LEGENDS OF THE ISLES, &c. 
 
EDINBURGH .'PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND HUGHES, 
 PAUL'S WORK, CANONGATE. 
 
LEGENDS OF THE ISLES 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 CHARLES MACKAY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF THE " S ALAMANDRINE," " THE HOPE OF THE WORLD,' 
 &C. &C. &C. 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON. 
 M.DCCC.XLV. 
 
TO ALFRED TENNYSON, 
 
 My dear Tennyson, 
 
 I beg you to accept this dedication of my rhymes to 
 you, as a slight but cordial expression of my admiration of 
 J2 your genius, and of my satisfaction that even in your life- 
 j time — in the vigour of your days — the world has discovered 
 OQ your merits ; and with them the additional fact, that poetry, 
 and the love of poetry, are not necessarily extinguished by 
 Q the progress of railroads, as all the pert smatterers have 
 taken delight in affirming, 
 j^. That there are true poets in this age you know. Those 
 2 poets rejoice in your success, and hope most fervently that it 
 will yet be more brilliant. They feel that the age, by so 
 cheerfully recognising you as one worthy of that high and 
 sacred name, has given a contradiction to the calumny that 
 ' it loved not poetry, and an assurance to all who sing fi'om 
 their fulness of heart — who make song their vocation — and 
 who love it for its own sake, and find it to be its own 
 reward — that they need not fear neglect. It may perhaps 
 enshroud them for a while, but it will not be for long, if, like 
 'you, they are worthy of being remembered. 
 
 i 
 
 Believe me ever, 
 Most truly and affectionately yours, 
 
 CHARLES MACKAY. 
 
 Rose Cottage, Ibrox Holme, near Glasgow, 
 . ^ June 30th, 1845. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2015 
 
 https://archive.org/details/legendsofislesotOOmack 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES: 
 
 The Sea-King's Burial, ... 3 
 
 St Columba, or the Counting of the Isles, . 14 
 
 The Dance of Ballochroy, . . . 23 
 
 Lord Nithsdale's Dream in the Tower of London, 36 
 
 The Burn of Aberiachan, ... 41 
 
 The Eve of Flodden, .... 45 
 
 The " Dream," by Beauly, . . . 51 
 
 The Kelpie of Corryvreckan, ... 56 
 
 The Invasion of the Norsemen, . . 62 
 The Voice of Foyers, . . . .75 
 
 Foyers before the Fall, .... 77 
 
 The Planting of the Acorns. Darnaway Forest, 78 
 
 The King's Son, .... 81 
 
 Annie of Lochlinnhe, .... 90 
 
 The Witch of Skerrievore^ ... 92 
 
 The Lady of Duart's Vengeance, . . 97 
 
 The Shoal of Whales, .... 102 
 
 The Wraith of Garry Water, . . 110 
 
 SONGS AND POEMS : 
 
 The Struggle for Fame, . . . 119 
 
 The Founding of the Bell, . . .123 
 
 The Voice of the Time, . . ,127 
 
 Tubal Cain, . . . . .130 
 
 Life's Companions, . . . .133 
 
 Love aweary of the World, . . .137 
 
viii 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Tlie Lover's second thoughts on World Weariness, 140 
 The Drop of Water, . . . .143 
 
 Waterloo Bridge. A London Story, . . 150 
 
 The Death of Pan, .151 
 The Arriving Train, . . . .155 
 
 Love in Hate, . . . , .156 
 
 The Two Nightingales. An Apologue for 
 
 Poets, . . . . .158 
 
 The Wanderers by the Sea. Another Apologue 
 
 for Poets, ..... 163 
 Real and Ideal. A Colloquy, . . .168 
 
 The Feast of the Despots, . . .177 
 
 The Cry of the People, . . .185 
 
 Castles in the Air, .... 190 
 A Lover's Logic, .... 194 
 
 Head and Heart. An Undecided Story, . 196 
 
 To Patric Park, Sculptor, . . . 199 
 
 A Candid Wooing, .... 200 
 Lost and Won, ..... 202 
 The Coming Time, .... 206 
 Good-Night, ..... 207 
 Good-Morrow, ..... 208 
 Little Fools and Great Ones, . . . 209 
 
 A Song, after a Toast, . . . 21 1 
 
 On Mr Baily's Statue of Eve listening to 
 
 the Voice," . . . .213 
 
 The Old and the New, .... 215 
 Notes, ...... 227 
 
LEGENDS OF THE ISLES, 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 A 
 
THE SEA-KING'S BUEIAL. 
 
 I. 
 
 My strength is failing fast/' 
 Said the Sea-king to his men ; — 
 " I shall never sail the seas 
 Like a conqueror, again. 
 But while yet a drop remains 
 Of the life-blood in my veins, 
 Raise, oh, raise me from the bed ; — 
 Put the crown upon my head ; — 
 Put my good sword in my hand ; 
 And so lead me to the strand, 
 Where my ship at anchor rides 
 
 Steadily ; 
 
 If I cannot end my life 
 In the bloody battle strife. 
 Let me die as I have lived. 
 
 On the sea." 
 
4 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 II. 
 
 They have raised King Balder up, 
 Put his crown upon his head, 
 
 They have sheath*d his limbs in mail 
 And the purple o'er him spread ; 
 
 And amid the greeting rude 
 
 Of a gathering multitude, 
 
 Borne him slowly to the shore — 
 
 All the energy of yore 
 
 From his dim eye flashing forth — 
 
 Old sea-lion of the North ; — 
 As he look'd upon his ship 
 
 Riding free, 
 
 And on his forehead pale 
 Felt the cold refreshing gale. 
 And heard the welcome sound 
 
 Of the sea. 
 
 III. 
 
 " Hurra! for mighty Balder! 
 
 As he lived, so he w^ill die ! 
 Hurra ! hurra ! for Balder ! " 
 
 Said the crowd as he went by. 
 
 He will perish on the wave 
 Like the old Vikinger brave ; 
 And in high Valhalla's halls 
 Hold eternal festivals ; 
 
THE sea-king's BURIAL. 
 
 And drink the blood-red draught 
 None but heroes ever quafF'd, 
 With Odin and the spirits 
 
 Of the free. 
 
 In the fire, or in the wreck, 
 He will die upon his deck. 
 And be buried like a monarch 
 
 Of the sea." 
 
 Old Balder heard their shouts 
 As they bore him to the beach ; 
 
 And his fading eye grew bright 
 With the eloquence of speech, 
 
 As he heard the mighty roar 
 
 Of the people on the shore, 
 
 And the trumpets pealing round 
 
 With a bold triumphal sound, 
 
 And saw the flags afar 
 
 Of a hundred ships of w^ar. 
 That were riding in the harbour 
 
 Gallantly. 
 
 And said Balder to his men, 
 
 And his pale cheek flushed again— 
 ^' I have lived, and I will die 
 
 On the sea." 
 
G 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 V. 
 
 They have borne him to the ship 
 With a slow and solemn tread ; 
 They have placed him on the deck 
 
 With his crown upon his head, 
 Where he sat as on a throne ; 
 And have left him there alone, 
 With his anchor ready weigh'd, 
 And the snowy sails display'd 
 To the favouring wind, once more 
 Blowing freshly from the shore ; 
 And have bidden him farewell 
 
 Tenderly, 
 Saying, " King of mighty men. 
 We shall meet thee yet again. 
 In Valhalla, with the monarchs 
 
 Of the sea.'' 
 
 VI. 
 
 Underneath him in the hold 
 
 They had placed the lighted brand ; 
 
 And the fire was burning slow 
 As the vessel from the land, 
 
 Like a stag-hound from the slips. 
 
 Darted forth from out the ships ; — 
 
 There was music in her sail 
 
 As it sweird before the gale, 
 
THE SEA-KINa'S BURIAL. 
 
 7 
 
 And a dashing at her prow 
 As it cleft the waves below. 
 And the good ship sped along, 
 
 Scudding free, 
 
 As on many a battle morn 
 In her time she had been borne, 
 To struggle, and to conquer 
 
 On the sea. 
 
 VII. 
 
 And the King with sudden strength 
 
 Started up, and paced the deck, 
 With his good sword for his staff, 
 
 And his robes around his neck ; — 
 Once alone, he waved his hand 
 To the people on the land ; — 
 And with shout and joyous cry 
 Once again they made reply, 
 Till the loud exulting cheer 
 Sounded faintly on his ear ; 
 For the gale was o'er him blowing 
 
 Fresh and free ; 
 And ere yet an hour had past 
 He was driven before the blast, 
 And a storm was on his path. 
 
 On the sea. 
 
8 
 
 liEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And still upon the deck — 
 
 While the storm about him rent. 
 
 King Balder paced about 
 
 Till his failing strength was spent. 
 
 Then he stopped awhile to rest — 
 
 Cross'd his hands upon his breast, 
 
 And look'd upwards to the sky, 
 
 With a dim but dauntless eye ; 
 
 And heard the tall mast creak, 
 
 And the fitful tempest speak 
 Shrill and fierce, to the billows 
 
 Rushing free, 
 
 And within himself he said, 
 
 " I am coming, oh, ye dead ! 
 To join you in Valhalla, 
 
 O'er the sea. 
 
 IX. 
 
 So blow, ye tempests— blow, 
 
 And my spirit shall not quail ; — 
 I have fought with many a foe ; — 
 
 I have weather'd many a gale ; — 
 And in this hour of death 
 
 Ere I yield my fleeting breath — v 
 Ere the fire now burning slow 
 Shall come rushing from below, 
 
THE sea-king's BURIAL. 
 
 9 
 
 And this worn and wasted frame 
 
 Be devoted to the flame — - 
 I will raise my voice in triumph, 
 
 Singing free ; — 
 
 To the great All-father's home, 
 
 I am driving through the foam, 
 I am sailing to Valhalla, 
 
 O'er the sea. 
 
 X. 
 
 So blow, ye stormy winds — 
 And ye flames ascend on high ; — >■ 
 
 In the easy, idle bed. 
 
 Let the slave and coward die! 
 
 But give me the driving keel. 
 
 Clang of shields and flashing steel ; — 
 
 Or my foot on foreign ground 
 
 With my enemies around ! 
 
 Happy ! happy, thus I'd yield 
 
 On the deck or in the field 
 My last breath, shouting on, 
 
 ' To Victory!' 
 But since this has been denied, 
 They shall say that I have died, 
 Without flinching, like a monarch 
 
 Of the sea»" 
 A 2 
 
LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 XI. 
 
 And Balder spake no more, 
 
 For his strength began to fail, — 
 But he looked upon the sky 
 
 As he heard the tempest wail. 
 To the storm the tall mast bent. 
 And the sails to shreds were rent ; 
 When from hold and cabin, quick 
 Rush'd the smoke out, curling thick, 
 Creeping up amid the shrouds. 
 Black as wreaths of autumn clouds. 
 
 When the lightning from their bosoms 
 
 Flashes free 
 And the dancing weaves upsprung, 
 And a lurid radiance flung 
 
 On the sky, and on the waters 
 
 Of the sea. 
 
 XII. 
 
 And Balder moved no limb, 
 
 And no sound escaped his lip ; — 
 And he look'd, yet scarcely saw 
 
 The destruction of his shij) ; 
 Nor the fleet sparks mounting high. 
 Nor the glare upon the sky ; — 
 Scarcely heard the billows dash, 
 Nor the burning timber crash ; — 
 
THE sea-king's BURIAL* 
 
 Scarcely felt the scorching heat 
 That was gathering at his feetj 
 Nor the fierce flames mounting o'er him 
 
 Greedily. 
 
 But the life was in him yet, 
 And the courage to forget 
 All his pain, in his triumph 
 
 On the sea. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Once alone a cry arose, 
 
 Half of anguish, half of pride, 
 As he sprang upon his feet 
 
 With the flames on every side, 
 " I am coming !" said the King, 
 
 Where the swords and bucklers ring- 
 Where the warrior lives again 
 With the souls of mighty men — 
 Where the weary And repose. 
 And the red wine ever flows ; — - 
 I am coming, great All-father, 
 
 Unto Thee ! 
 
 Unto Odin, unto Thor, 
 And the strong true hearts of yore — 
 I am coming to Valhalla, 
 
 O'er the sea." 
 
LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 XIV. 
 
 Red and fierce upon the sky 
 Until midnight shone the glare, 
 
 And the burning ship drove on 
 Like a meteor of the air. 
 
 She was driven and hurried past, 
 
 'Mid the roaring of the blast. 
 
 And of Balder, warrior born, 
 
 Naught remained at break of morn. 
 
 On the charr'd and blacken'd hull, 
 
 But some ashes and a skull ; 
 And still the vessel drifted 
 
 Heavily. 
 
 With a pale and hazy light 
 
 Until far into the night. 
 
 When the storm had spent its rage, 
 
 On the sea. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Then the ocean ceased her strife 
 With the wild winds, lulVd to rest, 
 
 And a full, round, placid moon 
 Shed a halo on her breast ; — 
 
 And the burning ship still lay 
 
 On the deep sea, far away;— 
 
THE sea-king's BURIAL. 
 
 From her ribs of solid oak, 
 Pouring forth the flame and smoke ;— 
 Until burnt through all her bulk, 
 To the water's edge, the hulk 
 
 Down a thousand fathoms sank 
 
 Suddenly, 
 With a low and sullen sound ; — 
 While the billows sang around 
 
 Sad requiems for the Monarch 
 
 Of the sea. 
 
ST COLUMBA, 
 
 OR 
 
 THE COUNTING OF THE ISLES. 
 
 1. 
 
 Hush'd were the winds, and not a breath 
 
 DisturVd the peaceful sea. 
 And even to StafFa's echoing caves 
 The large, uneasy, western waves 
 
 Came beatmg quietly* 
 Starless and moonless was the night, 
 
 And on the waters lay, 
 Like silence palpable to sight, 
 
 Thick wreaths of vapour gray. 
 
ST COLUMBA, OR THE COUNTING OF THE ISLES. 
 
 II. 
 
 Far in the west, 'mid rain and mist 
 
 Upon the deep afloat, 
 Without an oar, without a sail, 
 
 Came down a little boat. 
 Amid the mazes of the isles. 
 
 By hands unseen, propell'd. 
 By frowning scaur, through whirlpool roar, 
 
 Its noiseless way it held. 
 Like a shadow gliding, dark and slow, 
 Unweeting how the winds might blow. 
 
 III. 
 
 And at the stern, with downcast eyes, 
 
 And hands upon his breast, 
 There sat the figure of a man, 
 
 Serene, like one possessed 
 With peaceful thoughts, that quite absorbed 
 
 All faculties combined. 
 So that his sight, to left nor right. 
 
 Ne'er wander'd from his mind, 
 Nor his ear heard the murmur low 
 Of waters cleaving at the prow. 
 
 iv. 
 
 Down through the seas, where Lewis afar 
 The dim horizon streaks ; 
 
LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 By Skye, where lordly Guillens rear 
 
 Their high fantastic peaks ; 
 By Ronan and her sister isle ; 
 
 By Coll and green Tiree ; 
 And by the giant crags of Mull 
 
 That frown upon the sea ; 
 By Ulva's isle, and Fingal's cave, 
 Palace and wonder of the wave ; — 
 
 Still on — still on— till morning dawn 
 
 The boat pursued its way ; 
 Still on — still on — till night again, 
 
 Through sleet and vapour gray, 
 It held its course amid the Isles, 
 
 Nor stopp'd by night or day ; 
 And still the figure, heeding naught, 
 Sat silent, gather' d in his thought. 
 
 Yt. 
 
 Behind the boat, the waters shone 
 
 With phosphorescent light — 
 Slow from the keel, like glancing steel, 
 
 The waves fell off, all night. 
 At length, far looming through the mist 
 
 That now from heaven upclear'd, 
 lona, sepulchre of kings, 
 
 The holy isle, appear'd — 
 
ST COLUMBA, OR THE COUNTINa OF THE ISLES. 
 
 The Culdee*s bower, the place of graves, 
 The fair green island of the waves.'' 
 
 VII. 
 
 The moon, new risen, look'd forth from heaven 
 
 And purpled every height. 
 And waves upheaved their silvery sides, 
 
 Rejoicing in the light — 
 And mountain-tops with radiance touch'd, 
 
 Look'd placidly below, 
 As onwards to lona's isle 
 
 The boat went gliding slow ; 
 And the lone traveller stepp'd on shore, 
 Leaning upon the staff he bore. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 A long loose mantle wrapp'd his limbs, 
 
 A cowl conceard his head ; 
 xAnd meek yet lordly was his look. 
 
 And solemn was his tread. 
 And lo — to meet him on the beach, 
 . A pale and shadowy band. 
 Barefoot — bareheaded — holding each 
 
 A taper in his hand, 
 Came in long line, from Oran's shrine, 
 
 And gather'd on the strand. 
 
LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 IX. 
 
 No word was said, no sign was made, — 
 
 Spectres all pale and wan, 
 With earthward looks — 'mid silence deep- 
 
 Their noiseless march began. 
 And slow they foUow'd where he led ; 
 
 And, moved as by a blast. 
 The doors of St Columba's kirk 
 
 Flew open as they pass'd, 
 And show'd the lights on roof and wall 
 Lit up for solemn festival. 
 
 X. 
 
 And choral voices sweet and clear, 
 
 Drawn out in cadence long. 
 Re-echo' d through the vaulted aisles. 
 
 Attuned to holy song ; 
 And music like a flowing tide 
 
 From organ-pipes unseen, 
 Pour'd forth a full majestic strain 
 
 Each solemn pause between ; 
 And myrrh and incense fill'd the air. 
 And shadowy lips were moved in prayer. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Each damp and moss-grown sepulchre, 
 Each vault and charnel cold, 
 
ST COLUMBA, OR THE COUNTING OF THE ISLES. 
 
 Each grassy mound let forth its dead, 
 
 And from th' enfettering mould 
 Dim shadows of departed kings, 
 
 Sceptred and robed and crownM, 
 And mitred bishops, meek and pale^ 
 
 And abbots cowl'd and gown'd, 
 Came thronging in the moonlight gray 
 In long impalpable array, 
 
 XII. 
 
 And fierce Vikinger, swathed in mail, 
 
 Pallid and gaunt, stood forth, — 
 Old pirates, that to spoil the land 
 
 Had issued from the north. 
 Lords of the isles, and Thanes, and Jarls, 
 
 Barons and Marmors grim, 
 With helm on head and glaive in hand, 
 
 In rusty armour dim. 
 Responsive to some powerful call 
 Gathered obedient, one and all. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And now the choral voices hush'd, 
 
 And ceased the organ tone ; 
 As to the altar steps, high raised. 
 
 Sad, silent, and alone, 
 
LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 The traveller pass'd. — To him all eyes 
 
 Turn'd reverent as he trod) 
 And whispering voices, each to each, 
 
 Proclaimed the man of God — 
 Columba, in his ancient place, 
 Radiant vvith glory and with grace. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Back fell his cowl — his mantle dropp'd, 
 
 And in a stream of light, 
 A halo round his aged head, 
 
 And robed in dazzling white — 
 The saint with smiles of heavenly love 
 
 Stretch'd forth his hands to pray, 
 And kings and thanes, and monks and jarls. 
 
 Knelt down in their array. 
 Silent, with pallid lips compress' d. 
 And hands cross'd humbly on their breast. 
 
 XV. 
 
 He craved a blessing on the Isles, 
 
 And named them, one by one — 
 Fair western isles that love the glow 
 
 Of the departing sun. — 
 From Arran looming in the south. 
 
 To northern Orcades, 
 Then to lona back again. 
 
 Through all those perilous seas, 
 
ST COLUMBA, OR THE COUNTINa OF THE ISLES. 
 
 Three nights and days, the saint had saiFd 
 To count the Hebrides. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 He loved them for lona's sake, 
 
 The isle of prayer and praise, 
 AVhere Truth and Knowledge found a home 
 
 When fallen on evil days. 
 And now he bless'd them, each and all. 
 
 And pray'd that evermore, 
 Plenty and Peace, and Christian love. 
 
 Might smile on every shore. 
 And that their mountain glens might be 
 The abiding-places of the free, 
 
 XVII. 
 
 [Then, as he ceased, kings, abbots, earls, 
 
 And all the shadowy train. 
 Rose from their knees, and choral songs 
 
 Re-echo'd loud again — 
 And then were hush'd — the lights burn'd dim, 
 
 And ere the dawn of day, 
 The saint and all the ghostly choir 
 
 Dissolved in mist away: 
 Aerial voices sounding still 
 Sweet harmonies from Duni's hill. 
 
LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 XVIII. 
 
 And every year Columba makes, 
 
 While yet the summer smiles, 
 Alone, within his spectral boat. 
 
 The circuit of the isles ; — 
 And monks and abbots, thanes and kings, 
 
 From vault and charnel start, 
 Disburied, in the rite to bear 
 
 Their dim, allotted part, 
 And crave, upon their bended knees 
 A blessing on the Hebrides. 
 
THE DANCE OF BALLOCHROY, 
 
 I. 
 
 " If e'er you woo'd a loving maid, 
 And having won her, you betray'd, 
 Beware, Lord Edward, thoughtless boy, 
 ~ Nor pass the hills of Ballochroy. 
 
 II. 
 
 For there, His said, the livelong nights. 
 The sward is trod by elves and sprites, 
 And shadowy forms of maids departed. 
 And ghosts of women broken-hearted. 
 
 III. 
 
 " And aye they dance a mystic round 
 Upon these knolls of haunted ground. 
 And sing sweet airs till break of day. 
 To lure the traveller from his way. 
 
LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 IV, 
 
 " Though if your soul from guilt be clear, 
 Ride boldly on — you need not fear ; 
 For pleasant sounds, and sights of joy, 
 Shall hem you round on Ballochroy. 
 
 V. 
 
 But if youVe brought a maid to death 
 By guileful words and breach of faith, 
 Shut ear and eye, nor look behind, 
 Nor hear their voices on the wind. 
 
 VI. 
 
 They'll seek your senses to entrance — 
 They'll woo you to their airy dance ; 
 And press, with winning smiles and quips. 
 Their melting kisses to your lips. 
 
 VII. 
 
 ^' And every kiss shall be a dart, 
 
 That through your lips shall pierce your heart; 
 
 For short the life, and short the joy, 
 
 Of those who dance on Ballochroy.'' 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Lord Edward laugh'd his words to scorn — 
 
 I must be wed to-morrow morn ; 
 Your idle tale I may not hear ; 
 I cannot linger from my dear ! 
 
THE DANCE OF BALLOCHROY. 
 IX. 
 
 He gave the reins to liis dapple gray, 
 And o'er the mountain rode away ; 
 And the old man sigh'd, wish him joy 
 On the haunted hills of Ballochroy 
 
 X. 
 
 And three miles west, and three miles north 
 Over the moorland went he forth. 
 And thought of his bonny blushing May, 
 The fairest maid of Oronsay. 
 
 XI. 
 
 And he thought of a lady dead and gone — 
 Of Ellen, under the kirkyard stone ; 
 And then he whistled a hunting song 
 To drown remembrance of a wrong. 
 
 XII. 
 
 But still it came. " Alas ! " thought he, 
 ^' I fear she died for love of me : 
 Soft be her sleep in the fresh green sod — 
 I trust her spirit is with her God ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 But to-morrow is my bridal day 
 With the bonnie Bell of Oronsay ; 
 From her no fate my soul shall sever, 
 So let the past be past for ever ! 
 
LEGEND OF THE ISLES. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And still he Avhistled his hunting tune, 
 Till high in the heavens arose the moon, 
 And had no thought but of future joy, 
 Till he came to the hills of Ballochroy. 
 
 XV. 
 
 And there, beneath a birken-tree, 
 lie found a lady fair to see. 
 With eyes that might the stars eclipse. 
 And a smile upon her ripe red lips. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Her garments seem*d of azure bright, 
 Her dainty hands were rosy white, 
 And her golden hair, so long and sleek, 
 Fell clustering o'er each glowing cheek. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 He gazed upon this bonnie May, 
 Fairer than Bell of Oronsay, 
 Fairer than Ellen, dead and gone, 
 Or any maid the sun shone on. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Oh, lady dear ! the night is chill, 
 The dews are damp upon the hill, 
 A fitful w^ind begins to moan — 
 What brings thee here so late alone ? " 
 
THE DANCE OF BALLOCHROY. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The lady blush'd, and on her tongue — 
 Timid — the faltering answer hung — 
 
 I have come for thee, dear lord/' she said, 
 And on his arm her hand she laid* 
 
 XX. 
 
 For I have loved thee long and well, 
 More than a maiden ought to tell, 
 And 1 sit beneath this birken-tree 
 To pass one hour of love with thee." 
 
 XXI. 
 
 He sprang from his steed of dapple gray, 
 And at the lady's feet he lay, 
 Her lily hand in his ho press'd. 
 And lean'd his head upon her breast, 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Her long fair tresses o'er him hung 
 As round his neck her arm she flung ; 
 Her beauty charm'd both touch and sight — 
 His pulse beat quicker with delight 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Oh, lady dear ! these eyes of mine 
 Never saw beauty like to thine ! 
 Those loving lips, oh, let me kiss ! 
 Never was rapture like to this ! " 
 
LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 She smiled upon him as he spoke, 
 And on his ear these accents broke ; 
 " Deep was the love for thee I bore — 
 Thou shalt be mine for evermore. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Come to my bower — 'tis fair to see, 
 And all i^reiDared, dear lord, for thee ; 
 Come ! and such smiles her face suffused, 
 He had been stone had he refused. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 His heart was full — his reeling brain 
 Felt the sharj) pleasure prick like pain ; 
 And his eyes grew dim with love and joy, 
 Upon the hills of Ballochroy. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 On every side, — above — below — 
 He heard a strain of music flow, 
 Dying in murmurs on his ear. 
 Gentle and plaintive, soft and clear. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Anon a bolder voice it took. 
 Till all the air with music shook — 
 A full, inspiring, martial strain, 
 Heaving like waves upon the main. 
 
THE DANCE OF BALLOCHROY. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Amid the tangling flowers and grass 
 Its fitful eelioes seem'd to pass ; 
 And then it sank, and sweet and slow 
 Mingled the notes of joy and woe. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Then changed again — A jocund lay- 
 Rose 'mid the tree-tops far away ; 
 And brisk and light, and tuned to pleasure, 
 Floated in air that merry measure. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 And nearer as the rapture came, 
 
 He felt its power in all his frame ; 
 
 His pulse grew quick, his eyes grew bright. 
 
 His limbs grew supple with delight. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 With throbbing heart and loving look. 
 The lady by the hand he took. 
 And as she smiled, her fairy feet 
 Moved to the measure, brisk and sweet. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 He would not, if he could, resist. 
 Her beauty wrapp'd him like a mist ; 
 And gliding with her, kind yet coy. 
 They danced the dance of Ballochroy. 
 
LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 He clasp'd her round her dainty waist, 
 Their glowing hands were interlaced ; 
 And now they glided — now they flew — 
 And tripp'd in circles o'er the dew. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 And still the music sounded high 
 The full free tide of harmony : — 
 Responsive still to every note 
 Their nimble footsteps seem'd to float. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 And now they bounded, now they tripp*d, 
 With panting pleasure, open-lippM, 
 And brisker, merrier, louder still 
 Sounded the music o'er the hill. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Faint with the joy, he craved delay, 
 But no — his limbs refused to stay. 
 And danced impulsive to the sound, 
 And traced a circle on the ground. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 There seem'd a film before his eyes — 
 He saw new shapes of beauty rise ; — 
 They seem'd to gather at the tune 
 Between him and the western moon. 
 
THE DANCE OF BALLOCHROY. 
 XXXIX. 
 
 In robes of azure and of green ^ 
 Amber and white, and purple sheen — 
 A troop of maidens young and fair, 
 With sparkling eyes and flowing hair. 
 
 XL. 
 
 And as before his sight they pass'd, 
 Each maid seem'd lovelier than the last. 
 And smiled upon him as she came. 
 With looks of love and eyes of flame. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 Then smoothing back their tresses bright, 
 They join'd their fingers long and white, 
 And lightly shook their sparkling feet 
 To the glad measure as it beat. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 And as the fairy round they danced, 
 And now retreated, now advanced, 
 Their noiseless footsteps on the sod 
 Left a green circle, where they trod. 
 
 XLin. 
 
 Like dragon-flies upon a stream, 
 
 Or motes upon a slanting beam. 
 
 They parted — met— retired — entwined — 
 
 Their loose robes waving in the wind. 
 
le(Jends of the isles. 
 
 XLIY. 
 
 Transparent as the network light 
 Spun by the gossamer at night, 
 Through ev ry fold each rounded limb 
 Shone warm and beautiful, but dim. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Dazzled and reeling with delight, 
 He turn'd away his aching sight, 
 Then fell exhausted in a swoon. 
 In the full radiance of the moon. 
 
 XLYI. 
 
 Not long endured his soul's eclipse ; 
 He felt warm kisses on his lips, 
 And heard a voice in accents clear 
 Breathe a soft whisper in his ear. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Rise, my dear lord ! shake off this trance 
 And join my sisters in their dance ; 
 'Tis all to give thee joy they play ; 
 My hand shall guide thee — .come away 
 
 XL VIII. 
 
 He rose ; her bright eyes brighter shone, 
 Raining kind looks to cheer him on ; 
 While the celestial music still 
 Roird its glad echoes o'er the hill. 
 
THE DANCE OF BALLOCHROY. 
 
 33 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 And once again the dance they twined — 
 They seem'd like feathers on the wind — 
 Their hands they waved, their feet they twirl' d — 
 They ran, they leap'd, they tripp'd, they whirl'd. 
 
 L. 
 
 But as he danced, his eyes grew dim, 
 His blood ran thick through ev'ry limb ; 
 And ev'ry face, so fair and bright, 
 Appear'd distorted to his sight. 
 
 LI. 
 
 The lustre of their eyes was gone, 
 Their cheeks grew wrinkled, pale, and wan ; 
 Their fair plump arms grew shrivell'd skin, 
 Their voices hoarse, and sharp, and thin. 
 
 LII. 
 
 Bloodshot, and blear, and hollow-eyed. 
 Each raised her finger to deride ; 
 And each more hideous than the last, 
 Chatter'd and jabber'd as she passed, 
 
 LIII. 
 
 And with discordant yell and shout. 
 
 They wheeled in frantic droves about, 
 
 And gibing, in his visage scowl'd, 
 
 And moan'd, and shriek'd, and laugh' d, and howl'd. 
 
 B 2 
 
LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 Again he fell in speechless dread ; 
 And then came one with drooping head, 
 And looks all pity and dismay, 
 And gazed upon him where he lay. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Her glancing eyes were black as jet, 
 Her fair pale cheeks with tears were wet ; 
 And beauty, modesty, and grace. 
 Strove for the mastery on her face. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 He knew her well ; and, as she wept, 
 A cold, cold shudder o*er him crept : 
 'Twas Ellen's self! ah, well he knew 
 That face so fair — that heart so true ! 
 
 LVII. 
 
 He felt her teardrops fall and flow, 
 But they were chill as melted snow ; 
 Then looking on her face, he sigh'd. 
 Felt her cold kiss, and shivering — died. 
 
 LVIII. 
 
 Next day, with many an anxious fear, 
 His father sought him far and near ; 
 And his sad mother, old and gray, 
 Wept w^ith the bride of Oronsay. 
 
THE DANCE OF BALLOCHROY. 
 
 35 
 
 LIX. 
 
 They found his body on the knoll, 
 And pray'd for mercy on his soul ; 
 And his bride a widow's weeds put on, 
 And mourn'd Lord Edward, dead and gone. 
 
 LX. 
 
 If you have brought a maid to death 
 By guileful words and breach of faith — 
 In weal or woe, in grief or joy. 
 Beware the hills of Ballochroy ! 
 
LORD NITHSDALE'S DREAM 
 
 liV THE 
 
 TOWER OF LONDON. 
 
 I. 
 
 Farewell to thee, Winifred, clearest and best — 
 
 Farewell to thee, wife of a courage so high — 
 Come hither, and nestle again in my breast, 
 
 Come hither, and kiss me again ere I die. 
 And when I am laid bleeding and low in the dust. 
 
 And yield my last breath at a tyrant's decree, 
 Look up — be resign'd — and the God of the just 
 
 Will shelter thy fatherless children and thee/' 
 
 II. 
 
 She wept on his breast, but, ashamed of her fears, 
 She dash'd off the drops that ran warm down her 
 cheek — 
 
LORD NITHSDALE'S DREAM. 
 
 37 
 
 Be sorrow for those who have leisure for tears, 
 
 Oh, pardon thy wife, that her soul was so weak ! 
 There is hope for us still, and I will not despair, 
 
 Though cowards and traitors exult at thy fate ; 
 ril show the oppressors what woman can dare — 
 
 I'll show them that Love can be stronger than Hate/* 
 
 III. 
 
 Lip to lip — heart to heart — and their fond arms entwined — 
 He has clasp'd her again, and again, and again ; — 
 
 " Farewell to thee, Winifred, pride of thy kind, 
 Sole ray in my darkness — sole joy in my pain/' 
 
 She has gone — he has heard the last sound of her tread, 
 He has caught the last glimpse of her robes at the 
 door — 
 
 She has gone, and the joy that her presence has shed 
 Will cheer the sad heart of Lord Nithsdale no more. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The prisoner pray'd in his dungeon alone. 
 
 And thought of the mom and its dreadful array ; 
 Then rested his head on his pillow of stone — 
 
 And slumber'd an hour ere the dawning of day. 
 Oh, balm of the weary !- — oh, soother of pain ! 
 
 That still to the sad givest pity and dole. 
 How gently, oh Sleep, lay thy wings on his brain ! 
 
 How sweet were thy dreams to his desolate soul ! 
 
38 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 Once more on his green native braes of the Nith, 
 
 He pluck' d the wild breckan, a frolicsome boy ; 
 He sported his limbs in the waves of the frith ; 
 
 He trod the green heather in gladness and joy; 
 On his gallant gray steed to the hunting he rode — 
 
 In his bonnet a plume, on his bosom a star — 
 And chased the red-deer to its mountain abode, 
 
 And track'd the wild roe to its covert afar. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The vision has changed : — in a midsummer night 
 
 He roam'd with his Winifred blooming and young ; 
 He gazed on her face by the moon's mellow light, 
 
 And loving and warm w^ere the words on his tongue ; 
 Through good and through evil he sw^ore to be true, 
 
 And love through all fortune his Winnie alone — 
 And he saw the red blush o'er her cheek as it flew. 
 
 And heard her sweet voice that replied to his own. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Once more it has changed : In his martial array, 
 Lo ! he rode at the head of his gallant young men ; 
 
 For the pibroch was heard on the hills far away. 
 
 And the clans were all gather'd from mountain and glen. 
 
 For the darling of Scotland, their exile adored, 
 
 They raised the loud slogan— they rush'd to the strife ; 
 
LORD NITIISDALE'S DREAM. 
 
 39 
 
 Unfurrd was the banner — unsheatli'd was the sword, 
 For the cause of their hearts, that was dearer than life. 
 
 viir. 
 
 Again — and the vision was lost to his sight ; 
 
 But the phantasm that followed was darksome and 
 dread — 
 
 The morn of his doom had succeeded the night, 
 
 And a priest by his side said the prayers for the dead. 
 
 He heard the dull sound of the slow muffled drum. 
 And the hoarse sullen boom of the death-tolling bell ; 
 
 The block was prepared, and the headsman had come — - 
 And the victim, bareheaded, walk'd forth from his celL 
 
 IX. 
 
 No ! no ! 'twas but fancy — his hour was not yet, — 
 
 And, waking, he turn'd on his pallet of straw. 
 And a form by his side he could never forget, 
 
 By the pale misty light of a taper, he saw — 
 <^>Tis I— 'tis thy Winifred ! " softly she said, 
 
 " Arouse thee, and follow ; — be bold — never fear. 
 There was danger abroad, but my errand has sped — 
 
 I promised to save thee, and lo — I am here ! '* 
 
 X. 
 
 He rose at the summons — but little they spoke — 
 The gear of a lady she placed on his head ; 
 
40 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 She cover'd his limbs with a womanly cloak, 
 And painted his cheeks of a maidenly red. 
 One kiss, my dear lord — and begone and beware — 
 Walk softly — I follow ! O guide us, and sa^'e 
 
 From the open assault — from the intricate snare — 
 Thou Providence, friend of the suffering brave ! " 
 
 XI. 
 
 They pass'd unsuspected the guard at the cell, 
 And the sentinels weary that watch'd at the gate ; 
 
 One danger remain' d — but they conquer'd it well — 
 Another — and Love triumph'd still over Hate. 
 
 And long ere the morning their ship was at sea, 
 
 Sailing down with fair winds, far away from the shore, 
 
 To the land of the Gaul, where their hearts might be 
 free. 
 
 And the quarrels of monarchs disturb them no more. 
 
THE BURN OF ABERIACHAN. 
 
 I» 
 
 I LOVE, O bonnie Aberiaclian ! 
 
 Thy wild and tumbling flood ; — 
 So gently down tliy rocks thou leapest, 
 So softly in thy linns thou sleepest, 
 
 Such silvery bubbles stud 
 Thy glancing bosom, and so green 
 
 Grows on thy bank each birken bough, 
 I never saw a waterfall 
 
 More beautiful than thou. 
 
 11. 
 
 ' Tis true, unlike thy roaring neighbour, 
 
 Thy voice is sweet and low: 
 The mighty Foyars speaks in thunder — 
 Thou whisperest, thy birch-trees under, 
 
 To winds that o'er thee blow ; 
 
LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 And after showers of spring-time rain, 
 When every burnie bounds along, 
 
 Tliy voice, so musical and soft, 
 But swells into a song. 
 
 III. 
 
 Yet more than Foyars, grand and solemn, 
 
 I love thy limpid face : 
 He awes us by his power and splendour — 
 Thou, like a maiden kind and tender, 
 
 Subduest by thy grace. 
 And in the sunny summer-time. 
 
 From morn to night, I would rejoice 
 To lie upon thy flowery banks. 
 
 And listen to thy voice. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Or underneath thy shelving summits, 
 
 Where tufted mosses grow — 
 Between the green o'erhanging birches, 
 Where all day long the lintie perches. 
 
 Mine idle limbs I'd throw : 
 And there Td lie, until I sank 
 
 To a half slumber, 'mid the trees, 
 Luird by thy confidential talk, 
 
 Or murmur of thy bees. 
 
THE BURN OF ABERIACHAN. 
 
 V. 
 
 Or if I woke to dreams of fancy, 
 
 Beneath thy steepest fall 
 I'd sit, and weave some thoughtful treasure 
 Into the light and airy measure 
 
 Of chant or madrigal ; — 
 Or haply, in some genial hour, 
 
 Interpret into words, the song 
 Thou singest down the mountain side, 
 
 When autumn floods are strong — 
 
 VI. 
 
 Even all the secret things thou breathest, 
 
 From thy translucent breast, 
 To the high mountains, cold and hoary. 
 Or the calm loch that, girt with glory, 
 
 Receives thee from the west — 
 Thy secret hymn of thankfulness 
 
 For all the beauty spread around, 
 Upon the loch, upon the hills, 
 
 Upon the pasture ground. 
 
 VII. 
 
 I know thee, bonnie Aberiachan! 
 
 I know that thou canst raise 
 The song of joy; and that thou flowest 
 With cheerful strength where'er thou goest, 
 
 Through all thy hidden ways. — 
 
LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 Let me be like thee, and rejoice, 
 That if no Foyars high and strong, 
 
 I still can lift a grateful voice, 
 And glorify in song ; 
 
 VIII. 
 
 That I can see a beauty round me, 
 
 From many an eye conceard ; 
 That Nature, kind to those who love her. 
 Will still to them her face uncover. 
 
 And love for loving yield. 
 Let me, like thee, run cheerily on. 
 
 And sing my song though none may hear ; 
 Rewarded if I please the few, 
 
 And keep a current clear. 
 
THE EVE OF FLODDEN. 
 
 I. 
 
 Who are these so dim and wan, 
 Haggard, gaunt, and woe-begone ? 
 Who in suits of silvery mail 
 Wander in the moonlight pale, 
 Through Dunedin's narrow street, 
 Sad and slow. 
 And with mournful voice repeat. 
 
 Singing low— 
 " Dim the night, but dark the morrow — 
 Long shall last the coming sorrow— 
 
 Woe to Scotland, woe ! 
 
LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 II. 
 
 Helm on head and sword in hand, 
 Whence this melancholy band ? 
 Even the banner that they bear 
 Droops dejected on the air, 
 As they walk with noiseless tread 
 To and fro. 
 And the sleeper from his bed 
 
 Rises slow. 
 Listening to that chant of sorrow — 
 ^' Dim the night, but dark the morrow — 
 ^' Woe to Scotland, woe 
 
 III. 
 
 W^hat they are, and their intent — 
 
 Whence they come, and whither bent — 
 
 If they come from kirkyard cold, 
 
 Or are men of mortal mould, 
 
 No one knows ; — but all night long, 
 
 As they go, 
 There is heard a doleful song, 
 
 Clear, but low — 
 Deep the grief that's now beginning, 
 Scotland's loss is England's winning — 
 
 Woe to Scotland, woe 
 
THE EVE OF FLODDEN. 
 
 47 
 
 IV. 
 
 Never yet Dunedin's street 
 Saw such ghastly warriors meet. 
 Now upon the Cross they stay ; 
 And a radiance clear as day, 
 When the day is dim and chill, 
 
 Seems to glow 
 All around ; and from the hill 
 Overflow 
 Gable, tower, and steeple-crosses. 
 Even the lonely wynds and closes : — 
 
 Woe to Scotland, woe ! 
 
 V. 
 
 One steps forward from the rest, 
 Stately, gaunt, and richly drest ; 
 And they form a circle round, 
 Sadly looking to the ground ; 
 And a summons loud and shrill 
 
 Sounds below, 
 Downwards from the Calton Hill 
 
 Passing slow ; 
 Then a trumpet-call to rally 
 Echoes over mount and valley — 
 
 Woe to Scotland, woe 
 
LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 YI. 
 
 Then the ling'ring echoes die 
 Faint and fainter on the sky, 
 And the spokesman of the band, 
 Raises high his mail'd right hand, 
 And exclaims with earnest voice. 
 
 Speaking slow, 
 Long will Scotland's foes rejoice : — 
 
 Hearts shall gloAv 
 
 At recital of our story, 
 
 And of Scotland's faded glory. 
 
 " Woe to Scotland, woe 
 
 VIT. 
 
 Nought shall bravery avail ; 
 Dust before the wild March gale 
 Flies not faster, than shall fly 
 Scotland's proudest chivalry, 
 Royal Stuart, when thy might 
 
 Stricken low. 
 Shall be scatter'd in the fight 
 
 By the foe. 
 And thy fairest ranks be trodden 
 On the bloody field of Flodden. 
 
 ^' Woe to Scotland, woe 
 
THE EVE OF FLODDEN. 
 VIII. 
 
 Crawford, Huntly, and Montrose, 
 Loud your shrill war-trumpet blows ; — 
 Home and Bothwell, high in air 
 Flaunt your banners free and fair ; — 
 Lennox ! well your stalwart men 
 
 Wield the bow ; — 
 Fierce and fleet from hill and glen 
 
 On the foe, 
 
 From wild Cowal to the Grampians, 
 Rush, Argyll, your stoutest champions ; — 
 
 '\ Woe to Scotland, woe 
 
 IX. 
 
 " But in vain shall they unite ; 
 And in vain their swords shall smite ; 
 And in vain their chiefs shall lead ; 
 Vainly, vainly shall they bleed ; — 
 England's hosts shall smite them down 
 
 At a blow. 
 And our country's ancient crown 
 
 Be laid low ; 
 And for warriors death-cold sleeping 
 Long shall last the wail and weeping — 
 
 *^ Woe to Scotland, woe 
 
LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 X. 
 
 Thus he speaks, and glides away, 
 Melting in the moonlight gray ; 
 And the pale knights follow on 
 Through the darkness, and are gone. 
 But all night is heard the w^ail 
 
 Rising slow, 
 As the pauses of the gale 
 
 Come and go, — 
 " Dim the night but dark the morrow, 
 Long shall last the coming sorrow — 
 
 Woe to Scotland, woe 
 
THE "DKEAM," BY BEAULY. 
 
 The high banks of the Beauly are covered with birch-trees ascending 
 to a great height, with occasionally rocks, fir plantations, and mountain 
 paths to vary the scene ; and the river foaming and breaking into nume- 
 rous falls below. This magnificent tract, which extends about three miles, 
 is termed "the Dream," a name that seems to harmonize with the wild 
 beauty of the landscape. The true orthography, however, is the Drhuim 
 signifying in the Gaelic language, a ridge.— The Highland Note-BooJcy ly R. 
 Carruthers. 
 
 In Lomond's isles the rowans grow, 
 
 In sweet Glennant the lintocks tarry, 
 And grand is Cruaehan by Loch Awe, 
 
 And bonnie are the birks of Garry. 
 Beloved spots ! — yet dearer far, 
 
 And cherish'd in my heart more truly, 
 Are sweet Kilmoraek's lingering falls. 
 
 The lovely " Dream ^' and banks of Beauly. 
 
 II. 
 
 The joyous river runs its course. 
 
 Now dark and deep, now clear and shallow ; 
 
52 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 And high on either side the rocks 
 
 Rise, erown'd with mosses green and yellow ; 
 And birks, the damsels of the wood/' 
 
 So slim and delicately shaded, 
 Stand in the clefts, and look below, 
 
 With graceful forms and tresses braided. 
 
 III. 
 
 And rowans flourish on the heights. 
 
 With scarlet bunches thickly studded. 
 And brambles, heavy-laden, trail 
 
 Their luscious berries, purple-blooded ; 
 And on the bosom of the hills, 
 
 Wooing the bees, the modest heather 
 Waves to the wind its hardy bells. 
 
 And blossoms in the wildest weather. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh that I might, 'mid scenes like this. 
 
 In the fresh noon of life and feeling, 
 Build up a bower where I might dwell, 
 
 All nature to my soul revealing. 
 Far from the bustling crowds that swarm 
 
 'Mid the great city's endless riot, 
 How happily my days would flow 
 
 In converse wdth these woodlands quiet ! 
 
THE dream/' by BEAULY. 
 
 Unmindful of the hollow pomp 
 
 And festering coronet of splendour — 
 Heedless of fame, and all the din 
 
 Of shouting voices that attend her ; — 
 With leisure, when my fancy led, 
 
 To roam the glen or forest thorough, 
 To climb the mountain-top, and trace 
 
 The torrent upward, by its furrow ; — 
 
 VI. 
 
 To let the winds in stormy nights 
 
 Blow in my hair ; to tread the heather 
 In tempest and in calm alike. 
 
 Braving, plaid-bound, the roughest weather; 
 To hold communion night and day 
 
 With Nature — to her bosom turning 
 Aye for relief — and from her face 
 
 New hope, new joy, new wisdom learning. 
 
 Oh, for a bower where I might dwell 
 In this contemplative seclusion. 
 
 With wealth sufficient for the wants 
 Of temperate Nature — not profusion. 
 
 A cottage on the green hill-side. 
 
 Sacred to friendship, love, and duty — 
 
54 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 A garden fair, with trees for fruit, 
 And some for shadow and for beauty. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Here, not unmindful of my kind, 
 
 Flying the world, but never scorning, 
 My voice, to solemn lay attuned, 
 
 Or cheerful as the lark's at morning. 
 Might reach the crowds that I had left, — 
 
 And bear my thoughts to many a dwelling, 
 Where human hearts would throb to hear 
 
 The tale I would delight in telling. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The tale or song, whose burden still, 
 
 Serene or glad, should preach to sorrow, — 
 That sunshine follows after rain, 
 
 And after darkest night, a morrow ; — 
 That those who strive with evil days, 
 
 If their own strength they would but measure, 
 Might turn endurance into joy. 
 
 And outward woe to inward pleasure ; 
 
 X. 
 
 That earth, though fill'd with care and grief. 
 Has joy for those who wisely seek it ; 
 
THE " dream/' by BEAULY. 
 
 That if the heart be truly taught, 
 It may defy the world to break it ; — 
 
 That love and virtue are not names, 
 
 But things, to those who prize them given 
 
 And that the more we love our kind, 
 The more our bliss in earth and heaven. 
 
 But fare thee well, sweet Beauly stream ! 
 
 Uj^on thy banks I may not linger ; — 
 My task is set — my daily toil 
 
 Beckons me hence with ruthless finger. 
 Farewell ! and when in cities pent, 
 
 I'll cherish thy remembrance duly. 
 And long for autumn days again, 
 
 To lead my footsteps back to Beauly. 
 
THE KELPIE OF CORRYVRECKAN. 
 
 I. 
 
 He mounted his steed of the water clear, 
 
 And sat on his saddle of sea-weed sere ; 
 
 He held his bridal of strings of pearl, 
 
 Dug out of the depths where the sea-snakes curl. 
 
 11. 
 
 He put on his vest of the whirlpool froth, 
 Soft and dainty as velvet cloth, 
 And donn'd his mantle of sand so white. 
 And grasp'd his sword of the coral bright. 
 
 III. 
 
 And away he gallop'd, a horseman free. 
 Spurring his steed through the stormy sea, 
 Clearing the billows with bound and leap — 
 Away, away, o'er the foaming deep. 
 
THE KELPIE OF CORRYVRECKAN. 
 
 IV. 
 
 By Scarba's rock, by Lnnga's shore, 
 By Garvelocli isles where breakers roar, 
 With his horse's hoofs he dash'cl the spray, 
 And on to Loch Buy, away, away ! 
 
 T. 
 
 On to Loch Buy all day he rode, 
 And reach' d the shore as sunset glow'd, 
 And stopp'd to hear the sounds of joy, 
 That rose from the hills and glens of Moy, 
 
 Yl, 
 
 The morrow was May, and on the green 
 They'd lit the fire of Beltan E'en, 
 And danced around, and piled it high 
 With peat and heather, and pine logs dry« 
 
 vir. 
 
 A piper play'd a lightsome reel, 
 And timed the dance with toe and heel ; 
 While wives looked on, as lad and lass 
 Trod it merrily o'er the grass. 
 
 viii. 
 
 And Jessie (fickle and fair was she) 
 Sat with Evan beneath a tree, 
 And smiled with mingled love and pride^ 
 And half agreed to be his bride, 
 
 c2 
 
LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The Kelpie gallop'd o'er the green — 
 He seem'd a knight of noble mien ; 
 And old and young stood up to see, 
 And wonder'd who the knight could be. 
 
 X. 
 
 His flowing locks were auburn bright, 
 His cheeks were ruddy, his eyes flash' d light ; 
 xAnd as he sprang from his good gray steed, 
 He look'd a gallant youth indeed. 
 
 XI. 
 
 And Jessie's flckle heart beat high. 
 As she caught the stranger's glancing eye ; 
 And when he smiled, " Ah well," thought she, 
 I wish this knight came courting me I'' 
 
 XII. 
 
 He took tv/o steps towards her seat — 
 
 Wilt thou be mine, O maiden sweet ?" 
 He took her lily-w^hite hand, and sigh'd, 
 " Maiden, maiden, be my bride !" 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And Jessie blush'd, and whisper'd soft — 
 " Meet me to-night when the moon's aloft. 
 IVe dream'd, fair knight, long time of thee — 
 I thought thou earnest courting me." 
 
THE KELPIE OF CORRYVRECKAN. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 When the moon her yellow horn displayed, 
 Alone to the trysting went the maid ; 
 When all the stars were shining bright, 
 Alone to the trysting went the knight. 
 
 XV. 
 
 " I have loved thee long, I have loved thee well, 
 Maiden, oh more than words can tell ! 
 Maiden, thine eyes like diamonds shine ; 
 Maiden, maiden, be thou mine ! " 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Fair sir, thy suit Til ne'er deny- 
 Though poor my lot, my hopes are high ; 
 I scorn a lover of low degree — 
 None but a knight shall marry me." 
 
 XVII. 
 
 He took her by the hand so white, 
 And gave her a ring of gold so bright ; 
 " Maiden, whose eyes like diamonds shine, 
 Maiden, maiden, now thou rt mine ! 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 He lifted her up on his steed of gray, 
 And they rode till morning away, away — 
 Over the mountain and over the moor. 
 And over the rocks to the dark sea-shore. 
 
LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 We have ridden east, we have ridden west — 
 I'm weary, fair knight, and I fain would rest. 
 Say, is thy dwelling beyond the sea ? 
 Hast thou a good ship waiting for me 
 
 XX. 
 
 I have no dwelling beyond the sea, 
 I have no good ship waiting for thee : 
 Thou shalt sleep with me on a couch of foam, 
 And the depths of the ocean shall be thy home." 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The gray steed plunged in the billows clear, 
 And the maiden's shrieks were sad to hear ; — 
 " Maiden, whose eyes like diamonds shine — 
 Maiden, maiden, now thou'rt mine ! " 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Loud the cold sea-blast did blow 
 As they sank 'mid the angry waves below — 
 Down to the rocks where the serpents creep, 
 Twice five hundred fathoms deep. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 At morn a fisherman sailing by 
 Saw her pale corse floating high. 
 He knew the maid by her yellow hair 
 And her lily skin so soft and fair. 
 
THE KELPIE OF CORRYVRECKAN. 
 XXIV. 
 
 Under a rock on Scarba's shore, 
 Where the wild winds sigh and the breakers 
 They dug her a grave by the water clear, 
 Among the sea-weeds salt and sere. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 And every year at Beltan E'en, 
 The Kelpie gallops across the green. 
 On a steed as fleet as the wintry wind. 
 With Jessie's mournful ghost behind. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 I warn you, maids, whoever you be, 
 Beware of pride and vanity ; 
 And ere on change of love you reckon, 
 Beware the Kelpie of Corryvreckan. 
 
THE INVASION OF THE NORSEMEN 
 
 I. 
 
 Haco^ King of Norway, call'd his men of might, 
 
 Sea-captains and Vikinger — his veterans in fight ; 
 
 And set sail for Scotland's coast 
 
 With a well-apparell'd host, 
 
 Fully tvv^enty thousand strong — 
 
 When the summer days grew long — 
 
 In the fairest fleet that ever the north sea-billows bore, 
 
 To harry it, and pillage it, and hold it evermore. 
 
 II. 
 
 Mile on mile extended, o'er the ocean blue, 
 
 Sail'd the ships of battle, white and fair to view — 
 
 Running races on the sea, 
 
 With their streamers waving free. 
 
 From their saucy bows all day 
 
 Dashing uj) the scornful spray. 
 
 And leaving far behind them, in the darkness of the 
 night, 
 
 Unborrow'd from the firmament, long tracks of liquid 
 light. 
 
THE INVASION OF THE NORSEMEN. 
 
 63 
 
 III. 
 
 Past the isles of Shetland lay the monarch's path, 
 Round the isles of Orkney and the Cape of Wrath, 
 'Mid the Islands of the West 
 That obey'd his high behest — 
 The Lewis and Uist and Skye, 
 And the countless isles that lie 
 
 Between the wide Atlantic and Albyn*s mountains 
 brown, 
 
 And paid him homage duly and fealty to his crown. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Music and rejoicing followed on their way, 
 
 Drinking and carousing nightly till the day. 
 
 Every sailor in the fleet 
 
 Felt his heart with pleasure beat, 
 
 Every soldier in the ships 
 
 Had a smile upon his lips, 
 
 As he drank, and saw, in fancy, reeking sword and 
 
 flaming brand, 
 And the rapine and the violence, and the carnage of the 
 
 land. 
 
 V. 
 
 Not amid the mountains of the rugged north 
 Would the mighty Haco send his legions forth ; 
 
64 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 Not by highland loch or glen 
 Would he land his eager men ; — 
 Not on banks of moorland stream 
 Were their thirsty swords to gleam ; — 
 But further to the southward, from the rocks of bare 
 Argyll J 
 
 To the sloping hills of Renfrew, and the grassy meads 
 of Kyle. 
 
 vi. 
 
 In the vales of Carrick, smiling by the sea, 
 In the woods of Lennox, in the Lothians three, 
 There was fatness all the year — 
 There were sheep and fallow deer — 
 There was mead to fill the horn — 
 There were kye, and there was corn — 
 There was food for hungry Norsemen, and spoil to last 
 them long, 
 
 And lordly towers to revel in, with music and with song, 
 
 VII. 
 
 Like scarts upon the wing by the hope of plunder led, 
 Pass'd on the ships of Haco, with sails like pinions 
 spread. 
 
 But the tidings went before 
 
 To the inland, from the shore ; ~ 
 
THE INVASION OF THE NORSEMEN. 
 
 65 
 
 And from crag to mountain crag. 
 At the terror of his flag, 
 
 Arose a cry of warning, and a voice of loud alarm 
 That call'd the startled multitudes to gather and to 
 arm. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Every mountain summit had its beal-fire bright ; 
 All Argyll, ere sunset, crown' d its hills with light, 
 And from Morven to Cantyre, 
 Lit the chain of signal fire ; 
 From Cantyre to Cowal's coast 
 Blazed a warning of the host 
 
 Of savage Norse invaders that to spoil and harry 
 came, 
 
 With their lust and with their hunger — with the sword 
 and with the flame. 
 
 IX, 
 
 Glen call'd out to mountain — mount to moorland 
 brown ; 
 
 Village call'd to village, town gave voice to town ; — 
 
 And the bells in every tower 
 
 Rang the tocsin hour by hour, 
 
 Until old Dunedin heard, 
 
 And the Lothians three were stirr'd. 
 
66 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 And sent their yeomen westward to struggle hand to hand 
 For their wives, and for their children, for their home and 
 native land. 
 
 X. 
 
 Wives had no endearment for a laggard lord ; 
 Maidens had no love-looks and no kindly word 
 For the lover, who was slow 
 To march out against the foe. 
 Even maids themselves put on 
 Coat of mail and habergeon ; 
 
 Threw the snood off for the helmet, left the distaff for 
 the spear, 
 
 To die for sake of Scotland with a sire or lover dear. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Young King Alexander march'd his legions forth. 
 From eastward to the westward, from southward to the 
 north. 
 
 High his flashing falchion gleam VI, 
 In his blue eye valour beam'd, 
 In his heart high courage glow'd. 
 As in pride of youth he rode 
 
 With the flower of Scotland's people, to defend her 
 sacred soil, 
 
 And repel the Norse marauders that came down for 
 blood and spoil. 
 
THE INVASION OF THE NORSEMEN. 
 
 67 
 
 XII. 
 
 With him rode the Comyn, grown in battles gray, 
 With a thousand bowmen ready for the fray, 
 With a tongue to give command, 
 And a rough untiring hand ; 
 With a cheek in combat scarr'd. 
 And a soul to pity hard ; 
 
 When he drew his sword for battle, and flung away 
 the sheath. 
 
 It was death to him who struggled with the Comyn of 
 Monteith. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And the Bishop of St Andrews, a priest but in his name, 
 In his heart a soldier, with all his warriors came. 
 And the stalwart Earl of Fife 
 Led his vassals to the strife — 
 Full a thousand fighting men. 
 Strong of hand and sharp of ken. 
 And ready each to die at the bidding of their lord ; 
 But readier still for Scotland to draw the avenging 
 sword. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 From his northern mountains and his lochs afar, 
 March'd the Earl of Caithness, ready aye for w^ar, 
 
68 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 With his pibroch sounding shrill 
 To his clansmen of the hill ; 
 And the Earl of March, new wed, 
 Left his happy bridal bed 
 
 At the first war-cry of danger that broke upon his ears, 
 And join'd King Alexander with twice a thousand spears. 
 
 XV, 
 
 Thirsting for the conquest, eager for the fray, 
 Haco saird by Arran at the dawn of day. 
 But as up the firth of Clyde 
 He came proudly with the tide, 
 Rose a storm upon the deep, 
 And with wild and fitful sweep 
 
 Howl'd aloft amid the rigging; while the sun looked 
 
 pale and wan. 
 Through the clouds and driving vapours as the tempest 
 
 hurried on. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 To the ship of Haco came his stanchest men — 
 Holder, Sweno, Ratho, Hingst, and Innisfen, 
 Irminsule, and Loke, and Harr, 
 Each a chieftain fierce in war, 
 In the foray, hand to hand. 
 On the sea or on the land ; 
 
THE INVASION OF THE NORSEMEN. 
 
 69 
 
 Loving fighting more than counsel, blazing torch than 
 
 morning shine — 
 The foremost in the battle and the hindmost at the wine. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Short was Haco's counsel, and the signal flew 
 
 From captain on to captain, from crew again to crew, 
 
 That by Largs, ere noon of day, 
 
 They should land within the bay, — 
 
 And through all the ships there ran 
 
 A rejoicing, man with man. 
 
 That the hour had come at last when the sword might 
 
 leave its sheath. 
 And the cloth-yard shaft its quiver, for the revelry of 
 
 death. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Scotland's king was ready — Scotland's patriot men 
 Marshaird round their monarch from mountain and 
 
 from glen. 
 And from every height around 
 Seem'd to issue from the ground. 
 Thirty thousand men that day 
 Met the Norsemen in the bay, 
 
 And fought, but not for pillage, nor for glory in the strife, 
 But for God and for their country — for their freedom 
 and their life. 
 
70 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Loud the shock resounded on the battle-field, 
 
 Clink of sword and buckler, clang of spear and shield ; 
 
 Whirr of arrows in the blast, 
 
 On their errand flying fast ; 
 
 And a shouting loud and high, 
 
 And a shrill continuous cry, 
 
 From either side arising, as th' impetuous legions 
 met, 
 
 And the fresh greensward of Largs was with blood of 
 thousands wet. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Loud the voice of Haco sounded 'mid the fray, 
 
 Alexander's louder cheer' d the Scots that day ; 
 
 And the kings press'd on to meet 
 
 Through the arrows thick as sleet, 
 
 Through the living and the dead, 
 
 Holding high the dauntless head — 
 
 To fight in single combat, and struggle hand to hand 
 
 For the glory of the battle and the mastery of the land. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 And the fierce Earl Comyn sought the Norseman Harr ; 
 The Bishop singled Ratho from the ranks of war ; 
 And the Earls of March and Fife, 
 In the sharp contested strife, 
 
THE INVASION OF THE NORSEMEN. 
 
 71 
 
 Fought with Irminsule and Loke, 
 
 Thrust for thrust, and stroke for stroke ; 
 
 And the Earl of Caithness drove the haughty Innisfen 
 
 Back again into the ocean with a hundred of his men, 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Harr fell deadly wounded by the Comyn's blade ; 
 Ratho fled to seaward, faint and sore dismay'd ; 
 While Loke, with mortal wound, 
 Fell exhausted on the ground ; 
 And Hingst sank down to rest 
 With the death-shaft in his breast ; — 
 When a sudden panic seized on the whole Norwegian foe, 
 And they fled like flying dust, when the Norland tem- 
 pests blow. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Down upon them swooping in their sudden rout 
 Came King Alexander with exulting shout — 
 Crying, Strike for Scotland's sake, 
 And a bloody vengeance take 
 For the insult borne too long — 
 For the centuries of wrong — 
 
 For the murder and the ravage they have done within 
 our lands ; — 
 
 Down upon them, Scottish hearts ! Strike and spare not, 
 Scottish hands ! " 
 
72 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 XXIY. 
 
 Fighting, flying, struggling— with his scatter'd host 
 
 Haco saw despairing that the day was lost. 
 
 Of his twenty thousand men 
 
 Not a third were left him then, 
 
 The fearful tale to tell 
 
 Of the slaughter that befell ; 
 
 And Haco, iron-hearted, who had never wept before, 
 With his hands his pale face covered, and sobb'd upon 
 the shore. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Flying their pursuers, faint, with pallid lips, 
 Haco and his captains stagger' d to their ships, 
 And ere nightfall, many a one. 
 That had sail'd when day begun 
 As if life were in her sides 
 To defy the winds and tides, 
 
 Was driven before the tempest, her tall mast snapp'd 
 in twain, 
 
 A helpless wreck on Arran, ne'er to sail the seas again. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Through the Kyles, storm-batter'd, Haco held his way, 
 By Cantyre and Islay, on to Colonsay : 
 And when dawn'd the morning light 
 Not a vessel was in sight, 
 
THE INVASION OF THE NORSEMEN. 
 
 73 
 
 But his own ship scudding by 
 On the gloomy shore of Skye, 
 
 Dismantled 'mid the hurricane that still around him blew, 
 With danger all about him, and a spirit-broken crew. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Thus he sailed to Orkney ; but by night nor day, 
 To his men around him, did one word betray 
 All the anguish of his heart- 
 Though at times a sudden start, 
 And a short uneasy pace, 
 And the flushing of his face, 
 
 Show'd the grief and rage within him as he mourned 
 
 with silent lips 
 For his hope of conquest lost, for his sailors and his ships. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 In the bay of Kirkwall sheltered from the gales. 
 
 His sad crew dropp'd their anchor, and furFd the 
 
 tatter'd sails : 
 And the king was led on shore. 
 Weak and faint and spirit-sore, 
 Seeing — ^heeding — knowing naught 
 But his own despairing thought — 
 A thought of bitter shame, that he had not died that day, 
 With his face towards the mountains, in the thickest of 
 
 the fray. 
 
 J) 
 
74 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 To his couch they led him, once so bold and strong, 
 And they watch'd beside him, tenderly and long. 
 But all human care was vain 
 To relieve him of his pain ; 
 So the mighty Haco died 
 In his sorrow and his pride. 
 
 And they buried him in Orkney ; and Norsemen never 
 more 
 
 Set sail to harry Scotland, or plunder on her shore. 
 
THE VOICE OF FOYERS. 
 
 I. 
 
 Wet with the spray of this transcendant river, 
 Upon this crag with mosses eover'd o'er, 
 I love to stand and listen to the roar 
 
 Of waters bursting down the rocks for ever — 
 
 Dash'd into rainbows where the sunbeams quiver. — - 
 The sound of billows as they beat the shore, 
 Or thunder leaping on the hill-tops hoar, 
 
 Till the firm earth beneath its footstep shiver, 
 
 Is not more awful than thy flood, O Foyers ! 
 Roaring ^mid chasms like an escaping sea. 
 Alone, and silent, in thy presence vast, 
 
 Awed, yet elated, the rapt soul aspires, 
 Forgetting all its meaner longings past. 
 
 To hold high converse, intimate, with thee. 
 
76 
 
 THE VOICE OF FOYERS. 
 
 II. 
 
 Yes ! all unmindful of the world without — 
 
 My spirit with thee, and mine eyes in thrall 
 To thy great beauty, swathing me about — 
 
 To me thy voice breathes peace, majestic fall ! 
 
 Envy and pride, and warring passions all — 
 Hatred and scorn, and littleness of mind, 
 And all the mean vexations of mankind. 
 
 Fade from my spirit at thy powerful call. 
 I stand before thee, reverent and dumb. 
 And hear thy voice discoursing to my soul 
 
 Sublime orations tuned to psalmody — 
 High thoughts of peril met and overcome. 
 
 Of Power and Beauty and Eternity, 
 And the great God who bade thy waters roll. 
 
FOYERS BEFORE THE FALL. 
 
 Ere this commotion wakens in thy breast, 
 
 Or these stern rocks call forth thy hidden powers, 
 How gently, Foyers, thou passest all thine hours ! 
 
 Now loitering where the linnet builds its nest, 
 
 Or in green meadows where the cattle rest 
 Lingering, and singing to the birken bowers. 
 And heather-bells, and all the woodland flowers 
 
 That bare their bosoms to the fragrant west. 
 
 So the great minds that soar to heights sublime. 
 And win in peril all the world's applause 
 
 By thoughts of wisdom and courageous deeds, 
 
 Are aye the same that, in a calmer time. 
 Conform them to the sweet domestic laws, 
 And sport with happy children in the meads. 
 
THE PLANTING OF THE ACORNS. 
 DARNAWAY FOREST. 
 
 I* 
 
 Upon this bare unshelter'd ground 
 
 The living germs we strew, 
 And pray for kindly summer suns, 
 
 And fertilizing dew. 
 Receive the Acorns, mother Earth, 
 
 And feed them year by year. 
 Till proud and high, towards the sky 
 Their lordly boughs they rear. 
 Winds, blow gently o'er them, 
 
 Rain, fall softly down. 
 Earth, enwrap them warmly 
 In thy bosom brown. 
 
 n. 
 
 Beneath the shadow of their leaves 
 The wanton birds shall play, 
 
 And lovers in the simimer eves 
 Shall sigh their hearts away ; 
 
THE PLANTING OF THE ACORNS. 
 
 Or sit together side by side 
 
 In solitary nooks, 
 To read in one another's eyes 
 The lore not learn'd in books. 
 Winds, blow gently o'er them, 
 
 Stars, look kindly through. 
 Fortune, smile upon them, 
 If their love be true. 
 
 III. 
 
 And here, in rural holidays, 
 
 The village girls shall sing 
 The simple rhymes of olden times, 
 
 While dancing in a ring. 
 Old men, upon the sward beneath, 
 
 Shall loiter in the sun. 
 With pipe and glass, and drowsy talk 
 Of all the deeds they've done. 
 Winds, blow gently o'er them. 
 
 Sunshine, gild their way, 
 Time, lay light thy fingers 
 On their heads of gray. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And when a hundred years have pass'd. 
 The oaks, grown old and hoar. 
 
 Shall serve to form some mighty fleet, 
 To guard our native shore. 
 
THE PLANTING OF THE ACORNS. 
 
 By trusty hearts in peril's hour, 
 
 Their flag shall be unfurl'd 
 To sound the fame of Britain's name 
 In thunder o'er the world. 
 Winds, blow gaily o'er them. 
 
 Calm thy rage, O sea ! 
 Bear thy burden proudly 
 On to victory ! 
 
THE KING'S SON. 
 
 I. 
 
 Why so sorrowful, my son ? Why so pallid and dis- 
 tressed ? 
 
 Why that look so woe-begone ? And that heaving of 
 the breast ? 
 
 Hast not wealth enough to spend On the joys thou 
 lovest best ? " 
 
 II. 
 
 " I have wealth enough to spend — All thy jewels and 
 thy gold, 
 
 All that usurers could lend. Piled before me fifty-fold, 
 Could not ease me of the pain That consumes me un- 
 controird." 
 
 m. 
 
 " Could not ease thee of thy pain ! Art thou longing for 
 the hour 
 
 When thy sire shall cease to reign, And thine enemies 
 shall cower ? 
 
 Art thou longing for my crown, And my sceptre and 
 my power ? 
 
 D 2 
 
82 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 IV. 
 
 No ! — I care not for thy crown, Nor thy sceptre, nor 
 thy state, 
 
 Could my wishes cast thee down Thou shoiildst flourish 
 
 high and great ; 
 But thou'st done me mortal wrong, And hast changed 
 
 my love to hate. 
 
 V. 
 
 Thou hast done me mortal wrong — Thou, so feeble, old, 
 and gray — 
 
 Thou so weak, w^hilst I am strong, Thou hast stolen my 
 bride away. 
 
 And art rival of thy son, In the waning of thy day : 
 
 VI. 
 
 Art the rival of thy son For a maid that he adored ; — 
 Hast her trusting heart undone, Though she wept and 
 
 she implored ; — 
 But she hates thee as do I, Thou voluptuous — thou ab- 
 
 horr'd ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 But she hates thee as do I, O thou rust upon the steel ! 
 O thou cloud upon the sky ! O thou poison at the meal ! 
 Who hast changed our joy to woe. Which no time can 
 ever heal ! 
 
THE KINa'S SON. 83 
 VIII. 
 
 Who has changed our joy to woe, Bringing blight 
 upon her heart — 
 Bringing tears that, as they flow, Burn the eyeballs where 
 they start : 
 
 Buying beauty for a price, Like a jewel in the mart. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " Buying beauty for a price, When the priceless gem 
 was mine ; 
 
 When thy blood is cold as ice. Nor can warm with love 
 nor wine, 
 
 Trying vainly to be young, And to kneel at Beauty's 
 shrine. 
 
 X. 
 
 Trying vainly to be young. When thy limbs with palsy 
 shake, 
 
 And to woo with flattering tongue, When for Jesus' 
 blessed sake 
 
 Thou shouldst make thy peace with God, Ere the grave 
 thy body take ! '' 
 
 XI. 
 
 Fiercely flash'd the old king's eye — To his forehead rush'd 
 the blood— 
 
84 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 And the veins were swollen high By the anger-driven 
 flood ; 
 
 But his tongue refused to speak, And he trembled where 
 he stood. 
 
 XII. 
 
 But his tongue refused to speak All the madness of his 
 brain ; 
 
 From his eyes it seem'd to reek, On his lips it curFd in 
 pain ; 
 
 In each feature of his face Swell'd in anger and disdain. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 In each feature of his face Shone a moment, like a fire, 
 But no longer : from his place Falling, conquered by his ire, 
 Senseless on the ground he lay. Struck by apoplexy dire. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 O'er him bent his sorrowing son, Weeping tears of bitter 
 woe. 
 
 For the ill his words had done To his father lying low, 
 With his venerable head, And his long hair white as snow. 
 
 XV. 
 
 And that venerable head. Burning, throbbing, up he 
 raised, 
 
THE king's son. 
 
 85 
 
 On his knees, as on a bed, And till succour came, still 
 gazed 
 
 On that pain-distorted cheek, Awed, remorseful, and 
 amazed. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Awed, remorseful, and heart-sore. But with courage calm 
 and kind, 
 
 To his couch his sire he bore. Deep repentance in his 
 mind ; 
 
 And for many a weary day, Watch'd him patient and 
 resigned. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And for many a weary day. And for many a dreary night, 
 Watch'd beside him, as he lay — Senseless — speechless — 
 
 hopeless quite. 
 Until sense one day return'd Like a sudden flash of light. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Like a flash of light it came ; And his son beside him 
 knelt, 
 
 Grasp'd his hand and breathed his name. And the sor- 
 row that he felt, 
 
 Whisper'd lowly, and implored That forgiveness might 
 be dealt. 
 
86 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Whispered lowly, and implored— Oh, forgive me, sire/^ 
 he said — 
 
 I am sad and self-abhorr'd — I have wrong'd thine 
 aged head, 
 
 I have mock'd thy hoary hair, Impulse-driven and pas- 
 sion-led. 
 
 XX. 
 
 " I have mock'd the hoary hair Of a sire that loved me 
 well. 
 
 But when goaded to despair Youthful passion will rebel, 
 And I loved this lovely maid More than tongue can ever 
 tell. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 God forgive me and the maid ! At her feet I breathed 
 my sighs — 
 
 Doated on her, vow'd and pray'd — Drew existence from 
 her eyes. 
 
 Thought her love a light from heaven. And her smile a 
 paradise. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Thought her love a light from heaven, And her form its 
 purest shrine. 
 
THE kino's son. 
 
 87 
 
 And my being only given That with hers it might en- 
 twine 
 
 Heart and soul and every sense, Mine with hers and 
 hers with mine. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Heart and soul, through every sense, One as long as 
 life should last, 
 One desire, one love intense — In one mould of fortune 
 cast ; 
 
 Undivided in our love. E'en if life itself were pass'd. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Undivided — oh, that thought ! Thou, O father ! came 
 between. 
 
 For thy wife my bride thou sought — Woo'd this maid 
 
 to be a queen. 
 Never asking, in thy pride, What her agony might mean. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Never asking, in thy pride. If she loved thee ! '' — Oh, 
 my son ! " 
 
 Stung with grief the father cried, " Pardon what thy 
 
 sire has done ; 
 Ere this night Fll give thee back Her thou hast not lost 
 
 but won. 
 
88 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " Ere this night Til give thee back Her thou lovest ; — as 
 for me, 
 
 If I writhe upon the rack. Just my punishment will 
 be ; 
 
 I was selfish in my age, I was heartless unto thee. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 I was selfish in my age — Lustful, callous, stony-hard ; 
 Ending life's long pilgrimage. Swaddled in my self- 
 regard ; 
 
 Caring not, so I enjoy 'd. Whose enjoyment I debarred. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 " Caring not, so I enjoy'd. Whom I injured, whom op- 
 prest. 
 
 Whose the hope that I destroyed, If one moment I were 
 blest. 
 
 But in living to repent, I shall die with calmer breast. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 And in living to repent, Let me hasten to atone. 
 She for whom thy prayers are sent — She is thine, and 
 thine alone. 
 
 And thy love shall be to her Better guerdon than my 
 throne. 
 
THE king's son. 
 
 89 
 
 XXX. 
 
 ^' Bring, her hither — let my tongue Bless ye both before 
 I die/' 
 
 He has brought her. Lo, among Chiefs and earls of 
 lineage high, 
 
 In her loveliness array'd, She has glided modestly. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 In her loveliness array'd, Downwards looking, mild and 
 meek, 
 
 Dazzling as a star, the maid, Happy blushes on her cheek. 
 Kneels beside the old man's bed, Fill'd with joy she can- 
 not speak. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Kneels beside the old king's bed. Sorrow mingling with 
 her bliss ; 
 
 And he stoops his aged head, On her forehead seals one kiss, 
 Takes his son's hand and the maid's. Joins them, trem- 
 bling, both in his. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Clasp'd his son's hand in his own. Then upon his pillow fell, 
 And his eyes one moment shone With a peace unspeak- 
 able. 
 
 As he died without a groan ; — Holy angels guard him 
 well! 
 
ANNIE OF LOCHLINNHE, 
 
 I. 
 
 Fair Annie by Loclilinnlie side 
 Was neither maiden nor a bride ; 
 She wander'd weary all the day. 
 And thought of Allan far away. 
 The saddest of Argyle's fair daughters, 
 
 All desolate and lorn was she ; 
 From Appin woods, by Linnhe's waters, 
 
 She watched each vessel on the sea ; 
 And thus she sang the livelong day, 
 
 " Woe's me — woe's me V 
 
 II. 
 
 " I dread the time, ye wild woods bare. 
 When ye shall flourish green and fair ; 
 Ye happy birds that wake the spring, 
 Sad shall I be when next ye sing. 
 For then my shame, no longer hidden, 
 The hard unfeeling world will see ; 
 
ANNIE OF LOCHLINNHE. 
 
 And scom'd of all, disgraced and chidden, 
 
 A very by-word I shall be, 
 And weep and sigh the livelong day 
 Woe's me — woe's nie.'^ 
 
 III. 
 
 But with the flowers and spring-time rain. 
 Should my false love return again. 
 Then should his presence cure my smart 
 And birds make music to my heart. 
 Should Allan come to soothe my sadness, 
 
 And love my little babe and me. 
 My soul would re-awake to gladness, 
 
 And all the earth be fair to see ; 
 And I no more would weep and sigh 
 " Woe's me — woe's me." 
 
 IV. 
 
 But ere the trees put on their leaf. 
 Fair Annie had no cause for grief — 
 From Orkney to Lochlinnhe side. 
 Came Allan thinking of a bride. 
 She was both bonnie and true-hearted. 
 
 And if she'd sinn'd, more blameful he ; 
 He took her hand — " We've long been parted, 
 
 To-morrow shall our bridal be." 
 And Annie never sigh'd again 
 
 " Woe's me — woe's me." 
 
THE WITCH OF SKEREIEVORE. 
 
 I. 
 
 We were sisters, sisters seven — 
 The fairest women under heaven ; *' 
 One was calm, serene, and fair — 
 One had locks of auburn hair — 
 One had lips like parted cherries — 
 One had cheeks like autumn berries — 
 One had eyes where pity glow'd — 
 One a smile where love abode ; 
 Comely, ruddy, graceful, tall ; 
 And I the fairest of them all. 
 
 II. 
 
 Oh my sisters ! — sisters sweet, 
 Dancing with their nimble feet, 
 Mingling voices all the day 
 In a happy roundelay, 
 
THE WITCH OF SKERRIEVORE. 
 
 Wreathing flowers to bind their hair, 
 With their smiles dispelling care, 
 Scattering pleasures as they went. 
 To the world's enravishment, 
 Oh my sisters ! oh their fall ; 
 Love destroyed them one and all ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Fairest blossoms of our clime, 
 They were blighted ere their time : 
 One was sear'd by slander's breath — 
 One, too loving, pined to death — 
 One, deceived, and smitten low, 
 In her madness lost her woe — 
 One, we thought a maiden mild. 
 In her frenzy slew her child — 
 One, with hopes and passions strong, 
 Lived for vengeance, but not long : 
 I alone escaped their fall — 
 I alone, amid them all. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Never have I loved a man ; 
 Never will I — never can ; 
 Smile, nor tear, nor passion-word 
 Never yet my heart has stirred ; 
 
LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 Never shall they : Hate is free — 
 Love abides in slavery. 
 I have other joys than this — 
 Hotter pleasures, fiercer bliss, 
 As upon the winds I go, 
 Flying, floating to and fro ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Up in the air ! up in the air ! 
 In foul weather and in fair. 
 I have made a compact free 
 With the spirits of air and sea, 
 To do my bidding willingly. 
 I can ride the fleetest wind, 
 And leave the lazy clouds behind, 
 Or swim the surf where breakers roar 
 Amid the rocks of Skerrievore, 
 Working mischief as I go. 
 Floating, flying to and fro ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Up in the air ! up in the air ! 
 
 Before the watchman is aware ! 
 
 I love to rattle the chimneys down, 
 
 And rock the belfries of the town ; 
 
 Oh, ^tis sweet o'er field and copse 
 
 To rush from the barren mountain-tops, 
 
THE WITCH OF SKERRIEVORE. 
 
 To strip the garden of flower and fruit — 
 To scatter the pine-trees branch and root — 
 To loosen the wreaths of drifted snow, 
 And roll the avalanche below. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Oh, 'tis sweet to ride the blast, 
 To rend the sail from the creaking mast- 
 To dash the billows amid the shrouds — 
 To hide the moon in the driving clouds — 
 To sweep the sailor from the deck, 
 And cast his ship on the rocks a WTeck, 
 And drown his last expiring cry- 
 In the howl of tempests rushing by. 
 
 villi 
 
 Up in the air ! up in the air ! 
 
 I avenge my sisters fair ; 
 
 On mankind I vent my wrath, 
 
 Strewing dangers in his path. 
 
 For this IVe made a compact free 
 
 With the powers of air and sea. 
 
 That I shall rue eternally ! 
 
 But hate is joy — and this is mine. 
 
 To ride the wind, to sail the brine. 
 
 And work fierce mischief as I go, 
 
 Floating, flying to and fro. 
 
LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 IX. 
 
 Ye that sail the stormy seas 
 
 Of the distant Hebrides, 
 
 By Scarba's rock, and Colonsay, 
 
 And Old lona's Minster gray, 
 
 By far Tiree, the flowery isle, 
 
 And StafFa's wond'rous cave and pile, 
 
 By Jura, with her treble hills, 
 
 And Skye, far looming, seam'd with rill 
 
 By barren Mull and Ulva's shore, 
 
 Beware the Witch of Skerrievore ! 
 
THE LADY OF DUART'S VENGEANCE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Weird woman, that dvvellest on lofty Ben More, 
 Give ear to my sorrow, and aid, I implore. 
 A lady has come from the green sunny bowers 
 Of a far southern clime, to the mountains of ours ; 
 A light in her eyes, but deceit in her heart, 
 And she lingers and lingers, and will not depart. 
 
 II. 
 
 Through darkness and danger, 'mid tempest and rain, 
 She has sail'd to our shores from the cities of Spain, 
 Forsaking her country, her kindred, her home. 
 Abroad through our cold Western islands to roam. 
 To find a young lover as fair to her sight 
 As a gallant she saw in the dreams of the night. 
 
 III. 
 
 " And hither by stars unpropitious convey' d, 
 
 She has come, in her gems and her beauty array'd, 
 
 E 
 
98 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES, 
 
 With a tongue full of sweetness — a heart insincere, 
 And wielding at will both the smile and the tear ; 
 And fix'd her bright eyes on the chief of Maclean, 
 To toy with his heart, and bewilder his brain. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And I, who was once the delight of his soul, 
 Ere s}ie like a blight on niy happiness stole, 
 Now wander through Duart, neglected and lorn, 
 Of a stranger the scoff — of my maidens the scorn ; 
 With a grief in my bosom that gnaws to the core, 
 And a fire in my brain that will burn evermore : 
 
 V. 
 
 Unless thou wilt aid me with charm and with spell. 
 To gain back the heart I have cherish'd so well. 
 And rid me of her who with art the most vile 
 Has poison'd my peace with her glozing and guile ; — 
 I hate her with hatred intense as despair, 
 Yet murder's a guilt that my soul cannot bear." 
 
 VI. 
 
 Be calm, craven spirit ! On me be the guilt. 
 No poison shall rack her, no blood shall be spilt. 
 Till my hair has turn'd gray, and my blood has grown 
 thin, 
 
 I have dwelt on Ben More with the spirits of sin ; 
 
THE LADY OF DUART'S VENGEANCE. 
 
 99 
 
 And have learn'd by their aid without weapons to kill, 
 And can blast by a look, and destroy by my will. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Were the good ship, the Florida, far on the seas, 
 I'd whirl her and toss her, like chaff on the breeze ; 
 And far on some cliff, where the storms ever roar, 
 And aid could not reach them, I'd drive them ashore ; 
 And the wanton Fd seize by her long raven locks, 
 And drag her to death at the foot of the rocks. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 ^' But safe from all danger of winds and of tides, 
 
 In calm Tobermory at anchor she rides ; 
 
 But peril may come 'mid security deep, 
 
 And vengeance may wake when the world is asleep ; 
 
 And strong though her timbers — her haven secure, 
 
 The hand of revenge, though unseen, shall be sure/' 
 
 IX. 
 
 Serene was the night, and unruffled the bay, 
 Not a breath stirr'd the deep where the Florida lay ; 
 Her broad azure pennant hung breezeless on high. 
 And her thin taper masts pointed clear to the sky ; 
 And the moonlight that fell on the breast of the deep 
 Appear' d like the charm that had lull'd it to sleep. 
 
100 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 / 
 
 X. 
 
 The cabin-boy dream'd of the vineyards of Spain, 
 
 Or roam'd with a maiden at sunset again ; 
 
 The sailor, in fancy, was dancing afar, 
 
 In his own native land, to the graceful guitar ; 
 
 Or bless'd with a household, in sleep, was restored 
 
 To the children he loved, and the wife he adored. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The fair Spanish lady in visions was blest : 
 
 She dream'd that, escaped from the isles of the West, 
 
 Her young Highland chief had consented to roam 
 
 To her far Andalusia, in search of a home ; 
 
 That together they dwelt in her own sunny clime. 
 
 Where life was not effort, and love was not crime, 
 
 XII. 
 
 None dream'd of the danger that round them might lurk ; 
 
 But in darkness and silence a spell was at work. 
 
 Conceal'd in the waters, at poop and at prow, 
 
 The agents of evil were busy below ; 
 
 And noiseless their labour, but certain their stroke, 
 
 Through her strong copper'd hull, and her timbers of oak. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And, long ere the morning, a loud sudden shriek 
 Washeard o'er thebay, " Sprung a leak! — sprung aleak ! " 
 
THE LADY OF DUART'S VENGEANCE. 101 
 
 Oh ! then there was gathering in tumult and fear, 
 And a blenching of cheeks, as the peril grew near. 
 A screaming of women — a cursing of men, 
 And a rushing and trampling, again and again. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 No time for leave-taking — no leisure to weep ; 
 In roll'd the fierce waters, and down to the deep — 
 Down, down, fifty fathoms, with captain and crew. 
 The Florida sank, with the haven in view ; — 
 Down, down to the bottom, escaping but one 
 To tell the sad tale of the deed that was done. 
 
 XV. 
 
 And he, as he battled for life with the tide, 
 
 Beheld the fair lady of Spain by his side ; 
 
 And a lank skinny hand, that came up through the spray 
 
 And twined in her tresses, as floating she lay ; 
 
 And heard the loud laughter of fiends in the air, 
 
 As she sank 'mid the waves with a shriek of despair. 
 
THE SHOAL OF WHALES. 
 
 I 
 
 Calm and unruffled is the bay, 
 There is not even a breath at play^ 
 To make a ripple in the sun, 
 That since this summer day begun, 
 Has shown the Hebridean isles 
 A cloudless visage, bright with smiles. 
 On the low rocks that fringe the sea, 
 The brown dulse welters lazily ; 
 The seagulls hovering, milky white, 
 Display their pinions to the light, 
 And dart and wheel with sudden cry. 
 Or drop like snow-flakes from the sky. 
 
 II. 
 
 The minister is in the manse, 
 His open Bible on his knees ; 
 
 His daughters in the garden walk. 
 And prune their stunted apple-trees, 
 By high walls shelter'd from the breeze, 
 
THE SHOAL OF WHALES. 
 
 103 
 
 That comes salt-laden from the beach ; 
 Or lift the tender floweret's stalk 
 
 That rains have beaten to the ground ; 
 Or guard their solitary peach 
 
 From birds, by network round. 
 
 III. 
 
 The fisher's wife beside her door 
 Sits mending nets, and crooning o'er 
 
 Some old sad Gaelic lay ; 
 And children paddle in the brine, 
 Or watch the fair white sails that shine 
 
 In sunlight o'er the bay, 
 Or hide and seek 'mid boats that lie 
 Keel upwards, on the beach to dry. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Peace broods upon that Western isle — 
 
 When a lone fisher on the sand. 
 Loitering along with vacant smile. 
 
 Suddenly stops, and with his hand 
 Shades his face from the light of the skies, 
 And summons his soul into his eyes, 
 To look if his sight deceived it not ; — 
 
 No ! — there ! — where sky and ocean blend, 
 He fixes his gaze upon the spot — 
 
 The glittering cascades ascend 
 
104 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 Twenty feet high — then rustle down 
 
 On the backs of the monsters, bare and brown ; 
 
 Again — and again — he sees them roll — 
 
 There are whales in the bay — a shoal ! a shoal ! 
 
 V. 
 
 In the fulness of his joy, his face 
 
 Reddens — and his quick eager shout, 
 Echoing over that silent place, 
 
 Calls the enquiring people out. 
 " The whales !" he cries — and to behold 
 Come the youthful and the old ; 
 Come the feeble and the strong ; 
 
 Men and women and girls ; with boys, 
 That whether for right, or whether for wrong, 
 
 Delight in the tumult and the noise ; 
 Rushing down with trampling feet. 
 And cries that the echoing hills repeat. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And now the uproar thicker grows — 
 From side to side the clapper goes 
 In the kirk bell, as if its power 
 Had been redoubled for this hour ; 
 As if in such a cause inspired, 
 
 It summon'd with gladness all its flock ; 
 
THE SHOAL OF WHALES. 
 
 105 
 
 And flags are waved, and guns are fired, 
 
 And bonfires kindled on the rock ; 
 And that lone isle of the Western sea 
 Prepares for a day of jubilee. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Leviathan ! Leviathan ! " 
 
 The minister cries, and shuts his book ; 
 And though a man of peace is he, 
 As a preacher of the Word should be, 
 
 He takes his musket from a nook. 
 Rusty and old ; and hastes away 
 To join his people in the bay. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 His daughters fair have saddled their steeds, 
 Two young ponies sleek and brown ; 
 
 And with flashing eyes and streaming hair, 
 And heads uncover'd, have galloped down 
 
 To see the sport — perchance to share. 
 
 Old men have left their usual place 
 
 By warm firesides, to join the chase, 
 
 And one bedridden, half- crazy soul 
 Has started up at the people's roar, 
 
 And the joyous cry " a shoal ! a shoal ! 
 
 And hobbled on crutches to his door^ 
 
 E 2 
 
106 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 To envy the limbs of the passers-by, 
 And watch the sport with kindling eye. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The women have left their spinning-wheeb 
 
 Their hose, their nets, their fishing-creels, 
 
 And arm'd themselves with pikes and staves 
 
 To follow the monsters of the waves. 
 
 Fifty boats at least are ready — 
 
 With rowers strong and helmsmen steady, 
 
 To drive the whales into shallow water, 
 
 And dye the beach with the blood of slaughter. 
 
 X. 
 
 Merrily ring the bells — 
 
 Merrily wave the flags — 
 Merrily shout the people 
 
 That watch upon the crags. 
 Merrily row the boats — 
 
 Merrily swell the sails — 
 And merrily go the islanders 
 
 To chase the mighty whales. 
 And quietly prays the preacher 
 
 For a blessing and reward 
 Upon harpoon and musket, 
 
 Upon the spear and sword, 
 
THE SHOAL OF WHALES. 
 
 That shall slay the great Leviathan, 
 For the glory of the Lord. 
 
 XI. 
 
 And steady — steady — steady — 
 
 Until their backs appear ; 
 And ready — ready — ready — 
 
 With the musket and the spear ! 
 Behold the spouts upheaving — 
 Their sides the water cleaving — 
 A shot is fired — and a sudden roar 
 Proclaims approval on the shore ; 
 And barb*d harpoons with lengthening twine 
 Are launched unerring o'er the brine, 
 And the water-spouts, that a minute ago 
 Were clear as the discongealing snow, 
 Rise ruddy in air like founts of wine ; — 
 And the wounded whales, in their agony, 
 Plunge in fury through the sea, 
 And lash the waters into froth, 
 Blood-crimson'd by their pain and wrath. 
 
 XII. 
 
 In vain ye struggle — luckless whales ; — 
 
 Your numbers were a score — 
 But ten of you shall not escape 
 
 To swim the salt seas more. 
 
108 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 For ye have come to a needy land, 
 
 And to a perilous shore, 
 Where they will turn your bones to wealtli — 
 
 Make coinage of your spoil, 
 And give their virgins when they wed 
 
 A dowry of your oil ; — 
 Where men will sit around their hearths. 
 
 Reposing from their toil, 
 And long that every day may see 
 Such slaughter and such revelry. 
 
 XIIL 
 
 Again — again — the muskets ring, 
 And scare the sea-birds on the wing ; 
 And not a shot is fired this day 
 That fails to reach its mark — and slay. 
 Strong hands impel the heavy spear, 
 
 Or drive the double-edged harpoon ; 
 And the fair bay, whose waters clear 
 
 Were stainless underneath the moon, 
 Shall roll to-night a darker flood. 
 And see its billows streaked with blood. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 ' Tis done — the unequal strife is o'er — 
 The dying whales are driven ashore ; 
 And long ere setting of the sun, 
 
THE SHOAL OF WHALES. 
 
 109 
 
 Their carcasses are hauled to land ; 
 Where, stretch' d unwieldy on the sand, 
 
 Men count the prizes they have won — 
 Twelve monsters huge, whose bones shall bring 
 
 Enjoyment for the wintry nights, 
 Whose oil shall make the wretched sing, 
 
 And fill the needy with delights. 
 And round about the children go, 
 With gladness fill'd to overflow, 
 To hear the joyous bells resound. 
 And see the bonfires blazing round. 
 
 XV. 
 
 This night shall mirth be unrestrainM, 
 Its blood in quicker pulses driven ; 
 
 And many a flowing cup be drained. 
 And many a loving pledge be given ; 
 
 And even the minister himself 
 
 Shall lay his Bible on the shelf. 
 
 And join his elders o'er a bowl 
 
 To drink a welcome to the shoal. 
 
 And every dweller in the isle 
 
 Shall hold a festival the while, 
 
 And mark, in memory's tablets cleai*, 
 
 This day the fairest of the year. 
 
THE WRAITH OF GARRY WATER. 
 
 I. 
 
 Go, Evan ! go ; — the heart you swore 
 In weal and woe alike to cherish, 
 YouVe broken by your cold deceit, 
 And thrown upon the world to perish, 
 
 II. 
 
 A woman's curse is hard to bear — 
 But may be sooth'd, if love endeavour ; 
 But the curse of a man with hoary hair, 
 It weighs upon the soul for ever. 
 
THE WRAITH OF GARRY WATER. 
 
 Ill 
 
 III. 
 
 " And for the wrong that you have done, 
 Upon your head all sorrow gather. 
 
 And in your soul, for evermore. 
 Deep sink the curses of a father ! " 
 
 IV. 
 
 The old man bared his gray, gray head, 
 And clasp'd his withered hands together ; 
 
 And Evan curl'd his lip in scorn, 
 
 And rode his way across the heather. 
 
 v. 
 
 Why should I heed this dotard's words ? 
 The needle from the pole will vary — 
 And time will wear, and hearts will change ; — 
 I love no more his bonnie Mary. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I trust that happy she may be, 
 Nor pine with sorrow overladen ; 
 And she may love another man, 
 And I will love another maiden.'' 
 
 VII. 
 
 The night was fair — the moon was up — 
 The wind blew low among the gowans ; 
 
 Or fitful rose o'er Athol woods, 
 
 And shook the berries from the rowans. 
 
112 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And Evan rode through Garry strath, 
 And quite forgot the old man's daughter ; 
 
 And when he came to Garry stream, 
 It ran a red and roaring water. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The summer rains had fallen fast, 
 
 The voice of streams made music merry ; 
 
 And brae-side burnies leap'd and danced, 
 And mingled in the tide of Garry. 
 
 X. 
 
 And Bruar raised a joyful shout, 
 
 And Tilt to Ben-Y-Gloe resounded ; 
 
 And Tummel in the pride of strength, 
 Down to his fall, rejoicing, bounded. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Green were the birks on Garry braes. 
 
 Soft through their leaves the moon was peeping ; 
 And 'mid the heather on the rock. 
 
 There sat a bonnie maiden weeping. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Her kirtle seem'd of velvet green ; 
 
 Her robes were azure, loosely flowing ; 
 Her eyes shone bright amid her tears ; 
 
 Her lips were fresh as go wans growing. 
 
THE WRAITH OF GARRY WATER. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " What brings thee here, my lily-flower ? 
 
 High on the strath the storm-winds tarry 
 The night is chill — the hour is late ; — 
 
 Why weep'st thou by the banks of Garry 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The maiden raised her tearful eyes, 
 x\nd with her silvery voice replying, 
 
 Said, smoothing back her yellow locks, 
 And speaking low, and deeply sighing : — 
 
 XV. 
 
 Though dark and swift the waters pour, 
 Yet here I wait in dool and sorrow ; 
 For bitter fate must I endure. 
 
 Unless I pass the stream ere morrow. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Oh ! aid me in this deep distress. 
 Nor seek its causes to unravel ; 
 My strength, alas ! is weak at best, 
 And I am worn with toil and travel." 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Though swift," said Evan, is the flood. 
 My good bay mare is strong and steady ; 
 So trust thee, lassie, to my care. 
 
 And quickly mount and make thee ready. 
 
114 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " For one glance of those eyes of blue, 
 Tliy bonnie burden I will carry ; 
 
 For one kiss of those honey lips, 
 
 rU guide thee o'er the raging Garry. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " What is it ails my good bay mare ? 
 
 What is it makes her start and shiver ? 
 She sees a Kelpie in the stream, 
 
 Or fears the rushing of the river. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Ah, coward jade ! but heed her not, 
 
 For, maiden dear, we may not tarry ; — 
 The beast has swum a swifter flood ; 
 111 see thee safely through the Garry." 
 
 XXI. 
 
 They mounted on the good bay mare — 
 But vainly Evan strove to guide her ; 
 
 Through all her frame a terror crept — 
 She trembled at her bonnie rider. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Then as she heard the maiden's voice, 
 And felt her gentle fingers pat her. 
 
 She gave a neigli as loud and shrill 
 As if an evil sprite had sat lier. 
 
THE WRAITH OF GARRY WATER. 
 
 115 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 And with a desperate bound she sprang 
 High from the bank into the current ; 
 
 While sounds of laughter seem'd to mix 
 Amid the roaring of the torrent, 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 The waters rush'd in eddying whirls, 
 
 And dash'd the foam-drops o'er the heather ; 
 
 And winds, that seem'd asleep till then, 
 Let loose their fury altogether. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Down — down — th' awaken'd tempest blew — 
 And faster down, the flood came pouring- - 
 
 And horse and riders, overwhelm'd. 
 Sank 'mid the rush of waters roaring. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 But on the surface of the flood, 
 
 Her yellow locks with spray-fall dripping. 
 The maiden with the kirtle green 
 
 And azure robes came lightly tripping. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 And now she sank, now rose again, 
 
 And dash'd the waves in rain-like shiver ; 
 
 Then lay afloat, or tiptoe stood 
 
 Upon the foam-bells of the river :— 
 
116 
 
 LEGENDS OF THE ISLES. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 And laugh' d the while, and clapp'd her hands — 
 
 Until at last the storm subsided, 
 When, like a gleam of parting light, 
 
 Away upon the mist she glided. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 And Evan's corpse at morn was found, 
 Far down by Tummel, pale and mangled, 
 
 His features bruised by jutting rocks. 
 His auburn curls with gore entangled. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Few were the mourners at his grave, 
 
 But 'mid them two, a sire and daughter ; 
 
 And loud she sobb*d, and loud she wept. 
 Though tenderly her sire besought her. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 He loved me, — and he did me wrong," 
 She said, " and darken'd all my morrow ; 
 But in his grave Resentment sleeps, 
 
 While Love survives to feed on sorrow.'* 
 
SONGS AND POEMS. 
 
 rioAXflCf 5' ooovg iXdouToc (p^ourlhog TrXauoig. 
 
 Sophocles. 
 
THE STRUGGLE FOR FAME. 
 
 ADVICE TO AN ASPIRANT. 
 
 If thou wouldst win a lasting fame ; 
 
 If thou th' immortal wreath wouldst claim, 
 
 And make the Future bless thy name ; 
 
 Begin thy perilous career ; — 
 
 Keep high thy heart, thy conscience clear ; — 
 
 And walk thy way without a fear. 
 
 And if thou hast a voice within, 
 That ever whispers, Work and win,'^ 
 And keeps thy soul from sloth and sin : 
 
 If thou canst plan a noble deed, 
 
 And never flag till it succeed. 
 
 Though in the strife thy heart should bleed : 
 
THE STRUGGLE FOR FAME. 
 
 If thou canst struggle day and night, 
 And, in the envious world's despite, 
 Still keep thy cynosure in sight : 
 
 If thou canst bear the rich man's scorn 
 Nor curse the day that thou wert born, 
 To feed on husks, and he on corn : 
 
 If thou canst dine upon a crust, 
 And still hold on with patient trust, 
 Nor pine that Fortun • 's unjust : 
 
 If thou canst see. with tranquil breast. 
 The knave or fool in pur];le dress'd, 
 Whilst thou must wall in tatter'd vest 
 
 If thou canst rise ere 1 eak of day, 
 And toil and moil till evening gray, 
 At thankless work, for scanty pay : 
 
 If in thy progress to renown, 
 
 Thou canst endure the ^coOf and frown 
 
 Of those who strive to pull thee down : 
 
 If thou canst bear th' averted face, 
 The gibe, or treacherous embrace, 
 Of those who run the selfsame race : 
 
THE STRUGGLE FOR FAME. 
 
 121 
 
 If thou in darkest days canst find 
 An inner brightness in thy mind, 
 To reconcile thee to thy kind : — 
 
 Whatever obstacles control, 
 
 Thine hour will come — go on — true soul ! 
 
 Thou It win the prize, thou'lt reach the goal. 
 
 If not — what matters ? tried by fire, 
 
 And purified from low desire, 
 
 Thy spirit shall but soar the higher. 
 
 Content and hope thy heart shall buoy, 
 And men's neglect shall ne'er destroy 
 Thy secret peace, thy inward joy. 
 
 But if so bent on worldly fame. 
 That thou must gild thy living name, 
 And snatch the honours of the game, 
 
 And hast not strength to watch and pray. 
 To seize thy time and force thy way, 
 By some new combat every day : 
 
 If failure might thy soul oppress. 
 And fill thy veins with heaviness. 
 And make thee love thy kind the less ; 
 
 F 
 
122 THE STRUGGLE FOR FA^IE. 
 
 Thy fame might rivalry forestall. 
 And thou let tears or curses fall, 
 Or turn thy wholesome blood to gall ; — 
 
 Pause ere thou tempt the hard career — 
 Thou'lt find the conflict too severe, 
 And heart will break and brain will sear. 
 
 Content thee with a meaner lot ; 
 
 Go plough thy field, go build thy cot, 
 
 Nor sigh that thou must be forgot. 
 
THE FOUNDING OF THE BELL 
 
 [music by HENKY RUSSELL.] 
 
 I. 
 
 Hark ! how the furnace pants and roars, 
 Hark ! how the molten metal pours, 
 As, bursting from its iron doors, 
 
 It glitters in the sun. 
 Now through the ready mould it flows, 
 Seething and hissing as it goes. 
 And filling every crevice up 
 As the red vintage fills the cup : 
 
 Hurra ! the work is done ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Unswathe him now. Take ofi* each stay 
 That binds him to his couch of clay, 
 And let him struggle into day : 
 
 Let chain and pulley run, 
 
324 
 
 THE FOUNDING OF THE BELL. 
 
 With yielding crank and steady rope, 
 Until he rise from rim to co-pe, 
 In rounded beauty, ribVd in strength, 
 Without a flaw in all his length : 
 
 Hurra ! the work is done 1 
 
 III. 
 
 The clapper on his giant side 
 
 Shall ring no peal for blushing bride, 
 
 For birth, or death, or new-year tide, 
 
 Or festival begun ! 
 A nation's joy alone shall be 
 The signal for his revelry ; 
 And for a nation's woes alone 
 His melancholy tongue shall moan : 
 
 Hurra ! the tvork is done ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Borne on the gale, deep-toned and clear. 
 His long loud summons shall we hear, 
 When statesmen to their country dear 
 
 Their mortal race have run : 
 When mighty monarchs yield their breath, 
 And patriots sleep the sleep of death, 
 Then shall he raise his voice of gloom, 
 And peal a requiem o'er their tomb : 
 Hurra ! the tcork is done ! 
 
THE FOUNDING OF THE BELL. 
 
 125 
 
 V. 
 
 Should foemen lift their haughty hand, 
 And dare invade us where we stand, 
 Fast by the altars of our land 
 
 Well gather every one : 
 And he shall ring the loud alarm, 
 To call the multitudes to arm, 
 From distant field and forest brown, 
 And teeming alleys of the town : 
 
 Hurra ! the work is done ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 And as the solemn boom they hear, 
 Old men shall grasp the idle spear, 
 Laid by to rust for many a year, 
 
 And to the struggle run ; 
 Young men shall leave their toils or books, 
 Or turn to swords their pruning-hooks ; 
 And maids have sweetest smiles for those 
 Who battle with their country's foes ; 
 
 Hurra ! the work is done ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 And when the cannon's iron throat 
 Shall bear the news to dells remote, 
 xVnd trumpet-blast resound the note. 
 That victory is won : 
 
THE FOUNDING OF THE BELL. 
 
 When down the wind the banner drops, 
 And bonfires blaze on mountain-tops, 
 His sides shall glow with fierce delight. 
 And ring glad peals from morn to night : 
 Hurra ! the work is done ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But of such scenes forbear to tell — 
 T\Iay never War awake this bell 
 To sound the tocsin or the knell. 
 
 Hush'd be the alarum gun. 
 Sheath'd be the sword ! and may his voice 
 But call the nations to rejoice 
 That War his tatter'd flag has furl'd, 
 And vanished from a wiser world. 
 
 Hurra! the work is done ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Still may he ring when struggles cease, 
 Still may he ring for joy's increase. 
 For progress in the arts of peace, 
 
 And friendly trophies won. 
 When rival nations join their hands, 
 When plenty crowns the happy lands, 
 When knowledge gives new blessings birth, 
 And freedom reigns o'er all the earth. 
 
 Hurra ! the loorh is done ! 
 
THE VOICE OF THE TIME, 
 
 I. 
 
 Day unto day utters S23eech — 
 Be wise, O ye nations ! and hear 
 What yesterday telleth to-day, 
 What to-day to the morrow will preach. 
 A change cometh over our sphere, 
 And the old goeth down to decay. 
 A new light hath dawn'd on the darkness of yore, 
 And men shall be slaves and oppressors no more. 
 
 II. 
 
 Hark to the throbbing of thought. 
 
 In the breast of the wakening world : — 
 Over land, over sea, it hath come. 
 The serf that was yesterday bought. 
 To-day his defiance hath hurl'd, 
 No more in his slavery dumb ; 
 And to-morrow will break from the fetters that bind. 
 And lift a bold arm for the rights of mankind. 
 
128 
 
 THE VOICE OF THE TIME. 
 
 III. 
 
 Hark to the voice of the Time ! 
 
 The multitude think for themselves, 
 And weigh their condition, each one. 
 The drudge has a spirit sublime, 
 And whether he hammers or delves. 
 He reads when his labour is done ; 
 And learns, though he groan under penury's ban. 
 That freedom to think is the birthright of man. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But yesterday thought was confined ; 
 To breathe it was peril or death. 
 
 And it sank in the breast where it rose ; — 
 Now, free as the midsummer wind. 
 It sports its adventurous breath. 
 And round the wide universe goes ; 
 The mist and the cloud from its pathway are curl'd, 
 And glimpses of sunshine illumine the world. 
 
 V. 
 
 The voice of opinion has grown ; 
 'Twas yesterday changeful and weak, 
 Like the voice of a boy ere his prime, 
 To-day it has taken the tone 
 Of an orator worthy to speak, 
 
 Who knows the demands of the time ; 
 
THE VOICE OF THE TIME, 
 
 129 
 
 And to-morrow 'twill sound in Oppression's cold ear 
 Like the trump of the seraph to startle our sphere. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Be wise, O ye rulers of earth ! 
 
 And shut not your ears to the voice, 
 Nor allow it to warn you in vain ; 
 True freedom, of yesterday's birth, 
 Will march on its way and rejoice. 
 And never be conquer'd again. 
 The day has a tongue — ay, the hours utter speech — 
 Wise, wise will ye be, if ye learn what they teach ! 
 
TUBAL CAIN. 
 
 [music by henry RUSSELL.] 
 
 I. 
 
 Old Tubal Cain was a man of might 
 
 In the days when earth was young ; 
 By the fierce red light of his furnace bright 
 
 The strokes of his hammer rung ; 
 And he lifted high his brawny hand 
 
 On the iron glowing clear. 
 Till the sparks rush'd out in scarlet showers, 
 
 As he fashion'd the sword and spear. 
 And he sang — Hurra for my handiwork I 
 
 Hurra for the spear and sword ! 
 Hurra for the hand that shall wield them well, 
 
 For he shall be king and lord !" 
 
TUBAL CAIN. 
 
 131 
 
 To Tubal Cain came many a one, 
 
 As he wrought by his roaring fire, 
 And each one pray'd for a strong steel blade 
 
 As the crown of his desire : 
 And he made them weapons sharp and strong, 
 
 Till they shouted loud for glee, 
 And gave him gifts of pearls and gold, 
 
 And spoils of the forest free. 
 And they sang — " Hurra for Tubal Cain, 
 
 Who hath given us strength anew ! 
 Hurra for the smith, hurra for the fire. 
 
 And hurra for the metal true I" 
 
 But a sudden change came o'er his heart 
 
 Ere the setting of the sun. 
 And Tubal Cain was fill'd with pain 
 
 For the evil he had done ; 
 He saw that men, with rage and hate, 
 
 Made war upon their kind, 
 That the land was red with the blood they shed, 
 
 In their lust for carnage blind. 
 And he said — Alas ! that ever I made, 
 
 Or that skill of mine should plan, 
 The spear and the sword for men whose joy 
 
 Is to slay their fellow-man !" 
 
132 
 
 TUBAL CAIN. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And for many a day old Tubal Cain 
 
 Sat brooding o'er liis woe ; 
 And his hand forbore to smite the ore, 
 
 And his furnace smoulder'd low. 
 But he rose at last with a cheerful face, 
 
 And a bright courageous eye, 
 And bared his strong right arm for work, 
 
 While the quick flames mounted high. 
 And he sang — " Hurra for my handiwork ! 
 
 And the red sparks lit the air ; 
 
 Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made 
 
 And he fashion'd the first ploughshare. 
 
 V. 
 
 And men, taught wisdom from the past. 
 
 In friendship join'd their hands. 
 Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall, 
 
 And ploughed the willing lands ; 
 And sang — " Hurra for Tubal Cain ! 
 
 Our stanch good friend is he ; 
 And for the ploughshare and the plough 
 
 To him our praise shall be. 
 But while oppression lifts its head, 
 
 Or a tyrant would be lord. 
 Though we may thank him for the ploiigli, 
 
 Vve'll not forget tlie sword I" 
 
LIFE'S COMPANIONS. 
 
 I. 
 
 When I set sail on Life's young voyage, 
 
 ' T was upon a stormy sea : 
 But to cheer me night and day. 
 Through the perils of the way. 
 
 With me went companions three — 
 Three companions kind and faithful, 
 
 Dearer far than friend or bride ; 
 Heedless of the stormy weather, 
 Hand in hand they came together. 
 
 Ever smiling at my side. 
 
 II. 
 
 One was Health, my lusty comrade, - 
 Cherry-cheek'd and stout of limb ; 
 
life's companions. 
 
 Though my board was scant of cheer, 
 And my drink but water clear, 
 
 I was thankful, bless'd with him. 
 One was mild-eyed Peace of Spirit, 
 
 Who, though storms the welkin swept, 
 Waking gave me calm reliance. 
 And though tempests howl'd defiance, 
 
 Smoothed my pillow when I slept. 
 
 III. 
 
 One was Hope, my dearest comrade, 
 
 Never absent from my breast, 
 Brightest in the darkest days. 
 Kindest in the roughest ways, 
 
 Dearer far than all the rest. 
 And though Wealth, nor Fame, nor Station, 
 
 Journey'd with me o'er the sea ; 
 Stout of heart, all danger scorning. 
 Nought cared I in Life's young morning^ 
 
 For their lordly company. 
 
 TV, 
 
 But, alas ! ere night has darken'd, 
 
 I have lost companions twain ; 
 And the third, with tearful eyes, 
 Worn and wasted, often flies. 
 
 But as oft returns again. 
 
life's companions. 
 
 135 
 
 And, instead of those departed, 
 Spectres twin around me flit ; 
 Pointing each, with shadowy finger, 
 Nightly at my couch they linger ; 
 Daily at my board they sit. 
 
 V. 
 
 Oh, that I so blindly follow'd 
 
 In the hot pursuit of Wealth ! 
 Though Fve gain'd the prize of gold. 
 Eyes are dim, and blood is cold — 
 
 I have lost my comrade. Health. 
 Care instead, the withered beldam. 
 
 Steals th' enjoyment from my cup : 
 Hugs me, that I cannot quit her ; 
 Makes my choicest morsels bitter ; 
 
 Seals the founts of pleasure up. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Woe is me that Fame allured me — 
 She so false and I so blind ! 
 
 Sweet her smiles, but in the chase 
 
 I have lost the happy face 
 
 Of my comrade Peace of Mind ; 
 
 And instead, Remorse, pale phantom, 
 Tracks my feet vdiere'er I go ; 
 
 All the day I see her scowling. 
 
life's companions. 
 
 In my sleep I hear her howling, 
 Wildly flitting to and fro. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Last of all my dear companions, 
 
 Hope ! sweet Hope I befriend me yet. 
 Do not from my side depart, 
 Do not leave my lonely heart 
 
 All to darkness and regret. 
 Short and sad is now my voyage 
 
 O'er this gloom-encompass'd sea, 
 But not cheerless altogether. 
 Whatsoe'er the wind and. weather, 
 
 Will it seem, if bless'd with thee. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Dim thine eyes are, turning earthwards, 
 
 Shadowy pale, and thin thy form : — 
 Turn'd to heaven thine eyes grow bright. 
 All thy form expands in light. 
 
 Soft and beautiful and w^arm. 
 Look then upwards ! lead me heavenwards 
 
 Guide me o'er this darkening sea I 
 Pale Remorse shall fade before me. 
 And the gloom shall brighten o'er me, - 
 
 If I have a friend in Thee, 
 
LOVE AWEARY OF THE WORLD. 
 
 I. 
 
 Oh ! my love is very lovely, 
 
 In her mind all beauties dwell ; 
 She is robed in living splendour, 
 Grace and modesty attend her, 
 
 And I love her more than well. 
 But Fm weary, weary, weary, 
 
 To despair my soul is hurl'd ; 
 I am weary, weary, weary, 
 
 I am weary of the world ! 
 
 II. 
 
 She is kind to all about her. 
 
 For her heart is pity's throne ; 
 She has smiles for all men's gladness, 
 She has tears for every sadness, 
 She is hard to me alone. 
 
LOVE AWEARY OF THE WORLD. 
 
 And Tm weary, weary, weary, 
 From a love-lit summit hurPd ; 
 
 I am weary, weary, weary, 
 I am weary of the world ! 
 
 III. 
 
 When my words are words of wisdom 
 
 All her spirit I can move. 
 At my wit her eyes will glisten, 
 But she flies, and will not listen, 
 
 If I dare to speak of love. 
 Oh 1 I'm weary, weary, Aveary, 
 
 By a storm of passions whirl'd ; 
 I am weary, weary, weary, 
 
 I am weary of the world ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 True, that there are others fairer — 
 
 Fairer ? — No, that cannot be — 
 Yet some maids of equal beauty. 
 High in soul and firm in duty. 
 
 May have kinder hearts than she. 
 Why, my heart, so weary, weary, 
 
 To and fro by passion whirVd ? — 
 Why so weary, weary, weary. 
 
 Why so weary of the world ? 
 
LOVE AWEARY OF THE WORLD. 
 
 139 
 
 V. 
 
 Were my love but passing fancy, 
 
 To another I might turn ; 
 But Fm doom'd to love unduly 
 One who will not answer truly, 
 
 And who freezes when I burn. 
 And Fm weary, weary, weary. 
 
 To despair my soul is hurl'd ; 
 I am weary, weary, weary, 
 
 I am weary of the world ! 
 
THE LOVER'S SECOND THOUGHTS ON 
 WORLD WEARINESS. 
 
 I. 
 
 Heart ! take courage ! 'tis not worthy 
 
 For a woman's scorn to pine, 
 If her cold indifference wound thee, 
 There are remedies around thee 
 
 For such malady as thine. 
 Be no longer weary, weary, 
 
 From thy love-lit summits hurl'd ; 
 Be no longer weary, weary, 
 
 Weary, weary of the world ! 
 
 II. 
 
 If thou must be loved by woman, 
 Seek again — the world is vride ; 
 
 It is full of loving creatures, 
 
 Fair in form, and mind, and features — 
 Choose among them for thy bride. 
 
THE lover's second THOUGHTS. 141 
 
 Be no longer weary, weary, 
 
 To and fro by passion wliirFcl ; 
 Be no longer weary, weary, 
 
 Weary, weary of the world ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Or if Love should lose thy favour. 
 
 Try the paths of honest fame, 
 Climb Parnassus' summit hoary, 
 Carve thy way by deeds of glory. 
 
 Write on History's page thy name. 
 Be no longer weary, weary, 
 
 To the depths of sorrow hurl'd ; 
 Be no longer weary, w^eary, 
 
 Weary, weary of the world ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Or if these shall fail to move thee, 
 
 Be the phantoms unpursued. 
 Try a charm that will not fail thee 
 When old age and grief assail thee — 
 
 Try the charm of doing good. 
 Be no longer weak and weary. 
 
 By the storms of passion whirl'd ; 
 Be no longer weary, weary, 
 
 Weary, weary of the world ! 
 
THE lover's second THOUGHTS. 
 
 V. 
 
 Love is fleeting and uncertain, 
 
 And can hate where it adored, 
 Chase of glory wears the spirit. 
 Fame not always follows merit, 
 
 Goodness is its own reward. 
 Be no longer weary, weary. 
 
 From thine happy summit hurl'd ; 
 Be no longer weary, weary, 
 
 Weary, weary of the world ! 
 
THE DROP OF WATER. 
 
 I. 
 
 Alone, amid a million souls, 
 Round him the tide of people rolls ; 
 But lorn and desolate is he. 
 None heeding what his lot may be — 
 A drop of water in the sea. 
 
 II. 
 
 'Mid all the crowds that round him swarm, 
 He feels for him no heart will warm ; 
 There is not one that knows his name, 
 Or cares to ask him whence he came ; 
 His life or death to them the same. 
 
 III. 
 
 The rich man's chariot passes by, 
 And lackeys with a saucy eye, 
 From outside plush and inward meals. 
 Grin at him, as the rattling wheels 
 Splash him all o'er, from head to heels. 
 
U4 
 
 THE DROP OF WATER. 
 
 IV. 
 
 He walketh on, a friendless boy, 
 With much of hope, with little joy ; 
 Elbow' d for ever by the proud, 
 As if they grudged the room allow'd 
 To this mean mortal in the crowd. 
 
 V. 
 
 On through the busy mass he goes. 
 But whither bent he scarcely knows ; 
 Through lane and street, and park and square, 
 And looks at wealth he may not share. 
 Though he is hungry and half bare. 
 
 VI. 
 
 For him amid these houses small — 
 For him amid these mansions tall, 
 There is not one, where he could go 
 And say, " I am a child of woe. 
 To cheer me let the wdne-cup flow." 
 
 VII. 
 
 No ; he is friendless and alone — 
 To no one are his sorrows known — 
 His hope, or joy, or grief, or fear. 
 There is not one would care to hear, 
 Or say the word, Be thou of cheer ! 
 
THE DROP OF WATER. 
 
 145 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And evil thoughts will sometimes rise, 
 When flaunting wealth affronts his eyes ; 
 Envy, perchance, and discontent, 
 That he into this world was sent — 
 No good with all his evils blent. 
 
 IX. 
 
 No good ? saith he. " Ah, surely wrong ! 
 Fresh health and youth to me belong ; 
 And from endurance I can learn 
 Still to endure, and never turn 
 From the high thoughts with which I bui-n.'" 
 
 X. 
 
 And still within himself he says, 
 % " Each man must pass his evil days — 
 Each man should suffer ere his prime, 
 If up the world's high steeps he'd climb, 
 Some grief, to fit him for his time. 
 
 XI. 
 
 I am not all alone nor sad. 
 The face of Nature makes me glad, 
 The breath of morn, the evening's sigh. 
 The contemplation of the sky. 
 That fills my soul with yearnings high ; — 
 
 Cr 
 
146 
 
 THE DROP OF WATER, 
 
 XII. 
 
 The leafy glory of the woods, 
 The rushing of the mountain floods, 
 The wind that bends the lofty tree, 
 The roaring of the eternal sea, — 
 All yield an inward joy to me. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 I find a pleasure in the sight 
 Of meadows green and corn-fields bright; 
 I find a pleasure in the lay 
 Of birds that hail the breaking day, 
 Or warble to the moonlight gray. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " If no man loves me. Nature's voice 
 Is kind, and bids my heart rejoice ; 
 The path I go, true souls have trod, 
 I will look upwards from the clod. 
 With a firm heart, and trust in God.'^ 
 
 XV. 
 
 And thus he walks from hour to hour, 
 From day to day, and gains new power 
 Over himself, and undismayed, 
 In conscious rectitude array'd. 
 He labours as his impulse bade. 
 
THE DROP OF WATER. 
 XVI, 
 
 He looks on hardship, and it sinks ; 
 He measures peril, and it shrinks ; 
 Before him difficulties fly, 
 Scared by that quietude of eye. 
 Serene to suffer or defy. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And still, 'mid the perennial strife 
 With worldly things that makes his life, 
 He never plays the worldling's part, 
 Or ever from his grateful heart, 
 Allows the freshness to depart. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Amid the city's ceaseless hum, 
 Still to his soul the visions come 
 Of the green woodlands far away, 
 Where in communion all the day 
 With Nature, he was wont to stray. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 And mixing with his fellows still 
 
 He finds some good amid the ill ; 
 
 And pitying those whose souls are blind, 
 
 Nor hating those of evil mind, 
 
 He learns to love all human kind. 
 
THE DROP OF WATER. 
 XX. 
 
 To him all errors of the past 
 Teach wisdom where his lot is east ; 
 And after struggles hard and long, 
 With self, and with temptation strong. 
 And pride that sought to lead him wrong, 
 
 XXI. 
 
 He learns this truth ; that nought below 
 
 Can lasting recompense bestow 
 
 But Virtue ; — that the Love of Fame 
 
 Is something better than a name, 
 
 If Love of Virtue feed its flame ;— 
 
 XXII. 
 
 That to the mind not mured in self, 
 Nor toiling for the love of pelf, 
 Wealth may be worth its cost of brain, 
 That gives the power to solace pain, 
 And lift the fallen up again. 
 
 XXIIT. 
 
 Take courage, ye who wander here, 
 Lonely and sad, and be of cheer ! 
 This man, who had no aids to climb. 
 But his true heart and soul sublime, 
 Lives in the annals of his time. 
 
THE DROP OF WATER. 
 XXIV. 
 
 So, by an ever-wise decree, 
 The drop of water in the sea. 
 Awakens to a glorious birth, 
 Becomes a pearl of matchless worth, 
 And shines resplendent in the earth. 
 
WATERLOO BRIDGE. 
 
 A LONDON STORY. 
 
 Upon the solitary bridge the light 
 
 Shone dim ; — the wind swept howling on its way, 
 And tower and spire stood hidden in the gray 
 
 Ilalf-darkness of the raw and rainy night ; 
 
 When one, still young and fair, with eyes mad-bright. 
 Paced up and down, and with a look of woe, 
 Gazed on the waters gliding black below. 
 
 Or the dull houses, looming on her sight ; 
 
 And said within herself, Can I endure 
 Longer this weight of misery and scorn ? 
 
 Ah, no ! Love-blighted — sick at heart — and poor — 
 Deceived — undone — and utterly forlorn ! — 
 
 Why should I live ? Forgive me. Lord !" she cried — 
 
 Sprang sudden to the brink — dash'd headlong down — 
 and died ! 
 
THE DEATH OF PAN. 
 
 [In the reign of Tiberius, an extraordinary voice was heard near the 
 Echinades, in the JEgean Sea, which exclaimed, "Great Pan is dead!" — 
 Plutarch.] 
 
 Behold the vision of the death of Pan. — 
 
 I saw a shadow on the mountain side, 
 
 As of a Titan wandering on the cliffs ; 
 
 Godlike his stature, but his head was bent 
 
 Upon his breast, in agony of woe ; 
 
 And a voice rose upon the wintry wind, 
 
 Wailing and moaning — Weep, ye nations, weep I 
 
 Great Pan is dying : — mourn me, and lament ! 
 
 My steps shall echo on the hills no more ; 
 
 Dumb are mine oracles — my fires are quenchVl, 
 
 My doom is spoken, and I die — I die V 
 
 The full moon shone upon the heaving sea. 
 And in the light, with tresses all unbound. 
 Their loose robes dripping, and with eyes downcast, 
 The nymphs arose, a pallid multitude ; 
 
152 
 
 THE DEATH OF PAN. 
 
 Lovely but most forlorn, and thus they sang, 
 With voice of sorrow — " Never — never more, 
 In these cool waters shall we lave our limbs ; — , 
 Never, oh never more ! in sportive dance 
 Upon these crested billows shall we play ; — 
 Nor at the call of prayer-o'erburden'd men 
 Appear in answer ; for our hour is come ; 
 Great Pan has fallen, and we die I we die V 
 
 Emerging slowly from the trackless woods. 
 And from the umbrageous caverns of the hills. 
 Their long hair floating on the rough cold winds ; 
 Their faces pale ; their eyes suffused wdth tears ; 
 The Dryads and the Oreads made their moan : — 
 Never, oh never more ! distraught, they cried, 
 Upon the mossy banks of these green woods, 
 Shall we make music all the summer's day ; — 
 Never again at morn or noon or night, 
 Upon the flowery sward, by fount or stream, 
 Shall our light footsteps mingle in the dance ; — 
 Never again, discoursing from the leaves, 
 And tw^isted branches of these sacred oaks, 
 Shall we make answer at a mortal's call ! 
 Our hour is come, our fire of life is quench'd ; 
 Our voices fade ; our oracles are mute ; 
 Behold our agony ; — we die ! we die ! 
 And as they sang, their unsubstantial forms 
 
fl 
 
 THE DEATH OF PAN. 
 
 153 
 
 Grew pale and lineless, and dispersed in air ; 
 While from the innermost and darkest nooks, 
 Deepest embower'd amid those woods antique, 
 A voice most mournful echo'd back their plaint. 
 And cried — " OA Misery ! they die ! they die ! " 
 
 Then pass'd a shadow on the moon's pale disc ; 
 And to the dust, in ecstasy of awe, 
 I bent adoring. On the mountain-tops 
 Thick darkness crept, and silence deep as death's 
 Pervaded Nature : The wind sank — the leaves 
 Forbore to flutter on the bending boughs, 
 And breathing things were motionless as stones, 
 As earth, revolving on her mighty wheel. 
 Eclipsed in utter dark the lamp of Heaven ; 
 And a loud voice, amid that gloom sublime. 
 Was heard from shore to sea, from sea to shore, 
 Startling the nations at the unwonted sound, 
 And swelling on the ear of marhiers 
 Far tossing on their solitary barks, 
 A month's long voyage from the nearest land — - 
 
 Great Pan has fallen, for ever, ever more!'' 
 
 The shadow pass'd — light broke upon the world ; 
 And Nature smiled rejoicing in the beam 
 Of a new morning blushing from the East ; 
 And sounds of music seem'd to fill the air, 
 
 a 2 
 
154 
 
 THE DEATH OF PAN. 
 
 And angel voices to exclaim on high. 
 
 Great Pan has fallen ! and never more his creed 
 Shall chain the free intelligence of man. 
 The Christ is born, to purify the earth ; 
 To raise the lowly, to make rich the poor, 
 To teach a faith of charity and love. 
 Rejoice ! rejoice ! an error has expired ; 
 And the new Truth shall reign for evermore ! " 
 
THE ARRIVING TRAIN. 
 
 DARTMOUTH ARMS' STATION : CROYDON RAILWAY, 
 APRIL 28, 1844. 
 
 Behold, smoke-panoplied, the wondrous car ! 
 
 Strong and impetuous, but obedient still ; 
 Behold it comes, loud panting from afar, 
 
 As if it lived, and of its own fierce will 
 
 Ran a free race with wild winds blowing shrill ! 
 Fire-boweird, iron-ribb'd, of giant length, 
 Snake-like, it comes exulting in its strength, 
 
 The pride of art — the paragon of skill I 
 Triumph of mind ! what hand thy bound shall mark ? 
 
 Lo I through the curtain of the coming time, 
 Seen looming palpably ^iiid cloud and dark, 
 
 Yet other triumphs, more than this sublime, 
 Rise numerous on the far-seeing ken 
 Of those who watch, and hope the good of men. 
 
LOVE IN HATE. 
 
 Once I thought I could adore him, 
 Rich or poor, beloved the same ; 
 
 Now I hate him, and abhor him — 
 Now I loathe his very name — 
 
 Spurn'd at, when I sued for pity^ — 
 Robb'd of peace and virgin fame. 
 
 If my hatred could consume him, 
 Soul and body, heart and brain ; 
 
 If my will had power to doom hmi 
 To eternity of pain ; 
 
 I would strike — and die, confessing 
 That I had not lived in vain. 
 
 Oh, if in my bosom lying, 
 
 I could work him deadly scathe ! 
 Oh, if I could clasp him, dying, 
 
 And receive his parting breath — 
 
LOVE IN HATE. 
 
 In one burst of burning passion 
 I would kiss him into death ! 
 
 I would cover with embraces 
 
 Lij3s, that once his love confess'd, 
 
 And that falsest of false faces, 
 Mad, enraptured, unrepress'd ; — 
 
 Then in agony of pity 
 
 T would die upon his breast. 
 
THE TWO NIGHTINGALES. 
 
 AN APOLOGUE FOR POETS. 
 
 In the deep quiet of an ancient wood, 
 
 Two nightingales, that since the sun had set 
 
 Had fiird the enraptured solitude with song, 
 
 Sat silent for awhile, and thus began, 
 
 One with the other, interchange of thoughts. 
 
 " I'm weary," said the one with weakest voice, 
 " Of singing all night long to these dull boughs, 
 With none to listen to my heavenly notes. 
 What are to me these green insensate woods, 
 Yon moon and stars, and the unheeding sky ? 
 I would have lovers wander in the shade 
 At twilight hour, to listen to my voice 
 And call it beautiful. I would have youths, 
 Teeming with gentle fancies, quit their books. 
 And bend a willing ear to my sweet strains : 
 
TliE TWO NIGHTINGALES. 
 
 I would have sages hearken to my lay, 
 And own me poet of the pensive night. 
 Why should I waste my music on the winds, 
 Or how sing on, abandoned to neglect ? 
 I will away, and force the callous crowd 
 To be delighted. Through some city vast 
 My voice shall sound, till busy men shall stop, 
 And to my floods of sweUing melody 
 Give ear enraptured. Brother, come away ! " 
 
 " No,'' said the other — " I am happy here ; 
 To me all needless is the world's applause. 
 Amid these oaks, surrounded by these hills, 
 Lull'd by the dash of waters down the rocks, 
 Look'd on by moon and stars, leave me to sing. 
 My breast is full — my song an utterance 
 Of joy, that gives me joy to breathe it forth ; 
 My song its own reward. — Why should I court 
 The ear of men, or pine in useless grief 
 That hither comes no audience for my lays ? 
 Mine is a hymn of Gratitude and Love, 
 An overflowing from my inmost heart ; 
 And if men listen and are pleased, not less 
 My pleasure in administering to theirs. 
 But if none care to hear my melodies. 
 Not the less happy would I be to sing." 
 
160 
 
 THE TWO NIGHTINGALES. 
 
 Thou poor in spirit ! said the first ; Not mine 
 This dull contentment, this ignoble peace, — 
 To which I leave thee. On adventurous wing 
 I take my flight to the abodes of men, 
 And they shall honour and exalt my name : — 
 So fare thee well ! " and as he said, he flew 
 From his companion, scorning his low mind ; 
 And ere the morning reach'd, on pinions free, 
 A vast, smoke-mantled, dim metropolis, 
 With domes and columns, spires and monuments, 
 And multitudinous chimneys tall as these. 
 Towering towards the ever hazy sky ; 
 And here alighting on a house-top, sat, 
 And look'd about him. Far on every side 
 Stretch 'd the long line of streets and thoroughfares. 
 Trod by a busy and impatient mass ; 
 Church-bells rang heavily on the morning air. 
 And chariots rattled o'er the dusty stones. 
 Loud was the roaring of the multitude. 
 Loud was the clink of hammers on the ear, 
 And loud the wdiirling of incessant wheels. 
 Pistons and pumps, revolving cylinders. 
 And ever-hissing steam in factories vast. 
 But nothing daunted by the hubbub round, 
 And conscious of some utterance in himself. 
 The ambitious nightingale began his song. 
 'Twas a forced effort in the eye of day, 
 
THE TWO NIGHTINGALES. 
 
 161 
 
 For bird like him, by night alone inspired. 
 But still he sang, and on the smoky air 
 Pour*d a full stream of no mean music forth. 
 Till sunny noon, till lamplit eve, he sang. 
 But no one listened. All men were absorbed 
 In the pursuit of pleasure or of gain, 
 And had no time for melodies like his. 
 Weary at heart the nightingale became. 
 And disappointment rankled into hate ; — 
 
 Alas ! " said he, the age of song is past ! 
 I'm born too late ; — merit has no reward ; — 
 The cold, unfeeling, and most grovelling crowd 
 Forsakes dear Poesy for love of wealth, 
 And all forlorn and desolate am I." 
 
 So saying, he outstretch'd his wings, and fled 
 Back to his solitude, and sang no more ; 
 And living voiceless — angry with himself. 
 And with the world — he died before his time, 
 And left no mourner to lament his fate. 
 
 The other nightingale, more wise than he. 
 With fuller voice and music more divine, 
 Stay'd in the woods, and sang but when inspired 
 By the sweet breathing of the midnight wind — 
 By the mysterious twinkling of the stars — 
 By adoration of the Great Supreme — 
 
162 
 
 THE TWO NIGHTINGALES. 
 
 By Beauty in all hues and forms around — 
 By Love and Hope, and Gratitude and Joy ; 
 And thus inspired, the atmosphere was rife 
 With the prolonged sweet music that he made. 
 He sought no listeners — heedless of applause — 
 But sang as the stars shone, from inward light, 
 A blessing to himself and all who heard. 
 
 The cotter, wending weary to his home, 
 Lingered full oft to listen to his song, 
 And felt 'twas beautiful, and bless'd the strain ; 
 And lonely students, wandering in the woods, 
 Loved nature more because this bird had sung. 
 
THE WANDERERS BY THE SEA. 
 
 ANOTHER APOLOGUE FOR POETS. 
 
 I SAW a crowd of people on the shore 
 
 Of a deep, dark, illimitable sea ; 
 
 Pale-faced they were, and turn'd their eyes to earth, 
 
 And stoop'd low down, and gazed upon the sands ; 
 
 And ever and anon they roam'd about. 
 
 Backwards or forwards ; and whene'er they stopped 
 
 It was to gather on the weedy beach 
 
 The dulse and tangles, or the fruitful shells, 
 
 Whose living tenants fastened to the rocks 
 
 They pluck'd away, and listlessly devoured. 
 
 And when they'd eaten all their fill, they sat 
 One by the other on the placid shore, 
 And with much labour and incessant care 
 Polish'd the shells, until to brightest hues, 
 Various and intermingling, they were wrought ; 
 And these they hung around their necks and limbs. 
 
1G4 
 
 THE WANDERERS BY THE SEA. 
 
 And look'd each other in the face, and smiled. 
 This done, they wander'd on the shore again, 
 And ate and ate, and drank and drank, and slept, 
 Day after day — night after night — the same. 
 
 Meanwhile the firmament was bright with stars, 
 And from the clouds aerial voices came 
 In tones of melody, now low, now loud ; 
 Angelic forms were hovering around 
 In robes of white and azure ; — heaven itself 
 Appear'd to open and invite the gaze 
 Of these poor stooping earth-enamour'd crowds. 
 But they ne'er look'd, nor heard. Though the deep sea 
 Flash'd phosphorescent; though, dim seen afar, 
 The white sails and the looming hulls of ships 
 Gleam'd through the darkness, and the pregnant air 
 Gave birth to visions swathed in golden fire — 
 They look'd not. Though the heavenly voices call'd, 
 And told them of the world of life and light, 
 Of Beauty, Power, Love, Mystery, and Joy, 
 That lay beyond, and might be seen of those, 
 However lowly, that would lift their eyes — 
 They heeded not, nor heard ; but wander'd on, 
 Plucking their weeds and gathering their shells. 
 And if they heard the murmur of the sea 
 That bore them tidings of the Infinite — 
 They knew it not ; but lay them idly down, 
 Thought of the morrow's food, and sank to sleep. 
 
THE WANDERERS BY THE SEA. 
 
 165 
 
 And when they woke, with their care-deaden*d eyes, 
 
 And pallid faces, and toil-burden'd backs, 
 
 Began once more their customary search 
 
 Upon the bare and melancholy sands ; 
 
 As if that search were all the end of life, 
 
 And all things else but nothingness and void. 
 
 But *mid that low-brow'd multitude were some 
 Of larger faculties, and foreheads fair, 
 Laden with knowledge : and of eyes that beam'd 
 Intelligence, and quick desire to know ; — 
 Who saw the visions teeming in the air ; 
 Who heard the voices breathing in the sky ; ^■ 
 Who o'er the illimitable waters stretch' d 
 Their eager gaze, and through the gloom descried 
 Shadows of beauty, which, but half reveaFd, 
 Added a wonder to their loveliness ; — 
 Who heard celestial music night and morn 
 Play'd in the lap of ocean, or attuned 
 To every motion of the ceaseless wind ; — 
 Who heard th* harmonious cadence of the stars ; 
 Who saw the angels with their azure wings ; 
 And lifted up their voices in a song 
 Of praise and joy, that not from them was hidden, 
 By blinding avarice and worldly care 
 Of shells and sea- weed, all th' immensity 
 Of nature — all th' infinitude of heaven — 
 And all the hope, bright as a certainty, 
 
166 
 
 THE WANDERERS BY THE SEA. 
 
 That here, upon this low and gloomy shore, 
 Our life is but a germ, that shall expand 
 To fruit and foliage in a brighter clime. 
 
 And all of these spake to the crowd in song, 
 And bade them lift their dull earth-bending eyes, 
 And see how beautiful were Life and Time ; 
 And bade them listen to the eternal chant 
 Of nature, overflowing with its joy, 
 And the mysterious hymn for ever sung 
 By earth to heaven, of which their words inspired 
 Were the interpreters to human kind. 
 
 And some of these were angry with the crowd. 
 Who would not listen, and whose ears were vex'd 
 With all that would distract them from their shells. 
 And wallowing dulse and tangles on the shore. 
 
 But one of them with venerable hair. 
 And a large brow, and face serene as heaven, 
 Rebuked them for their wrath with mild sad words, 
 And said — " Oh brothers, weary not your souls ! 
 If they are happy with their weeds and shells, 
 Let them alone : — And if their hearts prefer 
 Pebbles to stars, and sound of their own feet 
 Plashing amid the waters, to the song 
 Of angels, and the music of the spheres — 
 Let them alone. W^hy should ye vex yourseh es ? 
 Are ye not happy that to your keen sight 
 Those things are shown which they refuse to see ? 
 
THE WANDERERS BY THE SEA. 
 
 167 
 
 Are ye not happy that your ears can hear 
 
 The oracles of Nature, mute to them ? 
 
 That ye are priests and prophets, though eontemn'd ? 
 
 Brothers ! — be wise — make music to your minds ! 
 
 For he who singeth from his own full heart 
 
 Has his reward even in the utterance. 
 
 Brothers ! — be wise — and sing your songs in peace ! ^' 
 
REAL AND IDEAL. 
 
 A COLLOQUY. 
 
 I. 
 
 Two friends were sitting in a chamber fair, 
 Hung round with pictures, and in every nook 
 
 Fiird with choice tomes and busts and marbles rare. 
 One sat apart — and one with listless look 
 Turn'd o'er, unread, the pages of a book ; 
 
 Both young — and one who seem'd with sadness fraught, 
 
 Thus to the other breathed his secret thought. 
 
 II. 
 
 " Pm weary, Basil, of this ceaseless din : — 
 
 The world hath beat against my heart, and worn. 
 
 By the rude contact of its vice and sin, 
 The purity and freshness of its morn — 
 Tutor'd in callousness, adept in scorn. 
 
 Virtue and Friendship, Honour, Love, and Fame, 
 
 Are things to me no more, each dwindled to a name. 
 
REAL AND IDEAL. 
 III. 
 
 ^* Fm weary of the world, and daily sigh 
 
 For some green resting-place — ^some forest cave, 
 
 Guarded by distance from the intruding eye 
 Of civil fool and sycophantic knave — 
 With none to flatter me, and cringe and crave 
 
 For driblets of the gold which I despise, 
 
 And all who ask it with their fawning eyes. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Fm weary of this pomp and ceaseless thrall. 
 
 And pine for peace in wild- woods far away ; 
 Though gold the fetters, still they chafe and gall — 
 
 Though jewel-hilted, still the sword will slay ; 
 
 Though set with diamonds of the richest ray. 
 The glittering cup that held the poison-draught 
 Provides no antidote to him that quaff 'd. 
 
 V. 
 
 " I will away, and hide me in a bower ; — 
 Or roam the forest, climb the mountain-peak, 
 
 Or muse by waterfalls at evening's hour, 
 
 Or count the blushes on the morning's cheek ; 
 Or in deep silence of the midnight, seek 
 
 Communien with the stars, that I may know 
 
 How petty is this ball on which w^e come and go. 
 
 H 
 
170 
 
 REAL AND IDEAL. 
 
 VI. 
 
 That I may learn what maggots on a crust 
 Are men on earth ; and then, perchance, I may 
 Find some revival of forgotten trust, 
 
 Some flower of faith fast fading to decay. — 
 Here in these hollow crowds, heart-sick I stray, 
 And find a void — and all my days I grieve 
 That nothing more is left me to believe. 
 
 vn* 
 
 Love ? — It is bought for miserable gold. 
 
 The fairest creature that the earth e'er saw, — 
 Fashion'd in beauty's most delicious mould, 
 
 Modest, accomplish'd, pure without a flaw. 
 
 Would sell herself, with proper form of law. 
 For half my wealth ; and for a prize so great, 
 Would think me best of men, for sake of my estate. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Friendship ? — Like midges on a beam, the horde 
 Throng numberless : and every man pretends 
 
 My virtues only lure him to my board — 
 He hath no selfish interest, no ends 
 To serve but mine. Oh kind, oh generous friends ! 
 
 What would ye do should all the ducats fail — 
 
 Fail too — dissolving like the summer hail. 
 
REAL AND IDEAL. 
 
 171 
 
 IX. 
 
 " Fame ? — It is pleasant — but alas ! not worth 
 The panting and the toiling to acquire. 
 
 Is any object in this paltry earth 
 
 So great, that man should waste his soul of fire. 
 And carry in his heart the fierce desire 
 
 For threescore years, then die without the prize. 
 
 Which fools, meantime, have snatch'd before his eyes ? 
 
 X. 
 
 What is there left ? Long studied in the schools 
 Of doubt and disbelief, my faith is dead : 
 IVe measured God by algebraic rules, 
 And in a maze of logic long misled, 
 Having no faith, have set up Chance instead ; 
 Sought refuge in denial, to revolve 
 No more the problem which I cannot solve. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Fm weary, weary, and would be alone, 
 Away from cities and their stifling crowd, 
 
 Far from the scenes where folly on her throne. 
 For rich and poor, for simple and for proud. 
 Utters her laws and proclamations loud. 
 
 Fm weary — and will hence, and hide in woods, 
 
 And feed on quiet in their solitudes.'* 
 
172 
 
 REAL AND IDEAL. 
 
 XII. 
 
 ^^What?'' said his friend— Thou, Julian! steep'd in 
 wealth, 
 
 The young, the handsom% and the nobly born, 
 Endow'd with choicest gifts of strength and health — 
 Dost thou indulge this misanthropic scorn, 
 And rail at Fortune in thy youth's fair morn ? 
 And turn disgusted from enjoyment's cup, 
 With its rich liquor bubbling ever up ? 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Arouse thee from this lethargy of soul — 
 
 Shake off the weight that bears thy spirit down — 
 Tis but the offspring of the extra bowl 
 
 We drained last night. Smoothfrom thy brow the frown ; 
 
 There hangs a gloom in the expectant town 
 When thou art sad : — Come, be thyself again, 
 Nor with the lore of fools bedull thy brain. 
 
 xir. 
 
 Hear my philosophy, and weigh with thine 
 The truer wisdom that my tongue shall teach :— 
 
 Not ever shall our noon of manhood shine, 
 Nor pleasure woo us with entrancing speech ; 
 Not ever shall our arms have power to reach 
 
 The golden fruit, that hangs on every bough, 
 
 In the fair garden where we wander now. 
 
REAL AND IDEAL. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Short on the earth is our allotted time, 
 
 And short our leisure to lament and weep ; 
 Nature, all bounteous, deems denial crime, 
 
 And sows a harvest for the wise to reap. 
 
 So fill the goblet high — but drain not deep ; 
 And if at morn you toil, at evening rest- 
 To-day's denial is to-morrow's zest. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Be temperate only to enjoy the more — 
 So shall no dainty on thy palate pall ; 
 And cease with fools and zealots to deplore 
 
 That earth's no heaven, and man not perfect all 
 Still make the best of whatsoe'er befall, 
 Nor rail at Fortune, though the jade is blind, 
 Nor launch thy bitter scorn on human kind. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Hope little — thou wilt be the less deceived — 
 In Love and Friendship be thy ride the same : 
 And if by Julia's cruelty aggrieved, 
 At Rosa's altar light another flame, — 
 And if she scorn thee, swear by Dora's name ;— 
 Nor cling to either with so fond a heart 
 That it would cause thee half a pang to part. 
 
174 
 
 REAL AND IDEAL. 
 
 xyiii. 
 
 For passion is the bane of mortal bliss, 
 
 The flame that scorches — not the ray that cheers ; 
 And every tragedy but teaches this — 
 
 Who sows in passion, reaps in blood and tears ; 
 
 And he who to his soul too much endears 
 The sweetest, best, and fairest of her kind, 
 But makes a despot to enthrall his mind. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Nor let thy savage virtue take offence 
 
 If friends should love thee better rich than poor ; — 
 It may be feeling, but it is not sense — 
 
 Ripeness of heart, but judgment immature — 
 
 To look for friendship that shall aye endure ; 
 Or think the lamp would show the same bright ray 
 Should the oil fail, and riches melt away. 
 
 XX. 
 
 " Nor let desire of Fame perplex thy thought — 
 Poor are the objects that Ambition seeks. 
 
 The applause of dunces is too dearly bought 
 
 By nerveless limbs, care-deaden'd eyes, and clieeks 
 Furrow'd before their time by aged streaks ; 
 
 And the true wasdom never stops to weigh 
 
 A shadowy Morrow w ith a real To-day. 
 
BEAL AND IDEAL. 
 
 175 
 
 XXI, 
 
 " Enjoy the present — gild the passing hour — 
 Nor drain the cup ; — nor fill it to the brim ; — 
 
 For us shall beauty open wide her bower, 
 And sparkling eyes in tender languor swim ; 
 For us shall joy awake the jubilant hymn ; 
 
 And round us gather every young delight 
 
 That wealth can buy, for taste, or touch, or sight." 
 
 XXII. 
 
 No, Basil, no — I pine for a belief ; 
 
 Tm wearied with my doubts, and I would rest. 
 Long have I clutch'd, in bitterness and grief. 
 
 At all these phantoms, beautifully drest 
 
 In colours brighter than the rainbow's vest. 
 No, my friend Basil — not in these I trust, 
 Begun in folly, ending in disgust. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 My soul, long darkened, languishes for light — 
 And with an utterance labours night and day. 
 
 I see a vision dawning on my sight, 
 I hear a music faint and far away — 
 I hear a voice which says, ' Not all of clay 
 
 Thy mortal being — raise thyself, O clod ! 
 
 Look up, O Finite, Infinite in God.* 
 
176 
 
 REAL AND IDEAL^ 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " Oh that I could believe ! oh, that my soul 
 Could trust in something, and my weary mind 
 
 Burst all unfetter'd from the dull control 
 
 Of doubt, that thinks it sees, but still is blind ! 
 That I Could cling to some one of my kind — 
 
 Some gentle soul, whose love might be the ray 
 
 To lead me to belief, and brighten all the way. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Faith shall be born of Love — oh, happy pair ! 
 Would ye but smile upon my darkening road, 
 
 No more my heart, imj^rison'd by despair. 
 Should find its sympathies too great a load, 
 Doubtful alike of self, of kind, of God. — 
 
 I will away from all this pomp and jar. 
 
 And commune with my soul in solitudes afar.'^ 
 
 ^ ■ % - « * * 
 
THE FEAST OF THE DESPOTS. 
 
 There were three moiiarelis fierce and strong, 
 
 Three despots old and hoar ; 
 They made a league to seize the earth, 
 
 And rule it evermore. 
 
 II. 
 
 From East to West, from North to South, 
 
 From utmost sea to sea, 
 They east their yoke upon the world, 
 
 And measured it in three. 
 
 III. 
 
 The first was king of brutal hearts, 
 
 And from his gloomy den 
 Gave laws of cruelty and lust 
 
 To hordes af savage men. 
 
178 
 
 THE FEAST OF THE DESPOTS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 A sleepy fierceness clothed his face. 
 
 And from his dull cold eye 
 There came a blight upon the earth — 
 
 A gloom uj)on the sky. 
 
 T. 
 
 The second was a haughty king, 
 His look appall'd the lands ; — 
 
 Gore-glotted was his iron heel, 
 Blood-sprinkled were his hands. 
 
 VI. 
 
 He made his throne of human skulls. 
 
 And all around his seat 
 Towns blazed, and hecatombs of men 
 
 Were slaughtered at his feet. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The third was of a graver mien, 
 His looks were meek and staid, 
 
 But black and bitter was his heart, 
 And bitterest when he pray'd. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 He sent his emissaries forth 
 
 O'er all the earth abroad ; 
 And men were taught to curse mankind, 
 
 And hate, for love of God. 
 
THE FEAST OF THE DESPOTS. 
 
 IX. 
 
 They spread the rack, they fired the stake, 
 
 They raised the gibbet high, 
 And with their sacrificial smoke 
 
 Obscured the summer sky. 
 
 X. 
 
 And these three met in pomp and pride 
 
 In Pandemonium deep, 
 To join their hands, renew their league, 
 
 And high rejoicing keep, 
 
 XI. 
 
 Hell's gorgeous palace glowed with light. 
 
 And myriads came to see. 
 And rent the air with joyous shouts 
 
 To hail the mighty Three. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Amid the sound of shalms and drums. 
 
 And fierce artillery's roar. 
 First of the guests in power and state 
 
 Down rush'd impetuous WaFv. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 He sprung upon his glittering throne, 
 
 And clasp'd his battle sword, 
 While nations quiver' d at his glance, 
 
 And own'd him mightiest Lord. 
 
180 
 
 THE FEAST OF THE DESPOTS. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Intolerance, in his scarlet robes, 
 And dangling sleeves of lawn, 
 
 Drove his triumphal chariot down 
 By priests and flamens drawn. 
 
 XV. 
 
 And bending knees and solemn chant 
 
 And fear-impeded breath, 
 Proclaim'd the king, whose look was law. 
 
 Whose jealousy was death. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 And next came bloated Ignorance, 
 
 Who in his rumbling car, 
 With panting steeds and grating wheels 
 
 Came toiling from afar. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Unwieldy, on his throne, he stepped, 
 While all the " rabble rout" 
 
 Received him with a joyous yell. 
 And mad incessant shout. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Hell made them welcome, one and all. 
 
 And its abysses rung, 
 Till cave to rock, and rock to cave 
 
 The startling echoes flung. 
 
THE FEAST OF THE DESPOTS. 
 
 181 
 
 The myriad lamps that gem for aye 
 
 Its adamantine dome, 
 Pour'd forth a flood of sparkling light 
 
 To hail the monarehs home. 
 
 XX. 
 
 And peoples' voice and clapping hands 
 
 And pealing organ swell, 
 And cymbal-sound and trumpet-blast 
 
 Made jubilee in hell. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 War rose exultant from his seat, 
 
 While round the applauses ran, 
 And pour'd a brimming cup, to drink 
 
 " The MISERY OF MAN." 
 
 XXII. 
 
 They fiU'd their goblets to the edge 
 
 With wine, as tluck as gore, 
 And drank the toast with shouts of mirth 
 
 Repeated o'er and o'er. 
 
 XXIII, 
 
 And " Misery to man,^^ they cried, 
 "And woe and hate and fear. 
 
 And empire evermore to us. 
 Who sit enthroned here I 
 
182 
 
 THE FEAST OF THE DESPOTS. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 The earth was ours in times of yore. 
 It shall be ours to-day ; — 
 We'll share it out between us three, 
 And govern it for aye. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Ours be the blood of human kind, 
 Ours be the tears and groans — 
 The wail of millions steep'd in woe. 
 The homage to our thrones : 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 ^' Rejoice ! Rejoice ! the world is ours ! " 
 
 And hell, in all its lairs, 
 Repeated with a myriad tongues — 
 Rejoice ! the world is theirs ! " 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 But high above the festal din, 
 A sudden sound was heard — 
 
 A noise as of a mighty storm. 
 
 When earth and heaven are stirr'd. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Then all was still — In dread suspense 
 The myriads held their breath — 
 
 And a loud voice, pervading space. 
 Pronounced their doom of death. 
 
THE FEAST OF THE DESPOTS. 
 
 183 
 
 XXIX, 
 
 Tyrants it said, " of human kind^, 
 For ages drunk with gore, 
 Another era dawns for man — 
 The world is yours no more. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The film that hid, for ages long, 
 Your hideousness from sight, 
 Has fall'n from human eyes, that now 
 Behold a dawning light. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " In the refulgence of its beam 
 
 Your tott'ring thrones shall fall, 
 And men shall wonder that their hearts 
 
 Ere bow'd beneath your thrall. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 " Peace shall descend to bless the world, 
 
 And Charity shall smile, 
 And bounteous Knowledge pour her fruits 
 
 To ocean's furthest isle. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Though you have reign'd o'er human hearts 
 Since Time's primeval day, 
 Your hour is come, your doom pronounced. 
 Your empire pass'd away V 
 
184 
 
 THE FEAST OF THE DESPOTS. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 The voice was hush'd — the burning lights 
 
 Were hid in sudden cloud ; 
 The adamantine dome was rent — 
 
 The rocks and mountains bow'd. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 And thunders roar'd, and lightnings flew. 
 
 And crags, uprooted, fell ; 
 War, struck with terror, hid his face, 
 
 And fear o'ershadow'd hell. 
 
 xxxvr. 
 
 Intolerance shudder'd in his robes ; — 
 
 And at the awful sound, 
 Stark as he sat, dull Ignorance 
 
 Fell reeling to the ground, 
 
 xxxvir. 
 
 And grief and wailing, shrill and loud. 
 Through Pandemonium rang ; 
 
 While all the friends of man rejoiced. 
 And all the angels sang. 
 
THE CRY OF THE PEOPLE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Our backs are bow'd with the exceeding weight 
 
 Of toil and sorrow ; and our pallid faces 
 Shrivel before their time. Early and late 
 
 We labour in our old accustom'd places. 
 Beside our close and melancholy looms, 
 
 Or wither in the coal-seams dark and dreary. 
 Or breathe sick vapours in overcrowded rooms. 
 
 Or in the healthier fields dig till we weary, 
 And grow old men ere we have reach'd our prime. 
 With scarce a wish but death to ask of Time. 
 
 IT, 
 
 For it is hard to labour night and day 
 
 With sleep-defrauded eyes and temples aching, 
 To earn the scanty crust, which fails to stay 
 
 The hunger of our little ones, that waking 
 Weep for their daily bread. ' Tis hard to see 
 
 The flow'rets of our household fade in sadness. 
 In the dank shadow of our misery. 
 
 'Tis hard to have no thought of human gladness. 
 
18G 
 
 THE CRY OF THE PEOPLE, 
 
 But one engrossing agony for bread, 
 To haunt us at our toil, and in our bed. 
 
 III. 
 
 And many of us, worn with age and pain — 
 
 Old withered leaves of men, who, fading, cumber, 
 Long for that pleasant fosse, six feet by twain, 
 
 Impervious to all grief, where we may slumber. 
 And others of us, more unhappy still, 
 
 Youthful, warm-blooded, with a life to cherish. 
 Offer in vain our sinews and our skill 
 
 For starving recompense, and yet must perish 
 In our young days, and on a fruitful soil, 
 Because our food is dearer than our toil. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh, it is bitter-hard to roam the earth, 
 
 Aliens to joy, with sad thoughts overflowing, 
 To hear the young birds carol in their mirth, 
 
 To feel the sunshine, and the warm winds blowing, 
 To see the beauty in the fields and floods. 
 
 The plenty of the meadows, green or golden, 
 The fair full orchards redolent of buds. 
 
 And know that we, by a hard fate withholden. 
 Must keep our appetites aloof, nor dare 
 To taste the stores which happier birds may share. 
 
THE CRY OF THE PEOPLE. 
 
 187 
 
 V. 
 
 *Tis hard to know that the increase of wealth 
 
 Makes us no richer, gives us no reliance ; 
 And that while ease, and luxury, and health 
 
 Follow the footsteps of advancing science, 
 They shower no benefits on us, cast out 
 
 From the fair highways of the world, to wander 
 In dark paths darkly, groping still about. 
 
 And at each tuYn condemned to rest, and ponder 
 If living be the only aim of life — 
 Mere living, purchased by perpetual strife. 
 
 VI. 
 
 We rise in grief — in grief lie down again ; 
 
 And whither to turn for aid in our deep anguish 
 We know not — yet we feel that we are men, 
 
 Born to live out our days — and not to languish 
 As if we had no souls ; as if, stone-blind. 
 
 We knew not spring was fair; and that the summer 
 Ripen'd the fruits of earth with influence kind ; 
 
 That harvest ought to be a welcome comer 
 To us and ours ; and that in Nature's face, 
 Were smiles of joy for all the human race. 
 
 VII. 
 
 We ask not much. We have no dread of toil ; — 
 Too happy we, if labour could provide us. 
 
188 
 
 THE CRY OF THE PEOPLE* 
 
 Even though we doubled all our sweat and moil, 
 Raiment and food — and sheltering roofs to hide us 
 
 From the damp air, and from the winter's cold ; — 
 If we could see our wives contented round us, 
 
 And to our arms our little children fold, 
 
 Nor fear that next day's hunger should confound us. 
 
 With joys like these, and one sweet day of rest, 
 
 We would complain no more, but labour, bless'd. 
 
 Till* 
 
 But these we sigh for all our days in vain. 
 
 And find no remedy where'er we seek it ; — 
 Some of us, reckless, and grown mad with pain 
 
 Andhungry vengeance, havebroke loose to wreak it : — 
 Have made huge bonfires of the hoarded corn. 
 
 And died despairing. Some to foreign regions, 
 Hopeless of this, have sail'd away forlorn, 
 
 To find new homes and swear a new allegiance. 
 But we that stay'd behind had no relief. 
 No added corn, and no diminish'd grief. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And rich men kindly urge us to endure^ 
 
 And they will send us clergymen to bless us ; 
 
 And lords who play at cricket ^vith the poor, 
 Think they have cured all evils that oppress us. 
 
THE CRY OF THE PEOPLE. 
 
 189 
 
 And then we think endurance is a crime ; 
 
 That those who wait for justice never gain it ; 
 And that the multitudes are most sublime 
 
 When, rising arm'd, they combat to obtain it, 
 And dabbling in thick gore, as if Hwere dew, 
 Seek not alone their rights, but vengeance too. 
 
 X. 
 
 But these are evil thoughts ; for well we know. 
 
 From the sad history of all times and places, 
 That fire, and blood, and social overthrow, 
 
 Lead but to harder grinding of our faces 
 When all is over : so, from strife withdrawn, 
 
 We wait in patience through the night of sorrow, 
 And watch the far-off glimpses of the dawn 
 
 That shall assure us of a brighter morrow. 
 And meanwhile, from the overburdened sod. 
 Our cry of anguish rises up to God. 
 
CASTLES IN THE AIR, 
 
 I. 
 
 1 LOVE to lie in leafy woods, 
 When summer days grow long, 
 To hear the fall 
 Of brooklets small, 
 Or blackbird's mellow song : 
 To watch the dapple clouds afloat, 
 And trace upon the sky, 
 In hues of light, 
 All golden bright, 
 A thousand castles high. 
 Stay, O Truth ! thy hand relentless, 
 
 And, I prithee, spare 
 My bowers of bliss so beautiful — 
 My castles in the air. 
 
CASTLES IN THE AIR. 
 
 II. 
 
 In one abides unchanging Love ; — 
 No guile is on his tongue, 
 His heart is clear. 
 His vow sincere. 
 His passion ever young : 
 And care and penury and pain 
 Are powerless to destroy 
 His early heat, 
 Communion sweet, 
 And still recurring joy. 
 Smooth, O Truth ! thy brow majestic, 
 
 And in pity spare 
 My bower of Love so beautiful, 
 My castle in the air, 
 
 III. 
 
 True Friendship, in my sky-built halls, 
 Her presence has bestow'd ; 
 Each airy dome 
 Is Virtue's home, 
 And Honour's own abode ; 
 And there they flourish evermore, 
 And twine together still, 
 Though fortune blind. 
 And men unkind, 
 Conspire to work them ill. 
 
CASTLES IN THE AIR. 
 
 Prithee, Truth, look down auspicious, 
 
 Stay thine hand, and spare 
 My bower, for Faith and Friendsliip built — 
 
 My castle in the air. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The statesmen, governors, and kings, 
 That in my mansions dwell, 
 Desire not pelf. 
 Nor think of self. 
 But love their country well. 
 They give to Merit just reward. 
 To Guilt befitting shame, 
 And shower on worth. 
 And not on birth. 
 The dignities of fame. 
 Truth, I prithee, stay thine anger. 
 
 And my buildings spare. 
 My bowers for Public Virtue built — 
 My castles in the air. 
 
 V. 
 
 Smile on them. Truth ! behold how bright 
 They glitter in the skies. 
 
 Behold how proud. 
 
 O'er mist an4 cloud. 
 Their golden turrets rise. 
 
CASTLES IN THE AIR. 
 
 193 
 
 But no ! thou frownest, and in vain 
 Thine angry looks I shun : 
 My castles tall 
 Down crumbling fall, 
 Like ice-drops in the sun. 
 Thou hast destroy'd my visions lovely, 
 
 All my mansions fair. 
 My bowers of bliss so beautiful — 
 My castles in the air. 
 
A LOVEK'S LOGIC. 
 
 I AM skiird in magic lore, 
 
 And can tell thee, dearest maiden, 
 What the winds at evening say. 
 As amid the boughs they play ; — 
 What the river to its shore. 
 Softly whispers evermore 
 
 From its heart o'erladen. 
 
 I can tell thee how the moon 
 
 Breathes persuasion to the billows ; 
 What discourse the mountain makes 
 To its shadow-loving lakes ; 
 And, conceal'd in lonely nooks. 
 What the little devious brooks 
 
 Murmur to the willows. 
 
A lover's logic. 
 
 195 
 
 Love thou me — for I love thee/' 
 Is the song they smg for ever. 
 At this moment I can hear 
 The responses ringing clear ; 
 And the very stars repeat 
 To the moon an answer sweet — 
 Love shall perish never.'' 
 
 And if thus Earth, Sea, and Sky 
 
 Find a voice to sing their passion, 
 Should we fail, my dearest maid, 
 Wandering in this greenwood shade. 
 To repeat the same sweet song. 
 We should do their music wrong, 
 And be out of fashion. 
 
HEAD AND HEAKT. 
 
 AN UNDECIDED DISPUTE. 
 
 Said Head to Heart, You lead me wrong : 
 The pulse of passion beats too strong. 
 You are the dupe of tears and sighs ; 
 You take the Judgment by surprise ; 
 
 You melt at every sorrowing tale, 
 Let feeling o'er the will prevail; 
 And still, by impulse led astray, 
 You draw me from the prudent way. 
 
 When I would walk a steady pace — 
 Impetuous, you would run a race ; 
 And ere a doubtful case I've tried, 
 You've prompted Pity to decide. 
 
HEAD AND HEART. 
 
 By bounds of reason unconfined, 
 No space your sympathies can bind; 
 For, wayward as a petted child, 
 You scorn restraint, and wander wild. 
 
 " I pray you, Heart, these freaks forbear : 
 They cause me shame, they breed me care ; 
 And I am blamed for going wrong. 
 And counted weak that you are strong.^' 
 
 Said Heart to Head, You're cold and slow ; 
 You cast a damp on Feeling's glow; 
 You are like water on the fire ; 
 You are a clog on my desire. 
 
 You measure Passion by a rule, 
 You send the sympathies to school, 
 And, slave to logic and its laws. 
 You weigh, you ponder, and you pause. 
 
 When I would prompt the pitying tear. 
 You purse the lip and look severe. 
 And quick to doubt and slow to grieve. 
 You lecture when you should relieve. 
 
HEAD AND HEART. 
 
 Oh I it is galling to be tied 
 To one so sluggish to decide, 
 Who chills me when I gloVd before, 
 And clings to earth when I would soar/' 
 
 The silent contest lasted long, 
 I felt that both were right ; — yet wrong. 
 *^ Strive," to my secret soul I said, 
 " To reconcile the Heart and Head. 
 
 And let the Heart too warm and free, 
 Too sudden in its energy. 
 Pause for th' advice of cooler Tact, 
 And learn to think before it act. 
 
 Let Head, too prone to reason still, 
 Even in extremity of ill. 
 Consent to play a warmer part, 
 Led by the dictates of the Heart." 
 
TO PATRIC PARK, SCULPTOR. 
 
 Give me the man, laborious, bold, refined, 
 That with true faith clings fondly to his art, 
 And makes it of his life the better part : 
 
 Who, for its sake, to difiiculties blind. 
 
 Would war with Fortune if she proved unkind ; 
 And with the brush, the chisel, or the pen, 
 Create new Beauty for the souls of men. 
 
 Labouring through good and ill with tranquil mind. 
 
 Such art thou^ Patric ; and a coming time 
 Will do thee justice at the fitting hour. 
 
 And find a voice to celebrate thy fame. 
 
 Work, then, thy fancies, graceful or sublime. 
 And rival, strong in consciousness of power, 
 Canova's or serene Thorwaldsen's name. 
 
A CANDID WOOING, 
 
 r. 
 
 I CANNOT give thee all my heart, 
 
 Lady, lady — 
 My faith and country claim a part, 
 
 My sweet lady. 
 But yet ril pledge thee word of mine 
 That all the rest is truly thine ; — 
 The raving passion of a boy, 
 Warm though it be, will quickly cloy — 
 Confide thou, rather in the man 
 Who vows to love thee all he can. 
 
 My sweet lady. 
 
 Affection, founded on respect, 
 
 Lady, lady, 
 Can never dwindle to neglect, 
 
 My sweet lady. 
 And while thy gentle virtues live 
 Such is the love that I will give. 
 
A CANDID WOOING. 
 
 201 
 
 The torrent leaves its channel dry, 
 The brook runs on incessantly ; — 
 The storm of passion lasts a day, 
 But dee]3 true love endures alway, 
 My sweet lady. 
 
 Accept then a divided heart, 
 
 Lady, lady. 
 Faith, Friendship, Honour, each have part, 
 
 My sweet lady. 
 While at one altar we adore, 
 Faith shall but make us love the more ; 
 And Friendship, true to all beside, 
 Will ne'er be fickle to a bride ; 
 And Honour, based on manly truth. 
 Shall love in age as well as youth, 
 
 My sweet lady. 
 
 I 2 
 
LOST AND WON. 
 
 An idler on the shady sward extended, 
 
 Lay listless on a summer's afternoon : 
 Thick boughs and numerous leaves above him blended 
 
 Into an arch, through which the beams were strewn 
 Upon the grass, like ripples on a river ; 
 
 There was a sleepy loveliness around, 
 The quiet winds scarce caused the leaves to quiver, 
 
 And vagrant bees flew by, with drowsy sound. 
 
 II. 
 
 Too full of life for sleep — too calm for Avaking, 
 The place seem'd fit for dreamer such as he. 
 
 Who worldly thoughts and haunts of men forsaking, 
 Resigned himself to lazy luxury. 
 
LOST AND WON. 
 
 203 
 
 His thoughts were shapeless as the winds, and wander'd 
 
 Afar in cloud-land, void of all intent ; 
 His eyes now closed as if on self he ponder'd, 
 
 Now open to the leaves and firmament. 
 
 III. 
 
 Waking or sleeping — or if day or morrow 
 
 He knew not — but he saw seven ladies fair 
 Beside him, with pale cheeks and looks of sorrow, 
 
 And tearful eyes and long dishevell'd hair : 
 He knew them, and a deep remorse came o'er him, 
 
 A shame of self that he had done them wrong ; 
 While with reproachful looks they stood before him. 
 
 And one broke forth into this mournful song. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Listen," she said, and hear the wrong thou'st done 
 us, 
 
 And the false deeds thou'st wrought against thy soul ; 
 The summer winds shall breathe no more upon us. 
 We're gone — our place is fill'd — we've reach'd the 
 goal. 
 
 Our melancholy faces look not sunward, 
 But back in shadow ; and oh I never more 
 
 Can we return to thee to help thee onward, 
 And bring thee gladness as we brought before. 
 
204 
 
 LOST AND WON. 
 
 V. 
 
 ^' We stay'd with thee long time, with power to aid 
 thee, 
 
 Hadst thou but struggled with an earnest mind ; 
 To do such noble deeds as might have made thee 
 
 Stand in the foremost ranks of human kind. 
 We could have filFd thy cup to overflowing, 
 
 If worldly Wealth found favour in thy sight ; 
 If Fame inspired, we could have led thee glowing 
 
 Up the steep summit, to her topmost height. 
 
 VI. 
 
 If Love of Knowledge fired thee to pursue her, 
 We could have help'd thee to her courts to climb — 
 Smoothed the rough pathway — lent thee words to woo 
 her, 
 
 And turn'd the pages of her book sublime. 
 If to be ^drtuous were thy sole ambition. 
 We, day by day, had taught thee to excel ; 
 ed thee to raise the wretched from perdition. 
 And brought their blessings to reward thee well. 
 
 VII. 
 
 All this, and more, if thou hadst duly prized us, 
 For thee, life-waster, could our aid have done ; 
 But thou hast scorn'd, neglected, and despised us, 
 And we are powerless, and our course is run. 
 
LOST AND WON. 
 
 205 
 
 We are but shadows, pallid and regretful, 
 To whom no future can a form restore ; 
 
 And bearing with us, from thy soul forgetful. 
 The fair occasions that return no more.'' 
 
 Thus as she spake, his face in shame he eover'd, 
 
 And when he look'd again, he was alone. 
 " Departed years, whose memory round me hover' d, 
 
 For all the Past the Future shall atone." 
 He said — and rising, cast away for ever 
 
 The philosophic sloth that bound his soul, 
 Mix'd with mankind, and, strong with wise endeavour, 
 
 Toil'd up the hill of Fame, and reach'd the goal. 
 
THE COMING TIME. 
 
 " What shall I do to be for ever known ? 
 And make the age to come mine own." — Cowley. 
 
 What thou shalt do to be for ever known ? 
 Poet or statesman — look with steadfast gaze. 
 
 And see yon giant Shadow 'mid the haze, 
 Far off, but coming. Listen to the moan 
 That sinks and swells in fitful under-tone, 
 
 And lend it words, and give the shadow form ; — 
 And see the Light, now pale and dimly shown, 
 
 That yet shall beam resplendent after storm. 
 Preach thou their coming, if thy soul aspire 
 
 To be the foremost in the ranks of fame; — 
 Prepare the way, with hand that will not tire. 
 
 And tongue unfaltering, and o'er earth proclaim 
 The Shadow, the Roused Multitude ; — the Cry, 
 *^ Justice for all!" — the Light, True Liberty. 
 
GOOD-NIGHT. 
 
 Hush, Nature ! let no jarring sound 
 
 The drowsy air encumber. 
 While she, the fairest of thy works, 
 
 Is sinking into slumber. 
 Be silent, earth ! ye winds, be still — 
 
 Let nought from sleep alarm her ; 
 Nor midnight storm, nor sudden fire. 
 
 Nor prowling robber harm her. 
 
 Good-night ! and be her pleasant rest 
 
 Unbroken till the morrow ; 
 May all her visions, like herself. 
 
 Be sweet, and void of sorrow : 
 Good-night ! and o'er her silent couch 
 
 While darkness spreads her cover, 
 May guardian angels watch and pray, 
 
 And bless her as they hover. 
 
GOOD-MORROW. 
 
 Shine brightly through her casement, sun ; 
 
 Thou gale, soft odours bring her ; 
 Ye birds that hail the dawning day, 
 
 Your sweetest music sing her ; 
 Smile, Nature, on her, as she wakes, 
 
 And hide all sights of sorrow; 
 And have no sounds but those of joy 
 
 To bid my love — good-morrow ! 
 
 Good-morrow to those lustrous eyes, 
 
 With bright good-humour beaming. 
 Good-morrow to those ruddy lips, 
 
 Where smiles are ever teeming. 
 Good-morrow to that happy face, 
 
 Undimm'd by cloud of sorrow. 
 Good-morrow, heart that clings to mine — 
 
 Good-morrow, love, good-morrow ! 
 
LITTLE FOOLS AND GREAT ONES. 
 
 When at the social board you sit, 
 
 And pass around the wine, 
 Remember, though abuse is vile, 
 
 That use may be divine : 
 That Heaven, in kindness, gave the grape 
 
 To cheer both great and small — 
 That little fools will drink too much, 
 
 But great ones not at all. 
 
 And when in youth's too fleeting hours 
 
 You roam the earth alone. 
 And have not sought some loving heart 
 
 That you may make your own : — 
 Remember woman's priceless worth, 
 
 And think, when pleasures pall — 
 That little fools will love too much, 
 
 But great ones not at all. 
 
LITTLE FOOLS AND GREAT ONES. 
 
 And if a friend deceived you once, 
 
 Absolve poor human kind, 
 Nor rail against your fellow man 
 
 With malice in your mind ; 
 But in your daily intercourse, 
 
 Remember lest you fall — 
 That little fools confide too much, 
 
 But great ones not at all. 
 
 In weal or woe be trustful still ; 
 
 And in the deepest care 
 Be bold and resolute, and shun 
 
 The coward foe Despair. 
 Let work and hope go hand in hand ; 
 
 And know, whate'er befall — 
 That little fools may hope too much. 
 
 But great ones not at all. 
 
 In work or pleasure, love or drink, 
 
 Your rule be still the same — 
 Your work not toil, your pleasure pure. 
 
 Your love a steady flame ; 
 Your drink not maddening, but to cheer. 
 
 So shall your bliss not pall — 
 For little fools enjoy too much. 
 
 But great ones not at all. 
 
A SONG, AFTER A TOAST. 
 
 If he, to whom this toast we drink, 
 
 Has brought the needy to his door, 
 Or raised the wretch from ruin's brink 
 
 From the abundance of his store : 
 If he has sooth'd the mourner's woe. 
 
 Or help'd young merit into fame, 
 This night our cups shall overflow 
 
 In honour of his name. 
 
 If he be poor, and yet has striven 
 
 To ease the load of human care ; 
 If to the famish'd he has given 
 
 One loaf that it was hard to spare ; 
 If in his poverty erect. 
 
 He never did one deed of shame, 
 Fill high ! well drain in deep respect 
 
 A bumper to his name. 
 
212 
 
 A SONG, AFTER A TOAST. 
 
 But rich or poor — if still his plan 
 
 Has been to play an honest part, 
 If he ne'er fail'd his word to man, 
 
 Or broke a trusting woman's heart ; 
 If Emulation fire his soul 
 
 To snatch the meed of virtuous fame, 
 Fill high ! we'll drain a flowing bowl 
 
 In honour of his name. 
 
ON MR BAILrS STATUE 
 
 OF "EVE LISTENING TO THE VOICE/' IN THE EXHIBITION 
 OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY. 1841. 
 
 Eloquent marble ! can it be 
 
 That thou art cold and senseless ever ? 
 There seems a soul beneath thine eyes ; 
 
 Thy ripen'd lips, that gently sever, 
 Appear to whisper as we gaze ; — 
 
 Life seems to start in every feature, 
 To throb in every rounded limb, 
 
 As if thou wert a breathing creature ; 
 And beauty, innocence, and grace, 
 Pervade thy form and light thy face. 
 
 Bewitching stone ! were Envy dead, 
 
 Pygmalion's self might kneel before thee — 
 
 Might gaze with wonder on thy form. 
 And with a passionate love adore thee. 
 
214 
 
 EVE LISTENING TO THE VOICE. 
 
 Cover thy beauties with a veil — 
 
 Yet no, thou'rt pure as man's first mother ; — 
 So chastely warm — so innocent, 
 
 Thy beauties vie with one another. 
 We turn away the ravish'd sight. 
 And mingle reverence with delight. 
 
THE OLD AND THE NEW. 
 
 I. 
 
 Methought on the Mgesm sand 
 
 I saw a mighty spirit stand ; — 
 
 Clad in his majesty alone, 
 
 His large fair brow seem'd Wisdom's throne, 
 
 And from his face a glory shone. 
 
 II. 
 
 Another spirit great as he. 
 Stood by the far-off Northern sea ; 
 Erect his port, sublime his air ; 
 Restless he seem'd, and full of care, 
 But godlike, and divinely fair. 
 
216 
 
 THE OLD AND THE NEW. 
 
 III. 
 
 And though between them, as they stood, 
 All Europe stretched its plenitude 
 Of populous lands ; and mountains cold 
 Raised their bare peaks, and oceans rolled, 
 Each could the other's face behold. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Each could with each hold converse high, 
 And mingle voices in the sky ; 
 Sounding far off, not loud, but clear 
 Upon my senses, fiird with fear, 
 As from some interlunar sphere. 
 
 V. 
 
 " Men," said the first, inspired by thee, 
 
 Talk of their high philosophy ; 
 
 Their skill, their science, and their laws ; 
 
 Their tracing of effect to cause ; 
 
 Their arts that win the world's applause ; 
 
 VI. 
 
 " Their happy progress evermore, 
 
 From good to better than before ; 
 
 Their new discoveries sublime ; 
 
 Their knowledge spread from clime to clime ; 
 
 Their triumphs over space and time. 
 
THE OLD AND THE NEW. 
 
 217 
 
 VII. 
 
 They vaunt their manners pure and mild, 
 And their religion undefiled ; 
 While all the good that I have wrought 
 Is banish' d from their daily thought, 
 Or, if remember'd, set at nought. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Vain of their progress, they contemn 
 All arts that have not sprung from them ; 
 And, swoU'n with pride, they cannot see 
 If I were not, thou could'st not be, 
 And that the fruit proclaims the tree.'^ 
 
 IX. 
 
 " Nay !" said the second ; His not so ; 
 They give the reverence which they owe : 
 Thy memories are the theme of schools — 
 Thy maxims are their daily rules ; 
 And none despise thee but the fools. 
 
 X. 
 
 " They own with wonder and with awe 
 Thine ancient wisdom as their law ; 
 And that thy glories still inspire 
 The sweetest music of the lyre. 
 And steep its chords in heavenly fire. 
 
 K 
 
218 
 
 THE OLD AND THE NEW. 
 
 XI. 
 
 That all the arts which most refine, 
 And make humanity divine, 
 Were caught from thee ; and that the page 
 Which tells thy deeds from age to age, 
 Is of itself an heritage. 
 
 XII. 
 
 ^' That an immortal beauty girds 
 Thy form, and sanctifies thy words ; 
 And that thy very name can raise 
 Visions that fill us with amaze, 
 From the abyss of former days. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 That mighty glimpses of the truth 
 Flashed in the fancies of thy youth ; 
 And that thy errors, darkly bright, 
 Were not all error, even in sight 
 Of those who know a purer light. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 All this they see, but cannot own 
 Thou wert perfection overthrown ; 
 Or that as Time, with onward pace. 
 Removed old systems from their place, 
 Thou wert the best for every race. 
 
THE OLD AND THE NEW. 
 
 219 
 
 XV. 
 
 Or own it right that for the few 
 The toil of millions should be due — 
 And that the multitudes of man, 
 Mere serfs and helots in thy plan, 
 Should groan for ever under ban. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 That thou should'st grind them at thy will, 
 And at thy pleasure maim or kill ; 
 Or make them build thy columns high. 
 Or pyramids to dare the sky ; 
 Or force them in thy broils to die. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " They know, though beauteous and refined. 
 Thou wert a scourge to human kind ; 
 And they rejoice thy power has past. 
 And that the time has come at last 
 When chains must fall, however fast ; 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " And when the many, wearied long. 
 Borne down by tyranny and wrong. 
 May lift their heads and look around. 
 Proud of the knowledge lately found, 
 They are not serfs upon the ground ; 
 
220 
 
 THE OLD AND THE NEW. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 But freemen, heritors by birth 
 Of the enjoyments of the earth ; 
 Free not alone to till the soil. 
 But to partake the fru.its of toil — 
 The corn, the vintage, and the oil ; 
 
 XX. 
 
 " Free not alone, as Nature meant, 
 To live their life, and die content ; 
 But free to teach, and to be taught. 
 To read the Book with wisdom fraught. 
 To think — and interchange their thought.'^ 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " Ay,'' said the first, " 'tis brightly drawn — 
 Thou'st made a noontide of the dawn ; 
 For wheresoe'er I turn mine eyes 
 I see a crowd of agonies : — 
 I hear the murmurs that arise. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Though great thy triumphs, greater still 
 The aggregate of human ill ; — 
 And narrow, narrow is the span 
 On which, to bless the sons of man, 
 The tide of effort ever ran. 
 
THE OLD AND THE NEW. 
 
 221 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 '*Look round the nations and compare — 
 Examine, that thou may'st declare 
 What vast improvement has begun, 
 And what two thousand years have done 
 For those that toil beneath the sun. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 The people grovelFd in my prime — 
 They grovel in thy happier time ; 
 And suff'ring then — they suffer now : 
 And if I left them slaves, hast thou 
 Imprinted freedom on their brow ? 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Hast thou given virtue to the base, 
 Or flash' d thy knowledge in their face ? 
 Hast thou convey'd to ev'ry shore 
 The tidings thy Messiah bore. 
 That Peace should reign for evermore ? 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 *^ Hast thou, ev'n in the lands most bless'd 
 With thy Refinement, done thy best 
 To ease the ills thou canst not cure, 
 To teach the wretched to endure. 
 And shower thy blessings on the poor 
 
222 
 
 THE OLD AND THE NEW 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " I am but young," the Spirit said ; 
 
 But yesterday I raised my head, 
 And late began to understand — 
 A mere new-comer in the land — 
 What was expected at my hand. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 " The mission unfulfill'd by thee 
 Has gained some impetus from me ; 
 And every triumph of thy mind, 
 Not unforgotten for mankind. 
 Has been led further and refined. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Though narrow yet the sphere of thought. 
 It has been widen d since I wrought ; 
 And every seed that thou hast sown 
 For human benefit, has grown. 
 And larger leaves and branches thrown, 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Beneath my care. And though dark night 
 May spread a veil o'er human sight, 
 I see far ofi* the dawning ray : 
 I labour to prepare the way. 
 And watch the coming of the day." 
 
THE OLD AND THE NEW. 
 
 223 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 And as the Spirit spoke, his eyes 
 Flash'd heavenly fire^ — and to the skies 
 Pointing his hand, he turn d to me, 
 And said — " Thou dreamer, wake and see 
 The Paradise that earth might be ! " 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 As one upon a mountain-top 
 Standing alone, whom mists enwrap 
 So densely, that he seeks in vain 
 Amid the cloud of sleet and rain 
 To see the wonders of the plain, 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Shouts when he sees the cloud dispersed, 
 And in full glory, at one burst, 
 A world disclosed — hill, valley, town 
 Glittering in sunlight miles adown — 
 River and lake and highlands brown ;• — 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 So I, in ecstacy and awe, 
 
 Look'd up believing, and I saw 
 
 That from mine eyes a mist was roll'd, 
 
 That heaven was bright as burnish'd gold, 
 
 And Earth had visions to unfold. 
 
224 
 
 THE OLD AND THE NEW. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 I saw the world before me pass ; — 
 As in some great magician's glass 
 The adept sees phantasmas, dim 
 To all men else, but clear to him, 
 As in the light and shade they swim ; — 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 So I beheld the mighty Earth 
 Rolling through ether ; — all its girth 
 Exhaling glory. O'er my sight 
 Flow'd the full tide of heavenly light, 
 Until the view seem'd infinite. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 All happy were its populous lands ; 
 Therein no man with willing hands 
 Needed to pine for want of bread ; 
 For the full banquet that was spread 
 Allow'd all creatures to be fed. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 And toil, a burden borne by man 
 In sorrow since the world began, 
 No more his tender bones oppress'd 
 Until supremest joy was rest. 
 Or bow'd his head upon his breast. 
 
THE OLD AND THE NEW. 
 
 225 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 But iron servants wrought his will, — • 
 Great engines fashion'd by his skill 
 For every art — to spin — to coil — 
 To delve the mine, to till the soil, — 
 And free the human race from toil. 
 
 XL. 
 
 And not alone by vapour driven, 
 
 But by the storms and calms of heaven — 
 
 By winds, however they might blow, 
 
 And by the tides in ebb or flow, 
 
 The mighty wheels went to and fro. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 The nearest and remotest lands 
 
 Were foes no more, but join'd their hands 
 
 For mutual happiness and peace ; 
 
 And bade their old dissensions cease. 
 
 That they might flourish and increase. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 Too wise for bloodshed. War no more 
 Made demons of them as before ; 
 Religion sow'd no poison-seed — 
 None wish'd his neighbour evil speed. 
 Or bore him malice for his creed. 
 
226 
 
 THE OLD AND THE NEW. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 But as I look'd with tearful eyes — 
 Tears sprung of joys and sympathies — 
 The colours of my vision grew 
 Many in one ; and hue with hue 
 Was blent, and faded from my view. 
 
 XLIV, 
 
 And a still voice said to my heart — 
 " Though but a dream thou see'st depart, 
 And great the load of actual ill, 
 Hope in thy waking — labour still — 
 Deeds are fruition of the will. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 ^' The smallest effort is not lost ; — - 
 
 Each wavelet on the ocean tost 
 
 Aids in the ebb-tide or the flow ; 
 
 Each rain- drop makes some floweret blow ; 
 
 Each struggle lessens human woe." 
 
NOTES. 
 
 THE sea-king's BURIAL. — Page 1. 
 The old Norse kings when about to die, had their body laid 
 into a ship ; the ship sent forth with sails set, and slow fire 
 burning in it, that, once out at sea, it might blaze up in flame, 
 and in such manner bury worthily the old hero, at once in the 
 sky and in the ocean. — Carlyle's Hero Worship^ 
 
 THE COUNTING OF THE ISLES. Page 14. 
 
 The legend here related was long believed in the Isles ; but 
 I have not been able to turn to an authority for it in print. 
 The common version, however, states, that the Saint, upon this 
 annual excursion, takes his stand upon the walls of the ruined 
 cathedral, and makes no mention of the ghostly company intro" 
 duced into the ballad. In Anderson's interesting and valuable 
 Guide to the Highlands, another legend of this holy isle is given 
 as follows : — " Besides the veneration of the place, a prophecy 
 was currently handed about, that seven years before the end of 
 the world a deluge shall drown the nations ; the sea at one 
 tide shall cover Ireland and the green-headed Isla, but Co- 
 lumba's isle shall swim above the flood.'* 
 
 LORD NITHSDALE's DREAM IN THE TOWER OF LONDON. Page 36. 
 
 In the notes to Cromek's Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway 
 Song, will be found the full particulars of his Lordship's escape, 
 narrated in the simple and touching language of his noble- 
 hearted wife in a letter to her sister. It is needless to copy 
 from a book so well known — and the narrative is moreover of 
 such length as to prevent its repetition here. 
 
228 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 EVE OF FLODDEN. — Page 45. 
 Many legends are told of this disastrous battle. The follow- 
 ing is extracted from the Scottish Tourist ; — " In the Church of 
 Linlithgow is shown the aisle where an apparition burst upon 
 the sight of James IV., to warn him against the expedition, and 
 which, as Lindsay of Pitscottie relates, as soon as it had deliver- 
 ed its message, ^ vanished like a blink of the sun, or a whip of the 
 whirlwind.' When the invading army was encamped upon the 
 Boroughmuir, numberless midnight apparitions did squeak and 
 gibber upon the streets of Edinburgh, threatening woe to the 
 kingdom ; and there was a spectral procession of heralds, who 
 advanced to the Cross, and summoned the king and a long list 
 of the nobility to their final doom." 
 
 THE KELPIE OF CORK YVRECK AN. Page 56. 
 
 A portion of this ballad bears a resemblance to the Danish 
 ballad of the Wild Waterman — a translation of which has been 
 made into German by Goethe ; and of which I published an 
 English version in the Monthly Magazine when under the 
 editorship of Mr J. A. Heraud. The story as now told is a 
 common one in the Isles ; and in fact among all the northern 
 nations of Europe. In Tait's Magazine for December 1843, 
 it is thus related among the recollections of a Tour in the He- 
 brides, made about forty years previously by Mr John Morrison, 
 an architect and land-surveyor, and a friend of Sir Walter 
 Scott: — " It was now too late for gaining lona, so we 
 landed in Mull, and were recei\'ed at the house of a clergy- 
 man : a most hospitable gentleman, with a numerous family 
 of daughters. After tea, w^e were entertained by the young 
 ladies with some excellent ghost stories : the scene of one 
 of which was not fifty yards from where we were sitting. 
 A young lady, the beauty of the country, was about to be 
 married, and with her betrothed, and ma^y friends, was making 
 merry on the green, when a handsome youth on horseback 
 made his appearance, and at once rode up and whispered in 
 the bride's ear ; on which she sprang up behind him, and 
 they galloped off like the wind, and were never seen or heard 
 of more except on the anniversary of their flight, when the 
 
NOTES. 
 
 229 
 
 horse, with his riders, is seen galloping round the green. The 
 young lady is said to have been very proud and fickle, and her 
 lover some air or water spirit, and she was thus punished, so 
 that the tale is not without a moral. We sat up late after sup- 
 per, and were entertained by other tales of the same kind : one 
 of a mermaid who carried away a young man, and kept him for 
 seven years in a palace studded with precious stones. She 
 allowed him to come to land and visit his friends, who could see 
 no symptoms of approaching age; indeed, he himself thought 
 that he had been absent a day only. He, however, declined to 
 return, and removed more inland. The mermaid was often 
 heard lamenting on the shore, and singing a mournful ditty, 
 which, with its original tune, was sung by a young lady of the 
 company." 
 
 THE PLANTING OF THE ACORNS DARNAWAY FOREST. Page 78. 
 
 The following account of the oak plantations of Darnaway 
 Forest, from the Highland Note-Book by Robert Carruthers, 
 (page 172,) will be interesting. " From the year 1767 to 1810, 
 Francis tenth Earl of Moray planted the following trees : Oaks 
 planted, 1,114,260; Ash, Elm, Beech, &c., 727,290: Scotch 
 Fir, 10,346,000 : — forming a total of trees planted in forty-three 
 years, of 12,187,550. The present forester has, since the spring 
 of 1829, planted of oaks above 491,000. The situation of the 
 forest is from one hundred to five hundred feet above the level 
 of the sea, and the climate is admirable. The soil is peculiarly 
 adapted to the growth of the oak, of which the abundance of 
 ferns it produces is a sure index.'' 
 
 THE LADY OF DUARt's VENGEANCE. Page 97. 
 
 The Florida, one of the Invincible Armada, was sunk at 
 Tobermory by an emissary of Queen Elizabeth. This vessel 
 is supposed to have contained a great deal of specie. The 
 country tradition concerning it is, that a daughter of the King 
 of Spain having dreamed that a young man of particularly en- 
 gaging figure had appeared to her, determined to sail the wide 
 world in search of the living prototype of the vision ; Maclean 
 of Duart realizes in the princess's eyes the creations of her fancy. 
 
230 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 The wife of Maclean became jealous of his attentions to the 
 fair stranger, and sought counsel of the Witches of Mull, by 
 whose agency the vessel was sunk with the object of her re- 
 sentment. — Anderson's Guide to the Highlands, 
 
 THE FOUNDING OF THE BELL. Page 123. 
 
 This ballad was written — to be afterwards set to music by 
 Mr Russell — with the full knowledge that the ground had been 
 in a manner pre-occupied ; and that Schiller had on a similar 
 subject written one of his most popular pieces. It so happened, 
 however, that, although acquainted with German literature, I 
 had not read the Lay of the Bell ; and I determined to follow 
 my own fancy without reference to that poem — which I resolved 
 not to read until after I had completed the song upon the 
 subject which Mr Russell desired. Had I been of the mind 
 to read Schiller's beautiful composition first, it is possible, 
 and indeed most probable, that I should not have attempted 
 even a song upon a subject all but identical. It was written, 
 however — Mr Russell adapted it to music, and sang it — 
 and it was spread through the land by his efforts and by those 
 of the music publishers ; and was also published in Blackwood's 
 Magazine and in various newspapers ; and having acquired by this 
 means a considerable share of popularity, I resolved to include 
 it in this collection. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 EDINBURGH: PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND HUGHES. 
 PAUL'S WORK, CANONQATE. 
 
Just Published, Second Edition^ Price Three Shillings, 
 
 THE SALAMANDRINE ; 
 
 OR, 
 
 LOVE AND IMMORTALITY. 
 
 By CHARLES MACKAY, 
 
 AUTHOR OP THE HOPE OP THE WORLD," LEGENDS OF THE ISLES," <fec. 
 
 GLASGOW:— A. RUTHERGLEN. 
 EDINBUKGII:-A. & C. BLACK. 
 
 OPINIONS OF THE PHESS. 
 
 This is a charming poem, on a most poetical subject. The author of 
 the " Hope of the World " has added another gem to the crown which 
 fancy and taste have bestowed on him. — Morning Herald, 
 
 Nothing can be more graceful than the manner in which Mr Mackay 
 has versified this fanciful legend, or more apposite than the imagery 
 with which he has surrounded it. He exhibits the true earnestness 
 and sensibility of the poet, and will find more readers and admirers of 
 his " Salamandrine," than, judging from his preface, he seems to cal- 
 culate on. — Sun, 
 
 We have seldom read a poem more unpretending in its style, and 
 yet so beautifully and exquisitely conceived. The seven cantos into 
 which it is divided, abound with passages that breathe the very soul 
 of poetry. We take leave of this delightful work, hoping that Mr 
 Mackay may soon again appear with an offering of his genius, to ele- 
 vate the character of the poetic literature of the present age. — Dublin 
 Evening Post. 
 
 We are acquainted with no production of our time more richly im- 
 bued with the true poetic spirit — more eminently distinguished by the 
 sweetness of simplicity — by the tenderest pathos — by an exceeding 
 
2 
 
 delicacy and purity of thought, feeling, and expression. Penetrating 
 the inmost recesses of the heart, it forcibly reminds us, in many pas- 
 sages, of one of the most exquisite poems in our language — Coleridge's 
 
 Genevieve." Amethysta, the heroine, is amongst the loveliest of 
 poetical creations; and never once, from the commencement to the 
 close, does our anxiety for her fate experience languor or cessation. — 
 Naval and Military Gazette. 
 
 The characteristics of the Salamandrine" may be mentioned as, 
 beauty of description — picturesqueness of effect — simplicity and 
 pathos — the utmost delicacy of thought, feeling, and expression — a 
 purity of sentiment approaching the angelic. — Court Journal. 
 
 Had we not seen the " Undine," we should pronounce the " Salaman- 
 drine" the most beautiful example of this species of fiction; we have 
 little hesitation in saying that it is second only to that matchless pro- 
 duction. — The Tablet. 
 
 As a poem, containing passages of rare and exquisite beauty, in 
 many a varied strain, from the bold, pompous, and majestic, to the 
 gentle, passionless, and slow, with here and there a burst of eloquent 
 thought — it must be read, admired, and eulogised ; but as the bearer 
 of a high moral lesson, against a vice too prevalent among mankind, 
 it is of more than ordinary interest, — Glasgow Chronicle. 
 
 If we may judge from the effect it had upon ourselves, no poem has 
 issued from the press of late years equal to this ; the perusal of it 
 so kindled our fancy, and warmed our feelings, as to call to memory 
 those states of mind which the reading of Southey, Campbell, Scott, 
 and Byron produced, "^when our bosoms were young." The whole 
 phantasm is under the guidance of an enlightened mind ; and the 
 beautiful is magically blended with the wild and fantastic. — Mirror. 
 
 It abounds in passages most musical, most melancholy," and 
 affords throughout evidence of the possession by its author of very 
 high poetic talent. The ^' Salamandrine" is a beautiful little tale, 
 worthy of association with "Undine.' — United Service Gazette. 
 
 In the versification of this poem, Mr Mackay has been extremely 
 felicitous. It floods along like music — now rising, now falling — some- 
 times subsiding into mournful tones, and sometimes breaking out into 
 the most joyous exultation. There is more variety in it, also, than in 
 any thing he has hitherto produced — a higher strain of fancy — and in- 
 finitely greater facility of execution. The subject will insure it that 
 popularity which its merits richly deserve. — Atlas. 
 
 "The Salamandrine'' is the pleasantest legend we have read since 
 the " Ancient Mariner." — Churchman. 
 
 The author of this poem is already favourably known as one of the 
 few gentle spirits who are destined to redeem our age from the stigma 
 of being utterly prosaic. It is likely to be more popular than any of 
 his previous pieces. The story is fanciful; but the moral it points is 
 full of deep meaning, and the language in which it is conveyed is 
 highly poetical. Sincerely and heartily do we wish Mr Mackay success 
 in his favourite walk. — Aberdeen Herald. 
 
 We have seldom experienced so strong a feeling of intense pleasure, 
 as that which has been communicated to us by the perusal of this ex- 
 quisite poem of Mr C. Mack ay's. \Vc frankly confess that we thought the 
 time had passed away with us, when poetry would excite such feelings 
 of admiration in our mind. We believed that, with the death of Byron, 
 our taste had become dulled. Mr Mackay has convinced us of our 
 error; for in the "Salamandrine" he has brought forth a poem 
 worthy of the master-spirits of the bygone days — one which any one 
 
3 
 
 of those we have named would be proud to claim as his own, and must 
 consider it as an additional honour to have written. — BelVs New Weekly 
 Messenger. 
 
 In this delightful little volume, Mr Mackay has furnished us with 
 the sweetest and most pleasing tale in poetry which has been given 
 to the marvel -loving and novel-reading public for some years. — 
 Dublin Freeman's Journal. 
 
 From these extracts our readers may be able to form some notion 
 of the wild and sweet tale of the " Salamandrine" — a poem of which 
 it is high praise to say, that, in beauty and tenderness of fancy, it 
 often reminds us of Coleridge's " Christabel.'* Like all the author's 
 poetry, the sentiment it inculcates is pure and holy; and the guise in 
 which the lesson is conveyed is a gentle and truthful tale. — Inverness 
 Courier, 
 
 We cannot speak too highly of the manner in which Mr Mackay has 
 treated his subject. He really has produced a very beautiful poem. 
 His style is simple — the simplicity of nature. His versification is ex- 
 ceedingly smooth and melodious — in its metre full of variety, adapting 
 itself to convey the impressions the author desired to create. The 
 imagery of the poem is very chaste ; there is nothing elaborate or 
 even ornate about it — the sentiments are suitable, and all blend 
 together harmoniously, in keeping with the design of the author, and 
 with the wild and fanciful machinery by which he has vsrorked it out. 
 Seldom in these days have we read a poem with greater pleasure— one 
 that has charmed us more than the ^' Salamandrine." — Dublin Monitor. 
 
 We have not for some time enjoyed a purer or more real pleasure 
 than the perusal of this charming tale has afforded us. It is told in a 
 quaint and uneven verse, composed of the English ballad and the 
 Norman lay, mingled occasionally with a more classic irregularity^ 
 that combine into a very animated and vigorous, but also somewhat 
 rough, and we may add a rugged, measure; but there is a singular 
 propriety in its metrical div( rsities, for they change ever with the 
 subject, and echo its meaning with sense like sounds. — The True Tablet. 
 
 This poem, though supernatural, appeals to the common human sym- 
 pathies, and its general characteristic is a sweet wild simplicity. Per- 
 sonages, events, versification, are in exquisite harmony, and form a 
 whole of extreme beauty. The characters are simple, and we may so 
 speak, elementary, like those we meet with in the old Romances, and 
 free from the complicated peculiarities of thought and sentiment so 
 frequent in modern compositions. The incidents are well conceived, 
 following each other in natural order, and presenting to the eye a 
 series of vivid and striking pictures. The versification is melodious 
 in the extreme, and finely adapted to the varied tones of feeling in the 
 narrative. It is the ballad metre, naturally full of grace and variety, 
 and in Mr Mackay's hands peculiarly animated and graceful. It is full 
 of irregularities as to the length of the lines and the arrangement of 
 the rhyme ; but the variances are never from neglect or want of 
 power — they are necessary parts of richer music than regularity could 
 produce, and are employed with singular care and success. — Morning 
 Chronicle. 
 
 There is much to please, very much to interest, in this very clever 
 poem. The story is admirably told, with closeness, point, and vigour. It 
 has real tenderness, some happy and strenuous music in its verse, and 
 is the work of a man of thought and fancy, who will hereafter make 
 better and more efi"ective use of both. — London Examiner. 
 
 There is a wild and poetical originality in this production^ which af- 
 
 L 
 
4 
 
 fords a favourable display of the author's imaginative and descriptive 
 powers. The opening and conduct of the story are marked by talent 
 of a superior order ; and the interest attached to the heroine daughter 
 of the Flame, Amethysta, and her brother Porphyr, never fails. The 
 mortal hero, Sir Gilbert, in his various fortunes and misfortunes, is also 
 forcibly portrayed. — Literary Gazette. 
 
 Of Mr Mackay's graceful fancy and command over the varieties of 
 lyrical metre, the readers of this journal have had more than one op- 
 portunity of judging :— they know him, too, as skilful among the mo- 
 dern Romancers. Here he displays his attributes in combination, and 
 " Love and Immortality " ought to sustain, if it do not increase, the re- 
 putation he has already gained. — Athenceum. 
 
 Whether in regard to its fine moral influence in chaining the mind 
 to the wholesome contemplation of the immortality of the human soul, 
 to the masterly flashes of poetic thought, married to measures, if occa- 
 sionally fantastic only the more truly echoing the sense, — or to the, 
 at other times, soft, fluent, and chaste versification, that reminds one 
 alternately of Goldsmith, Rogers, and Campbell — we cannot hesitate to 
 conclude, that this effort of Mr Mackay entitles him to a high place 
 among the gifted sons of song. — Ayr Advertiser. 
 
 We trust there are but few of our readers unacquainted with the 
 compositions of Mr Charles Mackay — with the glorious and Christian 
 Poem, " The Hope of the World" — with the charming romance, "Long- 
 beard of London," or those exquisite sonnets and ballads, that, with the 
 profusion of genius, he casts forth almost daily upon the world, and 
 that are to be found circulating in every paper, and sung in every so- 
 ciety. To those who know the compositions of Charles Mackay, his 
 poem of the " Salamandrine" can excite no surprise; but to the fevv 
 who have known him not, this attractive and entrancing production is 
 destined to excite emotions of the purest and most pleasurable de^ 
 scription. — The World of Fashion. 
 
 We shall be strangely disappointed if we have failed to produce an 
 impression on the minds of those who, like ourselves, have studied this 
 poem, similar to that which has been formed in our own, that Mr Mac- 
 kay is a fine original poet. — Churchman. 
 
 Having given but a feeble outline of this beautiful poem, we may 
 observe for the benefit of the less imaginative reader, that notwith- 
 standing its preternatural agencies, the Salamandrine embodies a deep 
 human interest, and an impressive moral.— Caledonian Mercury. 
 
 The spirit of poetry has not yet departed from our land. Above the 
 crowd of vain aspirants to poetic distinction, some few there are who 
 rise to a proud pre-eminence, and throw a shade over their less gifted 
 competitors. We have no hesitation in assigning Mr Mackay a place 
 among this favoured few. We had received flattering reports of his 
 " Hope of the World," and were prepared to look with favour on the 
 " Salamandrine ;" it has fully equalled our expectations. — Richardson's 
 General Advertiser. 
 
 This exquisitely beautiful poem deserves to be ranked among the 
 happiest effusions of the British Muse, whether we consider the purity 
 of its diction, the music of its cadences, or the splendour of its imagery. 
 The subject is felicitously chosen, and offers ample scope for the wild- 
 est flights of a soaring imagination, Iti- a romantic drama in its con- 
 struction, teaching a noble lesson of philosophy, purified and sublimed 
 by the holiest aspirations after immortality. — Manchester Times. 
 
 This poem possesses all the simplicity of the ancient ballad, the va- 
 rious and irregular metre of which gives life and unfailing interest to 
 
every page. The version is extremely sweet and graceful ; and in 
 those days when the measure of the popular poetry comes round upon 
 our ears with as mechanical an evenness as from the barrel of a street 
 organ, an author who breaks into the prevailing monotony, and re- 
 minds us that there may be melody in occasional irregularity of rhyme 
 and rhythm, renders a service to his art. — The Lancaster Guardian. 
 
 Mr Mackay's versification is smooth, flowing, and graceful. The poem 
 abounds in passages of much sweetness and tenderness, by which it is 
 chiefly characterized. The descriptive portions are full of truth and 
 delicate beauty. There is moreover a lightness, an airiness, and inde- 
 finable gracefulness about the whole, which are singularly atti active, 
 and harmonize well with the subject. — The Inquirer. 
 
 In these prosaic times, it is refreshing to the spirit to meet with true 
 poetry, and however small the streamlet of song, we walk along its 
 banks, wrapt in the murmur of its music, and are willingly lost for the 
 mojuent to the vulgar noises of the outward world. A feeling of this 
 kind must be evident to all those who read the exquisite little volume 
 whose name heads this notice for its true poetry. Praise to the gods, 
 the voice of song, though often unheard of later days in this land, has 
 never been silent, and here is a proof of it — this welling out of the prim- 
 eval spring of poetry, whose sound enraptures every auditor. Metaphor, 
 however, apart, the '^Salamandrine" is certainly the most graceful, the 
 most elegant, the most delightful, and the most poetic production of 
 its class that has appeared since the days of Keats, and Coleridge, 
 and Southey ; and Mr Mackay is perhaps the only true legitimate suc- 
 cessor of those poets at present in existence. — Observer. 
 
 This is metal of the right sort, and has the image and superscription 
 of Apollo legibly upon it. — Glasgow Citizen, 
 
 Contributing not a little to the powerful effect of this story alone, 
 with general power in the narative, is Mr Mackay's well-known charm 
 of original and beautiful expression. There is a perpetual flow of sweet 
 ringing melody, which dwells as pleasure in the memory, even after 
 the substance of the story has departed, just as the voice of a first rate 
 singer maybe recalled long after all remembrance or connexion in the 
 melody has ceased, nay even though that connexion may never have 
 been properly understood. — Edinhnrgh Witness. 
 
 This poem is more than worthy of the distinction which it has gained 
 by reaching a second edition. It is long since we have received from 
 the perusal of any new volume of poetry so much delight as this has 
 afforded us. Mr Mackay is possessed of a fine vein of fancy, and his 
 verses, almost always graceful, and occasionally showing much spirit, 
 are distinguished throughout by great tenderness and simplicity. 
 Here and there we meet with a flat passage or an ungainly couplet, 
 and sometimes we think that we catch an echo from Coleridge or from 
 Scott; bat these are trifling defects, and scarcely detract from the 
 great merit of the book. As a whole, we trust that the author will not 
 suffer the poetic talent with which he is endowed, to lie dormant. — 
 Glasgow Constitutional. 
 
BOUND BY 
 
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