 warstle an' cock up his een When I jingle the siller thegither : An' should I a bawbee an' saxpence hand oot, He 11 gral) at the wee anc withoot ony doot : This auld-farraiit weanie kens what he 's aboot, For the bairnie tak's after his faither. There's ae thing peculiar to Sootcliineii a uwre, They 're unco strong-wulled an' inclined to be dour ; They winna be driven, dae a' i' your ])ooer, Tho' they'll follow withouten a swither: An' vounsr as he is, I can see i' the wean I/O ' He'll Stan' to his point just as steeve as a stane. An' he '11 try a' he can to toddle his lane ; For the bairnie tak's after his faither. Let us hope, as the years come an' gang, he will be Aye lovin" and kind to his mother an" me ; Nor frae the straucht road gangin' nieikle aglee, Nor wi' dootfu' com])anions foregather ; Aye firmly the wiles o' the warl' to withstand, As saft as the doon, yet as gritty as sand. An' baud up his head wi' the best i' the land, For the baii'tn"e tak's after hi-^ faitlici-. TO PLEASE THE 15AIKNS. Mv bonnic wife an' sonsie weans Are a' the Wiirl' to me ; I canna boast o' nnickle gear. Vet blither could na be ; The lowe o' love lichts up my hanie, An' seek thro' a' the ^Icarns, Ye wirnia fin' a hap[)ier pair. Or bonnier toddlin' bairns. Just see me when I ni hame at e'en A-sprauchlin' on the Hoor, An' playin' Ixiols wi' a' my micht Wi' lauchin" vounkers four ; TU PLEASE THE BAIRNS. 299' An' then I '11 male' them paper kites, Or totums oot o' pirns ; I 'm just a bairn again mysel', An' a' to please the bairns. To music I mak' nae pretence, I dinna ken a note, But when I try to lilt a song It seems to come by rote ; The tune may no' be classical. An' hae some queerish turns, But what does 't maitter after a' — If serves to please the bairns 1 An' when I take my keelievine, An' on the jam-stane draw A horse or hoose, or something else, Just hear the younkers craw ; Nae artist yet wham fame has reached. An' gowden honours earns, Could frae his patrons win mair praise, Or better please the bairns. Then never let the bairnies think Ye dinna share their joys. An' dinna think yoursel' demeaned To join their childish ploys ; Far better to unbend awee. Forget life's dull concerns : Twill tak' the kink oot mony a care To try an' please the bairns. The time will come, fu' soon atweel, When we maun lea' them a' To bear alane the warl's cares, As fortune kicks the ba' ; An' maybe, when we 're auld an' frail, Oor love will bring returns, In helpfu' care for totterin' age Frae kind an' lovin' bairns. 500 A r.ERWICKSHlKE BARD. THE WAXING YEAR. S\\ II ii,v to its close The old year goes, And nouifht that we can do its stej) retard ; Still it, with many a groan, AVith struggle, sigh and moan, 'Mid life's last el)bing throes, Dies hard. Oh ! it hath seen sad sights, This fading year, Brought many woful {flights To nations and to men ; Bloodshed and war to some, And blackest gloom : To others woe and fear, A prospect drear Of want and misery, Sad heart and tearful eye, That we Hope ne'er to see Again. And it hath liad briii'ht davs, .Vnd sunny skies o'erhead. Full many a mother gave to heaven Her heartfelt praise ; While on her lowly bed, When, pain and travail past, She gazed with joy at last Upon the lovely child kind Providence had given. And maniage bells have pealed A merry peal, As in the solemn church The holy man of (4od Spoke of the j>ledges sealed In Heaven — exhorts them to fulfil Each unto each the vows they take; Tiien to their new aljodc THE WANING YEAR. 301 The prancing steeds soon whirl them away ; And anxious crowds, around the porch, Wish life an' love for the young couple's sake, And all seems glad and gay. But let the curtain fall Upon the woes of war, And awful waste of life that did appal The world both near and far. And let us pray that, in the coming year. No tear May fall upon a murdered victim's bier ; But over all the earth Peace and good-will to man will reign ; As from out the ark of hope goes forth, "With olive branch, the peaceful dove, Proclaiming heaven's love To fallen man ; Pointing to gloomy wrecks of days gone b}^,. Warning of guilt's undying misery, And leading to the cross of Calvary All nations, slave and free, A Saviour's all-atoning death to see. ^o Thus would the coming year Witness, alone, contrition's hopeful tear. And the " good time " by sages often sung. With poesy's sweet tongue, Come with the infant year's bright smile, When all our flickering hopes and fears, And anxious toil, Would dissipate before the genial ray Of a millennial day. Alone I sit and dream Upon this solemn theme ; The passing moments, with a sigh, Rush swiftly by ; Around me all is darkness and repose,. As to the year's sad close The clock with warning finger points, And wisely hints :502 A KKItWICKsillKK r.AKH. Ot tliat time wlieu my liuk- }car shuU cease, Exhorting me to make with heaven my peace, That so. When partinsi; fi'om this weary world below, Hope's bright illumined star May lead my thoughts from Time's sad scenes of woe, And through the valley's gathering gloom (Jiiide on and up nfar to an unfading home. BIRTHDAY MUSINGS. This day have twenty years Hown by Since first I ope'd an infant eye On this sad vale of tears ; And, ah ! what changes have Ijeen wrought Since first a loving mother sought To guide my tender years ! 1 cannot help the rising sigh While back I cast a wistful eye. As fain some token to descry Of youth's unclouded joys ; And 1 can see a summer sky, O'er which no threatening storm-clouds tiy, And watch that time pass swiftly by — The time when we were boys. And fain 1 d be a boy again Amid those scenes of yore. To roam by heathy moor and glen. By wildwood, mead, and stream. And from the cloudlet's summer beam, The morning ))reeze, the warbler's song. The opening flower with dewdrops hung. The fairy nook, the hillock green, And every loved and cherish'd scene. To learn poetic lore. But no ; alas ! it cannot be That e'er tliis heart shall be as free From worldly grief and care ; BIRTHDAY MUSINGS. 303 For fancy's fairest pictures fail To paint the world as fair As when, by streamlet, hill, and dale, With hearts as free as summer gale, SAveet nature's charms cheer'd heart and eye, Imparting hope, and peace, and joy. Yea, happiness without alloy Or sin's delusive glare. And where are those who with me play'd Upon the village green. And oft together careless stray'd The still, sequester'd scene. Where 'mong the springing flowers we lay, By meadow green, or mossy brae, And told our tale, or sung our song, Or cull'd the fragrant flowers. While, happy as the day was long. We pass'd the fleeting hours 1 They, too, are scatter'd far and wide ; In many lands they roam ; In backAvoods wild, or torrid clime. Or on the foaming tide ; Far from their natiA^e home They pass their manhood's prime. But 'tis in vain to sigh For those bright hours, now Hed, To come again ; The future path doth lie Before me, Avhere I can descry ShadoAvs dark and dread ; But then the battle must be fought. And it is all in A^ain To live in dreams, and labour not. Then "up and doing" be the cry. Clouds and darkness to defy. And soon the shadoAvs dark shall fly, And bring a clear and sunny sky. As sunshine folloAvs rain. 304 A i!i:i;\\ K k.siiii;k I!Aui>. Now I shall hope and pray That, come wiiat may, The coming day Shall open calm and fair, And find me ready for the fight. To do and battle for the right, Nor nurse desponding care. But, journeying along life's way, Tho' dark the clouds above, Some hopeful cvcr-cheering ray Shall guide me where I rove : And may the future prove That, though 'gainst sin and pride But feel)ly yet I 've striven, J]ach coming dawn shall beam more clear, Shall chase away the gathering gloom. And in its room Bring light and life To nerve me for the world's strife, And briii'j: mo nearer heaven ! THE WAY-GAUN 0' THE YEAR. I 'm anchored in my arm-chair beside a bleezin' fire, An' a' the sports o' Mayfair wadna lure me frae the spot. For I'm buildin' airy castles o' the days that ai'e to come, Or travellin' backward o'er the time that marked a che(iuered lot ; I 've had the swing an' whirl o' my boyhood's hap])y time, I 've had my joys an' sorrows — the pleasure an' the tear, An' tasted "love's young dream" that flickered oot ere manhood's prime. An' it a' comes 1)ack sae vivid at the way-gaun o' the yeai-. Oh ! the cherished schemes o' boyhood that we tho't wad yet come true, The harder cares o' manhood thatobscurcd the simmer sky, The loves an' disappointments tliat brought wrinkles to the l>roo, The failures an' successes o' the past are fiittin' bye ; THE WAY-GAUN O' THE YEAR. 305 An' yet a thread o' glamour rins through the tangled skein, For things might hae been darker, tho' guid kens they "re unco drear ; But the hope that looks for blossoms when the weary winter 's past, Still cheers me as I ponder on the way-gaun o' the year. What need to seek the darker side 1 The mirk will surely come, An' sma' may be the glints o' light that beam across oor path ; But it 's satisfaction surely just to nurse the joys we hae. An' mak' the maist o' simmer that succeeds the winter's wrath. What need to magnify oor cares till they loom mountains high, An' steep oor souls in gloomy tho'ts when there 's sae much to cheer 1 Far better wad it 1)e to tak' a rosier survey, An' reckon up oor pleasures at the way-gaun o' the year. The circle o' oor frien'ship shows mony a mournfu' gap, For some hae slipt their anchors, and hae drifted on the rocks ; An' some, noo in a foreign land, hae sought a fairer hame. An' settled doon contented amang hamely couthie folks ; An' Death has snapped the thread o' some ere they had passed their prime, 0' them wha humbly plodded, or attained a grand career ; An' the tears will come unbidden as we count the grassy mounds. An' oorsel's yet spared to miss them at the way-gaun o' the year. tStill, there are left staunch frien'ships that grow stronger year by year ; The farther we get on in life the closer are we knit ; We share ilk ither's confidence as in oor boyhood days. Or help by word or action where misfortune's dart has hit. 20 '^0C) • A UKi:\VI('KSIIII{K HARD. Ah ! this is what niaks life sae sweet, e'en when oor cares are rife, Wlien times are hard, an puirtiths pinch is grievous hard to bear, To find we're no' deserted when theii' kindly helj) we need, An' oor hopes hae almost perished wi" the way-gaun o' the year. Tiie young may pass it lightly, this time o' tho'tfu' change, An' only see the jollity it brings to cot or ha' ; Tlii'ir heaits are yet uiiseared l)y cares that pass them lightly by, Nor wad I hae it itherwise, sae joy I wish them a' ; I5ut wc wha've passed life's keystane canna help a back- ward glance. For we live on memories o' joys that come nae mair to cheer. An' altho' we hae nae forecast o" comin' weal or wae, Oor thankfulness is deepened at the way-gaun o' the year. Then let us laise a fervent prayer, that what life has in store May be nae waur than what has gane wi" a' its ups an' doons, An' a hope it may be brighter than we ever dared to dream, An' that we may be shielded frae misfortune's wintry frowns ; Let's help ilk ither (inward wlicre the road is kind o' steep. An' raise some fallen brither wi' a welcome word o' cheer ; For the burdens we can li^ POET. -N^' I j^»^ BORl* AT Ot'NS laikNOVf 1(141. \^ **, * mirTIB (T TH[ •OROmt AitOCIATIM IN tONDM H riMNot «ito lioMmtia »t homi *m awhao. IN MIMORT (f ONI W^O SJtNC SO rWIITlY Of HIS Minil HOMI AND THl BOROIR UNO •"mrn^ ^^ - 1^ ■■ ^ ''»■■ "/-^ Memorial Stone in Polwarth Church. Piiblicalions of J. & R. Paiiane, Paisley. JOHN MENZIES cfe Co., Edinburgh and Glasgow. HOULSTON & SONS, London. 1 Vol., Cromn 8vo., 360 pp. Price 3/6. MINSTRELSY OF THE MERSE By W. S. CROCKETT, F.S.A.Scot. SOME OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. " It is a work of which tlie natives of tlie Border county ought to be proud."" — Glasyoir Erening Times. •' The work is one of the most charming and interesting which we have perused for manj- a day, the sketches of the [)rincipal persons mentioned in it being written with great beauty, a just discrimination of their distinctive merits, and with true poetic taste." — A i/7- Observer. "The work is a valuable addition to current literature. " — Scottish Border Record. ' ' There was ample room for such an anthology as the Rev. W. S. (^rockett has so successfully brought together." — Scotsjnan. "The whole work has been in the hands of one who has evidently dijjped deeply into history, and whose research of the beaten paths of literature is abundanth' manifest." — Dumbarton Herald. "The sketches of the poets are written in excellent style, and the various illustrative poems given show good selection, discretion, and taste." — People's Friend. "The whole book is agreeable reading." — Glasgow Weekly Citizen. "This book deserves to find a favoured place in every house in Berwickshire ; and for school prizes it is worth dozens of those commonly used for that purpose. It is of perennial intere.st." — Kelso Chronicle. " This is a book to buJ^ It is so cheap as to be within the reach of all. No Merse home, with any pretension to love of its native hills and vales, can possibly be without one." — Benrickshire News. " Mr Crockett has earned the gratitude not only of the Merse, but of Scotsmen everywhere, by his admirable collection. He has spared no pains, grudged no labour in research. He has his reward." — Perthshire A dveitiser. ' ' Such a volume cannot fail in winning general and hearty appre- ciation. " — Perthshire Courier. 2 J. AND i:. I'Ain.ANK. I'AISF.KV. "It is a volume that is bound to take very hijrli i.uik in woiks of tills class." Biririckshiir Aifn r/ist r. '• Mr (,'rockett has laid all who love Scottish soiij^ aud liallad under a debt of gratitude."— 0/<«j/ Time». " Th*^ authoi- does his work well, wiitinjz «ith i-iithiisiasni, yet without too efi'usive exuberance. "" — Lilfntri/ Warlil. " It is a book to read for its first-rate biographical notices, and the manv excellent verses scattered throughout its pages." — The Sro/fish Wielhj. "A book to give genuine |)leasure, and that deserves the heartiest thanks." — Ediiilnnyffi Ereu'niii Ditpafrh. "The editor has been sin<;ularly successful in treating his subject, and the reading public generally will feel that a worthy tlicnic has been handled here in a manner to inspire the fullest confidence and admira- tion." — Forfar Herald. " We confidently commend the collection." — Keho Mail. " Mr thoekett is to be commended for tlie i]uality of his biographical notices ; and it may be added that his volume is a credit to his judg- ment atid editorial industry." (r/ Sti ART .Mabiin. Preface by Rev. Jamks Kino, il.A. Crown Hvo. Price 3/6. " \ (ffiiiiine poetic spirit lireathes through nil the poems, and that the author has a heart alive to the sympathies ami altection of friendship is to be seen in very many (if her pr(iiliictiiin«." - llmrirk Ail ml her. The Bards of Angus and the Mearns. An Anthology lit' tlir loniities. i!y Ai.AN ICkui. I'Mvl.S. With Numerous Illus- tralions. Cap. 4 to., 660 jip. Price 10/6. The Harp of Stirling-shire. By William IlAiiVEY, -Vutiior ot •• Kenneihcrook : Si-ine Sketches of Village Life," '"Scotch Thistles." &r. Crown Svo.. 530 pp.. Price 7/6- J. AND K. PARLANE, PAISLEY. 3 The Poets and Poetry of Linlithg-owshire. Au Auiho- logy of the County By Alux. ^1. Bisskt. Crown 8vo., 352 pp., •vs'ith Illustrations. Price 4/6- Songs and Poems. By Agnes Christ all Det. With Introduction by Rev. J. H. Wilsox, D.D. Crowu 8vo., Price 2/. History of the Life of Fenelon (Archbishop of Cambray). By Andkew \licH.\EL K.\msay, U.C.L. F.R.8.. Author of '"The Travels of Cyrus." &c. Translated from the French Edition of 1723, with a Biographical Memoir of the Author, Bibliography, and Notes, by Daviu Cuthkertson. Ftap. fiscusMon of the liruce-Loyan Controversy). By Rev. Willia.m Stephen. Kelty. Blair Adam. With Illustrations. Price 2/6. Tn PENNY NUMBERS- Staff „r Sol-fa. THE NATIONAL CHOIR: Standard Songs for Part-Suigiiig, Original and Arrangea. adapted for (Jhoiis and Secondary Evening Classes. Specimen po.st free. YEARLY PARTS, with Notes to the Songs— Historical, Per.sonal, and Critical. Price 1/ each. Volumes I. & II., each containing Four Yearly Parts, with Notes to the Songs, interesting Prefaces, and upwards of 600 Musical Gems, harmonised for Part-Singing. Price 5, each. Nothing better could be selected as gift books for friends at home or over the sea tlian this large aud varied collection of our finest National Songs. " A nioiiuinent of National song." " The arrangements are ably written.'" ■' Really a National Handbook of Part ]\Iusic." — Press Notices. The National Choir contains more of BURNS'S SONGS arranged for Part-Singing than any other book published. Specimen No. sent post free to any address. 4) J. AND I{ I'AKI.ANK, I'AISI.I.V. BOOKS BY REV. R. LAWSON, MAYBOLE. The Capital of Carrick and the District about it. NiiMii I'lis Illustrations. I'rice 1/. A Minister's Life. Ciowu Hvo. With uumeruus Illustra- tions, I'lict' 2/. Glimpses of Norway : Beluo: Notes pf a Trip in the S.S. Si. SiiimivH, July, I.S',)4. with Fifteen Photographic Ileprodiictions and Four Noise Sonics with llusic. Cloth, 1/. Ailsa Craig" : Its History and Natural History. New Edition Kiihi rij'ul. ^^:lp and Illustrations, ("'rown 8vo. Cloth, 1/. Places of Interest about Girvan, with some Glimpses of Carrick History. Illustrated. Price I/. Places of Interest about Maybole, with Sketches of r.'rsciis of hitrr.si. Will. Illustrations. Cloth,]/. CrOSSrag"Uel Abbey : A Fli.-^tory and a Description. With Illustrations. Cloth, 1/. The Sacred Places of Scotland : Being- an Account (jf a l'''rsMiial \'isit ti.'rii.Mii, Witli IllnstrMtions. Cloth. 1/. The Famous Places of Scotland (including- the Shet- land Islands). From a Personal Visit to Them. With Illustra- tions, ( "loth. 1/. The Covenanters of Ayrshire : Historical and Biogra- phical. With Illustrations, Cloth, 1/. What I Saw of India and its People. Being Notes of a T'iMr in ISMS-.S'.i Map anil Illustrations. Cloth. 1/. Fifty-four Views of Carrick, with Description. Price 6d. The Romance of Missions. A Popular Reading-, ontaiuiug a short l!io;;rai>liical history of Christian Missions from the first century to the present. With 18 JIusical Illustrations .\rranged for Part-SinpinfT- Staff or Sol-fa, .Id. Homes and Haunts of Robert Burns. A Popular Reading, with 19 Musical Illustrations froiu Burns's Songs, specially aiTanged for I'art-Sint^in^. Staff or Sol-fa, 3d. " It may l)e (Uiii))ted if the .Story of Bums's Homes and Haunts has ever been better told." Srritginan. The Ballads and Song's of Carrick, with Nineteen Musical JUustialions arrani;i'd lor Part-Sinying; and Introductory Notes. Staff or Sol-fa, ;5d. The National Anthems of the World. A Popular luiulin^. With Eifihiecn Musical illustrations Arranged for Pait-Singing. Staff or Sol-fa, 3d, JK 9mAssm*B»n3»