SCOTTISH 
 POEMS 
 
 WALLACE 
 

 
 
 
 
SCOTTISH POEMS 
 
jflDt&et Book* 
 ftp flflJallac* Bruce 
 
 OLD HOMESTEAD POEMS 
 
 Harper & Brothers 
 
 Nev> York 
 IN CLOVER and HEATHER 
 
 Blackwood & Sons 
 
 London and Edinburgh 
 THE HUDSON 
 
 Hougbton, Mifflin & Co. 
 
 Boston 
 WAYSIDE POEMS 
 
 Harper & Brothers 
 
 New York 
 HERE'S A HAND 
 
 Bt&cktoood & Son* 
 
 London and Edinburgh 
 
 The present edition includes 
 
 LEAVES OF GOLD, SCOTTISH POEMS 
 
 AND WANDERERS 
 
 Published by 
 
 BRYANT UNION COMPANY 
 NEW YORK 
 
SCOTTISH 
 POEMS 
 
 WALLACE BRUCE 
 
 The Auld Brig Edition 
 
 New York 
 
 Bryant Union Company 
 1907 
 
Univ. Library, ! JC Santa Cruz 1987 
 
 Copyright 1907 
 Bryant Union Company, New York 
 

 
 Dedicated 
 To Lovers of 
 
 Burns and Scotland 
 
 Who Saved the 
 
 Auld Brig of Ayr 
 
COttfet) 
 
 poems 
 
 The Auld Brig Edition 
 
 flTJHE Auld Brig fittingly marks the title page of a 
 - new and complete edition of Scottish Poems by 
 Wallace Bruce, as the author at the unveiling 
 of the Burns Statue, Ayr, 1892 made the Auld Brig 
 break the silence of a hundred years in welcoming her 
 poet, and he was also among the first to plead for the 
 Auld Brig's preservation. The following letter writ- 
 ten by him to "The Scotsman" during his visit to Edin- 
 burgh in 190$, voicing world-wide wishes, now grandly 
 realized, furnishes a happy introduction to a volume 
 of memory and love: 
 
 "Whittier, in one of his letters, said: 'Everything 
 about Burns interests me! In this sentence he has 
 embodied the expression of the entire American heart. 
 To destroy the Auld Brig of Ayr seems almost like 
 tearing a poem from the volume of Burns. Lord 
 Rosebery, in his recent letter, has well styled it a 
 calamity to be averted, and has truly declared that the 
 resources of civilisation should be taxed to preserve 
 the structure. These words will be copied not only 
 throughout the United States, but in every outpost of 
 civilisation all over the world. It is in fact not only 
 a bridge associated with the memory of Robert Burns, 
 but a bridge whose arches span long centuries, and the 
 world if invited would come to its rescue. There are 
 perhaps a thousand Scottish Clans and Societies of 
 
& urns in Me United States that would gladly con- 
 tribute for this purpose. Even with arches and cause- 
 N W ay gone, if it could only be preserved as a ruin, it 
 would still be the most valuable bridge in the world. 
 It is not so much a bridge of traffic as a bridge of 
 memory. 'It would be a difficult question' said one 
 of the great statesmen of Britain, f if we had to decide 
 whether we should give up our Shakespeare or our 
 Indian possessions.' The statesman was right. It is 
 not a question of sentiment, although the reply of Dis- 
 raeli will be remembered when an opponent in the 
 House of Commons said: 'It is all sentiment.'' 'Only 
 sentiment,' replied Disraeli, 'sentiment rules the 
 world.' It is a subject, moreover, not to be approached 
 with criticism, but rather with love, for love accom- 
 plisheth all things, although it would be rather incon- 
 gruous at the annual celebration in Ayr of the birth- 
 day of Robert Burns to sing 'We'll a' be prood o' 
 Robin' after the Auld Brig had passed aivay. 
 There is a debt due to the memory of him who 'has 
 made the old burgh memorable, and placed the name 
 of Ayr first in the alphabet of fame. The Town Coun- 
 cil of Ayr holds in trust a sacred legacy, a gift to man- 
 kind. As guardians of this trust they surely will not 
 be unmindful of their responsibility to the world." 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 I 
 
 THE AULD BRIG'S WELCOME And Other Poems 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE AULD BRIG'S WELCOME .... 15 
 
 IN CLOVER AND HEATHER .... 22 
 
 THE LAND OF BURNS 24 
 
 WILL YE Go TO THE INDIES, MY MARY . . 30 
 
 SCOTT'S GREETING TO BURNS .... 33 
 
 II 
 
 LAUREATE POEMS Edinburgh 
 
 ANNIVERSARY OF ROBERT BURNS ... 41 
 
 THE OLD ORGAN 44 
 
 WITH HEARTY GRASP 48 
 
 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD 51 
 
 To A BRITHER CHIEL 59 
 
 BRETHREN ALL 63 
 
 To ANE AND A* 65 
 
 OUR LAUREATE 67 
 
Ill 
 
 AULD SCOTLAND HAS THE BEST And Other Poems 
 
 PAGE 
 
 AULD SCOTLAND HAS THE BEST ... 73 
 
 THE TABLE ROUND 77 
 
 AN ISLAND FANCY 79 
 
 OUR PROSPERO 83 
 
 AT LINLITHGOW 89 
 
 PROTEST OF THE IMMORTALS .... 92 
 
 COLUMBIA'S SON 98 
 
 JOHN STUART BLACKIE . . . 101 
 
 To JOHN STRATHESK 104 
 
 SKIBO CASTLE no 
 
 To MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS . . . .113 
 
 TANTALLON CASTLE 114 
 
 INCH-CAILLIACH, LOCH LOMOND . . .115 
 
 IV 
 
 FRAE O'ER THE SEA 
 
 THE CENTURY'S SONG 121 
 
 FOURTH OF JULY AT BANNOCKBURN ... 126 
 
 SAINT ANDREW'S SONS 130 
 
 ALPINE SPRING 133 
 
 THE PIONEERS 136 
 
 A RALLY . 140 
 
PAGE 
 
 A SONG TO YE BAITH 142 
 
 To THE SHAKESPEARE SOCIETY, EDINBURGH . 144 
 
 To AN EDINBURGH FRIEND .... 145 
 
 COLUMBIA'S GARLAND ... . 146 
 
 LINCOLN TO BURNS 152 
 
 AULD SCOTIA'S SONGS . 157 
 
 AN ACROSTIC 159 
 
/'// be a Brig when ye' re a shapeless cairn!" 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
The Auld Brig's Welcome 
 
 and Other Poems 
 
Thrice happy Ayr! Where genius still holds sway, 
 Whose peasant-king all hearts and realms obey. 
 Thrice happy stream! No other "Brig" like thine: 
 Saved by the tribute of a poet's line. 
 
THE AULD BRIG'S WELCOME 
 
 Scottish 
 Poems 
 
 Auld Brig hails wi' hearty cheer 
 Uncover, lads, for Burns is here! 
 The bard who links us all to fame, 
 And blends his own with Scotia's name. 
 
 Seven hundred years the winding Ayr 
 Has glassed my floating image there; 
 I've seen long centuries glide away, 
 But Robin brought our blithest day. 
 
 I heard the Thirteenth's warlike peal 
 Wake serried ranks of glinting steel : 
 All wrinkled now, yet in my prime, 
 I wait with joy the Twentieth's chime. 
 
I cherish weel in memory bright 
 ]00ttl0 The glorious deeds of Wallace wight, 
 
 And deem the very stones are blessed 
 Which bind the arch his feet have pressed. 
 
 I mind the time King Robert's band 
 With sweeping oar left Arran's strand; 
 The flame that lit yon Carrick hill 
 All round the world is shining still. 
 
 Old Coila's had her share of fame, 
 Her bead-roll treasures many a name ; 
 She's had her heroes great and sma', 
 But Robin stands aboon them a'. 
 
 The auld clay-biggin of his birth 
 Becomes the shrine of all the earth ; 
 The room where rose the Cotter's prayer 
 The proudest heritage of Ayr. 
 
 No starlit sky, no summer noon, 
 But kens the banks o' bonnie Doon; 
 No human heart but fondly turns 
 Responsive to the Land of Burns. 
 
 c ,6 
 
Ah, Burns ! who dares to call thee poor ! 
 Each skylark nest on yonder moor, 
 Each daisy-bloom on flowery mead, 
 The lambs that on the meadows feed, 
 
 Each field and brae by burn or stream, 
 Where wandering lovers come to dream, 
 Are all thine own. As vassals all 
 We gather here from princely hall, 
 
 From lowly cot, from hills afar, 
 From southern clime, from western star, 
 To bring our love ; all hearts are thine 
 By title time can never tyne. 
 
 The crowning mead of praise belongs 
 To him who makes a people's songs; 
 Who strikes one note the common good, 
 One chord a wider brotherhood; 
 
 Who drops a word of cheer to bless 
 His fellow-mortal in distress, 
 And lightens on life's dusty road 
 Some traveler, weary of his load; 
 
 Scottish 
 Poems 
 
Who finds the Mousie's trembling heart 
 Of God's great universe a part; 
 And in the Daisy's crimson tips 
 Discerns a soul with human lips. 
 
 We little dreamed when "Mailie" died 
 Those tender words would speed so wide; 
 Men smiled and wept, and went their way- 
 The prince was clad in hoddin-grey. 
 
 Though but a brig it garred me greet 
 To hear him pour his "Vision" sweet, 
 And in one crowning climax seal 
 His pity even for the Deil; 
 
 To see the couthie Twa Dogs there, 
 Their joys and griefs wi' ither share 
 A cantie tale, it made me smile 
 That sic a lad was born in Kyle ; 
 
 Who caught the witches in a dance, 
 And bound them all in lasting trance; 
 The very land is bright and gay 
 Since Tarn o' Shanter rode this way. 
 
 18 
 
The Auld Brig kens the story well 
 These rippling wavelets love to tell: 
 "Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore" 
 A fonder kiss his waters bore. 
 
 That raptured hour, that sacred vow, 
 Are love's eternal treasures now; 
 Montgomery's towers may fall away, 
 But Highland Mary lives for aye. 
 
 And sweeter still the swelling song 
 Of loyal love repairing wrong; 
 Like mavis notes that gently fa* 
 "Of a' the airts the wind can blaw." 
 
 Brave Bonnie Jean ! We love to tell 
 The story from thy lips that fell; 
 The lengthened life which Heaven gave 
 Casts radiant twilight on his grave. 
 
 A noble woman, strong to shield; 
 Her tender heart his trusty bield; 
 The critic from her doorway turns 
 With faith renewed and love for Burns. 
 
9COtu0f) She knew as no one else could know 
 jj)0f 1T10 The heavy burden of his woe ; 
 
 The carking care, the wasting pain 
 Each welded link of misery's chain. 
 
 She saw his early sky o'ercast, 
 
 And gloomy shadows gathering fast, 
 
 His soul by bitter sorrow torn, 
 
 And knew that "man was made to mourn." 
 
 She heard him by the sounding shore 
 Which speaks his name for evermore, 
 And felt the anguish of his prayer: 
 "Farewell, the bonnie banks of Ayr." 
 
 O Robert Burns! by tempest tossed, 
 Storm-swept, by cruel whirlwinds crossed; 
 Thy prayers, like David's psalms of old, 
 Make all our plaints and wailings cold. 
 
 In weakness sown, yet raised in might, 
 He wept that we might know the right; 
 His sweetest pleasures pain-imbued; 
 His song a drama's interlude. 
 
 20 
 
And who dare thrust his idle word ^COttf Stl 
 
 Where God's own equities are heard? 
 "Who made the heart, 'tis He alone" 
 Let him that's guiltless cast the stone. 
 
 We know but this : his living song 
 Protects the weak and tramples wrong; 
 Refracting radiance of delight, 
 His prismed genius, clear and bright, 
 
 Illumes all Scotland far and wide, 
 And Caledonia throbs with pride 
 To hear her grand old Doric swell 
 From Highland crag to Lowland dell; 
 
 To find, where'er her children stray, 
 Her "Auld Lang Syne," her "Scots wha hae," 
 And words of hope which proudly span 
 The centuries vast "A man's a man." 
 
 Then welcome, Burns, from shore to shore! 
 All hail, our Robin, evermore! 
 Though late, we greet the Ploughman's name 
 Full in the morning of his fame. 
 
 21 
 
IN CLOVER AND HEATHER 
 
 HERE are greetings the wide world over, 
 
 And blossoms wherever we roam, 
 But none like the heather and clover 
 To welcome the wanderer home. 
 
 Warm-hearted with kindred devotion, 
 
 Twin sisters in sympathy true, 
 They whisper across the wide ocean, 
 
 Love-laden with memory's dew. 
 
 In purple tints woven together 
 
 The Hudson shakes hands with the Tweed, 
 Commingling with Abbotsford's heather 
 
 The clover of Sunnyside's mead. 
 
 22 
 
A token of friendship immortal 
 With Washington Irving returns 
 
 Scott's ivy entwined o'er his portal 
 By the "Blue-eyed Lassie" of Burns. 
 
 Their names by heather-bells wedded 
 With fondness Columbia retains; 
 
 In freedom's foundation imbedded 
 The lay of the minstrel remains. 
 
 Ay, this their commission and glory, 
 In redolent bloom to prolong 
 
 Love, liberty, legend and story, 
 That blossom in ballad and song. 
 
 So here's to the clover and heather 
 Of river-side, mountain and glen, 
 
 As I stand wi' doffed bonnet and feather 
 At the yetts of my forbears again ! 
 
Poems 
 
 THE LAND OF BURNS 
 
 QNCE more upon the Firth of Clyde, 
 
 Once more upon the dancing sea; 
 From out the land-locked harbor wide 
 
 Our "Anglia" sails right merrily; 
 Old Arran rises on our right, 
 Her mountains bathed in sunset light ; 
 While toward the coast the vision turns, 
 And rests upon the land of Burns. 
 
 The western sky is all aglow, 
 
 The headlands bold are touched with light; 
 Reflected beauty sleeps below 
 
 Upon the waters pure and bright. 
 
 24 
 
It seems indeed a fitting eve 
 
 Of Scotia dear to take our leave, {> 00111$ 
 
 And in a sunset hour so fair 
 
 To bid "good-night" to Bonnie Ayr. 
 
 But now the mountains lose their gold 
 
 And to the leeward sink from view; 
 The distant coast can scarce be told 
 
 A line upon the ocean blue; 
 On Ailsa Craig and Rathlin Isle 
 A single cloud attempts to smile; 
 While toward the coast the vision turns 
 In vain to find the Land of Burns. 
 
 Ruins and shrines where memories sleep 
 
 We leave behind on every side, 
 Dumbarton's walls and frowning keep, 
 
 Which shield the beauty of the Clyde ; 
 Dunedin, darling of the North, 
 Whose castle guards the winding Forth, 
 And countless others, old and gray, 
 Between the silver Tweed and Tay; 
 
Sweet Ellen's Isle in beauty framed, 
 J90rn0 lona's shrine and dark Glencoe, 
 Fair Melrose, and that valley famed 
 
 Where Ettrick, Tweed and Yarrow flow- 
 They all come back this summer eve, 
 As we of Scotia take our leave; 
 But more than all fond memory turns 
 And rests on Ayr, the home of Burns. 
 
 For there the "Daisy" was uptorn 
 
 To blossom on a wider field ; 
 And there the "Mousie," kindred born, 
 
 Was first to poesie revealed. 
 The land of "Auld Land Syne" is there, 
 The cotter's home, the evening prayer: 
 To these, in truth, the memory turns 
 To these, which make the land of Burns. 
 
 And there his genius, Coila's maid, 
 In middle furrow stayed his plough, 
 
 And left her lustrous mantle plaid, 
 And bound the holly round his brow; 
 
 26 
 
And there love met the ploughman bard, 
 Ere life to him seemed "luckless starred"; 
 And there most glorious hopes were born, 
 Ere "Mary" from his heart was torn. 
 
 He felt "misfortune's cauld nor'-west", 
 And saw that "man was made to mourn"; 
 
 The "Scarlet Letter" on his breast 
 Was never in concealment worn: 
 
 With all his failings he was free 
 
 From shadow of hypocrisy; 
 
 In grief he always felt the thorn, 
 
 But boldly answered scorn with scorn. 
 
 It seemed his mission to bestow 
 
 On humble things the highest worth; 
 
 The streams that by his "shieling" flow 
 Ripple in song o'er all the earth. 
 
 The little Kirk of Alloway 
 
 Shines forth immortal in his lay, 
 
 And, filled with witches, takes its stand, 
 
 The ruin of his storied land. 
 
 27 
 
He hears the "Twa Dogs" at his door 
 Discuss the ways of human life; 
 
 He meets with "Death" upon the moor, 
 With whom old "Hornbook" was at strife; 
 
 He talks familiar with the "Deil," 
 
 As if he were a friendly chiel; 
 
 And "Holy Fair" upon the green 
 
 Becomes a Sunday "Halloween." 
 
 He dared to use the pointed quill, 
 
 While others bowed the knee to power; 
 And Scotland owes a guerdon still 
 
 To Burns, who left her fairest dower. 
 It was his wish, "for Scotland's sake, 
 Some useful plan or book to make ;" 
 And evermore the pilgrim turns 
 To Scotia dear, the Land of Burns. 
 
 The land of heath and shaggy wood 
 To him was bathed in roseate light ; 
 
 He knew each spot where heroes stood, 
 And dared to battle for the right: 
 
 28 
 
True heroes of the olden time, 
 
 Whose name still ring in freedom's chime, Jf90Ctt10 
 
 And make e'en strangers fondly turn 
 
 Unto the field of Bannockburn. 
 
 His "Scots wha hae" rings out more clear 
 
 Than any song in field or camp; 
 And others rise more true and dear 
 
 "The rank is but the guinea-stamp." 
 For there are grander fields to fight, 
 Where man proclaims his brother's right; 
 And Burns of poets lead the van 
 In simple truth that man is man. 
 
 That little "cottage" thatched with straw 
 
 Still speaks the truth he loved to sing; 
 A glorious manhood free to a', 
 
 Which titles could not take or bring. 
 Mansions of rank are poor indeed 
 Beside this cotter's lowly shed, 
 And pride is humbled as it turns 
 To cross the porch of Robert Burns. 
 
 29 
 
Poems 
 
 'WILL YE GO TO THE INDIES, MY MARY?' 
 
 ye go to the Indies, My Mary?" 
 Sang Robin in days long ago; 
 And still clear as a carol of morning 
 His notes in sweet melody flow. 
 
 "Will ye go to the Indies, My Mary?" 
 Ay farther and fonder thy way ; 
 
 Beyond the soft sway of her palm trees, 
 Or rose-broidered rills of Cathay, 
 
 Thy footsteps have wandered in music, 
 No name, Highland Mary, like thine, 
 
 From the ripple of sweet-flowing Afton 
 To Columbia's anthem of pine. 
 
 30 
 
Like a wide arching rainbow of glory 
 Thy fame spans the ocean to-day, 
 
 And perfume of sweet hawthorn blossoms 
 Floats round us in billows of spray. 
 
 Resplendent with faith and devotion 
 
 Thy troth is a vision of light, 
 And though woven of pleasure and sorrow 
 
 The girdle of love is still bright. 
 
 Yon star-sprinkled "Pathway of Angels" 
 Gleams white as when love gave it birth, 
 
 But Burns and his Mary are nearer 
 With pathway that circles the earth; 
 
 Where lovers in rapture will wander 
 And dream the same dreams as of yore, 
 
 By the glow of the same golden sunsets 
 And lapping of waves on the shore; 
 
 Till the stars grow pale in their journey, 
 Till the sun is shorn of its light, 
 
 And cold on the eyelids of morning 
 
 Hang the darkness and dews of the night. 
 
COtti0t) Till then, ay, till then, and forever, 
 J5)0?lttS For lovers and love never die, 
 
 Shall the song of our sweet Highland Mary 
 Bind closer the earth and the sky. 
 
Poems 
 
 SCOTT'S GREETING TO BURNS 
 
 Statues of Burns, Scott and Shakespeare in Central Park, 
 New York 
 
 TY7E greet you, Robbie, here to-night, 
 
 Beneath these stars so pure and bright; 
 We greet you, poet, come at last 
 With "Will" and me your lot to cast. 
 
 We've talked aboot you mony a day, 
 And wondered when you'd be this way. 
 Reach out your hand, and gie's a shake 
 Just ance, for auld acquaintance* sake. 
 
 We welcome you from Scotia's land, 
 And reach to you a brither's hand; 
 A kindred soul to greet you turns 
 Will Shakespeare, this is Robbie Burns. 
 
 33 
 
We've sung your songs here mony a night 
 Till that dear star is lost in light, 
 And Willie says the lines you wrote 
 Will even do for him to quote. 
 
 He likes your verses wondrous weel, 
 And says you are a glorious chiel; 
 In fact, the only one that knows 
 The space 'twixt poetry and prose. 
 
 O Robbie, if we had a plaid, 
 We'd quite convert yon Stratford lad. 
 He said, in truth, but yester-morn 
 "I'm Scotch in wit, though English born ; 
 
 "And, Walter, it may yet appear 
 That Scotland takes in Warwickshire. 
 Let Avon be the border line, 
 Blot out the Tweed, or draw it fine." 
 
 So, Willie, brew your peck o' maut, 
 And set the board wi* Attic saut, 
 For Rob has come at last, you see 
 We were a pair, but now we're three. 
 
 34 
 
We need nae ither comrade now, 
 No modern bard o' classic brow; 
 'Tis lang before anither man 
 Will be admitted to our clan. 
 
 In stormy nights 'twas lonesome here 
 When "Will" recited half o' "Lear;" 
 But now he quotes your eerie tale 
 In thunder, lightning, and in hail; 
 
 And says his witches can't compare 
 
 Wi' those that chased Tarn's "guid grey mare." 
 
 He's even learned your "Deil Address," 
 
 To quote some night for good Queen Bess; 
 
 For Robbie, this is haunted ground, 
 Where spirits keep their nightly round, 
 And when the witchin' hour is near 
 You'll see strange beings gather here. 
 
 I saw Queen Bess the other night 
 Beside him, clad in vesture bright, 
 While kings and queens, a noble throng, 
 In dim procession passed along; 
 
 35 
 
And walls seemed rising from the earth 
 Like Leicester's tower at Kenilworth; 
 
 J9oem0 
 
 And all the pageant that was there 
 Seemed floating in the moonlit air. 
 
 Ay, beauty, jealousy and pride, 
 In Dudley's halls walked side by side, 
 While Amy Robsart seemed to stand 
 With fair Ophelia, hand in hand. 
 
 And, Robbie, what a vision came 
 
 As Willie whispered Ariel's name! 
 
 The towers dissolved, and round him drew 
 
 The stately, gentle, fair and true 
 
 Miranda, Juliet, Imogen, 
 Hermione and Katharine, 
 While Rosalind among them stood 
 The sunlight of sweet Arden's wood. 
 
 'Twere long to pass them in review, 
 For still the circle wider grew, 
 Until the airy vision bright 
 Was lost at last in liquid light. 
 
So let me whisper in your ear, 
 Never to tell what passes here. 
 There'll be a grand reception soon 
 To greet the lad frae Bonnie Doon. 
 
 Well gather up the j oiliest crew 
 Falstaff, Prince Hal and Roderick Dhu; 
 And a' the rantin' brither Scots 
 "Frae Maidenkirk to John o' Groats." 
 
 So, Robbie, mak' yoursel' at home, 
 'Mang friends and brithers you have come, 
 And here's a land that's quite as fair 
 As that between the Doon and Ayr. 
 
 A land that glories in its youth, 
 That owns nae creed but living truth, 
 Where "pith o' sense and pride o' worth" 
 A refuge find frae rank and birth ; 
 
 A land that's made your verses real, 
 Whose guinea-stamp is honor's seal; 
 Ay, Robbie, here they've quite forgot 
 To write the "Sir" just Walter Scott. 
 
 37 
 
Anc * ^ ere y ur son gs will ever ring 
 Through a' the years the centuries bring, 
 Till all are free, and every sea 
 Shall know nae shore but liberty. 
 
Laureate Poems 
 
 Edinburgh 
 
So wipe the tear-drops frae your een, 
 And smooth your troubled brow; 
 
 "They'll ken me better," Bonnie Jean, 
 "A hundred years from now." 
 
ANNIVERSARY OF ROBERT BURNS 
 
 A GAIN Kilwinning's hearth grows wide, 
 
 The tessellated floor is bright; 
 A mother's heart with loving pride 
 Salutes her honored Sons of Light. 
 
 They gather from the banks of Ayr, 
 Frae Ettrick, Yarrow and the Tay, 
 
 A golden hour of love to share, 
 To crown with joy the natal day 
 
 Of bard and poet lowly born 
 To teach the brotherhood of man, 
 
 With skylark lilt of early morn, 
 
 And notes that thrill the patriot's van ; 
 
With swelling song and living truth, 
 
 From hearts of fire and tongues of flame, 
 
 Fast binding in eternal youth 
 Proud Scotia's Pleiades of Fame. 
 
 They come a galaxy of cheer 
 
 In answer to the festal call: 
 Loved Willie Hay to memory dear, 
 
 And Lockhart of the Minstrel Hall; 
 
 Aytoun and Stewart, Boswell, Blair, 
 Kit North the master of the feast 
 
 The Shepherd, and the Lad from Ayr 
 Whose songs unite the west and east ; 
 
 And girdle all the world to-night 
 
 With chords that make the nations one : 
 
 A mystic grip of matchless might 
 A cable-tow by genius spun. 
 
 O genius! Oracle of God! 
 
 We bow in wonder at his shrine, 
 Through whom the daisy-sprinkled sod 
 
 Is rendered human and divine. 
 
 42 
 
Through whom each form of life appears 
 To wear a brighter, holier grace; 
 
 His pity soothes the Mousie's fears, 
 And halos dying Mailie's face. 
 
 He sees his love in dewy flower, 
 He hears her in the tunef u' bird ; 
 
 He deifies the raptured hour, 
 And seals it with an angel-word. 
 
 He saw in man's uplifted face 
 The promise of a grander time ; 
 
 He sang the freedom of the race, 
 
 He boldly rang the century's chime. 
 
 The night was cold, he could not wait, 
 He left his message at the door; 
 
 Ere morning came he took the gate 
 We worship, we can do no more. 
 
 Ay, Robbie Burns, not poor but brave, 
 Neglected long but loved at last ; 
 
 The laurel-wreath Kilwinning gave 
 Was foretaste of the fame thou hast. 
 
 43 
 
 Scottfefe 
 
 Poems 
 
cottteft 
 
 THE OLD ORGAN 
 
 Lodge Can on gate Kilwinning 
 
 AE sit beside the organ there, 
 
 And touch the guid auld keys ; 
 We want a dear familiar air, 
 
 And "Scotland Yet" will please : 
 A noble song our hearts to greet 
 
 From out the hallowed years, 
 An offering meet with music sweet 
 
 That fills the eyes with tears ; 
 For love is strong though time is fleet, 
 
 And love alone endears. 
 
 44 
 
Ay, fond and full the swelling notes, 
 
 The pipes with rapture glow, 
 As vague and shadowy memory floats 
 
 From out the long ago : 
 The golden reeds can ne'er forget 
 
 The nights sae fair and free, 
 When brothers met and "Scotland Yet" 
 
 Rang out with hearty glee ; 
 For love alone has no regret, 
 
 And love is throned in thee. 
 
 The pictured walls bend low to hear 
 
 The tender anthem rise; 
 A gentle moisture, like a tear, 
 
 Bedews that worthy's eyes; 
 Old "Scotland Yet" the only air 
 
 To wake the silent fold 
 Our chief St. Clair and Drummond there 
 
 Seem nearer than of old ; 
 For love is still the only prayer 
 
 That warms the lips when cold, 
 
 45 
 
@COttf0!) Ah, brothers, who have gone before 
 J)OCttl0 Across the silent sea, 
 
 Remembered still for evermore, 
 
 We raise our song to thee ; 
 And, in some lull of harmony, 
 
 When pearly gates swing wide, 
 "My Ain Countrie," still dear to thee, 
 
 And "Scotland Yet " beside, 
 Will lead in sacred psalmody 
 
 Where love shall aye abide. 
 
 Then once again a ringing cheer 
 
 And pledge from every heart 
 To Canongate Kilwinning dear, 
 
 Ere friends and brothers part; 
 A health to all on shore or sea 
 
 Who love the sacred fount, 
 Where'er they be, frae Ettrick free 
 
 To Shasta's silver mount 
 Old "Scotland Yet," with honors three, 
 
 Up all! count, wardens, count! 
 
 46 
 
Hark to the echo of the strain; 
 
 The cable-tow is strong; 
 Alaska answers the refrain 
 
 Which India's skies prolong: 
 To brothers near and brothers far 
 
 The hailing-sign is cast, 
 And sceptre-bar or jewel-spar 
 
 Cannot that word outlast ; 
 From Southern Cross to Northern Star 
 
 The bond of love is fast. 
 
 So sit beside the organ there 
 
 And touch the guid auld keys, 
 A golden hour we'll blithely share, 
 
 And "Scotland Yet" will please. 
 Sing of her lakes and quiet dells 
 
 Close-fondled by the sea; 
 Each hill that swells with glory tells 
 
 The story of the free; 
 While broom and whin and heather-bells 
 
 Respond with three times three. 
 
 47 
 
Scottish 
 
 WITH HEARTY GRASP 
 
 more within these hallowed walls 
 We celebrate our Laureate dear, 
 Whose genius all the world enthralls, 
 
 Whose love awakens festal cheer; 
 For here the peasant ploughman stood, 
 With daisies from the banks of Ayr, 
 To make this spot a Holy Rood 
 An altar for each brother's prayer. 
 
 But what shall one from o'er the sea 
 With honor bring as offering meet; 
 
 What voice or word from them to thee 
 Which every heart will fondly greet; 
 
 48 
 
What theme shall young Columbia bear 
 
 To swell the chorus of your song? 100 01110 
 
 Well, "Here's a hand, my trusty fier," 
 
 With words that to the tune belong. 
 
 Words born of Magna Charta brave, 
 
 Along the banks of Runnymede: 
 At Bannockburn, where freemen gave 
 
 A bonnie cast to freedom's seed; 
 Conceived at far-off Marathon, 
 
 At Salamis, Thermopylae; 
 Crowned in the heart of Washington, 
 
 The noblest product of the free. 
 
 Immortal words! The grandest strain 
 
 That ever thrilled the onward van, 
 Soul-stirring notes in symbols plain, 
 
 Life's lofty creed "A man's a man;" 
 Ay, Robbie Burns, that song of thine 
 
 Narrows the seas and girds the world, 
 And makes these walls a sacred shrine, 
 
 Where faith and love shall be unfurled. 
 
 49 
 
So take the page your children wrote ; 
 
 I)0ttl0 ^ common P r ide i s yours and theirs; 
 
 Parents their children fondly quote, 
 
 And weel-bred bairns their ain forbears. 
 Love's cable-tow for evermore 
 
 Binds gallant sire and sturdy son; 
 With hearty grasp from shore to shore, 
 
 For Robert Burns and Washington. 
 
Poems 
 
 4- 
 
 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD 
 
 TLJAIL Canongate Kilwinning, hail 
 
 Your Laureate bard frae Ettrick dale ! 
 Pledge lang and deep wi' three times three 
 The chief of fairy minstrelsie! 
 
 Wi' shepherd plaid o'er shoulder thrown, 
 Erect, though sixty years have flown ! 
 Gi'e us your hand, and hang your crook 
 Right here within the organ's nook. 
 
 Wi' ruddy cheek, as when of old 
 Forgathering at the "Noctes' " fold ! 
 And see! that e'e o' dancing glee 
 Proclaims a "night" that bears the gree. 
 
Kit North, forsooth, or Aytoun there 
 will tak again the honored chair; 
 Spread wide the board ! "Ambrosian" food 
 Shall grace the bard of Holyrood. 
 
 We call wi* pride each storied name 
 The sacred bead-roll of our fame ; 
 Come one and all; we'll ha'e a "wake" 
 To make the old Tron steeple shake. 
 
 Don't startle at the Tiler's knock, 
 You're safe as at St. Mary's Loch 
 You mind when first you saw the Light 
 And gazed upon yon legend bright 
 
 And when we had you "rigged" at last, 
 Wi' "baubles" all behind you cast, 
 You said, before the "work" began : 
 "Noo, mind, lads, I'm a married man." 
 
 Dear Jamie Hogg, you couldna said 
 A funnier thing since you were wed ; 
 Those words throughout all Scotland went 
 And masons wondered what you meant. 
 
 52 
 
But let it pass. The days are lang 
 Since we have heard the Shepherd's sang; 
 The richest folds at Altrive yet 
 Are fleecy clouds in purple set. 
 
 Bright, glorious days among the hills! 
 Thy books a thousand dancing rills! 
 Brave nights of mirth as genius speels 
 And "tak's the road" to Tibbie Shields ; 
 
 Where old-time song and jest went round, 
 And rafters rang with merry sound ; 
 All silent now ! Nay ! fair and free 
 Swells forth the Border Minstrelsie. 
 
 So gi'e us a ballad again to-night 
 How witches flew o'er the sea-foam white ; 
 Your midnight ride with the "Witch of Fife," 
 A buxom dame and a sonsie wife, 
 
 Who led her "gudeman" many a mile 
 To the Bishop's casks of Merry Carlisle; 
 And left him there until rosy morn 
 Found him asleep wi' an empty horn. 
 
 53 
 
"A modest tale, by my fay," said North 
 "It beats the 'Brig' across the Forth, 
 On a flying stick to skirl away, 
 Like comets lost in the morning gray. 
 
 It makes one think that the 'Lion* there 
 Will drink some day of Loch Katrine fair, 
 Springing away from the solid ground 
 To the hills of Fife wi* a single bound ; 
 
 Perchance upborne on loftier flight, 
 Till yonder Crags are bathed in light, 
 Or bright Orion's race is run, 
 We'll join the 'Pilgrims of the Sun.' " 
 
 "Well said, Kit North your wit is fine, 
 But prithee suggest a shorter line ; 
 If Jamie once gets under way, 
 He'll never ken the blink o' day. 
 
 We'll join his 'Pilgrims of the Sun' 
 When we our mortal race have run" 
 Thus Aytoun spoke, and Lockhart smiled 
 To find the "Sun" securely "tiled." 
 
 54 
 
Scottish 
 
 Then Boswell thought, perchance Queen Hynde 
 
 Might ha'e a chance to free her mind ; 
 
 But Willie Hay set all ableeze 
 
 "Too near your trip to the 'Hebrides !' " 
 
 All took a part till Jamie turns 
 WT twinkling eye to Robbie Burns: 
 "Perhaps they want a photograph 
 That didn't make the 'critics' laugh. 
 
 All in 'Poetic Mirror* there, 
 
 The very garb they used to wear 
 
 Byron and Wordsworth, Southey, Scott, 
 
 At home within a shepherd's cot." 
 
 ******** 
 
 "Ay," answered Burns, "but the cot is wide 
 That shelters the fairies o' Ettrick side 
 And grander than castle its 'but and ben/ 
 Where 'Bonnie Kilmeny gaed up the glen.' 
 
 No foot of earth but a standing-place, 
 Yet the poet's eye has heaven for space, 
 And a fairy realm where thought is free, 
 And 'Kilmeny was pure as pure could be/ 
 
 55 
 
And this was her home, and this is thine, 
 As the years their threads of glory untwine ; 
 For the vale she beheld is the Yarrow still, 
 And the music she heard the tinkling rill; 
 
 And the sky she noted of thousand dyes, 
 The morning that broke on the Shepherd's eyes; 
 And the land of 'lakes and mountains gray* 
 That sqft in vision before her lay 
 
 Was an open book, where the poet wrought 
 A wondrous realm, a realm of thought 
 A world so pure, with voices clear, 
 'Kilmeny' and he alone might hear. 
 
 Immortal with her the poet dwells 
 In Ettrick's and Yarrow's dowie dells, 
 'Till the stars of heaven fall calmly away 
 
 Like the flakes of snaw on a winter day.' " 
 ******** 
 
 So spake the lad frae bonnie Ayr: 
 "Kilmeny !" "Kilmeny!" was echoed there, 
 As the Shepherd rose to the hearty call, 
 And bound all hearts in loving thrall. 
 
 56 
 
The golden hours are well-nigh flown, 
 
 But gi'e us a song that girds every zone, 
 
 Each "valley and glen and dell without name" 
 
 "To woo a bonnie lassie when the kye comes hame." 
 
 Ay, that is the human, my brother, you see, 
 "Kilmeny" is sweet, but the "lassie" for me; 
 Your "Bird of the wilderness," brightest e'er born, 
 "Blithesome and cumberless," wakens the morn; 
 
 Immortal while Yarrow wi' melody wide 
 Bestows on the Ettrick its silvery tide ; 
 While Ettrick flows free to the Tweed and the sea 
 That "Skylark" shall wake distant meadow and lea ; 
 
 O'er far-away mountains its music is borne 
 
 To desolate hearts aweary and worn; 
 
 To meadows and streams where the wanderer turns 
 
 And dreams for a moment of Scotia's burns. 
 
 Immortal! Ah, yes, the "Skylark" I know; 
 Immortal "Kilmeny," with heart pure as snow; 
 "But teach me," said Kit, "what is dearer than fame 
 'To woo a bonnie lassie when the kye comes hame.' " 
 
 57 
 
A brave lesson, Jamie, we know it by heart, 
 But gi'e us another, for brithers must part; 
 Ay, teach us but this, for the east is aflame, 
 To find hearty welcome when we* a* get hame. 
 
TO A BRITHER CHIEL 
 
 pOR thirty days I've been your debtor, 
 Since I received your honor's letter; 
 Henceforth I promise to do better, 
 
 Excuse delay; 
 I ha'e been bound as wi* a fetter 
 
 This mony a day. 
 
 Not in the folds of fond caresses, 
 Fair auburn locks and golden tresses, 
 Or "withs" the consulate confesses 
 
 Of stately cares; 
 But, on the knowledge he possesses, 
 
 Respondent swears 
 
 59 
 
And prays for grace and absolution, 
 With full and ample restitution, 
 The case admits of quick solution 
 
 When Cadman learns 
 The facts without circumlocution 
 
 I've been wi* Burns. 
 
 I think your honor gets my meaning, 
 The Court has always had a leaning 
 To kindred spirit-souls convening, 
 
 Their hearts to share: 
 In brief, I've had a blithe careening 
 
 Ayont the Ayr, 
 
 Where stands the cottage of his birth, 
 A sacred shrine for all the earth, 
 The humble room, the narrow hearth, 
 
 With lesson wide: 
 That love and faith and honest worth 
 
 Shall aye abide. 
 
 I traced the love-lit winding stream, 
 Sweet monogram of passion's dream ; 
 I seemed to hear the moonlight gleam 
 
 60 
 
In loving croon, 
 As gently fell its fondling beam 1@0tn$ 
 
 On bonnie Doon. 
 
 I saw auld Alloway's roofless kirk, 
 
 Where lingering "ghaists and houlets" lurk, 
 
 Wi' Nannie glintin' through the mirk, 
 
 Queen o' the ball, 
 And Satan sitting like a Turk 
 
 Amang them all. 
 
 Ay, more, I "lectured" down in "Killie," 
 Where fame still "canters like a filly," 
 And cracked wi' lads that were na chilly, 
 
 Till hours were sma', 
 And time was measured by the gillie, 
 
 Or no* ava. 
 
 Straightway Auld Reekie's storied street 
 
 And Baxter Close in glory greet, 
 
 Stair Number One, that stayed his feet, 
 
 When first he came, 
 To make Edina's page complete, 
 
 And crown her fame. 
 
 61 
 
@>COttf0f) And then the last, but not the least, 
 I wrote some lines for Robin's feast, 
 Where "raising" isna done by yeast, 
 
 But in a style 
 Which Brothers brought frae " 'way down east," 
 
 Fu' mony a mile. 
 
 Kilwinning Canongate they ca' it, 
 Lodge Number Two, lang love befa' it, 
 By genius "tiled," time canna thraw it, 
 
 Till Nature sleeps, 
 For Robbie there was wreathed the Laureate 
 
 With crown that keeps. 
 
 I therefore trust the Court's decision 
 Waiving the forms of strict precision 
 Will grant reprieve for Love's omission, 
 
 And draw it mild; 
 Wi* Burns and business in collision 
 
 We're baith beguiled. 
 
 62 
 
Poems 
 
 BRETHREN ALL 
 
 Dedication Masonic Home, Utica 
 
 T"* O brethren hale and free 
 A line across the sea 
 
 We fondly throw; 
 A pledge to one and all 
 Within our hailing-call ; 
 Let love all hearts enthrall, 
 
 And gladness flow! 
 
 From out the centuries vast 
 A ray of hope is cast 
 
 A beam divine: , 
 May Light that guides our way, 
 Which craftsmen true obey, 
 On well-wrought work for ape 
 
 In glory shine! 
 
To shield from pain and care 
 100ttl0 ^ e kuild with faith and prayer 
 
 A sure abode; 
 A refuge from the blast, 
 When skies are overcast, 
 And night is falling fast 
 
 Upon life's road. 
 
 A Home! Ah, blessed word! 
 What memories are stirred! 
 
 God guard it well! 
 Thy smile upon our task, 
 Great Architect, we ask, 
 Till in Thy light we bask, 
 
 And ever dwell! 
 
 The ashlers that we hew, 
 And set with plummet true, 
 
 Our labor here; 
 A living Temple grand, 
 Not reared by human hand, 
 But by Supreme Command, 
 
 Shall there appear. 
 
 64 
 
Poems 
 
 "TO ANE AND A* " 
 
 "W7 ERE distance compassed by a thought, 
 
 Or oceans traversed by a dream, 
 One certain star of glory wrought 
 
 To-night upon my sight would gleam; 
 But oh, the severing sea is wide, 
 
 And mony a weary night maun fa* 
 Ere Firth of Forth or Frith of Clyde 
 
 Shall greet the bard that's far awa*. 
 
 Yet what recks love of time or space 
 
 I sit amang you once again, 
 Ance more I hear the songs that grace 
 
 The night o' nights, the Lodge o' men ; 
 
&COttl0l) I know fu' weel the hearty grasp, 
 
 Trie kindly word frae ane and a'; 
 My dreams no longer shadows clasp 
 The bard is nae sae far awa'. 
 
 I hear the storied walls resound 
 
 Wi' ringing words and notes of cheer; 
 Once more I trace the sacred bound 
 
 Of Burns and Hogg, our Laureates dear; 
 Again the fond Old Organ thrills 
 
 Wi' memories sweet that gently fa', 
 And every eye wi' moisture fills 
 
 For brithers near though far awa' ; 
 
 For lovers leal in distant lands 
 
 Wha cherish still the hallowed shrine 
 To Scotia wed by blended strands 
 
 A cable-tow of Auld Lang Syne; 
 But whether near or whether far, 
 
 A health to-night to ane and a'; 
 And here beneath yon central star 
 
 Wha says the bard is far awa'? 
 
OUR LAUREATE 
 
 formal lines to speak our love, 
 Or stanzas born of modern art, 
 We note with joy one star above 
 
 Which shines on many a wanderer's chart. 
 Its power we feel. Its light we see 
 It speaks of Burns and Masonry. 
 
 How generations come and go, 
 
 Like flitting smile or passing dream! 
 Still as the river's onward flow, 
 
 Swift as the sunlight's golden gleam 
 They pass away, no step returns 
 Hark! at the door is Robert Burns. 
 
 67 
 
Alone from out the hallowed past, 
 Nay, not alone, but leading still 
 
 Poems 
 
 A brilliant throng with light o'er cast, 
 And life beyond the painter's skill, 
 Behold the garland on his brow, 
 Our poet undisputed now. 
 
 He comes from Coila's daisied field, 
 
 As in the cherished days of old, 
 From cotter's thatch and hamely bield, 
 With sturdy step and vigor bold; 
 And takes the throne of Scottish wit 
 By right divine her Laureate. 
 
 For higher than all other sway 
 
 The poet's word, the voice of time; 
 No jester of an idle play, 
 
 No weaver of an empty rhyme; 
 His heart to Nature's heart so near, 
 He speaks! The listening centuries hear. 
 
 68 
 
Through him discordant hearts are stilled 
 
 They feel the magic of his power- 
 He speaks and all the land is thrilled, 
 Before him Tyranny doth cower. 
 To Scotia dear Columbia turns, 
 And hands are clasped by Robert Burns. 
 
 69 
 
O Caledonia! stern and wild, 
 
 Meet nurse for a poetic child! 
 
 Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, 
 
 Land of the mountain and the Hood! 
 
 Walter Scott. 
 
Auld Scotland Has the Best 
 and Other Poems 
 
Poems 
 
 Sweet miniature of Scotia's hills, 
 Forever bright as years go by, 
 
 With golden light on sparkling rills, 
 That Sabbath in the Isle of Skye! 
 
AULD SCOTLAND HAS THE BEST 
 
 PRAE Arrarat to Ailsa Craig, 
 
 Frae Indus to the Dee, 
 From Mandalay to Loch Scavaig, 
 
 Prood Scotland bears the gree. 
 Auld Scotland has a muckle heart 
 
 For foe or welcome guest ; 
 She taks or plays nae second part, 
 
 Auld- Scotland has the best. 
 
 She lifts her standard to the sky 
 
 Aboon Ben Nevis bold, 
 While driving mists empurpled lie 
 
 Beneath St. Andrew's fold; 
 
 Poems 
 
 73 
 
@COttf0fc Nor recks she o' the blast or reek 
 
 That sweeps her eagle-nest; 
 She guards Britannia's crowning peak, 
 Auld Scotland has the best. 
 
 Her braw and bonnie lakes entwine 
 
 Wi' inlets o' the sea; 
 Loch Awe's "far cry" to fair Loch Fyne 
 
 Speaks Nature's trinity 
 Of mountain, lake and ocean-tide, 
 
 Wi' grandeur wild impressed; 
 We wander far and journey wide, 
 
 But Scotland has the best. 
 
 We hear the music o' her streams, 
 
 Her firths on pebbled beach; 
 From where the Spey in sunlight gleams 
 
 To Teviot's crystal reach. 
 In Yarrow's flow we mind again 
 
 The Border's sweet behest, 
 And in her songs of sad refrain 
 
 Auld Scotland has the best. 
 
 74 
 
Ay, best o' a' since "hansel" fell 
 
 On yonder clay-built shielin' 
 Where Bonnie Doon wi' quiet spell, 
 
 Like gloamin' gently stealin', 
 The realm o' love divides wi' Ayr, 
 
 Twin rivers ever blest: 
 What other land has such a pair, 
 
 Auld Scotland has the best. 
 
 Twin heroes too fair Coila found 
 
 Beside her matchless streams; 
 No other names the wide world round 
 
 Awaken nobler dreams; 
 Prophetic of a land to be 
 
 Beyond the glowing west, 
 She reared them by the sounding sea, 
 
 Auld Scotland has the best. 
 
 Two battles also side by side 
 
 Illume her glorious page; 
 Here Stirling Bridge enriched the tide 
 
 Where Wallace threw his gage, 
 
 75 
 
There Edward's son at Bannockburn 
 
 Wi' jewelled lance in rest 
 Frae Bruce's axe sought swift return, 
 
 Auld Scotland has the best. 
 
 O lessons bright for Scotsmen born 
 
 Where'er the heather glows; 
 From Orkney hills that wake the morn 
 
 To where the Solway flows ; 
 Hail, darling Reekie once again 
 
 Beneath your Lion-crest, 
 Of cities still the crown retain, 
 
 Auld Scotland has the best! 
 
 And not alone of mountain high, 
 
 Of stream and cliff and lake, 
 Of glorious deeds that cannot die, 
 
 Of songs that memories wake, 
 But faith that made old Scotia's shore 
 
 An island of the blest 
 Still guards lona's sacred door, 
 
 Auld Scotland has the best. 
 
Poems 
 
 THE TABLE ROUND 
 
 draws the sword from out this stone 
 Shall rule the realm from sea to sea": 
 In lettered gold the legend shone 
 Well-wrought by Merlin's prophecy. 
 
 Brave lords and knights encircled stand 
 To wield the blade of magic might, 
 
 But none of all the noble band 
 
 Could loose it from the marble white. 
 
 Then Arthur came with modest grace 
 
 And drew it forth the king was found, 
 
 Prophet of freedom to the race 
 And founder of the Table Round. 
 
 77 
 
cottteft 
 Poem* 
 
 ii 
 
 Long ages pass the Table Round 
 Had other knights well known to fame ; 
 
 No single realm their sway could bound, 
 The world revered each honored name. 
 
 Kit North, De Quincey, Lockhart, Moir, 
 Hogg, Stephens, Gait, and Hamilton, 
 
 And Scott, who led the minstrel choir, 
 Sat round the board with Alison. 
 
 An heirloom in the centre stood 
 
 With quaint device: "Who draws this quill 
 From out this font of ebon-wood 
 
 Shall rule all hearts and realms at will." 
 
 Then rose each knight of noble name, 
 In loving gage gave jeweled ring; 
 
 At their behest Sir Walter came 
 
 And took the quill our Wizard King. 
 
poems 
 
 AN ISLAND FANCY 
 
 Scott and Shakespeare. 
 
 YJT7HICH is the fairest of Shakespeare's girls? 
 The brightest, the dearest of all his train, 
 That shook to the breeze their dancing curls 
 In the sweetness and spring-tide of beauty's 
 
 reign? 
 
 Shall I answer you: Portia in Belmont's bower, 
 Or fair Imogen in her Warwick tower? 
 Dear Jessica, Rosalind, Isabel? 
 Nay, answer yourself; I cannot tell. 
 
 But which would you name for your wedded choice? 
 
 Pray which would you marry? tell me that: 
 Cordelia true with her gentle voice, 
 
 Sweet Anne Page in her Stratford hat, 
 
 79 
 
Juliet gazing at trembling stars 
 balcony^ casement, and lattice bars? 
 
 Would you rather be her Romeo? 
 
 Or someone else's? I hardly know. 
 
 For I like the moonlight on Belmont's bowers, 
 
 And the Annies that wander by Avon-stream, 
 And the maiden of Warwick's cloud-capped 
 towers, 
 
 And the Capulet gardens where lovers dream. 
 But which would I marry? Which would you? 
 First tell me the rainbow's loveliest hue. 
 
 Ah! life would be of heaven a lease, 
 
 With Viola, Celia or Beatrice. 
 
 But answer me truly! Well, dearer than all, 
 
 Than Perdita, Hero or Hermione, 
 Is lovely Miranda in Prospero's hall, 
 
 In bright sunny island far out in the s'ea: 
 Miranda the peerless, the sweetest, the best, 
 In magical island far out in the west, 
 
 Where waves break in beauty on sun-tinted 
 strand. 
 
 If I am mistaken then ask Ferdinand. 
 
 So 
 
Which is the fairest of all who came 
 
 At the word of the conjurer, Walter Scott? ]00ttl$ 
 
 Princess and lady of titled name, 
 
 Lassie and maiden of lowly lot? 
 Edith Plantagenet, royal by birth, 
 Catherine Glover, the Fair Maid of Perth, 
 
 Brave Jeanie Deans with her eloquent prayer, 
 
 Eveline Beringer, Constance or Clare? 
 
 Which would I marry? Edith of Lorn? 
 
 Rose of Bradwardine, gentle and mild, 
 Sweet Alice Bridgenorth, Puritan born, 
 
 Or bright Alice Lee, the Cavalier's child? 
 Rebecca, Rowena, or Julia the fair, 
 Edith Bellenden with King Charles's chair? 
 
 Saxon or Norman or Jewess? Ah me, 
 
 Thrice happy to win any one of the three! 
 
 But is there no choice? Well, dearer to me, 
 Than Flora Mclvor of lineage high, 
 
 Than Bertha, who sailed over many a sea 
 
 To find her bold Hereward 'neath sunnier sky 
 
 81 
 
CPttf0ft Than Robert's Brenhilda of Normandy's soil, 
 100ttl ^ r *k c ra( ^ ant daughters of bluff Magnus Troil, 
 Fair Brenna and Minna who dwelt by the sea, 
 There is one of the "Galaxy" dearer to me. 
 
 
 
 Ay, dearer than all who have passed in review, 
 Than heart-broken Amy or sweet Eveline, 
 Than hoyden Die Vernon, with eyes grey or blue, 
 
 Is true Helen Douglas of bonnie Katrine; 
 And sunlight and moonlight in transport shall 
 
 smile 
 
 For years, ay, forever, on fair Ellen's isle. 
 Ah, happy that island to bear her sweet name ! 
 If I am mistaken then ask Malcolm Graeme. 
 
 82 
 
Poems 
 
 OUR PROSPERO 
 
 A GAIN by Murdoch's cheery hearth, 
 
 Entranced as in the olden days, 
 I share his flow of kindly mirth 
 
 And pathos blent in genial rays. 
 "The feast is o'er in Branksome Tower" 
 
 Found utterance at his social board; 
 It touched a spring of hidden power 
 And golden dreams in memory stored. 
 
 For Scottish minstrelsy was real, 
 And Walter Scott a wizard true, 
 
 To him who bore the Gaelic seal, 
 A heart as pure as morning dew, 
 
sou ^ perfervid as a star 
 J90Cttl0 That sprinkles joy athwart the night, 
 And swift through silent spaces far 
 
 Sends wide its glorious Song of Light. 
 
 Oh, could I paint the glow that lit 
 
 The features of his matchless face, 
 Or summon back, as round him flit, 
 
 The stately forms of antique grace 
 Robert the Bruce, of warlike mien, 
 
 The haughty Douglas, proud and stern; 
 Randolph, with spear and claymore keen, 
 
 To do or die at Bannockburn. 
 
 No scene so grand on classic stage; 
 
 He walks the floor the room grows wide 
 Rebecca steps from pictured page 
 
 With sweet Die Vernon at her side; 
 I hear the trembling accents rise 
 
 Of Jeanie Deans, in tender strain, 
 And Richmond lifts to listening skies 
 
 T ier towers, tear-washed, of many a stain. 
 
Again we wander Scotland o'er, 
 
 And stray by many a sacred shrine, 1K0 
 
 Recalling rich romantic lore 
 
 Responsive to the uttered line. 
 We see again proud Birnam's wood, 
 
 The misty hills of Fife and Lome, 
 And wake the halls of Holyrood 
 
 With merry note and bugle horn. 
 
 Young Lochinvar in pride returns; 
 
 Of border ballads still the best 
 The actor's soul within him burns 
 
 To greet the hero of the west: 
 And in yon horse-hoofs clashing swift 
 
 As Deloraine's, in morning gray, 
 Somehow the curtain seems to lift 
 
 On "Sheridan" at break of day. 
 
 And there by noble Ellen's Isle 
 
 We hear Loch Katrine's lapsing wave; 
 
 And pluck the flowers that fondly smile 
 Above Clan Alpine's lonely grave. 
 
@COttl0|) A realm of love, and still more dear 
 For that one fleeting hour of joy; 
 Hark yonder sky-lark lilting clear 
 In silver notes without alloy 
 
 Recalls proud Dudley's pageant there 
 
 At Kenilworth the virgin Queen, 
 The lofty walls of Warwick fair, 
 
 With memories bright of Imogen; 
 As Shakespeare sweeps in Macbeth's line 
 
 Across the Tweed on friendly raid, 
 So Scott in fond reprisal shrines 
 
 Poor Amy Robsart in his plaid. 
 
 No labored act or measured scene, 
 
 For Murdoch holds us in his spell; 
 It seems no distance lay between 
 
 The English down and Scottish fell. 
 He spoke! The Ettrick far away 
 
 Went rippling soft by Avon-stream, 
 Where slanting willows gently sway 
 
 Their requiem to Ophelia's dream. 
 
 86 
 
Again the Arden woodland rang 
 
 With wit that held the world at naught; |+)0ttl$ 
 
 Once more the leaves in witchery sang 
 
 Orlando's verses, quaintly wrought. 
 Miranda stood with Ferdinand 
 
 The cloud-capp'd towers above us glow 
 His voice, forsooth, a magic wand, 
 
 And he our gentle Prospero. 
 
 How strange the power to mold and sway, 
 
 To summon spirits from the deep, 
 Where lapsing waves in golden spray 
 
 About the shores of dreamland sweep! 
 To reach, on Ariel journeys wide, 
 
 The hem of Being near and far, 
 With ear responsive to the tide 
 
 That breaks beyond the farthest star! 
 
 And such thy power, O Murdoch brave, 
 
 Who played thy part so nobly here, 
 And all thy gentle nature gave 
 
 To foster love and human cheer: 
 
@COttf0J) To us the scholar, artist, friend 
 
 J)0ttl0 Nay, far beyond this narrow span 
 
 His power and love and life extend; 
 Time's loftiest, noblest dream a man ! 
 
 88 
 
Poems 
 
 AT LINLITHGOW 
 
 Riding the Marches. 
 
 TLJARK to the summons! Mount and ride! 
 
 Linlithgow speaks, her sons are here ; 
 From quiet loch to flowing tide 
 
 Her bugle-note swells loud and clear: 
 Ride, brothers, ride the marches wide, 
 With stately pomp and civic pride. 
 
 King David's royal borough fair 
 
 Proclaims long centuries of fame; 
 Eight hundred years her annals bear 
 The record of a noble name ; 
 
 Ride fair and free o'er loch and lea 
 Linlithgow's banner bears the gree. 
 
@f OttI0J) St. Michael's Church, with visioned aisle 
 
 Where spirits pled for Scotia's weal, 
 Still guards in peace a stately pile, 
 Where erst stood Edward's lofty peel: 
 
 Queen Margaret's bower and roofless tower 
 Remain Linlithgow's richest dower. 
 
 And Scotland's Mary, cradled here, 
 
 Whose beauty still the world o'er sways, 
 Makes lake and wood and stream more dear 
 Her smile upon the landscape plays : 
 A sunny dream, a morning beam, 
 Before the lightning's lurid gleam. 
 
 A wider boundary now belongs 
 
 Than when your palace walls were reared ; 
 You speak in David Lindsay's songs, 
 You live by Walter Scott endeared ; 
 Your marches reach where mothers teach 
 The Doric or the English speech. 
 
 90 
 
Then rally round the old Cross Well, 
 
 Ride east and west, ride south and north ; 
 Each year your ancient landmarks tell, 
 From 'Lithgow to the banks of Forth: 
 Your history keep, though monarchs sleep 
 And ivy round yon turrets creep. 
 
 So here's to old St. Michael's Well, 
 
 As years their golden links unwind, 
 And lisping children come to spell 
 "St. Michael is to Strangers kinde." 
 Up all, and ride with stately pride 
 That legend makes your marches wide. 
 
PROTEST OF THE IMMORTALS 
 
 Against the proposed railway-tunnel in Princes Street, 
 Edinburgh Happily averted. 
 
 A SINGULAR meeting the other night! 
 
 Did you hear of it up at Parliament Hall? 
 Just twelve o'clock, the moon shone bright ; 
 A strange, weird brilliancy flooded all 
 
 The rich-stained windows the portraits there 
 The spectral radiance seemed to share. 
 
 I followed the crowd, a ghostly throng, 
 
 A curious group of former days; 
 As through the portal it surged along 
 Familiar faces met my gaze ; 
 As if the library down below 
 Had yielded its worthies for public show: 
 
 92 
 
In close procession, a hundred or more ; 
 
 But it seemed so strange, no voice or word, lntttS 
 No footfall on the oaken floor; 
 An old time Provost proffered a word, 
 A motion forsooth, for then and there 
 Sir Walter responded and took the chair. 
 
 He seemed full pale as he rose to speak 
 
 And bowed his head to the eager crowd, 
 But a flush forthwith illumed his cheek; 
 Erect his form, which erst was bowed ; 
 Intent on the Wizard seemed to be 
 That quaint, peculiar company. 
 
 I noted expressions of scorn and pride 
 
 Vividly flashed from face to face; 
 The Minstrel dashed a tear aside, 
 
 Appealing, forsooth, to the Scottish race; 
 Ay, more, each gesture seemed to be 
 For his darling city a loving plea. 
 
 93 
 
* saw hmi point to a legend there 
 
 Emblazoned upon the windows high; 
 To the crown that Scotia used to wear 
 When her heroes dared to do and die; 
 And he seemed to say, "Edina's crown 
 Shall not for gold be trampled down." 
 
 All hands went up at the table round, 
 
 Where sat Kit North with flowing quill, 
 And the sentences seemed to leap and bound 
 Like living sparks from his sturdy will 
 A protest deep, a trumpet word 
 Straight from the heart, for his soul was stirred. 
 
 A moment's pause : they were asked to sign ; 
 
 But who would lead that famous band? 
 Who on the roll of Auld Lang Syne, 
 Prince or peasant, thus dared to stand? 
 With one accord the gathering turns, 
 And straightway summons Robert Burns. 
 
 94 
 
He came and proudly wrote his name, 
 The clear, bold hand beloved by all, 
 And there seemed to burst a loud acclaim 
 That shook the roof of the stately hall ; 
 His plain sign-manual seemed to say 
 "We guard 'Auld Reekie' from wrong to-day." 
 
 Shoulder to shoulder in steady file, 
 
 I noted them all as they passed along 
 Dugald Stewart and stern Carlyle, 
 
 Riddell and Lockhart of Border Song, 
 Professor Aytoun and dear John Brown, 
 Brougham and Erskine in wig and gown ; 
 
 Hugh Miller and Pollock, Mackenzie, Blair, 
 
 Cockburn, Jeffrey, and David Hume ; 
 Hogg and Ramsey a curious pair; 
 De Quincey, "Delta" in nom de plume; 
 
 Drummond of Hawthornden, Bos well, Home, 
 Fergusson, Alison still they come. 
 
 95 
 
The y stood in groups, the roll was done; 
 
 ^e chairman rose, they listened all ; 
 St. Giles pealed out the hour of one, 
 
 They took their way from the silent hall ; 
 Over the parchment alone I bent 
 It seemed like the League and Covenant. 
 
 I read it there in the fading light, 
 
 A message strange from the shadowy past; 
 With storied names forever bright 
 
 While Scotland's fame and glory last; 
 
 The ink on that parchment shall never fade 
 Till Arthur's Seat in the Forth is laid : 
 
 "Stand by your city, guard it well 
 
 That street is more than a common wynd 
 For smoking chimneys and sooty smell ; 
 Has Plutus made your guardians blind? 
 What god your senses has so beguiled 
 That art and nature shall be defiled?" 
 
 96 
 
So said Kit North ; and I read with joy ^CO ttlSl) 
 "Stand by your city, and guard it well; 119 DC UTS 
 
 For a mess of pottage or base alloy 
 
 Who dares your birthright of beauty sell? 
 Never! ah, never! Edina mine, 
 Shall force or folly thy virtue tyne. 
 
 "Stand by your city, and guard it well, 
 
 Burrow in rocks for your tunnelled ways; 
 Taint not the soil with carbon fell, 
 
 The flowers or the sod where the sunlight plays." 
 No wonder the hall with wild applause 
 Greeted the reading of every clause. 
 
 "Stand by your city, and guard it well ; 
 Greed is mighty, but truth prevails ; 
 Let not your children's children tell 
 How beauty was bartered for iron rails." 
 Such was the meeting in Parliament Hall. 
 "Nemo impune !" Guard us all. 
 
 97 
 
Poems 
 
 COLUMBIA'S SON 
 
 T-JE stood beneath the crowning monument 
 
 To Walter Scott in Edinboro' town, 
 A lad of six, our Malcolm, who had spent 
 
 Scarcely a week 'mid Scotland's heather brown; 
 And, sighing, asked his mother every day 
 "Why don't they paint these houses, old and 
 gray?" 
 
 For well he knew the Hudson's cheery shore, 
 With golden sunsets flooding all the west; 
 Could lisp a bit of Rip Van Winkle's lore, 
 And deemed his home an island of the blest ; 
 So dear the homestead brook and crystal lake, 
 We thought at first his litfl* heart would break. 
 
 9? 
 
And what to him was all the storied past, 
 
 The rich romance which Scotia's children share? 
 Too young to know the love that binds us fast, 
 Which he some day will also proudly bear; 
 He only saw dun walls and grayish sky 
 To dim the blue of his bright laughing eye. 
 
 Methought, therefore, an object-lesson now 
 
 I'll give the boy, right here, upon the spot; 
 Beneath the kindly, clear, uncovered brow 
 Of him we love, our glorious Walter Scott; 
 I'll tell him why this lofty pile commands 
 The reverent homage of far distant lands. 
 
 I bade him look from base to towering spire, 
 
 From flying buttress to dissolving line, 
 To crowded niches with their minstrel-choir, 
 
 Whose living songs all hearts and lands entwine ; 
 I thought to make full clear ere I began 
 The greatness of the poet and the man. 
 
 99 
 
I had my points arranged to make them tell, 
 I)00ttt0 The Trosachs, Tweed, and Forth in order due; 
 Highland and Lowland, crag and misty fell, 
 Where beacons blazed and fiery crosses flew; 
 I summoned all the wealth at my command, 
 And held my audience fairly by the hand. 
 
 Enrapt he stood; intently gazed on high 
 
 He seemed so small beneath that spire so great; 
 I thought to get "Don't know" .as his reply, 
 And then at large upon my theme dilate; 
 'Twould take, forsooth, the best part of an hour 
 To sketch the Wizard and his matchless power. 
 
 "Now, listen, Malcolm," slowly I began 
 
 I didn't want the little fellow dazed 
 "Just think a moment : Do you know the man 
 For whom this noble monument was raised?" 
 With answer worthy of Columbia's son 
 He took it in, and said : "George Washington." 
 
 100 
 
COttfef) 
 
 Poems 
 
 JOHN STUART BLACKIE 
 
 Commemorating His Eightieth Year 
 T^AME Nature, communing with Coila one day, 
 
 Remarked in a social, neighborly way, 
 That she had been kept rather busy of late 
 Attending to poets and matters of state; 
 
 That Robbie had closed up the century well, 
 And Byron and Scott would hold out for a spell; 
 She was therefore inclined to take a vacation, 
 And, on her return, to startle the nation; 
 
 Would visit, forsooth, Asia Minor and Greece, 
 And lay out a plan for her great masterpiece. 
 So she wandered unseen for a time among men, 
 Returning about eighteen hundred and ten. 
 
 101 
 
Then straightway to Coila her way she betook, 
 And found her ensconced in a bright cosey nook. 
 With swift-winged words her tale she began 
 I've found the essentials for making a man; 
 
 . The proper proportion of genius and art, 
 
 Love, humor, and pathos, mind, body and heart, 
 With habiliments, too, that are fit for a king, 
 Or better, for genuine princes that sing. 
 
 I met the nine Muses, who gave me a piece 
 A delicate web of the old Golden Fleece 
 Which they bade me to take far over the wave 
 To bright sunny lands where magnolias wave ; 
 
 To a fountain of youth, Ponce de Leon by name, 
 And I wandered for months without finding the 
 
 same; 
 
 The woes of Ulysses were nothing to mine, 
 But I stayed by the Fleece as I promised the Nine; 
 
 Till there in a wilderness, silent and vast, 
 In a clear sparkling pool the token was cast ; 
 And lo, as I gazed, the Fleece took the form 
 Of a mantle well woven for sunshine or storm. 
 
 102 
 
Be it Jason or Stuart, "Midlothian" still 
 Is the brand of this Greek-Scotch-American twill; 
 And, Coila, the laddie will never grow old 
 Whose heart is enwrapped in this wondrous fold. 
 
 From the east to the west, from the old to the new, 
 From Helicon dry to Columbia's dew 
 I have wandered at will ; this staff in my hand 
 Was found in the groves of fair Florida's land ; 
 
 Amid pines that embossom de Funiak Spring, 
 Where poplar and laurel the poets outsing, 
 Where children of Scotia in happiness dwell, 
 By a fountain as sacred as St. Ronan's well ; 
 
 In gardens of lotus, with sunshine so clear 
 That the centuries glide without noting the year: 
 So, Coila, adieu! I go with the morn, 
 Guard plaidie and staff for the genius unborn; 
 
 It may be a month, or it may be a day, 
 Look well to the infant that's coming this way ; 
 And, also remember this mantle of joy 
 Will keep its possessor forever a boy. 
 
 103 
 
TO JOHN STRATHESK 
 
 At Allan Ramsay's Birthplace 
 JT did me prood the "roose" you sent 
 
 To Scottish friends in guid black prent; 
 The glowing lines wi' kindness brent 
 
 Illume my desk 
 Love, wit and pathos truly blent 
 
 By "John Strathesk." 
 
 I read the tribute o'er and o'er, 
 Sae hale and hearty to the core, 
 The loyal wishes that it bore 
 
 Across the sea; 
 The uttered word and something more 
 
 That blurs the e'e. 
 
 104 
 
Ay, such the magic of your pen, 
 I saw the winding Esk again, 
 Sir Walter's home and quiet glen 
 
 At dear Lasswade, 
 The resting-place of Hawthornden, 
 
 Where last we strayed. 
 
 I stood among the mountain-rills 
 Of Wanlockhead and fair Leadhills 
 Again your speech the gathering thrills 
 
 With worthy pride 
 For Symington, whose genius fills 
 
 The Lowthers wide. 
 
 What joy to breathe the caller air, 
 To stand with reverenN. forehead bare 
 By Allan Ramsay's portal there, 
 
 Whose rich bequest 
 Invites the world his love to share 
 
 And be his guest. 
 
 105 
 
That ancient library had a "splore" 
 Of eloquence ne'er heard before, 
 Wi' loving links from shore to shore 
 
 And Scottish sang; 
 The Hudson flowed beside the door, 
 
 Or I am wrang. 
 
 Full many a tome and antique book 
 Upon the scene in wonder look ; 
 A folio, hid within a nook, 
 
 His neighbor nudged, 
 And whispered till old Chaucer shook, 
 
 And Johnson "fudged." 
 
 One parchment that had been in pawn 
 For centuries, faintly seemed to yawn; 
 A reverend doctor, full of brawn, 
 
 Turned on his bier; 
 He took it for the Judgment dawn, 
 
 And asked the year. 
 
 1 06 
 
Chatham and Fox awoke at last, 
 
 With trembling limbs and cheeks aghast; 
 
 They thought, forsooth, their votes to cast 
 
 On pending bill; 
 The Speaker said a cyclone passed 
 
 O'er Richmond Hill. 
 
 Ah, if those worthies only knew 
 That we were also of their crew, 
 Our books, like guests in honored pew, 
 
 On upper shelf, 
 Perhaps they'd read the preface through, 
 
 Ye ken yourself. 
 
 But this I know: that summer day, 
 From morning gold to evening gray, 
 Within one heart has come to stay 
 
 While memory bides ; 
 Those velvet hills where shadows play 
 
 That ride of rides. 
 
 107 
 
A "four-in-hand" that swept the road 
 From "water-meetings' " sweet abode, 
 To where the Nith in music flowed; 
 
 By many a stream 
 All nameless now, but well bestowed 
 
 In lingering dream. 
 
 I see the kirk with carving old, 
 
 With mouldering walls 'mid silent fold, 
 
 The crumbling arch, the chancel cold, 
 
 Of Durisdeer; 
 The storied tomb of Douglas bold 
 
 Who knew not fear. 
 
 How like a vision, yet how real 
 Those golden hours upon us steal, 
 With open hearts and hands that seal 
 
 Rich friendships fast; 
 The living shrines where memories kneel 
 
 All else outlast. 
 
 108 
 
No pencil-ray of sunlight born, 
 No bugle-blast of golden horn, 
 No song of poet can adorn 
 
 Or half portray 
 The glory of that trip from morn 
 
 To close of day. 
 
 Then take, "Strathesk," my warmest prayer 
 Guard Scotland's children everywhere, 
 Her lads and lasses keep frae care 
 
 For evermore; 
 And favoring winds the message bear 
 
 To Scotia's shore. 
 
 1 09 
 
fttotttefc 
 
 SKIBO CASTLE 
 
 TN a realm of wonder and beauty 
 
 Where the Dornoch lovingly sleeps, 
 Amid moorland, meadow and mountain, 
 
 Whence the Oykel in melody sweeps, 
 Stands the castle of Scotland's Aladdin, 
 
 Whose "Lamp of Genius" and might 
 Emblazons o'er many a portal 
 
 The legend of "Let there be Light"! 
 
 Does it seem like a dream to the fairies 
 Who guarded the wood-lands of old 
 
 To see their loved Skibo transfigured 
 New visions of beauty unfold; 
 
 no 
 
As they troop in the mid-summer moonlight, 
 Through archway and oriel peer, 
 
 And flitting away to their sisters 
 Rename it "The Castle of Cheer"? 
 
 Or more like a dream to the builder, 
 
 In the quiet and long gloaming hours, 
 As he thinks of a lad in Dunfermline 
 
 Among Scotland's imperial towers; 
 Of the fortune that beckoned him westward 
 
 To sun-set turrets of gold, 
 Where the fervid heart of the toiler 
 
 Is wrought in Liberty's mould. 
 
 Mayhap he still hears in his musings 
 
 A mother's message of joy, 
 As she tells him of Scotia's glory 
 
 Which kindled his heart as a boy ; 
 Of heroes who watched o'er the cradle 
 
 That rocked Columbia's birth, - 
 First born of Albion's children 
 
 Whose language engirdles the earth: 
 
O* * e war P an d woof of a nation 
 
 "Triumphant" through sorrow and pain; 
 "Democracy" plying her shuttle 
 
 In the web of commerce and gain, 
 Till the song of the poet and prophet 
 
 That wakened the banks of the Ayr 
 Shall swell to the world-wide anthem 
 
 Of a "Brotherhood" free and fair. 
 
 112 
 
TO MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS 
 
 I do note the beauty of thine eyes, 
 And think that they have long been sight- 
 
 less dust; 
 When I observe the warrior's envied prize 
 
 Helmet and corselet thick with yellow rust; 
 When scutcheoned doors lie prone in castle halls, 
 
 And turrets totter, razed by ruthless Time; 
 When panelled brass from stately column falls, 
 
 Well-graved with praises writ in lofty rhyme 
 Then I perceive how all things here decay; 
 
 That this wide world is but a shifting stage, 
 Where faith and love, fierce pride and passion play, 
 And narrow lines divide the fool and sage; 
 Where fame's brief candle flickers to its death, 
 And beauty's reign is measured by a breath. 
 
Scottfeft 
 
 TANTALLON CASTLE 
 
 more Tantallon rings with battle-cry 
 Or shout of triumph in the martial list; 
 No bugle-call or seneschal's reply 
 
 Pierces the darkness or the driving mist; 
 I sit alone and hear the night winds sigh, 
 
 Till now yon battlement by moonlight kissed 
 Responds with echoes that will never die, 
 
 While lapsing wave and crag keep faithful tryst: 
 Again proud Marmion waits the purple morn 
 
 To meet his fate on Flodden's bitter field ; 
 To fairer fortune brave De Wilton born 
 
 Watches with Clare beside the Douglas shield; 
 What wondrous power! Behold the Wizard's art 
 
 His soul the lens, his realm the human heart. 
 
 114 
 
Poems 
 
 INCH-CAILLIACH, LOCH LOMOND 
 
 The island lurial-place of Clan-Alpine, resembling, from 
 Rossdhu, a reclining body with folded arms 
 
 more Clan-Alpine's pibroch wakes 
 Loch Lomond's hills and waters blue; 
 "Hail to the Chief" no longer breaks 
 
 The quiet sleep of Roderick Dhu: 
 Enwrapped in peace the islands gleam 
 
 Like emerald gems in sapphire set, 
 And, far away, as in a dream, 
 
 Float purple fields where heroes met. 
 
 Inch-Cailliach island of the blest! 
 
 Columba's daughter, passing fair, 
 With folded arms upon her breast, 
 
 Rests soft in sunset radiance there ; 
 A vision sweet of fond Elaine, 
 
 And floating barge of Camelot, 
 Upon her brow no trace of pain, 
 
 And on her heart "Forget me not." 
 
For S et thee ' saintl y guardian? Nay. 
 
 Fr oni distant lands across the sea 
 To this lone isle I fondly stray 
 
 With song and garland fresh for thee; 
 I trace the old inscriptions dear, 
 
 Fast fading now from mortal ken, 
 And through the silvered lichens peer 
 
 To read MacAlpine's name again. 
 
 My mother's name, a sacred link 
 
 That binds me to the storied past; 
 A rainbow bridge from brink to brink 
 
 Which spans with light the centuries vast. 
 Two hundred years! Clan- Alpine's pine 
 
 Has struck its roots in other lands; 
 My pulses thrill to trace the sign 
 
 And touch the cross with reverent hands. 
 
 i 
 All ruin here ! the shrine is dust, 
 
 The chapel wall a shapeless mound; 
 But nature guards with loving trust, 
 
 And ivy twines her tendrils round 
 
 116 
 
The simple slab, sublimer far 
 
 Than gilded dome for Scotia's line ; 
 
 The open sky and northern star 
 Befit the chieftains of the pine. 
 
 Scottfeft 
 Poems 
 
 The light streams out from fair Rossdhu 
 
 Across the golden-tinted wave; 
 That crumbling keep, that ancient yew, 
 
 Still mark a worthy foeman's grave'; 
 But warm the hearts that now await 
 
 Our coming at the open door, 
 With love and friendship at the gate, 
 
 And beacon-lights along the shore. 
 
 Dear Scotia! ever yet more dear 
 
 To loyal sons in every land; 
 Strong in a race that knew not fear, 
 
 And for man's freedom dared to stand; 
 Ay, dearer for thy songs that float 
 
 Like thistle-down o'er land and sea, 
 And strike the universal note 
 
 Of love and faith and liberty. 
 
 117 
 
The love-light of that August noon 
 Still gilds the banks o' Bonnie Doon. 
 
Frae O'er the Sea 
 
Poems 
 
 "It's comin' yet for a' that, 
 
 That man to man, the warld o'er, 
 Shall brothers be for a' that!" 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
poems 
 
 THE CENTURY'S SONG 
 
 note from out the centuries vast, 
 Which he who lists to-day may hear; 
 One word on Judah's waters cast, 
 With widening circle year by year ; 
 
 One song that thrills the patriot van 
 The crowning brotherhood of man. 
 
 'Twas this the peasant poet sung, 
 
 By bonnie Doon and winding Ayr, 
 To that dear harp by Coila strung, 
 
 Whose music floats prophetic prayer 
 A choral link from shore to shore, 
 Of man to man the world o'er. 
 
 121 
 
No grander utterance "Man to man!" 
 
 Behold the Century's living voice! 
 These simple words the ages span; 
 The nations listen and rejoice ; 
 
 The Ploughman bard of Scottish blood 
 Proclaims the song of brotherhood. 
 
 Our fathers struggled to be free 
 
 We have the freedom that they wrought; 
 For lofty faith and liberty 
 
 Brave martyrs died and heroes fought 
 "Nemo Impune" sternly sealed 
 On many a fierce and bloody field. 
 
 We know by heart each hallowed name, 
 
 Each rugged pass by valor trod, 
 The Bannockburns baptised to fame 
 By men who spurned the tyrant's rod ; 
 
 Who scorned to wear a conqueror's chain, 
 Who knew their rights and dared maintain. 
 
 122 
 
As men who climb a mountain height 
 
 By tortuous path and slippery steep, J900ttl0 
 
 O'ertaken by the darkling night 
 And driving blasts that round them sweep, 
 Behold with joy the purpling morn, 
 And wake the crags with bugle-horn; 
 
 So up the slope through rack and mist 
 
 Proud Scotland holds her steadfast way 
 To granite peaks by sunlight kissed, 
 While drifting clouds below her lay ; 
 No pioneer more bold and true 
 Beneath the heaven's arching blue. 
 
 Till now from heights securely reached, 
 
 With freedom sown in every soil, 
 And wasteful war's red banner bleached 
 On sunlit fields of honest toil, 
 Hark to the strain: "All war shall cease"- 
 Saint Andrew's song of love and peace. 
 
 123 
 
The charity that knows no bound 
 Is freedom's gift to every land; 
 The richest gold in quarry found 
 Or fairest pearl on ocean strand 
 Is naught to Saxon freedom now 
 The noblest crown on human brow. 
 
 And Saxon brotherhood to-day 
 
 Means brotherhood all round the world; 
 No restless realm would dare gainsay 
 The edict of their flags unfurled; 
 A million soldiers useless then 
 Amid the Parliament of men. 
 
 Through yonder clouds behold the rift 
 
 The hour is ripe, the morn is nigh, 
 The darkness fades, the nations lift 
 Their foreheads to a fairer sky; 
 
 Above the Twentieth Century's door 
 "The nations shall learn war no more." 
 
 124 
 
O fairest Queen! whose smiles entrance 
 
 Scottish 
 
 Columbia ! born of noble sires, 
 
 Poems 
 
 With youthful vigor in thy glance, 
 And hope that every land inspires; 
 Thy mountain chains and rivers free 
 Proclaim thy power from sea to sea! 
 
 Thine be that power to guard and bless 
 
 The millions vast who toil and wait, 
 Till man no longer shall oppress, 
 But Justice rule at every gate; 
 
 One law, one love, one crowning good 
 The Century's song of brotherhood! 
 
 125 
 
Poems 
 
 FOURTH OF JULY AT BANNOCKBURN 
 
 AY, everywhere all round the world 
 May God defend, as on this field, 
 The flag of liberty unfurled, 
 
 The truth by blood of martyrs sealed; 
 Burns' prayer is ours: God bless the cause 
 When freemen stand for freedom's laws. 
 
 God bless the cause as on that day ! 
 
 Swell wide the song, each note is dear; 
 Five centuries have passed away, 
 The dawning of the sixth is near; 
 From every land your sons return 
 To press the field of Bannockburn. 
 
 126 
 
To greet the storied standard here 
 In sacred light of early morn 
 God bless the land; each rood is dear 
 Where Scottish liberty was born 
 A battle for the world beside, 
 A victory for the nations wide. 
 
 A link to bind the old and new, 
 
 To make more close the kindred tie, 
 To span with light the ocean blue, 
 To float in song 'neath sunnier sky 
 
 The note that swells in "Scots wha hae' 
 All round the world has come to stay. 
 
 At Marathon and Runnymede, 
 
 By Stirling Bridge, at Naseby Field, 
 Fair freedom conned a lofty creed 
 And wrote Impune on her shield; 
 
 Then westward brushed the morning dew 
 And set the stars within the blue. 
 
 127 
 
No dwellers in Utopia they 
 
 Brave Pilgrims housed in narrow hold: 
 
 Poems 
 
 Fate took the helm, a wintry bay 
 Stern welcome gave that starving fold; 
 What seeds of time the Mayflower bore 
 From Albion to Columbia's shore! 
 
 To gentler vales, to brighter streams, 
 
 To praries carpeted with flowers; 
 To mountains ribbed with golden seams, 
 To quiet haunts and woodland bowers 
 The poet's "Islands of the Blest," 
 The fair Republic of the West. 
 
 So here beside the flowing rill 
 
 We come with joy to trace the source, 
 To note the fount, to feel the thrill 
 Of manhood in its widening course, 
 
 And, standing round the old Borestone, 
 Pledge Wallace, Bruce, and Washington. 
 
 128 
 
Dear Scotia! Homestead of the past, 
 
 Enshrined through all the fleeting years; 
 Your ivy tendrils bind us fast, 
 A common heritage endears; 
 
 May God defend! Burns' prayer is ours, 
 Engird the world with Freedom's flowers! 
 
 129 
 
Poems 
 
 SAINT ANDREW'S SONS 
 
 Centennial of Saint Andrew's Society, Albany 
 
 A HUNDRED years! Hark to the chime 
 
 That peals from yonder tower! 
 We come to-night to mark the time, 
 
 To trace the dial's hour, 
 When Scotland's sons from o'er the sea 
 
 Unfurled her banner bright, 
 Proud emblem of the bold and free, 
 A standard blue and white, 
 
 Above the hill-crowned city here 
 Of titled name to Scotia dear. 
 
 A cycle grand, a bonnie blink 
 
 Of morning's golden beam, 
 Before whose blaze the ages shrink 
 
 And time becomes a dream, 
 A century vast of Hudson fame, 
 
 Which Irving's fancy seals, 
 
 130 
 
Whose ripples murmur Morse's name 
 And flash to Fulton's wheels, 100ttt$ 
 
 Yon sacred cross has journeyed wide 
 But knows no fairer realm or tide. 
 
 A moment pause ! With reverence trace 
 
 The lesson written there, 
 No monarch's crown or gilded mace 
 
 His reign of love can share. 
 Behold his course through many a land, 
 
 From sun to northern snows, 
 From Bosphorus bright and Thracian strand 
 
 To where the Danube flows 
 A miracle of truth divine, 
 A martyr's cross, a hallowed shrine. 
 
 Re-read the legend of the past! 
 
 There came to Scotland's door 
 A shipwrecked missionary cast 
 
 Upon a storm-swept shore, 
 And there St. Andrew's towers arose, 
 
 From moat to stately shrine, 
 To guard his relics from her foes 
 
 And sweep the English line 
 
The martyr's lips, at Patras stilled, 
 
 ^e Scottish heart with triumph thrilled. 
 
 The centuries pass, a leader bold 
 
 For Scotland prayed at night, 
 Alone upon the dreary wold, 
 
 To win the morrow's fight, 
 When lo! a cross illumes the coast 
 
 Of white against the blue, 
 Straightway awoke the sleeping host, 
 
 Saint Andrew's cross was true; 
 
 Since then the Scottish flag has worn 
 Yon sacred cross to victory borne. 
 
 The secret here of Scotland's power, 
 
 The strength that will not yield, 
 Yon cross Old Scotia's richest dower, 
 
 With faith wrought in her shield 
 And so the flag our fathers knew 
 
 Remains the same to-day 
 Her stainless standard white and blue 
 
 Shall never pass away: 
 
 Up all in fond remembrance met: 
 "Saint Andrew's Sons and Scotland yet.' 
 
 132 
 
ALPINE SPRING 
 
 To My Mother, Mary Ann MacAlpine Bruce, DeFuniak 
 Springs, Florida 
 
 T KNOW the mountain brooklets in the pass of 
 
 wild Glencoe, 
 Where waved the MacAlpine standard a thousand 
 
 years ago. 
 I have heard the pibroch sounding by stream and 
 
 wooded fell, 
 And lingered in the gloaming beside St. Ronan's 
 
 Well. 
 
 I know the homestead fountain, where the waters 
 
 bubble bright, 
 Beneath the oak and maple aglow with golden 
 
 light; 
 
I listen to the music of the gurgling sylvan rill. 
 And the gentle, mellow cadence of the wondering 
 whippoorwill. 
 
 I wander down the footpath, in memory here to-day, 
 With my mother to that springside in the hills so 
 
 far away ; 
 I hear the old-time stories, kneel again beside her 
 
 knee, 
 And the woodland's murmuring music through the 
 
 twilight speaks to me; 
 
 With a love that knows no distance, though deep 
 
 shadows intervene, 
 Leading back the weary wanderer through the 
 
 meadows fair and green, 
 With a love that lifts her rainbow, though the skies 
 
 be dark above 
 Sunshine from a sphere immortal, born of heaven 
 
 a mother's love. 
 
 134 
 
In the glory of this sunshine we have come in glad- 
 
 ness now, J9 001110 
 
 In the light that veils her presence, reverent with 
 
 uncovered brow; 
 Here beside the gentle music of fair waters flowing 
 
 free- 
 Alpine Spring, my sainted mother, consecrates its 
 
 heart to thee. 
 
 Come, then, children, free and happy, for her laugh 
 
 was light as yours ; 
 Come, fair youth, with golden promise that abideth 
 
 and endures; 
 Come, fond age, that now is waiting for the bliss 
 
 that she hath won; 
 Welcome to the Alpine fountain while its waters 
 
 greet the sun. 
 
 135 
 
Poems 
 
 THE PIONEERS 
 
 p ROM lands of sunrise far away, 
 
 From Jural cliffs, from Caspian shore, 
 From Scythian deserts waste and gray, 
 From rose-decked Persia's floral floor, 
 One race has kept the western trail 
 The bonnie, braw, warm-hearted Gael; 
 The sturdy Gael who came from far, 
 Led onward by the morning-star. 
 
 By many a stream their footsteps strayed, 
 Frae Indus to the Elbe and Rhine, 
 
 Before their ruddy children played 
 By Bonnie Doon or crystal Tyne. 
 
 136 
 
The music of Arabian rills 
 Finds echo in old Scotia's hills; 
 The Oriental thread remains 
 In warp and woof of Gaelic strains. 
 
 Onward and onward year by year, 
 
 By Thracian fields, by Bosphorus straits, 
 
 Through stormy seas their barks they steer 
 Beyond Gibralter's frowning gates: 
 
 Impelled to seek the farthest shore 
 
 Before their wanderings are o'er, 
 
 Still onward, till before them lie 
 
 The Orkneys and the Isle of Skye. 
 
 They came the pioneers of truth 
 
 To bleak lona's pebbled strand, 
 Bright guardians of fair Albion's youth, 
 
 The founders of a noble band; 
 From out whose loins sprang martyrs brave, 
 Who gave their all their faith to save 
 The men who faced a living lie, 
 And for God's glory dared to die. 
 
 137 
 
They came the pioneers of song, 
 
 Of courtly grace and minstrel art, 
 With lyric fire that slumbers long, 
 
 Then bursts like Aetna's liquid heart, 
 And overflows the human bounds 
 Of thought with sweet seraphic sounds : 
 Like notes that stray from realms above 
 Electric sparks of Heavenly love. 
 
 They came fair freedom's pioneers, 
 
 Nor cared for king nor tyrant's frown; 
 No nobler record through the years 
 
 Since Gideon's sword was handed down. 
 They saw the individual man 
 In Celtic sept, in Highland clan, 
 And from their hill-tops floated free 
 The thistle-down of liberty. 
 
 The "bairn," beside whom Hagar wept, 
 Ordained a hardy race to rear, 
 
 Uncradled, but by angels kept 
 A motherhood forever near; 
 
 138 
 
The archer lad of deserts wild 
 Anticipates the Gaelic child, 
 And leads our souls on fancy's wing 
 From Paran's fount to Fillan's spring. 
 
 O Gaelic fathers, yours and mine, 
 
 Who come from lands beyond the sea, 
 Rejoicing still in Auld Lang Syne, 
 
 We bow to thee with reverend knee ! 
 Proud of thy faith and lofty fame, 
 Proud of each bright and honored name, 
 Our hearts respond with rapturous thrill 
 "Hail to the chief!" Clan Alpine still! 
 
 And here's to bright De Funiak Springs, 
 
 To Macs and Campbells all in line, 
 And all that Gaelic fervor brings 
 
 Unto this bright and crystal shrine! 
 While Katrine's lapsing waters smile, 
 And kiss the sands of Ellen's Isle, 
 So long will loyal hearts beat true 
 Beside De Funiak's waters blue. 
 
 139 
 
A RALLY 
 
 Caledonia County, Vermont 
 
 ighlanders come in their gay plaided tartan, 
 The music of Scotia floats free on the air ; 
 Come over, brave lads, from Barnet and Barton, 
 From Mclndoe's Falls and St. Johnsbury fair. 
 Come over and witness the games of a nation 
 Whose prowess is noted in story and song; 
 We'll furnish you all a fine "muscle" collation 
 Come over, and bring your fair cousins along. 
 
 Our fathers who came here were fresh from the 
 heather, 
 
 Our county still bears the old name of the Gael ; 
 So up wi' the bonnet and bonnie blue feather, 
 
 Sit down by our table and eat of our kail. 
 
 140 
 
Welcome, ay welcome, dear clansmen and brithers! 
 
 Hark to the bagpipe, and answer the ca' ; ]@0ttl0 
 
 Come wi' your wives, your sisters, and mithers, 
 
 We'll meet you and greet you, and welcome you a* ! 
 
 Come from the valleys, the hills, and the mountains; 
 
 Gather as gathered your fathers of old 
 From clear northern lakes and bright crystal foun- 
 tains, 
 
 The half of whose beauty has never been told. 
 Rally, like true, loyal Scottish descendants, 
 
 Over the Border, and answer the ca'! 
 And twine round this day of Supreme Independence 
 
 The bluebell, the heather, the thistle and a* ! 
 
 141 
 
Poem* 
 
 A SONG TO YE BAITH 
 
 A SONG frae the heart to the chiels o' the clan 
 MacDonald of Brooklyn the chief of the 
 
 van. 
 
 Whose bonnet and tartan shall e'er bear the gree 
 While bluebells and heather deck highland and lea. 
 
 MacDonald! MacDonald! what memories rise 
 Of bonnie Loch Leven, the child of the skies ; 
 Glencoe, wi* sad story, and streamlet of pain 
 Prince Charlie, immortal in Flora's refrain. 
 
 Nae clanship but thine has a sponser sae braw 
 As Flora MacDonald, the Queen o' them a*. 
 A song to the laddies? Nay that winna do, 
 Up all for the lassies the Floras we woo. 
 
 142 
 
Auld Scotland is far, but her children are true, 
 The gowan blooms fairer wi' memory's dew, 
 The ivy is greener the older the wa'. 
 And the note o' the linnet is sweetest of a'. 
 
 For youth is immortal, and love never dies, 
 Wherever we wander, 'neath whatever skies. 
 So here, at the altar and shrine of our faith, 
 MacDonalds and Floras a song to ye baith. 
 
poem* 
 
 TO THE SHAKESPEARE SOCIETY 
 
 Edinburgh 
 
 A ND now to you, dear Shakespeare friends, to- 
 night 
 
 Two argosies are here and both secure; 
 One rich with love and one with memory bright 
 
 Life's only wealth, a cargo safe and sure. 
 With lifted sail fond memory floats away, 
 But love remains, the argosy I brought; 
 A welcome waits in yonder sunlit bay 
 These freighted dreams with kindness all 
 
 inwrought. 
 One invoice here, and one beyond the sea 
 
 That needs no notary's scrawl or consul's seal; 
 In every land one word is "sesame" 
 
 A Shakespeare passport signed by Samuel 
 
 Neil. 
 "Bon Voyage" give, and grant your leader's 
 
 name, 
 No Saxon port too distant for his fame. 
 
 144 
 
TO AN EDINBURGH FRIEND 
 
 With a bit of wood from Victor Hugo's Library 
 
 A CCEPT with this a strip of hallowed wood, 
 
 A moulding bright from Victor Hugo's hall; 
 A gilded bit where lingering fancies brood 
 
 And burning words, which every heart enthrall. 
 You gave to me, inset with faithful care, 
 
 A t tender keep-sake from yon humble room 
 Of that sad bed which heard Burns' yearning 
 
 prayer 
 And crowning verse that pierced the gathering 
 
 gloom : 
 No other song to all the world so dear; 
 
 Hush! round his couch the sorrowing muses 
 
 kneel : 
 
 "O wert thou in the cauld blast" lingers here 
 Those sheltering lines an amulet and seal: 
 Ah! emblems utter what we cannot speak, 
 And voice our hearts when words are all too 
 weak. 
 
 145 
 
COLUMBIA'S GARLAND 
 
 Unveiling of Lincoln Monument, Edinburgh, Scotland, 
 in memory of Scottish-American Soldiers 
 
 A NOTHER clasp of loving hands, 
 
 Another link across the sea, 
 A living word from distant lands 
 To grace the soldiers of the free; 
 Columbia at her Mother's knee. 
 Unfolds the scroll of Liberty. 
 
 A parchment born of bitter years, 
 
 Red-lined with blood of martyrs leal, 
 Dark stained and blurred by captives' tears, 
 By dungeon-mould and rusted steel 
 A charter sealed beneath the star 
 That led the nations from afar; 
 
 146 
 
To find a green-girt island home, 
 
 With moat outlasting gates of steel, 
 Whose bulwark was the ocean foam, 
 
 Whose drawbridge was the floating keel, 
 Whereon to bear all round the world 
 The flag of Destiny unfurled. 
 
 Your Magna Charta rode secure 
 
 Within the Mayflower's narrow hold, 
 That invoice made the shipment sure 
 A Britain poured in larger mould; 
 Your Gaelic-Saxon-Norman blood 
 The yeast of Time's great brotherhood. 
 
 What complex forces strangely wrought, 
 
 What lasting victories nobly won, 
 Since Sidney died and Hampden fought, 
 Or Milton dreamed of Washington! 
 Virginia voiced your stately creed 
 A scion true of Runnimede. 
 
@>COttl$j) With tendrils reaching west to rear 
 
 The highest type of manhood's power, 
 Born of the soil, without a peer, 
 
 Our Lincoln stands the noblest flower 
 Of freedom in its widening course 
 From Chatham, Fox and Wilberforce: 
 
 To whom an anxious nation turned 
 
 When gathering clouds the sky o'ercast, 
 A pilot brave with soul that yearned 
 To guide the ship before the blast ; 
 To hold the faith our fathers knew, 
 To keep the stars within the blue. 
 
 A genius stamped with sterling worth, 
 
 Despising juggling and pretence, 
 His story halos humble birth, 
 A parable of modest sense; 
 
 Endowed to see and do the right 
 The majesty of moral might. 
 
 148 
 
Inspired to set in simple speech 
 
 The words that sway a people's heart, ]>0ttl0 
 
 Prophetic sentences that reach 
 
 Beyond the realm and scope of art; 
 The humor of a nation's youth. 
 The wit of plain and homely truth. 
 
 'Twas this upheld the faltering arm, 
 
 When hearts were faint and bowed in prayer; 
 His honest face had power to charm 
 And ease the burden of our care; 
 With will serene that masters fate 
 He taught the land to trust and wait. 
 
 With bended knee and listening ear 
 
 He watched the hour to speak and save ; 
 Hark! Bells peal out an anthem clear 
 He strikes the shackle from the slave: 
 That deed completes the work begun 
 By Jefferson and Hamilton. 
 
 149 
 
Embodied here to stand for aye 
 In memory of soldiers brave, 
 Who stood in many a bloody fray 
 In serried ranks our land to save ; 
 To Scotia's sons we proudly turn 
 Descendants true of Bannockburn. 
 
 "We cannot consecrate this ground," 
 No deed of ours the debt can pay ; 
 The ray across each martyr's mound 
 Gets stronger purchase day by day 
 Each soldier's grave a fulcrum sod 
 The lever in the hand of God ; 
 
 To lift the world to larger life, 
 
 To loftier dreams and nobler deeds, 
 To broaden faith and narrow strife, 
 
 To plant the rose and crush the weeds, 
 Till jealousies forget their date 
 The cerements of a worn-out hate. 
 
 150 
 
Through prismed tears let sunlight play, 
 
 Secure in joy, redeemed in grief; Jj90tTl$ 
 
 One song unites the Blue and Gray, 
 One glory binds the garnered sheaf 
 War's cruel reaping kindly sealed 
 By brothers of the martyred field. 
 
 And so Columbia comes with cheer, 
 
 With outstretched hand from o'er the sea, 
 To place a garland on the bier 
 
 Of those who died to keep us free; 
 And here, beside her Mother's knee, 
 Unfolds the scroll of Liberty. 
 
LINCOLN TO BURNS 
 
 Bront Lincoln's Statue ', Edinburgh, to Burns' Statue, Chicago 
 
 /\ A WELL-KNOWN voice rings far and free 
 
 ( "r^ 
 
 From Calton Hill ayont the sea; 
 
 A listening people fondly turns 
 As Lincoln speaks to Robert Burns. 
 
 "Auld Reekie" asks me to convey 
 Her love with mine across the way, 
 And decks me weel wi' mony a flower, 
 For "now's the day and now's the hour" 
 
 When you shall stand uncovered there, 
 With manly heart and forehead bare, 
 Beside the breezy northern lakes 
 And feel the pulse the century wakes. 
 
 152 
 
It minds me of that glorious day 
 When I to Scotland found my way, 
 One August morn in Ninety-three, 
 To speak the message of the free ; 
 
 And learn what narrow waters part 
 Columbia's sons from Scotia's heart; 
 Ay, Robbie, I remember still 
 My greeting on old Calton Hill. 
 
 So take to-day with worthy pride 
 Your welcome as yon prairies wide; 
 The fertile valleys of the west 
 Bloom fairer for their Scottish guest. 
 
 Slow to accept the draft you drew, 
 A world-wide claim, long over due, 
 Now every heart its offering brings, 
 And every land your glory sings. 
 
 O, Robbie, you can never know 
 How great the debt to you I owe ; 
 In many a darksome hour of care 
 Your tender words I used to share. 
 
 153 
 
When calumny came thick and fast, 
 By malice hurled or folly cast, 
 Your songs were all in all to me, 
 I turned aside my soul was free. 
 
 You saw the cotter's humble home 
 Grow wide beneath fair freedom's dome; 
 And every hope to manhood dear 
 Transfigured in your dreams appear. 
 
 You knew God loved the common soil, 
 And hands made brown by honest toil: 
 "He must have liked plain people well, 
 He made so many like ourseP ." 
 
 Yestreen I heard a braw Scot say : 
 "There's Burns and Lincoln by the way, 
 A cabin boy and cotter lad 
 Dressed up in bronze is nae sae bad !" 
 
 I thanked him Robbie for that word, 
 The sweetest that I ever heard, 
 And told him how I lived with thee, 
 And why you were so dear to me : 
 
 154 
 
Born in the glorious dawn of time 
 You caught the far oft 7 golden chime Jg)OCttl$ 
 
 "To every land, to every sea, 
 Proclaim the voice of Liberty." 
 
 You heard a People's protest rise 
 From gilded throne to listening skies; 
 The ringing words subscribed that day 
 In "man to man" survive for aye. 
 
 The age your ardent boyhood knew 
 The first full breath of freedom drew, 
 And "Scots Wha Hae" is dearer still 
 For Concord Bridge and Bunker Hill. 
 
 You saw with joy the starlit birth 
 Of yonder flag o'er all the earth; 
 And deified to keep us free 
 "The sacred posy 'LibertieV 
 
 You hailed with pride what patriots won 
 And wreathed the brow of Washington: 
 That "Ode" repeals a tyrant's ban 
 And crowns the sovereignty of man. 
 
 155 
 
Ay more, to your brief life was given 
 The noblest work vouchsafed by Heaven 
 To bind through all the coming years 
 In lasting love two hemispheres. 
 
 So, as the centuries glide away, 
 And bring you many a festal day, 
 You'll think betimes, as memory turns, 
 "Here Lincoln spoke to Robbie Burns." 
 
 156 
 
Poem* 
 
 AULD SCOTIA'S SONGS 
 
 HEN spring-tide comes wi' sunny smile, 
 
 And streamlets wake in every glen; 
 When lovers linger at the stile, 
 
 And a' the warld is young again; 
 I think of meadows far away, 
 
 Where gowans bloom and memories throng, 
 Of nooks where light and shadow play 
 The spring-tide glints in Scottish song. 
 
 When summer spreads the vale wi' flowers, 
 And westlin' winds blow saft and sweet; 
 
 When linnets sing in hawthorn bowers, 
 And golden hours are a* too fleet; 
 
 157 
 
I hear each leaf and rustling blade 
 Respond to raptures deep and strong : 
 
 The "barley rigs" shall never fade 
 The summer blooms in Scottish song. 
 
 When autumn paints the purple hills, 
 
 And skylark notes salute the morn; 
 When every slope wi' glory thrills 
 
 To heather bells of freedom born; 
 I walk the fields where patriots died 
 
 To sweep away a tyrant's wrong: 
 Yon thistle-down floats far and wide 
 
 The autumn glows in Scottish song. 
 
 When winter chides the bickerin' burn, 
 
 And branches bend wi' icy sleet; 
 When cotters frae their toil return, 
 
 An' roun' the ingle neebors meet, 
 I see the social spirit free, 
 
 Let Scotland's sons preserve it long! 
 A brither's prayer frae o'er the sea 
 
 The winter lives in Scottish song. 
 
 158 
 
Poems 
 
 an acrostic 
 
 WALLACE came when Scotland rose 
 And strove with might against her foes: 
 Long the struggle brave and grand. 
 Lost! alas, by treacherous hand! 
 All the power of England's host 
 Came with proud and martial boast f 
 Edward leading soon to leam 
 BRUCE was fang at Bannockbum. 
 Rally clansmen bold and free 
 Up for Scotland's liberty! 
 Chant the names to Freedom's use 
 Ever blended Wallace Bruce. 
 
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