I 
 
 so 
 
 fi I X
 
 yVluSA yVlEDICA.
 
 IbI 
 
 ML I '1 -.*> M. 
 
 £#lt> 
 
 
 A Sheaf 
 
 OF 
 
 Son© and Verse, 
 
 BY 
 
 J. JOHNSTON, M.D., Edin. 
 
 The Savoy Press, Ltd., Savoy House, 115, Stt^and, W.C 
 
 1897. 
 
 Price, 2s. 6cl.
 
 JCoWSl 
 
 The Savoy Press, Ltd., 
 Savoy House, 115, Strand, W.C.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 The Song of the Eagle Street C -llege - - ii 
 
 The Doctor --23 
 
 Doctor Air - - 25 
 
 The General Practitioner 29 
 
 The Young Medico 33 
 
 The Song of the Medical Assistant - - - 39 
 
 A Patent-Medicine Song 43 
 
 The Sixpenny Doctor ------ 47 
 
 John Bolton, C.P. ------- 51 
 
 The Song of the Sunbeam ----- 61 
 
 A Tree Song 66 
 
 A Spring Morning at Grange-qver-San - 68 
 
 Easter Eve on Yewbarrow Crag - 71
 
 Nature, and Local Soxgs and Verses — cont. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A Midsummer Day in Rivington - - - - 73 
 
 A September Evening at Torquay - - - 78 
 
 Shap Wells 81 
 
 A Blackpool Sunset 84 
 
 A Snow Thought 87 
 
 A Winter Plaint 89 
 
 When Comes the Merry Spring, O - - - 92 
 
 To Annan Water 96 
 
 A Sunset Hour at Annan loi 
 
 A Summer Song ---...- 104 
 
 A Spring Day at Annan loS 
 
 Edward Irving 114 
 
 My Preference 119 
 
 True to the Core 121 
 
 At Wordsworth's Grave 124 
 
 A Song for Burns's Birthday . . . . 127 
 
 Burns 130 
 
 A Cycle Song 133 
 
 A Curling Ditty ---.-.. 136 
 
 Scotia j or, Both Sides 142 
 
 Baby Boy 147 
 
 A Christmas Hymn - 149
 
 TO 
 
 THE MASTER 
 
 AND THE BOYS OF 
 
 THE EAGLE STREET COLLEGE, 
 
 FROM WHOM SO MANY OF THESE 
 
 SONGS AND VERSES RECEIVED THEIR INITIAL 
 
 IMPULSE, THIS LITTLE VOLUME 
 
 IS AFFECTIONATELY 
 
 DEDICATED 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 Bolton, 1897.
 
 The Song of the Eagle Street College.* 
 
 I. 
 
 Did ye ever hear tell ov the Aegle Strate School, 
 An' the rale dacint Boys that go there, as a rule ? 
 Thin light up yer pipe an' draw in yer stool, 
 
 While I sing yez the Song ov our College. 
 The tachin' at Aegle Strate's far an' away 
 The best in the wurruld — at laste so the Boys say ; 
 An' the best ov it is that there's nothin' to pay 
 
 For the larnin' at Aegle Strate College. 
 
 Chorus. — Och, Boys ! We're the Pheelosiphers ! 
 We are the wans for the Knowledge ! 
 
 Av ye want Eddication, 
 
 Or correct Information, 
 Come an' jine the Aegle Strate College. 
 
 * "Eagle Street College" is the name given to a gvoup of friends in 
 
 Bolton.
 
 12 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 II. 
 
 The Masther himself is a wonderful man ; 
 Shure, he's read all the clever folk's books wan by- 
 wan, 
 An' there's nothin' on earth he does not undershtan' ; 
 
 There's no telhn' the depth ov his knowledge. 
 By the Boys he is held in the heighth ov estame, 
 An' 'tis mighty small wonder that he is that same — 
 For doesn't he shtan' them all cocoa an' crame 
 
 Every Monday night at the College ? 
 
 Chorus. — Och, Boys ! We're the Pheelosiphers \ 
 We are the wans for the Knowledge ! 
 
 Av ye're wantin' Theology, 
 
 Or Anthropology, 
 Come an' jine the Aegle Strate College.
 
 THE SONG OF THE EAGLE STREET COLLEGE. I3 
 
 III. 
 
 The Scholars for ignorance nothin' can bate, 
 Though ov coorse ihey consider their larnin' is great ; 
 What they're short ov in larnin's made up in consate, 
 
 Wid the Boys ov the Aegle Strate College. 
 There's a " Blacldn'-hole " Boy who thinks he can 
 
 paint, 
 An' when he's drest up ye might think he's a saint; 
 But don't be desaived ! For that's iwt the complaint 
 
 Ov that Boy at the Aegle Strate College. 
 
 Chorus. — Och, Boys ! We're the Pheelosiphers ! 
 We are the wans for the Knowledge ! 
 Av yer laenin's artistic, 
 Or rationalistic. 
 Come an' jine the Aegle Strate College.
 
 14 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Then wan ov them Boys is a Limb ov the Law, 
 Ov ould Epictaetus he'd kape us in awe, 
 An' he says, anny minute he's ready to draw 
 
 The wills ov the Boys at the College. 
 The next Boy may be known by the yarn on his 
 
 clothes ; 
 He's as good as a mother, as every wan knows, 
 Shure, he mends all the stockin's an' knits all the hose 
 
 Ov the Boys at the Aegle Strate College. 
 
 Chorus.— Och, Boys ! We're the Pheelosiphers ! 
 We are the wans for the Knowledge ! 
 Av ye want laegal larnin' 
 Or yer stockin's nade darnin', 
 Come an' jine the Aegle Strate College.
 
 THE SONG OF THE EAGLE STREET COLLEGE. 1 5 
 
 V. 
 
 To larn all about African travellers, shure, 
 
 Ye'd better get thick wid the Sage ov Tonge Moor ; 
 
 The jaynius is great, but the pay's mighty poor 
 
 Ov the ex-newspaper Boy at the College. 
 Wan takes care ov their money — but I'd better explain 
 When they ax for it back, shure, their axin's in vain ; 
 For begorra, they never set eyes on't again 
 
 When it's banked wid this Boy at the College. 
 
 Chorus. — Och, Boys ! We're the Pheelosiphers ! 
 
 We are the wans for the Knowledge ! 
 Av ye've got anny money, 
 We'll look after it, sonny, 
 
 Av ye'll jine the Aegle Strate College.
 
 l6 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 VI. 
 
 A Clargyman's name on the school roll appairs, 
 But he doesn't give himself clargyman airs ; 
 An' he takes a dape interest in the affairs 
 
 That consarn the Boys at the College. 
 He's a good-hearted fellow, an' ov praise has no 
 
 nade; 
 He's a prince among parsons ov every crade ; 
 Hejjlcan joke an' can smoke the delectable wade, 
 
 Like the rest ov the Boys at the College. 
 
 Chorus. — Och, Boys ! We're the Pheelosiphers ! 
 
 We are the wans for the Knowledge ! 
 For Christian tachin', 
 Widout dogmatic prachin', 
 
 Come an' jine the Aegle Strate College.
 
 THE SONG OF THE EAGLE STREET COLLEGE. 1 7 
 
 VII. 
 
 Another wan sports an M.D. ov his own, 
 
 Which his long-sufferin' patients say manes ' money 
 
 down' ; 
 Wid this licence to murther, shure, he's kilt half the 
 town, 
 
 But they won't let him practhice in College. 
 There's an Architect Boy who's as round as a praist ; 
 That he's fond ov his dinner ye may tell by his waist; 
 Though the last on the list he's by no manes the laste, 
 
 Ov the Boys ov the Aegle Strata College. 
 
 Chorus. — Och, Boys ! We're the Pheelosiphers ! 
 We are the wans for the Knowledge ! 
 Av ye want Architecture, 
 Or may be a Health Lecture, 
 Ye must come to the Aegle Strate 
 College.
 
 l8 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 There's wan other gintleman's name to be towld, 
 Whom we're proud to call friend, av we may be so 
 
 bowld, — • 
 'Tis our Visitor here, whose heart ov rale gowld 
 
 Is well known to the Boys ov the College. 
 The Talks ov the Boys are varied an' free ; 
 From Brownin' an' Whitman to a Parish Church 
 
 spree — 
 For, be jabers, there's mortial few things won't agree 
 Wid the Boys ov the Aegle Strate College. 
 
 Chorus. — Och, Boys ! We're the Pheelosiphers ! 
 We are the wans for Knowledge ! 
 Av ye want to larn Science 
 An' bid Huxley defiance, 
 Come an'jine the Aegle Strate College.
 
 THE SONG OF THE EAGLE STREET COLLEGE. IQ 
 
 IX. 
 
 The lessons them Boys have to larn are sevare, 
 An' manny's the time they feel tempted to swear — 
 But sorra a ha'p'orth the Masther 'ud care 
 
 For the tlireats ov the Boys at the College. 
 He tells them if ever they wish to be mcn^ 
 They must practice them lessons agin an' agin, 
 Till the wurruld can see for itself that they've been 
 
 Able pupils ov Aegle Strate College. 
 
 Chorus. — Och, Boys ! We're the Pheelosiphers ! 
 We are the wans for the Knowledge ! 
 Av ye're wanting in Charity. — 
 'Mong vartues a rarity — 
 Come an' jine the Aegle Strate College.
 
 20 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 X. 
 
 The love ov the Boys for aich other's sinsare, 
 
 While their kind-hearted Masther they almost revare ; 
 
 An' av anny wan doubts it, he'd better take care 
 
 Ov the fists ov the Boys at the College ! 
 Then long life to the Boys at the Aegle Strate School ! 
 Over them may their well-beloved Masther long rule ! 
 An' may the warm feelin's ov friendship ne'er cool 
 
 'Along the Boys ov the Aegle Strate College ! 
 
 Chorus. — Och, Boys ! We're the Pheelosiphers ! 
 We are the wans for the Knowledge ! 
 For the best sart ov Larnin' — 
 I'd have yez take warnin' — 
 Ye must come to the Aegle Strate 
 College. 
 
 Bolton, April 29th, 1SS9.
 
 MEDICAL SONGS AND VERSES.
 
 The Doctor. 
 
 Who hourly is at back and call 
 
 Of rich and poor, of great and small ? 
 
 Who does his best for each, for all ? 
 
 The Doctor. 
 
 Who's welcomed warmly everywhere, 
 By stalwart men and ladies fair ? 
 Who to the children all is dear ? 
 
 The Doctor^ 
 
 Whose toil ends not with close of day ? 
 Who works while others sleep or play, 
 And oft plods home in morning grey ? 
 
 The Doctor..
 
 24 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 Of politics who takes small heed, 
 And cares not 'cvhat the patient's creed, 
 His sole concern — a sick man's need ? 
 
 The Doctor. 
 
 Who is entrusted with the lives 
 
 Of fathers, husbands, mothers, wives ; 
 
 And who untiring service gives ? 
 
 The Doctor. 
 
 Who knows our strength and weakness best, 
 And holds inviolate in his breast 
 Our secrets — e'en those unconfessed ? 
 
 The Doctor. 
 
 Who is the faithful, trusty friend. 
 On whose help lo3^al we depend 
 From life's first dawning to its end ? 
 
 The Doctor.
 
 Doctor Air. 
 
 Of doctors and their theories of Medicine tliere's no 
 
 lack; 
 From knighted court physician to perambulating quack, 
 There are specialists for everything the human frame 
 
 contains, 
 Between our soles and skull-caps, from our digits to our 
 
 brains. 
 
 We have Homceopaths, and Allopaths, and Hydropaths, 
 
 as well 
 As Mesmerists — though these are now called Hypnotists 
 
 — who'll quell
 
 26 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 Neuralgias and all aches and pains, with a mystic 
 "pass " or two ; 
 
 While the cures of the Faith-healers are most mar- 
 vellous — if true. 
 
 There's Dr. Blister, Dr. Bleed, and old-fashioned Dr, 
 
 Pill, 
 Who with his mixtures, potions, draughts will cure your 
 
 every ill ; 
 And Dr. Sanitation will with wonder make you stare ; 
 But the king of all the doctors, new or old, is Dr. Air. 
 
 He boasts no long, imposing string of letters to his name^ 
 No Alma Mater has inscribed him on its roll of fame ; 
 No walls his consultation room enclose from the blue sky, 
 Its floor's the broad expanding earth, its roof heaven's 
 canopy. 
 
 No nauseous drugs does he prescribe our illnesses tO' 
 cure.
 
 DOCTOR AIR. 27 
 
 His medicine's elemental, tonic, wholesome, sweet and 
 
 pure ; 
 His services professional to each and all are free — 
 For Nature's own physician ne'er exacts reward nor fee. 
 
 No horse nor carriage he requires, he neither walks nor 
 
 rides, 
 But floats on pinions vaporous, from woods and green 
 
 hill-sides, 
 Where golden sunbeams glint and dance among the 
 
 pretty flowers, 
 To the music of clear purling brooks and birds in leafy 
 
 bowers. 
 
 He voyages across the sea, whose breath ozonic cHngs 
 About his vesture as he flies, with healing on his wings. 
 For men and women stricken sore by dire disease or 
 
 pain 
 He bears the balm that's sanative and bringeth back 
 
 again
 
 28 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 The roses to the palhd cheek, the sparkle to the eye, 
 Infusing strength — nay, Hfe itself — in sick humanity. 
 
 What purbhnd folly 'tis for men to poison and pollute 
 This true elixir vilcc with tlieir chemicals and soot ! 
 Transforming heaven's own ether pure into mephitic 
 
 gas, 
 Destroying precious health and blighting trees and 
 
 flowers and trrass. 
 
 How long will Mammon worshippers befoul our precious 
 
 store 
 Of vitalizing oxygen and 'gainst it shut their door ? 
 By oxygen v/e live and mo\e, deprived of it we die : 
 Thus is the life of Earth-born man related to the Sky. 
 
 Then who would healthy, happy be, must daily have a 
 
 care 
 To quafl' a copious draught from life-inspiring Dr. Air.
 
 The Genera! Practitioner. — J So/i^, 
 
 Come, friends, who to the P.Iedical Society belong, 
 And give me your attention wliile I sing a httle song: 
 It's all about the troubles and the trials that befall 
 The General Practitioner in his life professional. 
 
 His first and foremost troul)le is that patients stay away, 
 But soon he finds a greater when their bills they will 
 
 not pay ; 
 P'or he's not long discovering, when he has done his 
 
 work, 
 That a patient thinks it no great shame the doctor's bill 
 
 to shirk.
 
 30 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 He must not walk his rounds for fear his patients think 
 
 him poor ; 
 And dearly do they love to see a carriage at their door. 
 If his horse is fat, they say—" he must have little Avork 
 
 to do," 
 And if it's lean, the reason is — " he starves the poor old 
 
 screw." 
 
 If he often goes to Church, folks say — " it's all hypocrisy," 
 And if he doesn't go at all — " an Atheist he must be ; " 
 And Vv^hen he is called out, as down the aisle he passes by, 
 The knowing ones exchange a look and wink the other 
 eye. 
 
 About money he must always seem indifferent to be, 
 And folks may think he practises from pure philanthropy. 
 When Vv'e hear about him boasting of the guineas that 
 
 he earns, 
 We wonder if they all appear in his income-tax returns.
 
 THE GENHRAL PRACTITIONER. 3I 
 
 He must work all day, and half the night, and never say 
 
 lie's tired ; 
 For the public look upon him simply as a servant hired : 
 And should he take a holiday, he'll find, when he comes 
 
 back, 
 Some patients have resented it by giving him " the 
 
 sack." 
 
 Should he call upon his patients every day when they 
 
 are ill, 
 His motive plainly is — " to make a great big doctor's 
 
 bill :" 
 If he visits them less frequently — thus lessening their 
 
 expense — 
 The chances are he'll be accused of wilful negligence. 
 
 The most grateful creature on the earth is a patient — 
 
 while he's ill ; 
 But his feelings sometimes alter when he gets the doctor's 
 
 bill;
 
 32 MUSA INIEDICA. 
 
 And the doctor thus can judge how much the gratitude 
 
 is worth, 
 When he sees it taking flight with the disease that gave 
 
 it birth. 
 
 Oh, it's fine to be a doctor, for his work is only play ! 
 He has nothing else to do but in a carriage ride all day ; 
 To say nothing of the pleasure and the unalloyed 
 
 delight 
 He always feels when patients call him out of bed at 
 
 night. 
 
 About his own afflictions he must never say a word — 
 
 The idea of a doctor ill, is really so absurd ! 
 
 And v/hen, perhaps from overwork, he's laid upon tlie 
 shelf, 
 
 His sympathising patients say — " Physician, heal thy- 
 self!" 
 
 Sung at the Annual Dinner of the Bolton and District Medical 
 Society, October 4th, 1894.
 
 The Young Medico. — A Song. 
 
 If Medicine is the line in which you wish to shine 
 
 As a popular G.P., 
 There are certain things which you must not forget to do, 
 
 If successful you would be. 
 Real talent doesn't matter, so long as you can smatter 
 
 About things that are taught at College, 
 And give folks to understand that you have at your 
 command 
 Unlimited stores of knowledge ; 
 And everyone will say, 
 As you walk your medical way — 
 "If this young man is as wise as he looks, with his 
 
 L.R.C.P.E., 
 Why, what a very wise young medico this medico must 
 be!"
 
 34 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 When you're called into a case you must wear a solemn 
 face, 
 And pronounce it serious ; 
 No matter whether it is a catarrh or meningitis, 
 
 And the patient delirious ; 
 The result is sure to raise you, and the friends are sur 
 to praise you, 
 For your penetration great ; 
 Should the patient not recover, the reason they'll discove 
 Is that vou have been called too late. 
 x\nd everyone vv'ill say, 
 As 5^ou walk your infallible way — 
 " If this young man displays such great professi 
 
 ability, 
 Why, what a very clever young medico this medico 
 must be ! "
 
 THE YOUNG MEDICO. 35 
 
 You must cultivate the arts that captivate the hearts 
 
 Of the ladies one and all, 
 And before your person neat and your manners suave 
 and sweet, 
 They at your feet will fall ; 
 Your directions they will follow, and your physic they 
 will swallow, 
 Whenever they are taken ill ; 
 They'll smile and bow around you, at assemblies they'll 
 surround you, 
 And your surgery they'll fill. 
 And everyone wall say. 
 When they see your taking way — 
 " If this young man is so popular 'mong the ladies in 
 
 Society, 
 Why, what a very nice young medico this medico must 
 be!"
 
 3^ MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 In obedience to your rules, you'll call other doctors 
 fools, 
 Whether they be old or young. 
 And of course insinuate that their treatment's "out of 
 date. 
 And their diagnosis wrong. 
 The fact that you're cut dead by every other vml. 
 With contemptuous indifference you'll view : 
 So your rivalling physician is regarded with suspicion, 
 And the patients send for you. 
 And everyone v.-ill say, 
 As you walk your triumphant way — 
 " If this young man speaks so slightingly of his brethren 
 
 of every degree, 
 Why, what a most superior young medico this^'^medico 
 must be !"
 
 THE VOUXG MEDICO. 37 
 
 And when to church you hie, with becoming gravity, 
 
 You'll sit close to the altar ; 
 For of course you'll have your pew where you'll be in 
 fullest view. 
 When responding from your psalter. 
 When the sermon is half o'er, there's a message at the 
 door, 
 From a patient who is seriously ill ; 
 He's in such a dangerous state that he really cannot 
 wait. 
 And urgently demands your skill. 
 And everyone will say, 
 As you walk down the aisle that day — 
 " If this young man is called out of church so very 
 
 frequently, 
 Why, what a very busy young medico this medico must 
 be!"
 
 38 
 
 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 You'll grow rich and be respected and one day you'll be 
 elected 
 As a real Town Councillor, 
 To look after streets and drains and the gas and waiter 
 mains, 
 And display your sanitary lore : 
 Till at last you get to be an Alderman and a J. P., 
 
 And sit upon the Bench in state ; 
 And you even may aspire to rise a little higher, 
 And become the Chief Magistrate. 
 And everyone will say, 
 As you walk your exalted way — 
 " If this young man has climbed so soon to the top of 
 
 the municipal tree, 
 What a brilliantly-talented medico this medico must 
 be ! " 
 
 Sung at the Annual Dinner of the Bolton and District Medical 
 Society, October 5th, 1893.
 
 The Song of the Medical Assistant. 
 
 When I obtained my Double Qual., so proud a man 
 
 was I, 
 I thought that I'd get any post for which I might apply ; 
 Advertisements I answered in the B.M.J, galore, 
 And Lancet situations I applied for by the score. 
 
 That my demands were modest will, I think, to all be 
 
 clear, 
 "When I say the " screw " I asked was but a hundred 
 
 pounds a year : 
 But the members of the Medical Profession are so thrifty. 
 That the salary they offered me was something nearer 
 
 fifty.
 
 40 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 With one of these I'm now engaged, and 'tis no sinecure, 
 So numerous and varied are the troubles I endure ; 
 My position in the household is a strange anomaly — 
 For I must not with the servants dine, nor with the 
 family. 
 
 All duties that unpleasant are my Principal will shirk, 
 And relegates them all to me as " the Assistant's work;" 
 I have to bear the brunt of every grumbling man's 
 
 assault. 
 And when anything goes wrong it's always " the 
 
 Assistant's fault." 
 
 The Doctor does his daily rounds with horse and trap, 
 
 but I 
 Must go on "Shanks's pony," be the weather wet or 
 
 dry; 
 He sends me to the folks from whom he hopes but little 
 
 pelf, 
 But his wealthy, paying patients are attended by himself.
 
 THE MEDICAL ASSISTANT. 4I 
 
 I visit all the "clubs" and paupers living in the slums, 
 And mix the physic for each one who to the Surgery 
 
 comes ; 
 I dress the cuts and wounds and sores and on the 
 
 patients wait, 
 I keep the books, make out the bills, draw teeth and 
 
 vaccinate, 
 
 I've not an hour to call m}' o-,vn, not even when in bed, 
 For that confounded night-bell rings directly o'er my head ; 
 And often when my Principal fast locked in sleep remains, 
 I'm yawning by a bed obstetric, waiting for the pains. 
 
 The way some patients speak of me would any man 
 annoy — 
 
 They are so free with their remarks about " that beardless 
 boy," 
 
 And to their friends and neighbours say, in most con- 
 temptuous vein, 
 
 They " really hope the Dr. will not send that lad again."
 
 42 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 If there's a creature medical whose life and lot are worse 
 Than the Medical Assistant it must be the Doctor's 
 
 horse ; 
 My insults and annoyances I can no longer brook, 
 So Vve made up my mind that soon I'll start on my own 
 
 hook. 
 
 Sung at the Annual Dinner of the Bolton and District Medical 
 Society, October 17th, 1895.
 
 A Patent= Medicine Sono;. 
 
 Come, friends and members of our Medical Society 
 Assembled romid the festive board, and listen unto me, 
 While I sing about the marv'llous notions, lotions, 
 
 draughts, and pills, 
 That are guaranteed to cure the human race of all its ills. 
 
 b' 
 
 Of weakness of the muscles or the nerves, wherever felt, 
 You'll speedily be cured by wearing an " Electric Belt"; 
 What matter if it's only made of little bits of tin ? 
 It's called Ekcin'c, and the metal's nicely quilted in. 
 
 For heat spots, pimples, boils, and all " disorders of the 
 
 blood," 
 Clarke's mixture, with its /*<?/. • Tod: can't fail to do you good; 
 While Mother Siegel's Syrup, with its treacle and its aloes, 
 Is a priceless remedy for all, from slum to Royal palace.
 
 44 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 And should your stomach be upset, or 3four li\er be at 
 
 fault, 
 The thing that's sure to put you right is a dose of Eno's 
 
 Salt ; 
 
 'Tis true a Seidlitz Powder would have much the same 
 
 effect, 
 But, as it bears no patent stamp, what good can you 
 
 expect ? 
 
 For rheumatism nothing can excel St. Jacob's Oil, 
 
 With its camphor and its turpentine, pure products of 
 
 the soil ; 
 For sciatica that's chronic, or lumbago in the back. 
 Get Sequah's Indian chiefs to rub you till you're blue 
 
 and black. 
 
 That women folks are fond of pills old Holloway could 
 
 teach 'em, 
 But nowadays they're more inclined to pin their faith 
 
 to Beecham,
 
 A PATENT-MEDICINE SONG. 45 
 
 Whose pills they take by handfuls with a confidence 
 
 nothing shocks ; 
 For don't they know that " Beecham's Pills are worth 
 
 a guinea a box " ? 
 
 For crying babes and children we have nostrums by the 
 
 score, 
 There are " teething powders," " soothing syrups," and 
 
 " mother's friends " galore ; 
 And' while it's true that all such owe their power to 
 
 " sleeping stuff," 
 They soothe the restless little dears — and isn't that 
 
 enough ? 
 
 -"to' 
 
 And should your hair evince a strong desire from you 
 
 to part. 
 At once apply the lotion made by Mrs. Allen's art, 
 And on each bald and barren spot 'iv.'ill soon sprout up 
 
 anev/, 
 While silvery locks v, ill speedily regain their youthful hue»
 
 46 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 But time would fail to speak of all the wondrous things 
 
 we hear, 
 And we marvel at the statements that in circulars 
 
 appear — 
 How " Warner's Cure," for instance, can cure anything 
 
 at all, 
 If it's true that it contains a large amount of alcohol. 
 
 In fact, unless you want to die, there seems no room for 
 
 doubt, 
 That you must swallow every patent medicine that 
 
 comes out ; 
 And should you find by doing so you've quite destroyed 
 
 your health, 
 You'll know at least that you've increased the medicine 
 
 vendor's wealth. 
 
 Sung at the Annual Dinner of the Bolton and District Medical 
 Society, October 13th, 1S92.
 
 The Sixpenny Doctor. 
 
 By my medical brethren I'm shunned everywhere ; 
 They call me a " knobstick," and worse names, I fear ; 
 But sorra a ha'p'orth for them do I care ; 
 
 For I am a Sixpenny Docthor. 
 My noble profession they all say 1 disgrace, 
 And that I deserve drummin' out ov the place; 
 But my Surgery crowd makes them pull a long face, 
 
 And get mad at the Sixpenny Docthor. 
 
 Chorus. — Och, boys! I'm the chape Physicker! 
 I am the popular docthor ! 
 Av ye're anythin' ailin'. 
 Or yer health should be failin', 
 Just come to the Sixpenny Docthor !
 
 48 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 I'm none ov yer quacks, wid their practhices low, 
 
 And wurrums in bottles set out in a row ; 
 
 But the gowld-framed diplomas in my waitin' room show 
 
 That I'm a legitimate docthor. 
 Though the docthors are constantly runnin' me down, 
 My practhice is aequalled by few in the town ; 
 For who for their physic will pay half-a-crown, 
 
 When they know I'm a Sixpenny Docthor ? 
 
 C/iorus. — Och, boys I I'm the chape Physickerl &c. 
 
 My gineral practhice, confess it I must, 
 
 Is to charge ready money and never give trust — ■ 
 
 For patients must v\-an an' all down wid their dust, 
 
 When they come to the Sixpenny Docthor. 
 Though I find them in physic, I give yez my word, 
 That bottles and boxes the fee won't afford, 
 So I charge those all extry — and though 'tis absurd, 
 
 'Tis the way v;id the Sixpenny Docthor. 
 
 Chorus. — Och, boys I I'm the chape Physicker I Sec.
 
 THE SIXPENNY DOCTOR. 49 
 
 Folks make a mistake av they think they obtain 
 
 Such drugs as Qumine, Pot. lod., and Henbane ; 
 
 For I fear such dear medicines might injure the brain 
 
 Of the Patients who come to the Docthor. 
 So I dose them wid Gentian and Sodce Bicarb., 
 Mag. Sulph. and Titict. Ferri, Pot. Nit. and Rhubarb ; 
 While Quassia, in chips, is a mighty chape harb, 
 
 Greatly used by the Sixpenny Docthor. 
 
 Chorus. — Och, boys I I'm the chape Physicker ! &c. 
 
 But the folks that get off for ivan sixpence are few ; 
 For I find that their various complaints, ould and new^ 
 Nade piasther, or pills, and a powther or two — 
 
 Extrys all wid the Sixpenny Docthor. 
 Another smart dodge that I frequently play ; 
 When a patient comes in v,"ho looks able to pay, 
 I tell him I'll call at his house the next day — 
 
 And that's a " bob " for the Sixpenny Docthor.. 
 
 Chorus. — Och, boys! I'm the chape Physicker! &c. 
 
 D
 
 CO MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 For Medical Ethics I care not a jot ; 
 
 And as for my brethren, I despise the whole lot ; 
 
 For they hate me like pison — and why should they not ? 
 
 For I'm their great rivallin' Docthor. 
 They're wan and all jealous of my great success, 
 Which causes them pocket-felt grief and disthress ; 
 And when their own patients they see growin' less, 
 
 They could murther the Sixpenny Docthor. 
 
 Chorus. — Och, boys! I'm the chape Physicker ! &c. 
 
 Ye should hear people talk ov the cures that I do ! 
 
 But, begorra, if some ov them folks only knew 
 
 That half ov them's flukes and the others aren't true. 
 
 They'd, maybe, think less ov the Docthor. 
 But wan thing is certain — that mine's the best way 
 For makin' our " noble profession " to pay ; 
 Av a medico wants to make money, I say — 
 
 Let him start as a Sixpenny Docthor. 
 
 Chorus. — Och, boys! I'm the chape Physicker! &c.
 
 John Bo!ton, C.P.*—A Ballad. 
 
 John Bolton was a member of the L.I.L.E.C. — 
 The Loyal Independent Lodge of English Chivalry — 
 Which paid its Doctor for attending members far and 
 
 near 
 The handsome salary, per head, of half-a-crown a year. 
 
 Brave Boys ! 
 
 Chorus. — With a/al-Ia-la, &c. 
 
 One day John on the Doctor called — not feeling very 
 
 well — 
 And from him he " a bottle " got, his malady to quell. 
 
 "Club Patient.
 
 52 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 He took the medicine home, and great was his astonish- 
 ment 
 To find it minus colour, odour, taste, and sediment. 
 
 Brave Boys ! 
 
 He tasted, smelled, and shook it up, then sliowed it to 
 
 his wife ; 
 " It's now't but v/atter, John," she said, — " On that 
 
 I'd lay my Hfe." 
 " By gow theau'rt reet," said John, " that doctor's tryin' 
 
 on some dodge. 
 But I'll be upsides wi' 'im, for I'll report 'im to the Lodge." 
 
 Brave Boys ! 
 
 " 'Twould nobbut sarve 'im reet and pay 'im eaut," said 
 
 Mrs. B., 
 " For t' let 'im see 'e couldn't make a Johnny foo' o' thee." 
 Accordingly, next " club neet," beaming with importance 
 
 large.
 
 JOHN BOLTON, C.P. £^3 
 
 And hot with indignation, Brother Bolton laid his cliarge. 
 
 Brave Boys I 
 
 He said it seemed to him to be a very serious matter, 
 That " 'stead o' physic, Dr. Blank 'ad gan 'im nowt but 
 
 watter." 
 " A very serious charge indeed " — the President declared ; 
 And free Vv^ere the remarks against the Doctor that were 
 
 heard. 
 
 Brave Boys ! 
 
 The issue of the Lodge's sapient deliberation 
 
 Was that the Doctor be required to give an explanation. 
 
 "All right," was his reply, "but first the bottle must 
 
 be sealed. 
 So that the nature of its contents shall not be revealed." 
 
 Brave Boys !
 
 54 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 Upon the night appointed for the hearing of the case 
 The Plaintiff and Defendant each took up his proper 
 
 place. 
 The grievance being stated, and the bottle being laid 
 Upon the table, Dr. Blank Avas called upon and said : — 
 
 Brave Boys ! 
 
 " If Brother B. believes 'twas only water that he got, 
 Then he can no objection have to swallow all the lot : 
 And this I now insist upon, and claim, if it is found 
 That he decHnes my challenge, that his charge falls to 
 the ground." 
 
 Brave Boys ! 
 
 The Doctor's unexpected words caused great alarm and 
 
 pain 
 To Brother B., who dreaded what that bottle 7mghi 
 
 contain ;
 
 JOHN BOLTON, C.P. 55 
 
 But to the Brethren all it seemed a reasonable request, 
 So Brother B. was ordered to submit unto the test. 
 
 Brave Boys 
 
 Alas, poor John ! He'd burned his boats and cut off his 
 
 retreat ; 
 Even hesitation now meant ignominious defeat. 
 So, with a mock courageousness, he raised the glass and 
 
 quaffed 
 The contents of the bottle at a single gulping draught. 
 
 Brave Boys ! 
 
 " Now," said the Doctor, *' Grand Imperial, Vice, and 
 
 Brothers all, 
 While waiting for developments next business you may 
 
 call." 
 John sat awhile, but presently uneasy got to feel,
 
 56 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 And, pallid-faced, out of the room he was observed to 
 steal. 
 
 Brave Boys ! 
 
 A Brother who went after him was much surprised to see 
 That John was busy making re-acquaintance with his tea ! 
 " Eh, Brother ! I am ill," he said, " I'm deein', sure 
 
 enoof : 
 I'm pisoned, O, I'm pisoned, Pete, wi' that theere 
 
 Doctor's stuff." 
 
 Brave Boys ! 
 
 " Why, Brother Bolton," Peter said, " whatever is the 
 
 matter ? 
 I thowt tha said as Dr. Blank 'ad gan thee nowt but 
 
 watter!" 
 I durn't know vv'hat 'e's gan me, but I know I'm 
 
 gradley bad ;
 
 JOHN BOLTON, C.P. 57 
 
 O dear, it's comin' on again ; durn't leave me, Peter 
 lad!" 
 
 Brave Boys ! 
 
 A sadder and a wiser man, John hied him home to bed ; 
 And when Pete told his tale, " It sarved 'im reet," the 
 
 Brethren said. 
 No more complaints our hero made, but wisely took to 
 
 heart 
 The lesson that he learned from that large dose of Anihn. 
 
 Tart. 
 
 Brave Boys ! 
 
 Sung at the Annual Dinner of the Bolton and District Medical 
 Society, October 13th, 1896.
 
 NATURE AND LOCAL SONGS 
 AND VERSES.
 
 The Song: of the Sunbeam. 
 
 From molten heart of mighty Sol 
 
 I traverse interstellar space, 
 And cleave the clouds which wreathe and roll. 
 
 Like vaporous veils, o'er Earth's fair face. 
 
 Mine is the power which liberates 
 The cold-imprisoned, ice-gyved world ; 
 
 And Monarch Winter's frost-locked gates 
 By me are wide asunder hurled. 
 
 To Nature captive, slumbering deep, 
 I whisper soft, in Spring's sweet voice ;. 
 
 Bidding her wake from her long sleep, 
 And with her children all rejoice.
 
 62 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 Dispersed by me are Wintry skies, 
 And in my train come Summer days ; 
 
 For me the flowerets ope their eyes, 
 The song birds trill their roundelays. 
 
 The soaring skylark's matin hymn, 
 
 The linnet's gush of melody, 
 The red-breast's song, in twilight dim, 
 
 Their inspiration owe to me. 
 
 I bid the sap, long stagnant, rise 
 And course, like vegetable blood, 
 
 Through ligneous veins and arteries. 
 
 Till bursts to leaf each brown-sheath'd bud. 
 
 By subtle alchemy I make 
 
 The wondrous chlorophyllic hues : 
 
 And my prismatic beam I break 
 To tints which Nature's artists use.
 
 THE SONG OF THE SUNBEAM. 63 
 
 The modest violet's blue is mine, 
 
 And mine the gold the sunflowers wear ; 
 
 I paint the rose incarnadine, 
 And crimson tip the daisy fair. 
 
 I weave the blossoms on my loom. 
 And hedge and tree with them bedeck ; 
 
 I give the peach its velvet bloom, 
 And ruddy dye the apple's cheek. 
 
 I sparkle in the dewdrop's eye, 
 
 I glint on woodland prattling stream ; 
 
 Upon each leaf that I espy 
 
 I dance, I shine, I flash, I gleam. 
 
 All creatures love to romp and play 
 
 In emerald meads, flower-starr'd by me ; 
 
 And my benignant, v/elcome ray 
 Cheers hearts that oft a-v.-eary be.
 
 64 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 The farmer, without aid from me, 
 
 Would plough and sow his fields in vain ; 
 
 'Tis I submerge the fertile lea 
 
 With waving seas of golden grain. 
 
 The radiant Night Queen's crescent car 
 From me receives its silvery light ; 
 
 The colours of the Rainbow are 
 
 But borrowed from my palette bright. 
 
 The rosy dawn, the sunset sky, 
 From me their glories all obtain ; 
 
 The whole wide world I beautify. 
 
 From mountain crest to surging main. 
 
 Supreme my sway above, below ; 
 
 Mine is the mystic, potent power 
 Transmutes, by distillation slov.', 
 
 The Ocean into cloud and shower.
 
 THE SONG OF THE SUNBEAM. 65 
 
 The Alpine glacier vast and hoar, 
 
 The iceberg in the Polar sea, 
 The avalanche with thunderous roar, 
 
 Their impetus all owe to me. 
 
 Chief force of Nature Heaven's great King 
 To work His will on Earth employs — 
 
 My privilege greatest is to bring 
 
 Sweet Hope and Peace, with all their joys. 
 
 Man's worship crave I not, nor praise, 
 
 But love ; for, rightly understood, 
 My mission is his thoughts to raise 
 
 From Nature up to Nature's God. 
 
 E
 
 A Tree Song. 
 
 Each season lends to me its special charm — 
 
 The Spring and Summer give me green robes fair. 
 
 The Autumn tints me with its colours warm, 
 
 While Winter clothes in white my branches bare. 
 
 I canopy the hill sides with my shade, 
 
 O'erarching babbhng brook and silent pool ; 
 
 I hide the squirrels in the woodland glade ; 
 The shepherd's boy rests 'neath my shelter cooL 
 
 To me the wild birds pipe their minstrelsy, 
 And build their nests amid my leafy charms : 
 
 I rock their cradles to my lullaby, 
 
 And soothe their young in my arboreal arms.
 
 A TREE SO:CG. 6/ 
 
 Though firmly rooted in the ground stand I, 
 
 Heavenward I rear my strong-limbed, branching stem : 
 
 Thus mine's the Sweetness of the Earth and Sky, 
 And mine the Influence that flows from them. 
 
 To know my power so subtle dost thou yearn, 
 And share the savours that effuse from me ? 
 
 This is the lesson thou must con and learn — 
 " Live close to Nature and Simplicity."
 
 A Spring Morning at Grange=over= 
 
 Sands. 
 
 This vernal-perfect morn I've climbed 
 
 Yewbarrow's craggy height, 
 Where now I sit and gaze upon 
 
 A captivating sight. 
 
 The turf-clad rock slopes steeply down 
 
 To meads outspreading green, 
 Where curls the blue smoke from the homes 
 
 Of Grange — fair Morecambe's Queen. 
 
 The waters of the Bay beyond 
 
 Are gleaming dazzling-bright. 
 And sparkling in the sunshine like 
 
 A sea of diamond-light.
 
 A SPRING MORNING. 69 
 
 Across the waves, which gently break 
 
 Upon the yellow sand, 
 Uprear the slopes of Arnside Knott 
 
 And the hills of Westmoreland. 
 
 How peaceful, beautiful the scene, 
 
 Illumined far and near, 
 With solar radiance glorified 
 
 Into a vision fair ! 
 
 O'erhead a speckled throstle pipes, 
 
 A rook flaps slowly by, 
 A skylark's notes are raining from 
 
 The cloudless azure sky. 
 
 Around me wave the grasses long ; 
 
 The softly whispering trees 
 Their branches bare are swaying to 
 
 The bidding of the breeze,
 
 70 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 Which fans my forehead aching, hot- 
 Its vitaHsing breath 
 
 Infusing hfe and vigour new, 
 Re-estabHshing my Faith. 
 
 Reclining 'neath this sheltering rock, 
 Cheered by the sun's warm rays, 
 
 My soul responds to Nature's Voice, 
 My heart goes out in praise, 
 
 Unto the Giver of all good, 
 By whose benignant Hand 
 
 Such soul-uplifting loveliness 
 Bedecks our own dear Land. 
 
 Yewbarrow Crag, 
 Grange, 
 
 .March 6th, iSyO
 
 Easter Eve on Yev/barrow Crag, 
 Qrange=over=Sands. 
 
 Slow fades the splendour of the day, 
 
 And Phoebus' steeds their course have run ; 
 The landscape, robed in sober grey, 
 Is crimsoned by the sinking sun. 
 
 The thrush has ceased his evensong, 
 
 The blackbird's throbbing throat now rests ; 
 
 And silently on pinions strong 
 
 The crows and curlev/s seek their nests. 
 
 The new-lit lamps of Grange below 
 
 Like glow-worms in the darkness seem ; 
 
 The distant lights of Morecambe show. 
 And Carnforth's flaring furnace-gleam.
 
 72 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 How calm and peaceful is the scene ! 
 
 How fragrant sweet the balmy air ! 
 Was hush-time ever more serene ? 
 
 Did prospect ever seem more fair ? 
 
 While lingering here it seems to me 
 As if a Presence vast, divine, 
 
 Were brooding o'er it lovingly, 
 Breathing its Spirit into mine. 
 
 April i6th, 1S92.
 
 A Midsummer Day in Rivsnglon. 
 
 How sweet, to-day, to wander through the woods 
 And lanes of Rivington, and note the charm 
 
 Of flower and bird, of tree and sky and clouds, 
 Rejoicing all in Summer's sunshine warm ! 
 
 Of lilac, wall-flower, 'apple pink and white. 
 The air is fragrant with the odours sweet ; 
 
 While buttercups and daisies, colour-bright, 
 Be-star the clovered grass beneath our feet. 
 
 The trees outspread their leafy screens of green, 
 To catch the warmth and brightness of the sun ; 
 
 The ferns uncurl their feathery fronds and lean 
 Across the brooks which prattle as they run.
 
 74 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 The chestnut rears its spires of waxen white, 
 Like candles on some giant Christmas tree : 
 
 The half-grown corn, swept by the breezes light. 
 Is undulating like a grassy sea. 
 
 The hawthorn trees, all whitened o'er with flowers, 
 Are bending 'neath their wealth of summer snow ; 
 
 The fountain-like laburnum's dripping showers 
 Of gold are mirrored in the lake below. 
 
 Across whose bosom swallov^s skim along, 
 On tireless pinions, swift and arrowy ; 
 
 While larks pour down their cataract of song 
 From out the azure, cloud-flecked, sunny sky. 
 
 Beyond the placid lake, empurpled deep, 
 
 The farms, the church, the village nestling lie 
 
 Backed by the noble Pike, upsloping steep, 
 
 With crowning Tower clean-cut against the sky.
 
 A MIDSUMMER DAY. 75 
 
 Within the shadow-dappled woods and glens 
 The feathered choristers high revel hold — 
 
 The throstles, linnets, chaffinches, and wrens, 
 The sable blackbirds with their beaks of gold. 
 
 The harsh-voiced corn-crake's monotone is heard, 
 The cuckoo shouts his name with glad delight ; 
 
 The fledghng crows, taught by the parent bird, 
 Make hesitating, first attempts at flight. 
 
 The plover utters his sweet, plaintive note. 
 
 And pee-wii, pee-wii overhead resounds ; 
 While from the robin-redbreast's throbbing throat 
 
 Outflows a ripple of melodious sounds. 
 
 Adown the slopes the yellow gorse and broom 
 Outflame in all their gleaming gorgeousness ; 
 
 The woods and fields, with hyacinthine bloom, 
 Are azured into perfect loveliness.
 
 76 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 The blossom of the mountain-ash bestrews 
 
 The pathv/ay, where, like scattered snow, it Hes ; 
 
 The rhododendrons flaunt their gaudy hues 
 In wealth of florid bloom before our eyes. 
 
 The butterflies flit past the blossoming plum, 
 
 Like gaily-tinted, liberated flov/ers. 
 And sip the nectar from the apple bloom 
 
 And honeysuckle, all the summer hours. 
 
 Around their dams the lambkins skip and bleat ; 
 
 The young calves and the foals sport merrily ; 
 The luscious new-grown grass the cattle eat. 
 
 Or chew their cud, reclining lazily. 
 
 At eve the sun, a glowing, golden shield, 
 Behind the hills sinks slowly down to rest, 
 
 Illuminating sky and wood and field, 
 
 Like some vast fiery furnace in the West.
 
 A MIDSUMMER DAY. 77 
 
 So fades this lovely summer-zenith day 
 
 In beauteous Rivington ; and long 'twill be 
 
 Ere its sweet influences pass away 
 
 From my responsive heart and memory. 
 
 Rivington, near Bolton, 
 June 2ist, 1894.
 
 A September Evening at Torquay. 
 
 As fades the gladsome day I sit alone, 
 In sight of ever beautiful Torquay ; 
 
 A wave-worn, rocky boulder for my throne, 
 Beside the margin of the flowing sea. 
 
 Enhaloed in a golden glory-cloud, 
 
 The red September sun has sunk to rest ; 
 
 And slowly-gathering gloaming shades enshroud 
 The after-glow, now paling in the West. 
 
 The daylight, lingering long, seems loth to go, 
 As if withheld by some great spirit hand ; 
 
 The waters of the bay, inrolling slow, 
 
 Curl o'er and break upon the wrinkled sand.
 
 A SEPTEMBER EVENING. 79 
 
 High overhead a screaming seagull floats 
 And oscillates on wide-out-stretching wings ; 
 
 While o'er the unruffled sea the white-sailed boats 
 Glide with the grace of animated things. 
 
 A herald star outshines upon the shore — 
 'Tis mighty Jupiter outgleaming bright ; 
 
 And soon the azure vault is studded o'er 
 With myriad scintillating points of light. 
 
 Across the crowded heavens the Milky Way 
 Extends its faintly luminous belt of stars ; 
 
 While on the glassy bosom of the bay 
 
 There glints a sheen of light from ruddy Mars. 
 
 The outlines of the land are picked out by 
 The flickering gas lamps rising tier on tier, 
 
 Where, like some citadel uptowering high, 
 Torquay o'erlooks the starlit waters clear.
 
 ,8o MUSA IMEDICA. 
 
 How still the air ! The silence how profound ! 
 
 The holy, all-pervading peace and calm 
 Are undisturbed save by the rhythmic sound 
 
 Of mighty Ocean's never-ending psalm. 
 
 While gazing on this beauteous scene I seem 
 As if transported to some bhssful spot, 
 
 Where life is one continued happy dream, 
 And carking care and trouble enter not. 
 
 1893-
 
 Shap Wells. 
 
 Familiar from my childhood's days, 
 A song I'll sing in thy dear praise, 
 
 Sweet, health-restoring spot ! 
 Fair Sanatorium of the North, 
 Whose beauty and salubrious worth 
 
 Time influences not. 
 
 How sweet it is to lie and dream 
 Beside thy bouldered, peaty stream. 
 And to its music list ;
 
 82 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 As through thy fir-treed v/ood it speeds. 
 Meandering from flowery meads 
 
 To mountains wreathed with mist ! 
 
 Within thy cool, sequestered dells 
 The foxgloves and the v/ild blue-bells 
 
 Tempt bee and butterfly ; 
 While in thy tangled, fragrant glens 
 The finches and the tiny wrens 
 
 Out-trill their melody. 
 
 What joy to tramp thy heathery hills 
 Bestreaked by straths and foaming rills. 
 
 And breathe thy tonic air ! 
 What gladness on thy heights to stand 
 And from their vantage ground command 
 
 Thy prospects passing fair !
 
 SHAP WELLS. 83 
 
 'Tis mong thy fir woods, hills, and fells 
 That Nature's great physician dwells — 
 
 Healer of human ills. 
 Sick mortal, ask'st thou to be cured 
 Of ailments thou hast long endured ? 
 
 Then haste thee to these hills I 
 
 August 15th, 1S93.
 
 A Blackpool Sunset. 
 
 The'evening tide is ebbing peacefully, 
 
 Low hanging clouds lie o'er the tranquil sea. 
 
 No sound disturbs the silence, save the dirge 
 
 Of mighty Ocean and the ceaseless surge 
 
 Of white-topped wavelets curling on the sand, 
 
 Or breaking gently on the pebbly strand. 
 
 The setting sun, slow sinking in the v/est, 
 Begilds the lovv^-hung clouds from base to crest ; 
 While from his disc, nov/ flaming fiercely bright.
 
 A BLACKPOOL SUNSET. 85 
 
 Shoot radiating spokes of glittering light ; 
 
 And through the rifts that rend the cloudy screen 
 
 Gleam widening streaks of silver, blue, and green. 
 
 More gorgeous grows the picture — changing slow, 
 Like some sublime phantasmagorial show. 
 
 The fleecy cloudlets, dappled o'er the sky, 
 Are crimsoned as if stained with blood-red dye. 
 
 And now the heavens to red and gold are turned. 
 As if some mighty conflagration burned. 
 
 Again a change ! A bank of purple clouds 
 The dazzling glory of the sun enshrouds. 
 
 But soon again he flashes out his light 
 And, sinking in the sea, is lost to slight.
 
 86 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 Another transformation ! Now it seems 
 As if from out the blazing sky there streams 
 A cataract of metal, molten hot, 
 From some gigantic furnace smelting-pot. 
 
 The clouds, high towering in the eastern blue, 
 Are tinted with a blushing roseate hue ; 
 While north and south the colour pales away 
 To violet, saffron, heliotrope, dove-grey, 
 All blended in soft-graded harmony 
 And mirrored in the gently moving sea. 
 
 Slow the celestial colour-splendour fades ; 
 Too soon " the soft voluptuous opiate shades " 
 Of eve descend upon the vision bright ; 
 The darkness closes in, and it is Night. 
 
 September iSth, 1891
 
 A Snow Thought. 
 
 Scenes that are wondrous fair, 
 This morn are everywhere : 
 For snow has fallen in the night, 
 And robed the slumbering world in white. 
 
 On street and roof it lies — 
 
 An essence from the skies, 
 Pure as the angels' feathery down — 
 Transfiguring the dingy town. 
 
 It seems as if, in love, 
 
 Our Father from above 
 His mantle of forgiveness vast 
 Upon a guilty world had cast.
 
 88 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 Alas ! that men elect 
 His mercy to reject ! 
 And trample it beneath their feet, 
 As snow is trodden in the street. 
 
 December 8th, 1SS9.
 
 A Winter Plaint. 
 
 I'm a-weary, weary, weary, 
 
 And my heart is weighted down 
 
 With the melancholy dulness 
 Of the sombre, grimy town. 
 
 For dreary is the Winter 
 
 'Nealh our sullen, sunless skies. 
 And cheerless is the prospect 
 
 Tliat out-spreads before my eyes. 
 
 I am longing for the sunshine. 
 The songbirds and the flowers, 
 
 The brightness and the beauty 
 Of the golden summer hours.
 
 go MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 Oh, for the freshening breezes 
 That sweep o'er hill and fell ! 
 
 Oh for the balmy zephyrs, 
 And the happiness they tell ! 
 
 Come, haste to burst earth's fetters, 
 Soft breath'd, reviving Spring! 
 
 To Nature's heart, slow-pulsing, 
 Rejuvenescence bring. 
 
 Command the grass and flowers 
 To clothe the naked land, 
 
 The trees to don their raiment, 
 The sheathed leaves to expand. 
 
 But what are those green bladelets 
 Just peeping through the earth ? 
 
 They are crocuses and snowdrops, 
 Betok'ning vernal birth.
 
 A WINTER PLAINT. QI 
 
 Hurrah ! The Winter's over ; 
 
 Spring's breath is in the air ; 
 And soon the joys of Summer 
 
 Will crown the gladsome year. 
 
 March, 1895.
 
 When Comes the Merry Spring, O. 
 
 When hushed and prostrate Nature lies, 
 With glassy film spread o'er her eyes, 
 It seems as if in truth she dies 
 
 By Winter's lethal sting, O. 
 Through this hibernal, death-like sleep 
 Her heart its languid throb will keep, 
 Till summoned by the sun to leap, 
 
 When comes the merry Spring, O. 
 
 Refrain — Heigho for Spring, O ! 
 
 The gladsome days of Spring, O ! 
 The sweetest time in all the year 
 
 Is the merry, merry time of Spring, O !
 
 THE MERRY SPRING, O. 93 
 
 What though the sun be hid from sight, 
 And darksome clouds obscure his light ! 
 Behind them all he still shines bright — 
 
 A celestial, light-crowned King, O. 
 His warm, revivifying breath 
 Will animate cold Nature's wraith, 
 And put to flight the angel Death, 
 
 When comes the merry Spring, O. 
 
 The flowers have crept into the ground, 
 A silence, cheerless and profound. 
 In wood and meadow reigns around ; 
 
 Sad thoughts our hearts now wring, O. 
 But Winter, bleak with cold and gloom. 
 Is destined to receive its doom ; 
 And once again the flowers will bloom 
 
 When comes the merry Spring, O.
 
 94 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 The snow-drop's chalice will appear, 
 And crocus show its golden spear; 
 The hyacinth its bells will rear, 
 
 And wreaths of blue will fling, O. 
 The daffodils the meads will gild, 
 The cowslips deck the verdant field, 
 And violets peep 'neath hedges' bield, 
 
 When comes the merry Spring, O. 
 
 Gold buttercups and daisies white 
 The greening earth will then bedight. 
 And woodland choirs, with glad delight. 
 
 Their hymns of praise will sing, O. 
 The trees, now leafless, stark and bare, 
 Like grim, gaunt spectres standing there, 
 Their robes of green again v/ill wear. 
 
 When comes the merry Spring, O.
 
 THE MERRY SPRING, O. 95 
 
 The throstle's joyous roundelay 
 Will echo through the livelong day ; 
 The soaring lark, with carols gay. 
 
 Will heaven's high arches ring, O. 
 When wintry clouds of grief and pain 
 Make cold our hearts, let Hope sustain 
 Us, that they too will know again 
 
 The joy and warmth of Spring, O. 
 
 February, 1S90.
 
 To Annan Water. — A Song. 
 
 Let others chant praises to streams of renown— 
 " Sweet Afton," the Wye, or the Shannon — 
 But my song shall be 
 In honour of thee. 
 My own, well-beloved River Annan ! 
 Pellucid thy waters, and smoothly they glide, 
 Meand'ring through meadow and lea ; 
 
 Their cradle the rills 
 From Moffat's steep hills. 
 Their grave Solway's swift-flowing sea.
 
 TO ANNAN WATER. gj 
 
 He/rain — Thou dear Annan Water ! 
 
 Thou sweet Annan Water ! 
 The fairest of Earth's charming streams; 
 
 Nothing shall ever 
 
 My heart from thee sever, 
 Or thy loved image blot from my dreams. 
 
 Thrice blessed the childhood companioned by 
 thee, 
 And precious the mem'ries that tell 
 Of happy days past — 
 Too happy to last ! — 
 That hold us life-long in their spell : 
 So tenderly close do the years of our youth 
 Round the heart of our manhood entwine ; 
 And fond thoughts of joys 
 That are shared by all boys 
 Are treasured in memory's shrine.
 
 g8 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 How gladsome those days in thy flowery meads, 
 "Where the daisies and buttercups grow ; 
 Where forget -me-not's blue 
 Rivals heaven's own hue, 
 And the golden-eyed primroses blow ! 
 And gleesome those romps by thine emerald banks. 
 Where we gathered the nodding blue bells ! 
 What frolics were ours, 
 'Mong the rainbow-hued flowers 
 That dapple thy verdurous dells ! 
 
 What pleasure to bathe in thy crystalline pools ; 
 In thy murmuring shallows to wade. 
 Where the cows seek retreat 
 From the summer sun's heat, 
 Or recline 'neath the trees' leafy shade ! 
 What heart-stirring joy, when Jack Frost ruled 
 supreme,
 
 TO ANNAN WATER. gg 
 
 On thy ice-fettered surface to slide ; 
 While the curling-stones roar 
 'Mid the shouts of the " core," 
 
 And the skaters so gracefully glide ! 
 
 In thy woods we have searched out the birds' 
 mossy nests; 
 We have fished in thy slow-ebbing tide ; 
 We have hunted the otter 
 In thy deep, glassy water, 
 And sailed o'er thine estuary wide. 
 Ne'er can we forget the old gambols and games 
 Which childhood beatify ever ; 
 
 The " bools," " peeries," kites, 
 And the thousand delights 
 Of ihy boys, my beautiful River.
 
 lOO MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 Thy fields are aye greenest, thy sunshine's aye 
 brightest ; 
 The vault of thy wide-arching dome 
 Is clearest and bluest ; 
 Thy friends are the truest, 
 And thy name is suggestive of Home — 
 The heart's House of Refuge, its Sanctuary blest. 
 Where'er 'tis my fortune to roam, 
 'Mid scenes that are rarest. 
 The sweetest and fairest 
 Is Annan, dear Annan, my Home !
 
 A Sunset Hour at Annan. 
 
 'Tis gloaming time ; the sun from sight has gone ; 
 By Annan Waterside I sit, alone, 
 As fades the summer day, calm and serene. 
 And note the charm and beauty of the scene. 
 
 Across the Holm the sky is all aglow 
 With sunset-glory colour, changing slow 
 From crimson-deep to silver, blue, and gold — 
 Like some sky panorama vast unrolled. 
 
 One solitary star shines diamond-bright, 
 Amidst the deepening afterglow of light
 
 102 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 Which in the o'erarching zenith pales away 
 To amber, amethyst, and softest grey. 
 
 Behind is Annan, bathed in rosy light, 
 Its buildings red updimbing o'er the height 
 Where once the vaUant Bruce's fortress frowned, 
 And every furlong marks historic ground. 
 
 The grand old Bridge which spans the noble stream, 
 The houses glowing in the sunset's gleam, 
 The Town Hall spire upstanding high in air, 
 Are mirrored in the River's bosom fair. 
 
 The swallows dart and scream, the seagulls float 
 
 Above the dark tree masses of the Moat ; 
 
 A homing pewitt silhouettes the sky 
 
 And breaks the silence with its plaintive cry.
 
 A SUNSET HOUR. 103 
 
 How fair, how dear, the scene before my eyes ! 
 How eloquent of happy memories. 
 And recollections sweet of boyhood's days, 
 Which death alone can from my heart erase ! 
 
 Near the "Whin Bush." 
 July I2th, 1895.
 
 A Summer Song. 
 
 A song let me sing of the halcyon days, 
 Of summer time joyous and sweet ; 
 
 When, from morning till night, 
 
 I am filled with delight. 
 In this lovely Arcadian retreat. 
 The golden sun in the glory of noon 
 
 Floods the world with his life-giving rays, 
 
 And warms the earth's great 
 
 Throbbing heart, now elate 
 With peeans and anthems of praise ; 
 
 Chorus. — Hurrah for the summer ! 
 The glorious summer ! 
 When Nature is radiant and gay ;
 
 A SUMMER SONG. IO5 
 
 The birds in the bowers, 
 The trees and the flowers, 
 Rejoice in the glad summer's day. 
 
 The larks soaring high in the heavenly blue 
 Trill forth their matins of praise ; 
 
 The thrushes and wrens 
 
 In the copses and glens 
 Are merrily chanting their lays. 
 The robins and chaffinches hid 'mong the trees 
 Have joined the aerial choir, 
 
 And all the day long 
 
 Pour forth the sweet song 
 Which the bright days of summer inspire. 
 
 The roses are wooing the scent-laden breeze 
 From the sweet honeysuckle that blows ; 
 And from fragrant hawthorn,
 
 I06 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 To the ripening corn 
 On the slopes of the uplands that grows, 
 The gossamer butterflies flit to and fro, 
 Like winged and vivified flowers, 
 
 And from chalices bright 
 
 Sip honeyed dehght, 
 Through the beautiful sunshiny hours. 
 
 The tender-eyed kine, knee-deep in the mead, 
 Crop the herbage so juicy and sweet ; 
 
 While the bees hum and hover 
 
 'Mong the red and white clover, 
 And the nectar- filled cups at our feet. 
 The long meadow grass, now mellow and ripe, 
 Is faUing beneath the sharp scythe. 
 
 As, with rhythmical sweep. 
 
 The mowers time keep. 
 To the song they are singing so blythe.
 
 A SUMMER SONG. 107 
 
 Let US hie to the woods, where the sun visions dance 
 Round the foxgloves Hke elfins of light, 
 And reclining at ease, 
 'Neath the shade of the trees, 
 We shall " loafe and our souls we'll invite." 
 If we're friends with the birds and the starry wild 
 flowers, 
 They will whisper this message divine : — 
 " We are tokens of love, 
 From Our Father above, 
 Sent to tell of His Purpose benign." 
 
 Dormont Grange, near Annan. 
 June, 18S9.
 
 A Spring Day at Annan. 
 
 I. 
 
 What joy it is to see again, 
 
 The Httle town I love so well ! 
 To look upon the dear old home 
 
 Where my beloved kinsfolk dwell ! 
 
 To wander up and down the house, 
 And through the garden, now abloom 
 
 With apple blossom pink and white, 
 With cherry, strawberry, and plum ! 
 
 To hear the old f amiHar songs 
 
 Of " blackie," " yallow yoit," and thrush. 
 Trilled forth in joyous ecstasy 
 
 From break of day till evening's hush !
 
 A SPRING DAY. 109 
 
 To saunter by the grassy banks 
 
 Of Annan Water, and to gaze 
 On scenes endeared by memories 
 
 Of childhood's, boyhood's happy days — 
 
 The Violetbank, the Watermill, 
 
 Old Milnbie Quarry and the Howes, 
 The Milnfield Wood, the Quay, the Dam, 
 
 The Well, the Waterfoot, Hayknowes ; 
 
 The Battery Brae, the Quartercake, 
 
 The Moat with its enclosing wall, 
 The Caul, the Bankin' and the Bris: — 
 
 What memories sweet these names recall ! 
 
 What merry sports and games were ours 
 When we were laddies at the school ! — 
 
 The cricketing upon the Merse, 
 
 The fishing near the old Howes Pool I
 
 110 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 What fun we had at " dookin'-time!" 
 What gleesome scampers, hand in hand, 
 
 By Whinnyrigg to Seafield beach 
 To bathe, or race upon the sand ! 
 
 Then the delights of Annan Fair ! 
 
 And how we revelled in its joys — 
 The'sweeties, Cheap Jacks, Jimmy Dyer, 
 
 The shows, the fairin's, and the toys I 
 
 No *' Caledonian Hunters" then, 
 
 Nor switchback railways driven by steam ; 
 
 But wooden steeds propelled by boys, 
 
 Whose " free-ride " hopes oft proved a dream. 
 
 And what a treat to see a launch — 
 
 To be aboard the ship, and feel 
 Her gliding down the slippery ways, 
 
 To cleave the water with her keel ;
 
 A SPRING DAY. II i 
 
 To hear the shouts and loud hurrahs 
 
 That issue from a thousand throats, 
 As through the tide she ploughs her way, 
 
 And o'er its surface proudly floats ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Oft as I've roved my River's banks, 
 By verdant wood and sunny brae, 
 
 Methinks they never seemed more fair, 
 More sweetly charming, than to-day. 
 
 The balmy air is perfumed with 
 
 The fragrance of the time of Spring, 
 
 Which in the earth new life inspires. 
 And clothes with beauty everything. 
 
 The tender blades of sprouting corn 
 Begreen the brown, parturient earth ;
 
 I 12 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 And Nature universal feels 
 
 The travail-throes of vernal birth. 
 
 The bud its scaly leaf-case splits, 
 The waking floweret opes its eye, 
 
 The caterpillar issues from 
 Its chrysalis — a butterfly. 
 
 The cuckoo loud repeats his name, 
 
 The swallows scream with voices shrill. 
 
 The wee lambs round their mothers play, 
 The young calves browse upon the hill. 
 
 The rooks, perched on their rude-made nests 
 High in the slowly leafing trees, 
 
 Are cawing to their half-fledged broods 
 Rocked gently b}^ the passing breeze. 
 
 The daisy stars the greening Holm ; 
 At Galabank the primrose shows
 
 A SPRING DAY. IIJ, 
 
 Its eye of gold ; while silently 
 
 The beauteous River onward flows. 
 
 Dear Annan I Magnet of my heart ! 
 
 What potent influence dost thou wield ! 
 What sacred ties unite me to 
 
 Thy every street, and wood, and field ! 
 
 Or east or west, or north or south. 
 Where'er thy sons or daughters roam, 
 
 They never, never can forget 
 
 That thou, dear Annan, art their Home* 
 
 May, iSgr. 
 
 H
 
 Edward Irving. 
 
 No highly-born patrician, thou ; 
 No coronet adorns thy brow ; 
 A tanner's son, of humble birth, 
 Thy passport is not wealth, but worth. 
 
 Boyhood friend of Clapperton — 
 Annan's bold, adventurous son ; 
 Manhood friend of Carlyle, who 
 Called thee " generous, noble, true." 
 
 True to the Faith thou didst believe ; 
 True to the Light thou didst receive ; 
 True to thy Church, despite the strife 
 Which bittered thy heroic life.
 
 EDWARD IRVING. II5 
 
 Alas ! that by its narrow creeds 
 
 The Church thou lovedst so must needs 
 
 Expel thee from its cleric fold — 
 
 Its dogma strict thou couldst not hold. 
 
 Thy errors, which we deep deplore. 
 Constrain us but to love thee more, 
 And honour thy staunch faithfulness- 
 Thy ministry of righteousness. 
 
 Dauntless follower of thy Lord, 
 Seeing in His living word 
 Light and guidance definite — 
 Upholding it with all thy might. 
 
 Preacher, prophet, martyr, saint ; 
 Life untouched by slander's taint ; 
 Immortal Irving ! thy renovvm 
 Enhaloes our beloved town.
 
 Il6 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 Honouring thee, thy townsmen pay 
 Honour to themselves to-day ; 
 And that Annan loves thee well, 
 Let its sculptured marble tell. 
 
 Sung by the Choir at the unveiling of the Irving 
 Statue, at Annan, August 4th, 1892.
 
 OTHER SONGS AND VERSES.
 
 My Preference. 
 
 I love the joyous sunshine, 
 
 The air, the trees, the flowers ; 
 
 I love to hear the songbirds 
 Carol in leafy bowers. 
 
 I love the sweeping landscapes ; 
 
 The hills, the lakes, the sea, 
 The sky and sailing cloudlets 
 
 Have each a charm for me. 
 
 I love to watch the children 
 As out of school they troop ; 
 
 I love to watch them playing 
 With skipping-rope and hoop.
 
 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 I love the throbbing movement 
 And bustle of the street, 
 
 The thronging of the people, 
 The clank of horses' feet. 
 
 I love to sit and ponder 
 In some secluded nook, 
 
 My silent, sole companion, 
 An interesting book. 
 
 But best of all my heart loves 
 Communion with the friends 
 
 Whose fealty and affection 
 I am sure of, till life ends.
 
 True to the Core. 
 
 Some wish for Learning and place 'mong the wise, 
 Others on Wealth look with covetous eyes ; 
 But a Treasure more precious than Riches or Lore 
 Is a friend who is loyal and true to the core. 
 
 Refrain, — True to the core, true to the core, 
 
 A friend who is loyal and true to the core. 
 
 Loyal to all that is noblest and best 
 
 In man or in woman, when put to the test ; 
 
 Loving his fellows, or wealthy or poor, 
 
 With a heart that is loyal and true to the core. 
 
 True to the core, &c.
 
 122 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 Loyal to Manliness, Honour, and Right ; 
 For the weak and defenceless aye ready to fight 
 Scornful of everything good men abhor, 
 Brimful of sympathy, true to the core. 
 
 True to the core, &c. 
 
 Loyal to Truth, regardless of creeds. 
 Daring to follow wherever it leads ; 
 Nobly courageous men's scorn to ignore, 
 True to his Better Self, true to the core. 
 
 True to the core, &c. 
 
 Our pleasures are doubled when shared by a friend, 
 A charm to each joy does his company lend ; 
 In sorrow no balm for the heart wounded sore, 
 Can soothe like the friend who is true to the core. 
 
 True to the core, &c.
 
 TRUE TO THE CORE. I23 
 
 May all friends whose hearts are loving and leal 
 Be "grappled together with strong hooks of steel" ! 
 And hand in hand stand up the whole world before, 
 As Brothers and Comrades all, true to the core. 
 
 Refrain, — True to the core, true to the core, 
 
 As Brothers and Comrades all, true to 
 the core.
 
 At Wordsworth's Grave. 
 
 {A true incideni.) 
 
 One summer eve, alone, I stood 
 
 In Grasmere's peaceful, green churchyard, 
 In silent, meditative mood, 
 
 Beside the grave of Nature's bard. 
 
 Above the stone a sheltering yew 
 
 Its graceful, feathery branches spread, 
 
 A flowering chestnut-tree upthrew 
 
 Its spires of milk-white bloom o'erhead. 
 
 A throstle and a blackbird sang 
 Their evensongs upon the trees ; 
 
 The cuckoo's " twofold shout " outrang 
 And echoed through the scented breeze.
 
 AT WORDSWORTH S GRAVE. 1 25, 
 
 Which sighed among the rustling leaves. 
 Whispering sweet music in mine ear ; 
 
 While swallows twittered on the eaves, 
 Or skimmed the river, murmuring near. 
 
 The mist-capped mountains stood around 
 
 Like giants huge of ghostly mien. 
 Guarding the sacred burial ground. 
 
 Lending enchantment to the scene. 
 
 There came a little pilgrim maid ; 
 
 " Her hair was thick with many a curl " ;. 
 She was " only eight years old," she said — 
 
 A sweetly pretty, blue-eyed girl. 
 
 I asked her why she had come there ; 
 
 She looked at me so calmly brave, 
 And answered, with a childish air — 
 
 " To visit Mr. Wordsworth's grave."
 
 126 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 " And who was Mr. Wordsworth, child ? " 
 I fear she thought me very dull, 
 
 As she replied, and sweetly smiled — 
 " He wrote our poetry at school." 
 
 " Which poem do you like the best ? " 
 " Oh, I like ' We are Seven,' " said she ; 
 
 And, upon being gently pressed, 
 She said the verses o'er to me. 
 
 As fast the shades of twilight fell 
 
 Upon those green-grassed mounds of death, 
 And as I heard the words which tell 
 
 Of childhood's simple, trustful faith, 
 
 Methought the poet's spirit near 
 Was hovering in the waning light ; 
 
 And this its message — " Have no fear ! 
 Thy loved ones are but gone from sight."
 
 A Song for Burns's Birthday, 
 
 There is a Land, a braw, braw Land, 
 
 Wi' lochs, and glens, and a' that, 
 Where spates roar doon frae mountains grand, 
 And bluebells nod, and a' that. 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 For beauty rare and a' that, 
 Auld Scotland aye can haud her ain 
 'Mang foreign lands, and a' that. 
 
 They tell o' countries vast and fair, 
 Wi' azure skies, and a' that, 
 
 Where soft and balmy is the air. 
 And life's a dream, and a' that.
 
 128 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 
 Their orange groves, and a' that, 
 The banks and braes o' Scotia still 
 
 Are dearer far than a' that. 
 
 Where'er her sons and dochters gae, 
 
 Tae distant climes, and a' that, 
 Their herts are aye fast anchored tae 
 Their ain wee Land, for a' that. 
 For a' that, and a' that 
 
 Their honours, wealth, and a' that^ 
 They never, never can forget 
 
 That Scotland's hame, for a' that. 
 
 In her prood galaxy ae name 
 
 Shines solar-bricht, and a' that— 
 
 'Tis Burns, wha's memory and fame 
 We toast this nicht, and a' that.
 
 A SONG FOR BURNS'S BIRTHDAY. 129 
 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 
 For hertsome sangs, and a' that, 
 'Mang poets a' the warld ower, 
 
 He bears the gree, and a' that. 
 
 Scotland's immortal Peasant Bard ! 
 
 We loo thee weel, and a' that ; 
 And our affection warm is shared 
 By England's sons, and a' that. 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 
 Though sundered far, an a' that, 
 A warld-wide throng doth thee acclaim 
 Great King-o'-herts, and a' that. 
 
 Sung at the Burns' Anniversary, 
 Bolton, January 25th, 1896.
 
 Burns. 
 
 This nicht the hert o' Scotland turns 
 Wi' fond affection tae her Burns ; 
 The nicht on which " the Januar' wun 
 Blew hansel in " on her great son. 
 
 In him a' Scotia's sons rejoice, 
 For in him Scotland fand her voice ; 
 A voice wi' accents sweet that sings 
 O' humble folks and common things — 
 
 The simple annals o' the poor 
 
 In lowly cot on glen or moor ; 
 
 The timorous mouse, the hunted hare,. 
 
 The " crimson-tipped " daisy fair.
 
 BURNS. 
 
 151 
 
 Hoo dear tae us ilk theme and scene ! 
 His " Cottar" and his " Halloween," 
 The bogles' doin's i' the mirk, 
 By " Alloway's auld haunted Kirk " ! 
 
 What sweetness in his love sangs dwells ! 
 And hoo the hert wi' gladness swells. 
 As sings he " Highland Mary's " praise, 
 Or tells o' " Boon's fair banks and braes " I 
 
 For humour, wut, and doonricht fun, 
 Oor Robin is surpassed by none ; 
 And wha withoot a lauch can hear 
 The tale o' " Tam o' Shanter's mear ? " 
 
 His satire's keen, but no' unkind. 
 On folks that werna tae his mind ; 
 And Cant's been seldom lashed sae sair 
 As in his " Holy Wullie's prayer."
 
 132 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 What noble thochts oor spirits fan 
 When Robin sings " A man's a man " ! 
 And when did poet chant a lay 
 Mair stirrin' than his " Scots wha hae"? 
 
 What land or cHme may Scotsmen claim, 
 The sang that minds them o' their hame, 
 And a' their herts and hands can twine, 
 Is Burns's deathless " Auld Lang Syne." 
 
 Great Magnet o' the North, wha's power 
 Draws Scotland's sons the warld ower ! 
 To thee we love and homage bring, 
 And hail thee Scotia's Poet-king ! 
 
 Read at the Burns' Anniversary, 
 Bolton, January 25th, 1895.
 
 A Cycle Song. 
 
 Let others sing loudly of pastimes and joys 
 Endeared to the hearts of men, maidens, and boys ; 
 My ditty shall be of the pleasures I feel 
 When mounted secure on my dearly-loved Wheel. 
 
 Choi'us : 
 Hurrah for the Cycle, swift, trusty, and strong ! 
 May it daily win lovers and stay with us long ! 
 Good luck let us wish to the Courser of steel, 
 And Health and Long Life to the Men of the Wheel ! 
 
 It carries me swiftly and safely along, 
 
 Away from the town with its noise and its throng ;
 
 *34 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 Away from the stifling and smoke-laden air, 
 To the life-giving breezes and rural scenes fair. 
 
 Chorus. — Hurrah for the Cycle, &c. 
 
 The whole world is mine to wander at will ; 
 For me are the glories of valley and hill ; 
 The larks in the sky and the flowers on the lea 
 Shed sweetness and beauty for Cycle and me. 
 
 Chorus. — Hurrah for the Cycle, &c. 
 
 When tired of the city, its clamour and strife, 
 My Pegasus bears me to newness of life ; 
 And nought can relieve the sad heart of its load 
 Of worry and care, like a " spin " on the road. 
 
 Chorus. — Hurrah for the Cycle, &c. 
 
 Let the rich in their coaches and carriages roll, 
 My Cycle is better by far than them all ;
 
 A CYCLE SONG. I35 
 
 The Wheel of Dame Fortune to them may bring 
 
 Wealth, 
 But my flying Wheel is the Wheel of Good Health. 
 
 Chorus : 
 Hurrah for the Cycle, swift, trusty, and strong ! 
 May it daily win lovers and stay with us long ! 
 Good luck let us wish to the Courser of steel. 
 And Health and Long Life to the Men of the Wheel ! 
 
 July 17th. 1895.
 
 A Curling Ditty. 
 
 'Mang Scotia's sports and pastimes a', 
 Dear tae her sons, in cot or ha', 
 There's nane that's worthy o' the name 
 Can match the Royal Curhn' Game. 
 
 » 
 
 When King Frost lays his iron hand 
 Upon the bare and silent land, 
 The Bolton chiels turn oot tae play, 
 Wi' faces eager for the fray. 
 
 At Ladybrig pond they a' meet 
 
 And yin anither kindly greet ; 
 
 Stanes, brooms, and cramps are carried oot 
 
 Frae the auld weather-beaten hut.
 
 A CURLING DITTV. 1 37 
 
 In order, on the ice they're laid, 
 The rinks are formed, the skips are made, 
 And soon aroon' the new-ringed tee 
 Begins the freen'ly rivalry. 
 
 See hoo they rax and strain tae send 
 The " channel stanes " frae end tae end ! 
 And hoo each strives, wi' micht and main. 
 His rink's supremacy tae gain ! 
 
 What language strange breaks on the ear ! 
 Hoo foreign-like it soon's, and queer ! 
 What means sic mj'^stic words as these — 
 "Inwicks," "shots," "pat-lids," and "tees"? 
 
 Cries yin — " Joost break an egg on this. 
 And tak' ye care ye dinna miss ! " 
 " Losh, man, ye canna curl a bit — 
 That wad ha' smashed a cocoa nit ! "
 
 138 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 " Haud afF, baud aff, lads !" cries anither ; 
 *' Oh, he's awa' wi't a'thegither !" 
 " Noo, Peter, dinna you be hard. 
 Draw tae my broom and mind the guard." 
 
 " Div ye see this, Ben ? " next says ane — 
 " It's second cast and it's their stane ; 
 Joost come up canny — chap and he ; 
 Oh, bring him on ! Noo let him die ! " 
 
 " Ye see this, John ? Weel, leave't alane ; 
 
 I want ye joost tae raise this stane ; 
 
 It's in the ring — ye'll no' be short ! 
 
 Oh, man, ye're roarin' through the port ! " 
 
 " Come, Sandie, draw the port — tee len'th ; 
 Played ! But I doot ye haena' stren'th : 
 Oh, soop him up, lads, soop ; and fegs ! 
 He'll be a coonter, if he's lesfs."
 
 A CURLING DITTY. 139 
 
 Again a skip cries — " Guard this, Mac ! 
 It's on the tee, sae lie weel back." 
 " Noo, Egbert, can ye rub the guard, 
 Or Hft this ither yin a yard ? " 
 
 " Come, Doctor, ye maun tak' yer will 
 O' thae twa paitricks — shew's yer skill : 
 Oh, loaven enty, he's awa', 
 And ta'en oor best stane tae the snaw ! " 
 
 '* Noo, George, draw here — we finger twirl : 
 1 like ye weel, man — that's the curl ; 
 Oh it's a great yin, there's nae doot ; 
 Ne'er a coo, lads ! That's the shot ! " 
 
 " Cloor this yin. Bob, upon the lug. 
 And, mind, the ice is gettin' drug : 
 Ye're wabblin', man, but v/eel laid on : 
 Played like a book ! Weel dune, weel dune ! "
 
 140 MUSA MEDICa. 
 
 " Noo, Minister, they're l}^!!' fower; 
 Sae ye maun fire, wi' a' yer power : 
 Hooray, hooray ! They're oot, they're oot ! 
 I kent the Minister could do't." 
 
 " Oh, Tam, oh, Tarn, ye lazy dog ! 
 
 Ye want mair brose — ye're near a hog ; 
 
 Sic play wad gar a body sweer ; 
 
 Here, laddie, bring some mair warm beer !" 
 
 '* Noo, Davie, ye maun try and draw — 
 We've naething in the hoose ava ! " 
 " Get hand o' him ! Soop weel ! Hooray ! 
 Ye're shot, Dave ! That's the way tae play !" 
 * * * 
 
 But wha can a' their cantrips tell ? 
 And hoo they skrech, and loup, and yell ? 
 And hoo they praise, and hoo they flyte ? 
 As if they had a' gane clean ?yte. 
 
 *
 
 A CURLING DITTY. 
 
 141 
 
 Thus does the gleesome game gang on, 
 Until the slowly westerin' sun 
 Embathes the snaw upon the hills, 
 And earth and sky wi' glory iills. 
 
 As slow the shades of eve descend, 
 The Merry Curlers hameward wend 
 Their way ; and that nicht, at the " Swan," 
 They fecht their battles ower again. 
 
 Read at the Annual Dinner of the Bolton Branch of the Royal 
 Caledonian Curling Club, December nth, 1895.
 
 Scotia; or, Both Sides. 
 
 A DIALOGUE 
 
 BETWEEN 
 
 Donald — A Highland Collie, 
 
 AND 
 
 Jack — An English Terrier. 
 
 Donald — Scotland ! Theme o' poets' lays ! 
 Mine be it tae sing thy praise ; 
 And tae tell o' things that move 
 Scotsmen a' tae pride and love. 
 
 Jack — Mine be it to criticise, 
 
 And to look with English eyes 
 
 On the other side of things, 
 
 While our good friend Donald sings.
 
 SCOTIA. 143 
 
 Donald — Land o' mountains, falls and torrents, 
 Lochs and glens o' beauty rare ; 
 Grassy meadows, spreading forests, 
 Sunny braes and landscapes fair. 
 
 Jacl — Land of fog and mist and rain, 
 
 Chillies, tourists, landlords, bills ; 
 Tartans, dirks, and filleybegs. 
 Shebeens and illicit stills. 
 
 Donald— L.a.nd o' bluebells, purple heather, 
 Linns and crags and bosky glens, 
 Sea-washed cliffs and massive boulders, 
 Murmuring rills and frowning Bens. 
 
 /ad— Land of hotch-potch, brose, and " kebbucks," 
 Bannocks, haggis, kale, and parritch ; 
 Land of golfing, curling, shinty, 
 
 Grouse and " paitricks," prayers and 
 " carritch."
 
 144 
 
 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 Bomld— 'Land o' scholars, poets, heroes, 
 
 Wha hae left an honoured name, 
 Haloing the name o' Scotland 
 Wi' the glory o' their fame. 
 
 Jack — Land of " fechtin' " chiefs and clansmen- 
 Scheming rogues of deepest dye ; 
 Land of kilted " heelan' teevils," 
 Border raiders, lifted *' kye." 
 
 Donald— La-nd o' stalwart sons and dochters, 
 Canty chiels and denty queans. 
 Reels and hoolicans and bagpipes, 
 Hogmanays and halloweens. 
 
 Jack — Land of wizards, brownies, witches ; 
 '* Unco gude " and pious folks ; 
 " Usquebae," and saintly elders, 
 
 Thistles, scones, and " bubbly jocks."
 
 SCOTIA. 145 
 
 Donald — Land o' preachers, saints, and martyrs — 
 Heroes braver earth ne'er trod — 
 Covenanters, and defenders 
 
 O' their Country and their God. 
 
 Jack — Land of kirks and psahiis and sermons ; 
 " Holy WuUies " — on the Sunday — 
 But who have no hesitation 
 Their best friend to cheat on Monday. 
 
 Donald — Land o' schools and education ; 
 
 Land wha's sons, frae South and North, 
 Wandering a' the war Id ower 
 
 Prove themselves o' sterling worth. 
 
 Jack — Land of " canny," saving bodies, 
 
 " Bawbees," " saxpences," and '* caddies " ; 
 Land of " sneeshin'," *' spluchens," " spel- 
 drins," 
 
 *' Glesca' magistrates " and *' haddies." 
 
 K
 
 I46 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 Donald — Land o' Freedom which doth ever 
 Foreign domination spurn ; 
 Land wha's foes hae no' forgotten 
 Robert Bruce and Bannockburn. 
 
 Jack— Land that broke its faith with Edward 
 When a truce of peace was sealed ; 
 Land whose sons have not forgotten 
 English pluck and Flodden F""ield. 
 
 Donald — Land historic, land romantic. 
 
 Land o' Wallace, Burns, and Scott ; 
 Land wha's memory time and distance 
 Frae oor herts eraseth not. 
 
 Jack — Land whose sons are aye declaring 
 They adore each hill and " stane," 
 But who take care, when they leave it, 
 Never to go back again.
 
 Baby Boy. 
 
 Baby Boy, 
 
 Mother's joy, 
 Father's hope and pride ; 
 
 Where got you 
 
 Eyes so bhie, 
 Opening so v/ide ? 
 
 Sunny curls, 
 
 Teeth Hke pearls, 
 Cheeks red as a rose ; 
 
 Soft pink skin, 
 
 Dimpled chin, 
 Painty little nose.
 
 148 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 Winsome wiles, 
 Happy smiles, 
 
 Sometimes mixed with tears ; 
 Face o'ercast, 
 Cloud soon past, 
 
 Once again it clears. 
 
 Prattling talk, 
 
 Toddling walk, 
 Up and down the house ; 
 
 In and out. 
 
 Round about ; 
 Scampering little mouse. 
 
 Romp and play 
 
 All the day, 
 Wee feet seldom rest ; 
 
 Till at night 
 
 Baby bright 
 Curls up in his nest.
 
 A Christmas Hymn. 
 
 This morn we celebrate His birth 
 Whose herald-word was " Peace on Earth,' 
 And thanks accord the Lord of Heaven 
 For blessings rich and varied given : — 
 
 For life, for health, for kinsfolk dear, 
 For home and for our friends sincere ; 
 For tender, sweet domestic joys 
 With partners, parents, girls, and boys. 
 
 For glad re-unions, heart with heart. 
 And all the pleasure they impart ; 
 For all the happy days we've known ; 
 For all the kindness to us shewn.
 
 150 MUSA MEDICA. 
 
 For goodness, love, and charity ; 
 Material prosperity ; 
 For vital sunlight, freshening shower ; 
 For leaf and fruit, for bird and flower. 
 
 For season's shows, for Nature's stores, 
 Which she in rich profusion pours : 
 For all to us vouchsafed of good 
 Let us praise Him with gratitude. 
 
 And while we journey on our Avay, 
 Be this our prayer from day to day : — 
 For hearts unselfish, gentle, kind ; 
 For sympathy wath all mankind. 
 
 For strength temptation fierce to fight ; 
 For firm resolve to do the right ; 
 For courage troublous times to face ; 
 For steadfastness to run life's race,
 
 A CHRISTMAS HYMN. I5I 
 
 For will and power to help the oppressed ; 
 To succour all who are distressed ; 
 To do our duty in our work, 
 And difficulties ne'er to shirk. 
 
 To know the happiness that lies 
 In service and self-sacrifice ; 
 To quit ourselves in all we do, 
 Like honest, upright men, and true. 
 
 And when the beckoning angels come 
 To bear us to Our Father's Home — 
 The conflict o'er, the victory won — 
 May we receive the Lord's " Well done ! " 
 
 Christmas, 1890.