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diff --git a/old/54505.txt b/old/54505.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 74940c5..0000000 --- a/old/54505.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6267 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by William Anderson - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Poems - -Author: William Anderson - -Release Date: April 7, 2017 [EBook #54505] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** - - - - -Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Nahum Maso i Carcases and -the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - Transcriber's Notes: - - Obvious punctuation errors and misprints have been corrected. - - The blank pages of the printed original have been deleted in the - e-text version. - - Text in italics and boldface is indicated between _underscores_ and - =double hyphens=, respectively. - - Text in small capitals has been replaced by regular uppercase text. - - A large curly bracket present in the poem "Mount Horeb" of the - printed original is indicated with three small curly brackets in the - e-text version. - - * * * * * - - - - - POEMS. - - - - - POEMS. - - - BY - - WILLIAM ANDERSON. - - - Now First Collected. - - - EDINBURGH: - J. MENZIES, 61, PRINCES STREET. - 1845. - - - - - EDINBURGH: - - AW. MURRAY, PRINTER, MILNE SQUARE. - - - - - TO - - HENRY EDWARDS, D.D., PH.D., - - AUTHOR OF - - "PIETY AND INTELLECT RELATIVELY ESTIMATED," "CHRISTIAN - HUMILITY," AND SEVERAL OTHER WORKS OF MERIT. - - THIS VOLUME - - IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED - - BY - - HIS SINCERE FRIEND, - - THE AUTHOR. - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - LANDSCAPE LYRICS. - - I. Sunrise, 7 - - II. Morning farther advanced, 10 - - III. Noonday, 13 - - IV. The Sunbeam, 16 - - V. To a Wild Flower, 19 - - VI. Summer, 22 - - VII. Midsummer, 25 - - VIII. The Sunshine of Poetry, 28 - - IX. Autumn, in its First Aspect, 31 - - X. Autumn, in its Second Aspect, 34 - - XI. Sunset, 37 - - XII. Twilight, 40 - - XIII. Moonlight on Land, 43 - - XIV. Moonlight at Sea, 46 - - XV. Home Scenes, 49 - - - POETICAL ASPIRATIONS. - - The Alpine Horn, 55 - - Reflections on Death, 58 - - Through the Wood.--Modern Ballad, 62 - - Song of the Exile, 64 - - To Fame, 66 - - To a Bee, 68 - - The Storm, 71 - - "Lazarus, Come Forth," 73 - - Sonnet. On the Approach of Summer, 74 - - Beauty, 75 - - To M. J. R., 76 - - Sonnet. A Contrast, 77 - - Sonnet. Roslin, 78 - - On the Birth of a Niece, 79 - - On her death, 80 - - Sonnet. To Happiness, 81 - - Thoughts, 82 - - Loch Awe, 85 - - The Wolf, 87 - - The April Cloud, 94 - - Spring, 95 - - Poesy, 97 - - Sonnet. To a Friend of the Author, 100 - - The Gipsy's Lullaby, 101 - - Woodland Song, 102 - - Sonnet. The Ocean, 104 - - Mount Horeb, 105 - - Written beneath an Elm, 111 - - The Wells o' Weary, 115 - - Dryburgh Abbey, 116 - - - POEMS HERE FIRST COLLECTED. - - Grace, 119 - - Matin, 121 - - Immortality, 122 - - Lines. On the Death of John Sinclair, Esq., - Edinburgh, 125 - - Weep not for the Dead, 127 - - Idols, 129 - - Truth, 132 - - Sabbath Morn, 133 - - Sabbath Eve, 134 - - Dreams of the Living, 135 - - Lines, 139 - - Sonnets Written on Viewing Danby's Picture - of the Deluge, 140 - - Thought, 142 - - Lines Written on the Attempted Assassination - of the Queen, July 1840, 143 - - Song.--"I'm Naebody Noo," 147 - - Song. "There's Plenty Come to Woo me," 149 - - The Stout Old British Ship, 151 - - Lines on the Infant Son and Daughter of Hon. - Col. Montague, 154 - - The Martyrs, 156 - - Caledonia, My Country, 158 - - Song. "I Canna Sleep," 160 - - Song. "Yonder Sunny Brae," 162 - - - THE EAGLE'S NEST, AND OTHER POEMS, HERE FIRST - PRINTED. - - The Eagle's Nest, 167 - - The Advent of Truth, 179 - - Lines Suggested by a Walk in a Garden, 182 - - Sonnet. Sunshine, 187 - - Song. "At E'ening when the Kye war in," 188 - - Stanzas on a Bust of Marshal Ney, 191 - - Winter, 194 - - Human Conduct, 197 - - Courtship Lines, 210 - - Love-Weakness, 211 - - Lines to the Rev. Henry Dudley Ryder, on - reading his "Angelicon," 213 - - The Poet, 216 - - Light and Shadow, 223 - - The Early Dead, 226 - - A Dirge, 229 - - A Benediction, 231 - - Health, 233 - - The Game of Life, 235 - - Consumption, 237 - - Change, 238 - - Virtue, 241 - - Vain Hopes, 243 - - The Valley of Life, 245 - - After Thought, 251 - - - NOTES, 255 - - - - - LANDSCAPE LYRICS. - - (SECOND EDITION.) - - - - - TO - - THE REV. HENRY DUDLEY RYDER, - - CANON RESIDENTIARY OF LICHFIELD CATHEDRAL, - - THIS VOLUME OF LANDSCAPE LYRICS, - - AS - - A MARK OF RESPECT FOR HIS VIRTUES, - - OF ADMIRATION OF HIS GENIUS, - - AND IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE PLEASANT HOURS PASSED IN HIS SOCIETY, - - IS INSCRIBED, - - BY HIS FRIEND, - - THE AUTHOR. - - - - - PREFACE - - TO THE - - FIRST EDITION OF LANDSCAPE LYRICS. - - -THE poems contained in the following pages must be taken as parts of a -whole, being intended to be distinct only in their subjects. This will -account for the same measure being used throughout. - -Of these pieces, the only one which has been previously published is -that addressed "To a Wild Flower." My reason for inserting it here -is, that it harmonizes with the other poems; and, having been already -favourably spoken of by competent judges, I must confess it is one -which I should "not willingly let die." - -In the first poem on "Autumn," I have introduced what has always -appeared to me a beautiful incident in nature; namely, the singing of -the missel-thrush during a thunder-storm. The louder the thunder roars, -the shriller and sweeter becomes its voice. This interesting little -bird is popularly known by the name of the storm-cock, because he is -supposed to sing boldest immediately previous to a storm; but that he -also sends forth his "native wood notes wild," during its continuance, -is a fact which has been satisfactorily ascertained. Undismayed by the -tempest's fury, or, rather rejoicing in its violence, the small but -spirited songster warbles on unceasingly, as if desirous of emulating -the loudness of the thunder-tone, or of making his song be heard above -the noise of the raging elements. - -The poetry of nature, particularly at this joyous season, is in its -landscapes; and if these unpretending "Lyrics" should lead any one to a -healthy contemplation of natural objects, or impart, to refined minds, -any pleasure in the perusal, the time which has been bestowed upon them -will not have been idly or unprofitably employed. - -LONDON, 1st June, 1838. - - - - - POEMS. - - - - - LANDSCAPE LYRICS. - - - - - No. I.--SUNRISE. - - - SPREAD are dawn's radiant wings, - Its dazzling feet pursue their silent way, - Leaving no shadow, for each coming ray - A general brightness brings. - - The vapour from the brow - Of the old mountain crests, begins to part, - Like care from off the forehead, and the heart-- - And all is cloudless now! - - The universal air, - The smiling sky, and the far-stretching mead-- - All nature, in its varied forms agreed, - Mingle their beauties there! - - The ripple of the wave, - Beachward returning to the distant shore, - Like a lone pilgrim to the cottage door, - That once a welcome gave: - - The new-waked laureat bee, - On the flower-blossom, breathing in its mirth, - Its conch-like matin song, to greet the earth, - With ever grateful glee! - - The landscape's free expanse, - And all the harmonies that, spread around, - Combine the joys of hearing, sight, and sound, - Are gathered at a glance; - - And powerfully they tell, - With deeper eloquence than notes divine, - Of many things that round our heart-strings twine, - And in our fancies dwell; - - Of boyhood's sportive days, - The thymy glade, the daisy blooming there, - The vale remote, or lake secluded, where - The smiling sunbeam plays; - - The gay flowers on the plain, - Gemming the mead, perfuming all the wood; - As if each Summer morn was Spring renew'd, - Or May-day come again! - - The music of the birds, - Telling all sleepers of the birth of day, - And, with reviving Nature, haste to pay - Their homage, not in words! - - The dreamy waterfall, - Babbling and bubbling from the upland spring; - The soaring crag where eaglets rest their wing, - Listening the eagle's call: - - The minstrel streamlet near, - The zephyr's breath, too languid for a breeze, - That stirs, yet scarcely moves, the gentle trees, - Touching the waters clear. - - The sunrays, as they pass - Into broad sunshine, throw their light on all, - With bloom and blossom, whereso'er they fall; - On mount, or meadow-grass. - - And something more than light - Sleeps on the verdant hill-side; dreams of love, - And glimpses of the happier state above, - Burst on the mental sight. - - - - - No. II.--MORNING FURTHER ADVANCED. - - - MEET 'tis to watch and spy, - The laughing Orient, like a chubby child, - Bringing new joyousness to wood and wild, - To ocean, earth, and sky. - - The groups of early flowers - To th' enamoured sun their bosoms ope,-- - Apt emblems of the welcome birth of Hope, - In life's oft darkened bowers. - - Pass to the green hill-side, - And let us wander where the wild flowers grow, - Gaze on the sedgy stream's calm depths below, - Where gentle minnows glide. - - The sheltered cuckoo's notes, - In the young sunshine, echo on the ear-- - A moving voice, from all around, is here!-- - Hymns from a thousand throats:-- - - The spirit grows the more - Refined and holy, as we stand and gaze - Upon the landscape, brightening in the blaze - That gilds both land and shore. - - All objects, far and near, - The light of morn illumines; it is now - That man can walk erect with glowing brow, - And heart devoid of fear. - - And, lo! there is a stir - In yonder village, bosomed in the dell, - Like a meek babe, loved by its mother well, - And loving nought but her! - - Where claims the eye to rest? - Earth has a balmy look, and so has Heaven; - And thoughts, like mazy clouds through ether driven, - Float in th' enraptured breast. - - The sylvan haunts, where youth - Roams, fancy led, all glorious in their hue; - The quaint sequestered spots and paths we view, - Where Age consorts with Truth. - - Read we of aught that wakes - High inspiration in the soul, in scenes like these? - The tufted trees' fantastic tapestries-- - Romantic knolls and brakes; - - The hill-enskirted glen, - Where bound the wild deer; and the huntsman's horn - Sounds from afar, a welcome to the morn, - Till Echo sounds again! - - And more than all, the old - And pyramidal mountains, that with time - Have stood, defying change, and storm, and clime, - As none else of earth's mould - - Hath done: the sun embrowns, - But does not scorch them; rain, and wind, and snow, - Renew them, not destroy; no waste they know, - But lasting glory crowns. - - Still to the heart endeared - Are sights like this we gaze on. Do we deem - That they are other than a privileged dream?-- - One that the mind has reared! - - - - - No. III.--NOONDAY. - - - LO! like an eastern king, - Forth marches Sunshine gorgeously through earth, - By health attended, and life-giving mirth, - And heralded by Spring. - - Light through the untrack'd air, - Pursues its course authentic; hill and dale - Rejoice, and Nature cries, "All hail!" - As if a king were there. - - The elevated lawns, - Where first the day comes, and where last retires, - Rejoicing seem; their light the mind inspires, - And thought, like morning, dawns. - - The wild, yet artless breeze, - Now, in the ear of Nature, sings its song, - Wandering green fields and flowery banks among, - And over shadowy seas. - - Soft falls the sunlight down - On the old castle that, above the dell, - Stands in its glory, lone, as if to tell - Some tale of past renown. - - The hamlet in the vale, - The church beside the stream that winds remote - Among the hills--the smoothly-going boat, - That midway hoists its sail. - - A scene like this is rife - With pleasurable feelings, as with grace; - Perhaps we here, instructively, may trace - Some simile of life! - - The grey and steadfast hills - Tell of the old immortals of past time: - And, looking downward, beauty, in its prime, - The heart with rapture fills. - - The care-escaping deer - Descend together from the uplands, while - The sprouting grass puts forth a pleasant smile, - As if to tempt them near. - - The sinless flowers, away - In the far inward forest paths bestrown, - Are yet not solitary, though alone; - None are so glad as they. - - The comely violets - Their leaf-buds open, and the sunshine seek; - The pastures fresh their grateful homage speak, - Untinctured with regrets. - - The virgin rose assumes - A bridal bearing, as if noonday came, - With brighter countenance, its love to claim, - And revel 'midst its blooms: - - The prattle of the brook, - The lazy clouds that, hung in middle sky, - Exulting in the balm, float listless by, - Reflecting back their look: - - The buds, the herbs, the leaves, - Each, and all things that blossom, bless the rays - Of the bright sun, and, as they bless, they praise - The bounteous Hand that gives! - - - - - No. IV.--THE SUNBEAM. - - - NOW glory walks abroad, - And on the quiet unassuming stream, - And on the rock-ribbed hills, gently its beam - All lovely is bestowed. - - The daizy-footed day, - O'er the far mead, in virgin radiance comes, - While the bee, jubilant, its welcome hums, - And passes on its way. - - The lily, in its bloom, - Of the lone valley, where the breezes sing - Of love, beside the violet-crested spring, - And heather-bell's perfume: - - And beauty, without guile, - It pictures dreams of in the bounding breast, - And love-breathed vows, and unions that are blest, - And childhood's fairy smile: - - The mountain's verdant side, - Where visioned poesy delights to show - The sights of Heaven to gentle minds below: - The heath-bank in its pride: - - The broken branch, grass-hid, - On which the goat-herd leans, while, far aloof, - His bounding charge rest th' adventurous hoof - Where man's foot dare not tread: - - The cushat in the wood, - Where the laburnum and the lilac grow; - The placid rill, wandering away below, - As one for earth too good: - - The dim-seen paths remote, - That lead to lone retreats and leafy cells, - Where, like a bashful fay, the fancy dwells, - And many-imaged thought: - - The vintage and its cheer, - The peasant, sun-embrown'd, and flow'r-deck'd maid, - The festooned village, music in the shade, - To charm th' expectant ear: - - The flow'ret in the wild, - The mossy resting place, 'neath oaks antique: - The half-grassed foot-track worldlings do not seek, - Where poets are beguiled: - - The foam-bell on the wave; - The full-sailed vessel on its homeward track; - The smile that lights the sorrowing sinner back: - The primrose on a grave! - - The berry's purple shine, - Grape-like and lustrous, scattered 'mid the waste: - The sprinkled heath-flower, healthful, golden-paced: - The patriarchal pine: - - The memories of all - Telling of pleasures rare, and jocund ease, - In deep-toned joyousness, yea, more than these, - The sunbeam does recall: - - The hope of life above; - Rich buds of promise springing everywhere; - The grace-blest gifts that come without our care, - From all-providing Love! - - - - - No. V.--TO A WILD FLOWER. - - - IN what delightful land, - Sweet-scented flower, didst thou attain thy birth? - Thou art no offspring of the common earth, - By common breezes fanned! - - Full oft my gladdened eye, - In pleasant glade, on river's marge has traced, - (As if there planted by the hand of Taste), - Sweet flowers of every dye: - - But never did I see, - In mead or mountain, or domestic bower, - 'Mong many a lovely and delicious flower, - One half so fair as thee! - - Thy beauty makes rejoice - My inmost heart.--I know not how 'tis so,-- - Quick-coming fancies thou dost make me know, - For fragrance is thy voice: - - And still it comes to me, - In quiet night, and turmoil of the day, - Like memory of friends gone far away, - Or, haply, ceased to be. - - Together we'll commune, - As lovers do, when, standing all apart, - No one o'erhears the whispers of their heart, - Save the all-silent moon. - - Thy thoughts I can divine, - Although not uttered in vernac'lar words: - Thou me remind'st of songs of forest birds; - Of venerable wine; - - Of Earth's fresh shrubs and roots; - Of Summer days, when men their thirsting slake - In the cool fountain, or the cooler lake, - While eating wood-grown fruits: - - Thy leaves my memory tell - Of sights, and scents, and sounds, that come again, - Like ocean's murmurs, when the balmy strain - Is echoed in its shell. - - The meadows in their green, - Smooth-running waters in the far-off ways, - The deep-voiced forest where the hermit prays, - In thy fair face are seen. - - Thy home is in the wild, - 'Mong sylvan shades, near music-haunted springs, - Where peace dwells all apart from earthly things, - Like some secluded child. - - The beauty of the sky, - The music of the woods, the love that stirs - Wherever Nature charms her worshippers, - Are all by thee brought nigh. - - I shall not soon forget - What thou hast taught me in my solitude: - My feelings have acquired a taste of good, - Sweet flower! since first we met. - - Thou bring'st unto the soul - A blessing and a peace, inspiring thought! - And dost the goodness and the power denote - Of Him who formed the whole. - - - - - No. VI.--SUMMER. - - - IS vision-land so near, - And we not know of it? Oh! dull and dead - Must be the heart, the passions cold as lead, - That find no beauty here! - - Fresh o'er th' awakened earth, - Now all the glories of the Summer shine; - And Nature, as if drunk with olden wine, - Is laughing in its mirth! - - And melodies are heard - From far and near, and sounds that stir the heart, - Sweeter than fancy dreams of, when slow Art - To rival them has erred. - - All things become more pure - And hallowed to the view: the very flowers - Seem smiling in a world more rich than ours-- - A birth-place more secure! - - The berry of the wood - Blooms with new lustre, 'neath the golden ray - Of the warm sunshine, resting by the way, - Where the green forests brood. - - The old and reverend trees, - And clustering thickets, now are gladly sought - By him who from the heat would stray remote, - And rest his limbs at ease. - - The smell of new-mown hay - Revives the heart, like as at evening time - We love to listen to the tinkling chime - Of sheep-bells far away. - - And, lo! the rustic cot, - On the smooth margin of the quiet lake, - Where wedded Love and pleased Content partake - Their enviable lot: - - Where, daylong, may be seen - Two sister swans, disporting in their joy; - The happy parents, with their baby-boy, - Reclining on the green. - - Decay should seem unknown-- - But spiteful Time its certain change prepares: - Light has its shade, and pleasure has its cares; - Music its saddened tone: - - Summer its springing weeds, - And trodden flowers that tell of bygone joys, - And thoughts long since forgotten, 'mid the noise - That from man's haunts proceeds. - - How beautiful the sight! - Why should we think of change for scenes like this? - Fair as a poet's thought, when thought is bliss, - And all he sees is light! - - Let but th' enraptured eye - Once look upon the landscape's gorgeous train - And, like a kiss upon the brow of pain, - That brings a solace nigh, - - In after years 'twill rest - Within the memory, with bloom and balm, - Refreshing to the soul, like a sweet calm - On ocean's troubled breast. - - - - - No. VII.--MIDSUMMER. - - - A BLAZE is in mine eyes - Of rich and balmy light; and on mine ear - A sound of melody is ringing clear, - Like carols in the skies: - - And on my heart the while - There rests, like Love, when Hope is bright as this, - A charm to soothe, a thrill of good to bless; - A universal smile! - - Is it a picture limned - By some high intellect where genius throngs? - Are these the echoes of celestial songs, - By angel-voices hymned? - - Am I on earth, in air, - In heaven, or on the sea,--with ocean's sights, - And ocean's sounds,--that I partake delights, - And visions see so fair? - - Ah, me! a shadow steals - From out the mountains, like a lurking grief; - As on our happy home, the silent thief - His hateful eye reveals; - - Bringing me down from heaven - To this dull earth, whereon my footsteps tread-- - The sky, so calm and pure above my head, - Health to my soul has given! - - And now, before me placed, - What is there to rejoice the eye or ear? - All that the heart deems fair is surely here, - By God's own fingers traced: - - And bounteously his gifts - HE has bestowed upon the growing land; - Her paths are teeming from his lib'ral Hand, - That knows no grudging thrifts. - - Up looks the toiling hind, - And wipes his brow, and rests upon his spade; - The idle herdsman, in the hawthorn shade, - A-weary lies reclined. - - The village church is seen, - Light streaming through its windows, soft and fair, - Like rays of mercy, answering the prayer - Of penitence serene. - - 'Midst fairy scenes like these, - Whose fruitage beautiful allures each sense, - And whose green leaves, in blooming eloquence, - Exert their aim to please, - - Can thought, in its career - Of joy, pause midway, and with care alight?-- - Can fancy, eagle-winged, restrain its flight, - To dream of winter drear? - - In noonday's warmest ray - We deem that darkness has our clime forsook: - Backward or forward we refuse to look; - But on the present stay. - - Yet let not gloom be here! - The Earth rejoices now in Nature's prime; - Season of joy,--the holiday of Time,-- - The Sabbath of the year! - - - - - No. VIII.--THE SUNSHINE OF POETRY. - - - THINK not the poet's song - Worthless or idle; do not deem his lay - Fantastic, that he offers by the way, - To make it seem less long. - - His numbers have their use, - Though foolish they may sound to worldling's ear; - His own lot, if no other's, they may cheer; - His own content produce. - - Does he not add a light - To earth-born beauty, wanting it unknown? - To bloom give balm, to melody a tone, - Make brightness seem more bright? - - Does he not fill the air - With sights, and shapes, and shadows?--make the sky - The dwelling-place of beings, which no eye - But his can image there? - - And more than all, his lay - Awakes new feelings in the human heart, - And visions bring that never can depart, - When once they feel his sway. - - To him the power is given - To soothe the broken heart, the care-worn mind; - And the waked soul in dreams ecstatic bind, - And bear away to heaven: - - For to none else does earth - Look with so fair a promise; yea, to none - Speaks she with such an eloquence of tone, - Or to such thoughts gives birth, - - Ah! who may analyse - The cloistered feelings of the poet's soul, - When Nature's impulse vibrates through the whole, - And Truth, that never dies! - - Creation's beauties bring - Renewed enjoyment, and his genius fire; - For every sight, and every sound, inspire - His inmost heart to sing! - - His birthright is to live - In citizenship with Nature;--to hold - Communion with her mysteries, his old - And high prerogative! - - Seeks he for wealth, denied - By worldlings, lucre-led, of sordid mind; - His heritage,--free, fertile, unconfined,-- - Is Nature's pastures wide. - - Pants he for peace, to throw - A solace on his soul? The voice that breathes - Its music, 'mong the wild flowers' clustering wreaths, - Does to his heart bestow - - A bliss that none can share, - Save him whom Nature to some far-sought wild - Has led, anointed as her chosen child, - And made her sacred care. - - Where'er the breezes roam, - The mountains soar, or ocean's wave is thrown, - The poet's spirit, free as Nature's own, - Finds for itself a home! - - - - - No. IX.--AUTUMN, IN ITS FIRST ASPECT. - - - THE orchard's plenteous store, - The apple-boughs o'erburdened with their load, - That passers-by may gather from the road, - Hang now the near walls o'er: - - And filberts, bursting fair, - Seduce the loiterer to reach the hand, - And pluck the offered treasures of the land, - With wood-nuts that are there. - - The still hill-sides are clad - With bloom; the distant moorland now is bright - With blossom, and with beauty; the rich sight - The heart of man makes glad. - - The hamlet is at peace; - And, in the ripened fields, the reapers ply - Their useful labour; while a golden sky - Smiles on the soil's increase. - - To the romantic spring, - That gushes lone beneath the neighbouring hill, - The cottage maidens go, their jars to fill, - While carols rude they sing! - - Sweet is the cuckoo's song - In early Spring, and musical and blessed - The nightingale--young Summer's lutenist-- - Pours its gay notes-along; - - And, in the thunder's roar, - In Autumn, when the sudden lightnings flash, - Sweet sings the missel-thrush amid the crash, - The bursting tempest o'er! - - As solitary tree, - That, pilgrim-like, scathless, amid the shock - Of rudest storms, that burst the sterner rock, - Stands in its grandeur free. - - But sweeter than them all, - And softer than the voice of love returned, - Are the untutored lays of lips sunburned, - From village maids that fall! - - To schoolboys' feelings dear - Is rich-toned Autumn. Oh! with what a zest - They plunge in stream retired,--despoil a nest,-- - Or ramble far and near. - - How oft, when changeful Time - Has sprinkled o'er our locks its silver threads, - Remembrance brings to mind--and gladness sheds-- - The pastimes of our prime! - - The lowing of the kine, - In distant meadow-glades, comes on the ear, - With taste of nature fresh, like far-off cheer - Of rustics, as they join - - The merry dance at eve; - Each rural sound has in it joy and health: - Man now should garner thought, as well as wealth, - And gladly truth receive. - - The calm and picturesque; - The foliaged cedar, and the wreathed beech, - More glowing thoughts and impulses can teach - Than Learning from his desk! - - - - - No. X.--AUTUMN, IN ITS SECOND ASPECT. - - - NOW, Autumn's mantle brown - Falls on the woods and fields, the leaves are sere, - And, like sad offerings to the rifled year, - They drop in clusters down: - - The land is lone and bare; - The grateful trees themselves of leaves divest - To form a covering for earth's naked breast, - With reverential care; - - For why should they be left - In all their foliage, when the sunshine's grace - Is gone from off the hills, and Nature's face - Is of its charms bereft? - - The distance grey, becomes - Like a thin thread of silver, long drawn out;-- - But hark the cheerful tabor, and the shout! - The sound of merry drums! - - Now sportive Harvest-Home - By vintagers and villagers is held, - And heart-bright wine, and strong-lipped ale are welled, - Like water at the foam: - - And labourers rejoice, - That fruits of field and orchard all are housed; - And the glad song of thankfulness is roused - From every manly voice! - - The high ancestral hall,-- - Where Health delights to dwell, and generous Mirth - Holds, when the corn is gathered from the earth, - A grateful festival,-- - - Adorns the waning scene. - Here may be heard, when in a musing mood, - The cawing of the old rooks in the wood, - That flanks it like a screen. - - Is there not much to cheer - In the glad sounds that still from hill and vale, - And glen remote, come echoed on the gale - To greet th' excited ear? - - Lo! o'er the changing sward - Sweep now the huntsmen in the rapid chace, - The deep-toned yell of hounds, mouthing the trace - Of the fleet deer, is heard. - - In lone and hoary wood, - Where the wild cherry and the yellow elm - Commingled with the oak, the soul o'erwhelm - With visions many-hued; - - There comes a solemn tone, - Like what is felt, in passing down the while - Some old cathedral's venerable aisle,-- - A feeling all its own! - - But now, at close of day, - When the damp vapoury veil of eve is gone, - Of gathering winds, the mournful dirge-like moan, - Sounds wildly far away. - - For winter casts its shade - Before it, and the year begins to feel - Its chilling influences on it steal, - Like touches of the dead! - - - - - No. XI.--SUNSET. - - - LIGHT on the landscape shines - Awhile, ere vanishing, as loth to leave;-- - Upon the mead, the wearied ox at eve - Familiarly reclines. - - The plough is left a-field, - And the rude labourer, from his toil set free, - Leads his tired steads forth o'er the upturned lea, - Refreshing drink to yield. - - The hills with light are dyed; - And pointing spires peer o'er the distant trees, - As one tall vessels in the horizon sees, - Careering in their pride! - - Each meek flower, white and red, - That tufts the meadow, in fresh odour sleeps, - Ere the departing Day from off the steeps - Lifts his resplendent head. - - The golden-tissued clouds, - Amid which now the Sun, world-worshipped, sinks, - Retain his glory still upon their brinks, - As gloom the earth enshrouds! - - Slowly the darkness creeps - Up the lone hill-sides, shadow-like, by sighs - Of ev'ning lullabyed, as on man's eyes - Steals slumber ere he sleeps! - - Thus on the mountain-oak, - And on the hoary castle's ruined walls, - The rotting ivy, clinging as it falls, - Seems their past strength to mock. - - Exalted are the thoughts - That rise within our souls at such a time; - The vast, the wild, the awful, the sublime, - Embodied, round us floats! - - And the hushed spirit seems - To listen to the tones from giants flung; - Echoes of war-songs, that of old were sung, - Now rush like mountain streams: - - And what come on the sight - Are not the puny visions of the day; - The near and the familiar pass away, - With the departing light: - - Each mountain range that towers - In desert grandeur o'er the darkening scene, - Looks like a spirit standing now between - Another world and ours! - - Oh! ye time-honoured hills, - The Ancient, the Immortal--is it not - A high-born privilege ne'er to be forgot, - To feel none of earth's ills? - - Sublime ye are as Heaven! - Though bleak not barren, silent yet not dumb, - From out your shadows health and music come, - And thronging thoughts are given! - - Not worthless is your aim, - To stand from age to age, from hour to hour, - The Almighty's temple, token of his power, - And record of his name! - - - - - No. XII.--TWILIGHT. - - - NOW enter we within - The shadows of the ev'ning, as they wind - Around the mountains' summits, and remind - Our startled souls of sin, - - Coiling, like serpent twist, - Round every thought and impulse; thus the night - Brings down its sable curtain o'er the sight, - And veils the world in mist. - - The shrill-piped curlew's song - Wanders, like poesy, in distant glades; - And inexpressive notes that to eve's shades - Are fitted, pass along! - - The beetle's drone is heard, - Dull, sluggish, heavy, in the dark-hued lane: - And, hark! afar, the melancholy strain - Of Echo!--twilight's bard! - - At this lone hour we seek - Some quiet spot, to meditation free;-- - When the Material we do not see, - Then Fancy may bespeak - - Aught that she will;--the dim - And shadowy her peopled world, she finds - Forms in the darkness;--in the troublous winds - Can trace a conqueror's hymn! - - Sleep has its dreams, and night - Its inspirations,--bounding, changing still,-- - Imagination on some shrouded hill - Does, eagle-like, alight. - - Ah! not an hour ago - Here hamlets stood, and palaces, and fields: - What man has furnished, what creation yields, - And what the earth does grow: - - And now, where are they all? - Gone with the mighty, vanished with the past: - For twilight, enviously, has o'er them cast - Her black unpiercing pall, - - And shut all out to sight.-- - Oh! bat-eyed vision! Oh! weak mortal eyes! - Are there no mountains left--no shining skies-- - No rivers clothed in light? - - Are there no happy broods - Of little flowers in rustic ways remote? - No pathways to the woods? And, oh! fell thought, - No golden-foliaged woods? - - Such fancies rise to sight - In night's tranquillity, where Thought is born;-- - But back the laughing world will come with morn-- - Life is not all a blight! - - Should clouded be to-day, - Bring yesterday, and all its joys to view;-- - Though no to-morrow offers to renew - Their smile--'tis not away! - - 'Twill dawn in after-time - On memory.--The charm of Nature's looks, - The voice of birds, the minstrelsy of brooks, - Live ever in their prime! - - - - - No. XIII.--MOONLIGHT ON LAND. - - - THE early bridal Moon - Comes in her splendour forth, and walks between - The stars of Heaven, like an anointed queen - Amid her maids at noon. - - Now from the sleeping hills - The spectral mist-wreaths quickly pass away, - Beneath her pale, but earth enamoured ray, - And glory all things fills. - - Forth let us wander, led - By odours sweet; leaving th' accustomed way, - The valley seek we, where the moonbeams stray, - Like May-flowers newly shed! - - The distant streamlets sing - Their vesper hymn.--Is there a voice below - Can give such music, mingled with such woe, - Or can such rapture bring? - - In the far wild we hear - That soothing tone its murmurings repeat, - And the more sad, the sweeter, as is meet - The spirit lone to cheer. - - Fair is the sky, and fair - The earth; and yet 'tis but the moon, this night, - That lights them both, and makes them look so bright,-- - Clothes them in beauty rare! - - And who are they that come - Into the moonlight from the tranquil shade, - And then shrink back, as to be seen afraid, - With feelings that are dumb? - Two lovers fond and true - Holding communion with each other's hearts;-- - The first pure glow of love that ne'er departs, - Which moonlight scenes renew. - - Who has not on the moon - Looked long and musingly, and, looking, dreamed - Of love and loveliness? Who has not deemed - Its ray a granted boon? - - The unveiled orb of night-- - To which the sighs and orisons, flow'r-wreathed, - Of lovers in all ages have been breathed,-- - Bathes all she sees in light. - - Her tracery is rich - With images Mosaic, soft inlaid;-- - Forms, heav'n-traced, slumber 'twixt the light and shade, - In every quiet niche. - - Moonlight is not like eld,-- - For it is young, and bright, and fresh and clear; - But age the features sharpens, and brings near - Resemblances withheld: - So moonlight in its pride - Outlines the landscape, and brings out to view - Scenes of bright promise, and of fairy hue, - By glen and mountain side! - - In moonlit mead or dell - My soul endenizened, imbibes a tone - Of nature-nurtured truth, which still is prone - A plaintive tale to tell. - - - - - No. XIV.--MOONLIGHT AT SEA. - - - HOW beautiful the chaste - And glorious moonlight glitters on the wave! - Like diamond glancing upward from its cave, - By rushing waters paced! - - The home-bound seaman hails - Its ray auspicious, as it gayly flits - Before him on his ocean-path, or sits - Like silver on the sails! - - Profusely thrown in showers - The dancing beam with every wave curl dips, - Like sunlight sprinkled on the bearded lips - Of humble meadow-flowers. - - On the lone beetling cliff, - Where moonlight streams in all its glory bright, - I see below the fishers, by its light, - Haul beechward their rude skiff: - - And high above, the cot - Which they call home, stands in the glad moonlight, - Dear to their hearts and welcome to their sight, - When they are far afloat. - - Here, as I linger, rapt, - In the lone presence of the ocean free, - Suspended like a bird above the sea, - My bounding soul is apt - - To mingle, as its own, - Among the waters, like a privileged thing; - Or, as a seamew spreads its radiant wing, - On the wild breezes thrown, - - To wander far away - Above the breakers, and then strength inhale; - Or float, like one inspired, upon the gale, - And all its might survey. - - The grey sea, like grey time, - Rolls onward till it traces its fixed bound, - And then resumes its slow accustomed round, - Fettered like measured rhyme! - - The hollow of God's hand - Might hold it; and, though restless in its pride, - It cannot outflow its appointed tide, - Or overrun the land. - - When the rude tempest sings, - And waves run high, and harsh the thunder's threats - Assail the ear, the seaman ne'er forgets - The promise moonlight brings: - - Amid the lashing foam, - When its soft smile anoints the boiling wave; - It tracks his pathway, prompts his soul to brave - Whatever perils come. - - Homeward his vessel drifts, - With beauty fair behind it and before; - Hope leads it onward to the wished-for shore, - And all the heart uplifts. - - Like mellow light of years, - Long since evanished, on the memory, - The moonlight falls upon the bounding sea, - And the whole present cheers! - - - - - No. XV.--HOME SCENES. - - - AS young bird from its nest, - At morn, floats upward--onward--and away; - And when the night brings down its shadows grey. - Returns unto its rest, - - Ev'n thus the youthful mind - Goes forward to the world; partakes its cares - And fleeting joys,--is tempted by its snares; - But can no refuge find: - - The freshness of his home - Goes with him, guidingly, where'er he wends; - A star-like light upon his steps attends-- - A ray from Heaven's bright dome! - - In all his toil and fret, - The quiet fields and gentle streams he knew, - When youth clothed all around in fairest hue, - His soul can ne'er forget: - - For still their memories come, - Like poetry, to his spirit;--as a tone - Of music's echo on the waters thrown, - And heard 'mid evening's gloom. - - In brumal age, the dreams - Of home refresh the soul, as purples pied - Peep up from out the snows, and smile beside - Winter's deserted streams; - - As violets on a rock - They cheer the solitude,--their promise dawns - Upon the mind, like moonlight o'er the lawns-- - Or joy to one grief-broke. - - Home of our youth, what spot - On earth is like thee? Scenes of early days, - Oh! where upon your equals can we gaze? - What palace like the cot - - Where childhood first its eyes - Oped to the day, and marvelled what could be - The world around it? Is there aught we see - Can be compared to skies - - Like those which earliest shone - Upon our path, and like a sunray bright, - Brought with it, freshly, dawnings of the light - That ne'er can be forgone? - - Landscapes of other climes, - Though bountiful in beauty, what are ye - To the fair scenes of home, where'er it be? - Sacred as churchward chimes. - - High may the mountains tower - Into the heavens, and grandeur fill the scene, - The valleys and the pastures may be green, - The hill-sides still in flower, - - Of other lands, where stray - The exile's feet; but none are e'er so fair - Unto his soul, as the blest landscapes where - His visions fly away. - - Those sordid cares beside, - That cloud the mind, 'mong earth-born woes and ills. - Come soothing thoughts of home, as 'tween far hills - The gentle streamlets glide! - - - - - POETICAL ASPIRATIONS. - - -A SMALL volume of poems, entitled "POETICAL ASPIRATIONS," was published -by me, my first adventure, in 1830, and was favourably received. That -volume was dedicated to MRS ROBERTSON of EDNAM HOUSE, Kelso, a lady -whose many virtues are universally acknowledged wherever she is known, -and whose kindness to me it will always be my pride to remember. A -second edition, with additional poems, appeared in 1833. From the -latter volume I have selected the following pieces, the remainder, -bearing evident marks of inexperience and juvenility of taste, not -being deemed worthy of further reprint. - - - - - POETICAL ASPIRATIONS. - - - - - THE ALPINE HORN. (1) - - - SUNSET is streaming o'er the snow-clad crown - Of the high Alps, while darkness settles down - Through all their countless valleys and defiles, - Mixing with shade, where sunlight never smiles: - Ere from the topmost peak, its latest ray - Has, with its wing of glory, sped away, - The mountain shepherd's horn has sounded there, - Like the Muezzin's evening call to prayer; - "Praise God the Lord!" and hark! from all around - A thousand voices answer to the sound: - From every clift, and crag, and ledge, and linn, - The notes of worship and of praise begin. - "Praise God the Lord!" the echoes catch the strain, - And far and near repeat the sound again; - They wake it in the wild and in the wood, - Through all the shades of that far solitude: - Bearing it on, o'er valley and ravine, - Where, till this hour, such sound has never been; - Then, in the distance, fainter grown the lay, - The lingering notes at length dissolve away. - - When all is silent, on the mountain sod - The humble shepherds bend the knee to God; - They kneel in darkness and in peace, to share - The sweet and social intercourse of prayer: - With gleams of manly thought, their prayers arise, - Like incense from the altar, to the skies. - Their temple is the mountain and the mist, - And theirs the shrine where minister the blest; - They kneel before the Spirit of the world, - He who this universe of mountains hurled - Together with a word, and chaos spread - Mid majesty and grandeur, dark and dread. - Prostrate in presence of the Great First Cause, - They own his power, while they obey his laws: - Their thoughts are deeper than th' abyss beneath, - Yet while their humble orisons they breathe, - Their souls are soaring far beyond each height - On which the stars are clustering, with the night; - And while they view, with soul-admiring glance, - The world of fancy, nature, and romance, - That circles round their native rocks, they deem - The glories of the earth an empty dream. - - But hark! that horn again resounds aloud, - Like sudden music bursting from a cloud: - "Good night!" "Good night!" along the mountain breaks, - "Good night!" "Good night!" again each echo wakes; - And all the scene, below, around, above, - Teems with "Good night!" the evening pledge of love. - The eagle, soaring, waits upon the wing, - Charmed with the notes the syren echoes sing; - The startled chamois bounds along the hill, - Yet, half-enraptured, turns to listen still; - From mount to valley, and from wold to wild, - The sounds are borne along, till, faint and mild, - "Good night," shall linger in the echoes' song, - When all to silence and to sleep belong. - - - - - REFLECTIONS ON DEATH. - - - ONE day--the sunbeams danced along the glade - As lovers dance upon their bridal eve-- - I wandered to the wood, where all was bloom; - The earth breathed fresh with fragrance, and the trees - Dropped, as it were, the dew of silent joy. - I loved to listen to the song of birds, - Whose music wild, yet sweet, came o'er the ear, - Telling of ecstasy; and, more than all, - I loved to view the flowers, those stars of earth, - As stars are flowers of heaven, those glimpses bright - Of a far higher, purer, lovelier world; - Those day dreams of Creation, blooming wild, - Scattered on earth, like angel-smiles in heaven. - Oh! I was happy then, for all above, - And all below, was fair, and pure, and bright; - And then I thought that happier still I'd be - If my freed soul could fleet, as dew from grass, - When the glad morning sun is shining forth, - Passing so silently away from earth; - If that were all--if death itself were _death_-- - But after death comes life, more true than this. - - I lay and listened to a wild bird's song, - A little shining, singing, flutt'ring thing: - Its song was full of sweetness and of love: - When, lo! it fell before me on the ground, - And found its grave among a bank of flowers-- - Who would not die, to find a grave so sweet? - I ran and lifted it--'twas cold and stiff, - And in its little heart an arrow sought - Unsanctified admittance, quivering there, - Like an unwelcome messenger of fate. - The spoiler came--I drew his arrow out, - And threw it on the earth--he trod it down, - As he passed onward in his careless path. - - And this is death! How sudden, and how strong! - His harvest ne'er begins nor ends, for still - His scythe is ready ere the corn is ripe, - We cannot shun the stroke; but if prepared - To meet it when it falls, its sting is gone! - - Yet death itself is never terrible, - But 'tis the thought of what comes after death - That wakes the coward in the soul of man-- - Of man carnal and unregenerate. - In the lone grave the body soon is clothed - In vileness, and this most delicate frame - Becomes the food of worms, the gorging feast - Of those vile particles of putresence - We loathe in life to look at--which we spurn - And trample on with horror. =Pride=, bend low! - And meditate on this, that slimy worms, - Gnome-like and insatiate epicures, - Must feed on us to fulness, as on dainties, - When we, like they themselves, become corruption! - This is the pang, the poison, that makes dark - The brightest joys, and chills the warmest hopes - Of all who look no farther than the grave,-- - That calms the laughing thought within the heart: - This is the weapon that affrights the bold, - Makes foolishness of wisdom, and creates - The fear of death, because it terminates - But in corruption and the feast of worms. - - To go into the grave--if that were all, - No one would shrink from it; but that the thought - That this fair form should formless be, the shape - Be shapeless, decomposed, and fall to nought, - Preys on the mind, and hinders it from rest. - And few there are who seek the saving peace - That here can reconcile us to our doom. - The soul remains entire, though in the grave - The body lies, and slowly wastes away. - Then let us strive to find, through God's good grace, - That faith by which alone the soul becomes - "One perfect Chrysolite," and in Christ's blood, - Relieved from stain of guilt, is rendered fit - To stand, approved, before a holy God. - - - - - THROUGH THE WOOD. - - MODERN BALLAD. - - - THROUGH the wood, through the wood, - Warbles the merle! - Through the wood, through the wood, - Gallops the earl! - Yet he heeds not its song - As it sinks on his ear, - For he lists to a voice - Than its music more dear. - - Through the wood, through the wood, - Once and away, - The castle is gained, - And the lady is gay: - When her smile waxes sad, - And her eyes become dim; - Her bosom is glad, - If she gazes on him! - - Through the wood, through the wood, - Over the wold, - Rides onward a band - Of true warriors bold; - They stop not for forest, - They halt not for water; - Their chieftain in sorrow - Is seeking his daughter. - - Through the wood, through the wood, - Warbles the merle; - Through the wood, through the wood, - Prances the earl; - And on a gay palfrey - Comes pacing his bride; - While an old man sits smiling, - In joy, by her side. - - - - - SONG OF THE EXILE. - - - BANISHED for ever! - From the scene of my birth, - For ever! for ever! - From all I loved dearest, and cherished on earth, - From the smile of my friends, and the home of their hearth, - To come again never! - - Banished for ever! - From hope and from home, - For ever! for ever! - Away in the desert of distance to roam, - Like a ship tempest-tost on the wild sea-wave's foam, - To land again never! - - Banished for ever! - When all have gone by, - For ever! for ever! - The gladness of earth, and the brightness of sky, - There's no fear but to live, and no hope but to die-- - To _feel_ again never! - - Banished for ever! - 'Tis madness to me, - For ever! for ever! - To think of the land I shall ne'er again see, - Of the days that have been, and the days that shall be-- - That thought leaves me never! - - Banished for ever! - Be this my adieu-- - For ever! for ever! - Let me roam where I will, ne'er again shall I view, - Scenes so cherished and fair, friends so kind and so true; - Oh, never! oh, never! - - Banished for ever! - Dear land of my birth, - We sever! we sever! - An exile from all I love dearest on earth, - From the smile of my friends, from the home of their hearth-- - For ever! for ever! - - - - - TO FAME. - - - IN the seclusion of my solitude, - Thy echo reached me, and awoke a brood - Of slumbering fancies into life and light; - A spell seemed thrown around me, and my mind - Was full of unfixed images; the bright - And ready impulses of thought, confined - And struggling to be free; a light had dawned - Across my path, as if by Heaven's command. - - A lofty and immeasurable longing - Sprung up within my breast, beyond control, - A throbbing multitude of fancies thronging - Strove to o'ermaster and o'ermatch the whole: - Creation rose from chaos, as at first, - A water in the wilderness to quench my thirst. - The complicated elements of Mind, - No longer dim, confused, and undefined, - Rolled into order, and the springs of thought - Became then less obscure, and less remote. - My mind, not yet in union with its thoughts, - Seemed sad and solitary; o'er it swept - A calmness like the soft sun-breeze that floats - Above the wave, that light and languid leapt: - Then high imaginations, restless, past - Into being--various, vivid, vast-- - And thought, admixing with the mind's emotion, - Assumed a depth and fervour of devotion, - The semblance and the hope, if not the true - Sole inspiration of poetic lore; - Then truth, at times, like light, came struggling through, - And I was sad and heart-forgone no more. - - For thou became my mistress--I have thrown - My heart and hope on thee--I cannot bear - That, with my life, my name should pass away, - And be forgot, when I am dead and gone; - And in the grave, when mouldering in decay, - That my remembrance should be buried there. - I care not for the world, or the world's ways, - I scorn alike its censure and its praise; - But from the mental few, by heaven designed - To rate and recognise a kindred mind, - A sure approval I will strive to gain, - For this is fame indeed,--all other is but vain. - - - - - TO A BEE. - - - HA! pretty little bee, - So artless, blithe, and free! - Whither are you wandering - Thus so gaily on the wing? - To every flower o'erhung with dew, - Whose leaves are blossoming for you; - To the wild flowers far away, - Bright and beautiful as they; - From each blooming one to sip - Sweets, like those of woman's lip, - Oh! happy, happy, happy bee, - Would it were as free to me! - Away! away! for ever thus - Your airy flight has past from us; - And you are gone where flowers invite, - A pilgrimage of rich delight. - - But come not near the hollyhock, (2) - Let not its blooms your fancy mock; - Shun its nectaries so fair, - Death is ever lurking there; - On its petals if you light, - You'll be seized with instant blight. - Shun it as you onward fly! - Sip its poison and you die! - But hie thee to the lavender, - Pretty little pilferer! - Or the limetree, in whose breast - You oft have sipped yourself to rest. - Go, wanderer, to the healthful wild, - By the heath-flower's bloom beguiled, - Where sunshine, like a robe of gold, - Flings its fond light o'er wood and wold; - There, in the calyx of the flower, - You love the best at noontide hour, - Prepare the mead, whose luscious draught, - The best of former nations quaff'd. - Little rambler, do you know - Why it is we love you so? - It is for the ceaseless hymn, - That you warble, as you swim - Through the odoriferous air, - Light as fairy gossamer-- - 'Tis, for you are always gay, - Making life a holiday, - Flying leisurely o'er earth, - A winged messenger of mirth. - - When you meet the butterfly, - 'Neath the lovely summer sky, - Do you show to her the bower, - That contains the sweetest flower? - Or do you take herself to be, - While thus wandering so free, - A floweret floating on the air, - Making all delightful there? - - When the moon bursts forth above, - Tinging all with light and love, - When with soft and silky trace, - Slumber finds a resting place - On the eyes of bees and men; - Snug within some floweret then - You have made your bed, till day - Shows the sweets your dreams pourtray. - - - - - THE STORM. - - - THE waves rise in rebellion--far away - The wreck-doomed ship is borne resistless on; - And hark! the screaming sea-mews trill their lay - Of terrible delight--its echo's moan - Dies wildly on the tempest, and the spray - Dashes around us, chilling hope to stone; - And vast and fathomless the mountain waves, - Yawning around us, marshall forth our graves. - - The clouds move like the billows o'er the ocean, - Clashing in fury as they hurry by; - They mingle fiercely, and in rude commotion, - As if a hurricane swept o'er the sky. - Now, let the soul rely on her devotion, - Now, let the prayer to HIM be lifted high, - Who stills the storm, and calms the mighty wave, - "And strong to smite, is also strong to save." - - See! yon poor wretch dashed from the vessel's prow-- - He catches at the spar that hurries past, - 'Tis vain! the waves are mightier still--and now, - Beneath their force his strength gives way at last: - Onward we drift--but, lo! o'er heaven's brow - The moon her welcome light, at length, has cast, - Like hope o'er madness, but it tends to show - The life that smiles above, the death that yawns below. - - - - - "LAZARUS, COME FORTH." - - - THUS Jesus spoke--the earth dismayed - Opened its womb; - The dead man heard, his Lord obeyed; - He left his tomb: - And thousands, unbelievers, saw - The power of God; - Then they believed his holy law, - And word, that burst the sod. - - Thus when he frees the wicked heart - From earth's control, - Sin and ungodliness depart - From the waked soul. - He cleans it by his blood and death-- - To it is given - To know, all peace, all hope, all faith, - All ante-taste of heaven. - - - - - SONNET. - - ON THE APPROACH OF SUMMER. - - - SUMMER approaches, filling earth with flowers, - The skies with beauty, and the woods with song, - While April, like a coy bride, wends along - In tearful smiles, half-wooed by the gay hours. - All nature breathes a welcome to young May, - Summer's bright harbinger, who bears her smile - Through every land, with blooming health the while, - And all are blest who feel her gladd'ning ray. - How pleasant 'tis beneath the summer noon, - When the soft wind hath lulled itself asleep, - On some fair hill a festival to keep, - While fancy on the wing revisits soon - Th' o'erarching world, the true, the pure, the fair, - Gath'ring with bliss all inspiration there. - - - - - BEAUTY. - - - OH! brighter than the brightest star, - That glimmers through the haze of night, - When the blue vault of heaven afar, - Is studded o'er with silver light; - And brighter than that brilliant sky, - May be the glance of woman's eye. - - Oh! lovely as the golden ray - Of sunshine sleeping on the glade, - When morning brightens into day, - And in its radiance melts the shade; - And lovelier than that gorgeous sun, - May be the smile from woman won. - - But beauty does not deign to shine, - In brightness from a woman's eye; - Nor does she in a smile recline, - Blooming, as flowerets do, to die; - All earth-born charms shall fade in death: - Nor change nor ruin beauty hath. - - She dwells but in the pious mind, - Apart for ever from decay; - Where lives the light of heavenly kind, - That shines "unto the perfect day;" - Where Faith and Hope their joy impart-- - Her home is in the virtuous heart. - - - - - TO M. J. R. - - - IS there within my heart a spot - Where thy bright image liveth not, - In its most joyful guise? - Ah, no! though all may be forgot, - Save sorrow, care, and pain, - Yet it securely lies - Within my bosom's secret bowers; - Like dew, descending from above, - On Autumn's seared and withered flowers, - Reviving it again - To happiness and love. - - - - - SONNET. - - A CONTRAST. - - - THE flowers that, unrefreshed with rain or dew, - Pine 'neath the scorching summer's sun away, - Are but the emblems--purer still than they-- - Of hearts that ne'er the blight of sorrow knew, - To contrast with their gladness--for the breast - That welcomes joy back to its shrine again, - After a weary interval of pain, - Enjoys the feeling with a warmer zest: - And when at length the dew-drop lingers o'er - The flowers that sickened with its long delay, - How sweetly do they own its former sway, - And bloom again more lovely than before. - Who would not, for a while then, cherish grief, - To taste the bliss, the rapture of relief? - - - - - SONNET. - - ROSLIN. - - - ROSLIN! thy scattered beauties, rich and wild, - Lie like a garden-map before me spread; - In all thy fairy scenes I gladly tread, - Where sleeps the sun-smile--and the breeze so mild - Enamoured sighs, as to thy presence wed. - Down through thy vale--so lovely and so sweet, - Yet so retiring, like some blushing maid - Apprized of her own beauty--oft I meet, - Two pensive lovers whispering their vows. - Thy woods and thy ravines, thy rocks and caves, - Contain the gleams of grandeur, o'er the brows - Of thy dark crags, the heath-flower freely waves. - Here Drummond sung, sweetly and well, for he - In thy retreats became inspired by thee. - - - - - ON THE BIRTH OF A NIECE. - - E. W. G. - - _11th August, 1828._ - - - THE evening sun had o'er the heavens rolled - His brilliant robe of glory and of gold; - The angels round the throne had just begun - Their vesper hymn of praise--the sweetest one; - The stars were trimming then their lamps of light, - Like watchers, ready for the coming night; - The earth rejoiced through all her numerous fields, - Blest with the crop that generous autumn yields: - The meadow streams subduing music stole, - Like dreams of rapture, to the fainting soul,-- - When thou sprung into being, like the ray - Of early morn, the gleam of dawning day. - Stranger! so bright, so innocent, so fair, - We give thee welcome to our world of care; - Come to partake our sorrow--thou hast known - The pang already, by that stifled moan-- - When rosy pleasure shall her smiles renew, - Come with thy kindred heart, and share them too. - We bless thee, babe! for we have need to bless - A fellow-pilgrim in a world like this, - Where mirth is mockery, and joy a dream, - And we are never happy--though we seem. - Oh! may'st thou never know the ills that we - Have known, and shall know, ere we cease to be: - Be thou thy mother's comfort! thou wert blest - Wert thou, like her, the purest and the best. - - - - - ON HER DEATH, - - _At the Age of Two Years and Two Months._ - - NOT long beside us did the cherub stay: - God's will be done! He gave and took away; - It seemed as if blest memories of heaven, - From whence she came, were to her visions given, - And, tiring soon of earth, whose breath was pain, - Longed to return, and be at rest again. - Too pure for earth, too innocent for grief, - Sweet was her promise, as her sojourn brief. - - - - - SONNET. - - TO HAPPINESS. - - - OH! I do hail thee, Happiness, when thou - Dost shine athwart my path with light and love, - Dispensing joy, like Heaven's aerial bow, - When gathering clouds lour darkly from above. - Oh! I do hail thee, Happiness--the aim - And promise of my being live in thee; - I pine for thee as poets pine for fame, - Or slaves and captives for their liberty; - But fleeting art thou in this vale of strife, - A meteor gleaming o'er a desert heath-- - So seldom comes thy smile to cheer our life, - We learn to hope 'twill visit us in death; - In what bright bower, supremest blessing, may - A mortal find thy never-dying ray? - - - - - THOUGHTS. - - - IN sooth 'tis pleasant on a summer morn, - When the bright sun ascends the orient sky, - And on the mountain zephyr health is borne, - While we inhale it as it murmurs by; - On some lone hill in musing mood to lie, - Then as we watch the day's advancing light, - We learn from it that we but live to die. - The sun will set though shining e'er so bright, - A few short fleeting hours, and all again is night. - - Yet sunshine seldom cheers the lot of life, - 'Tis all a scene of ling'ring pain and woe, - A pilgrimage of fruitless care and strife, - A tide of sorrow that doth ceaseless flow; - Yet some have thought they felt a joy below, - Which to their darker hours did solace prove, - Making their hearts with blissful feelings glow; - And not of earth it seems, but from above - It comes to cheer mankind, and mortals call it love. - - That thought is vain as love's own happiness, - For soon love's sweet illusion is no more; - Then fly those hopes that promised lasting bliss-- - And when the dream of ecstasy is o'er, - We wake, to life, far sadder than before. - It shoots athwart our visions, like the gleam - Of flitting sunshine o'er a desert shore, - Making the wilderness more dreary seem-- - Oh! love is all too like the visions of a dream. - - It boots not now to ponder o'er the past, - Joy blasted oft will mar life's fairest scene; - The beauty of the sky is overcast, - Dark clouds now brood where brightness late hath been; - And thorns appear where once sweet flowers were seen. - Yet hope beams on my soul her soothing light, - Like the first dawning of the morn serene, - Tinging my darkened soul with hues more bright-- - Love ever sorrow brings, as twilight brings the night. - - 'Tis piety alone that can impart - A peace of mind that ne'er will fade away, - A bliss that calms the passions of the heart, - A hope that soothes us even in decay, - Inspires the thought and elevates the lay; - 'Tis this that gives a glory to that hour, - When death relentless seizes on his prey; - Then yet may pleasure dwell in earthly bower, - Though man buds, blooms, and withers, like a summer flower. - - - - - LOCH AWE. (3) - - - OH LAKE! how gentle and how fair art thou, - Above thee and around thee, mountains rise - E'en like a diadem on queenly brow; - Crested in light the snow in masses lies - On Cruachan's cleft head--the eagle flies - In circles o'er thee, and his eyrie makes - Afar upon its summit, from the eyes - Of man removed, for his wild fledgelings' sakes.-- - Sinless and still thou art, most beautiful of lakes! - - Four fairy isles,--like smiles in woman's eye, - Or gems upon her bosom--rise beside - Thy spreading waters, dreamy as the sky, - Whose glories are reflected in thy tide; - While shrubs and flowers are growing in their pride, - And ancient trees, where'er our eyes we turn-- - And, like a melody, thy echoes glide - Within the memory--while grey and stern - Stands, like a spirit of the past, lone old Kilchurn. - - Changeless as Heaven, thoughtful as the stars, - Whose light thou mak'st thy lover, ever true; - Sweet are thy glades and glens; no discord mars - Their quiet now--as when the Bruce o'erthrew - The men of Lorn, and gained his crown anew-- - Save when sweeps by the spirit of the storm; - Fearful and wonderful is then thy hue, - And terrible thy wailings, as thy form, - While Cruachan's wild shriek is heard to far Cairngorm. - - Home of the hunter! birth-place of the Gael! - Why do my musings still return to thee? - Why does the hymn of holy Innis-hail, - Like rhyme of childhood, haunt my memory? - My boy-years have departed, since to me - Thy wildness, solitude, and grandeur brought - Sources of inspiration, ne'er to be - Forgotten or forborne--my mind has sought - Relief from homely scenes, recurring to remote. - - - - - THE WOLF. (4) - - _A Fragment._ - - - 'TIS evening,--one of those rich eves in June, - That look as bright, and feel as warm as noon; - The setting sun its parting ray has thrown - Italia's smiling groves and bowers upon: - Amid the balm of meadow, vale, and hill, - Where all is beautiful, and all is still; - A bard would deem, 'neath such a tranquil sky, - He heard the stream of time while rushing by: - 'Tis the soft hour, to love that doth belong, - To village pastime, and to village song: - But why do happy peasants meet no more? - The village song, the village dance is o'er: - Why is the tabor silent on the plain? - Why does the mountain-pipe refuse its strain? - Where is the lover fond, the trusting maid? - They shun each other, and desert the shade. - Is _this_ Italia's sky, so calm, so fair? - Where are its joyous sons, its laughing daughters where? - . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . - - Hark! 'tis a wild, a solitary cry, - Unheard till now beneath Italia's sky; - And well Italia's sons may shrink to hear - A cry, that fills all who have heard with fear,-- - It is the Alpine wolf's terrific bay, - Roaming abroad ferocious for its prey: - Soon as the sun of earth its farewell takes, - The Alpine wolf his solitude forsakes, - And, like a demon, rushing to the plain, - Scatters the flock, and panic-strikes the swain. - - One summer eve, a monster of the kind, - Hungry for prey, had left his troop behind; - Ranging alone, he spread dismay where'er - His bay was heard, as if a host were there: - Beneath his tusk of steel, his breath of flame, - Italia's bowers a wilderness became: - Grain for a while and sheep he stole away, - But, quitting these, he sought a nobler prey,-- - The tender babe, even in its mother's view, - He bore to crags, where no one dared pursue: - Until the province, late the happiest one - That brightens 'neath Italia's gorgeous sun, - Became, throughout, all desolate and lone, - For there the fell destroyer forth had gone. - . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . - - Lo! like a pageant, slowly up the vale, - A band advances, clad in glittering mail; - While, in the front, a knight of noble mien, - And lofty plume, above the rest is seen: - The peasants from their huts look forth with fear, - But dare not quit them, lest the wolf be near; - And then the chief, advancing from the rest, - At sound of trump, the peasants thus addressed,-- - "A purse of gold, and his own diamond ring, - As a reward, are offered by the king, - To him who slays the wolf!" The trumpet's blast - Re-echoed loud, as that gay pageant passed. - - Meanwhile, each swain, in hope to gain the prize, - Shouldering his gun, to kill the monster tries; - But home returning oft without his prey, - All left the task to Giulio to essay,-- - For Giulio was the best, the bravest youth - Within the province, or the realm, in sooth: - Kind to his mates, and to his mistress true, - Foremost in pastime and in peril too; - Whene'er the river overflowed its bounds, - And the wild flood o'erswept the pleasant grounds, - Bearing away, in its retiring course, - The helpless flocks, too feeble for its force, - Giulio was first among the village brave, - To stretch the hand to succour and to save; - He was a marksman too, and well could hit - The target's eye, when all fell wide of it: - Him, therefore, did they fix upon to be - Their champion--their meadows rich to free - From the destroyer--each resigned his claim - To the reward,--Let Giulio win the same! - - And Giulio ranged afar from morn till eve, - But still no wolf could Giulio perceive; - He searched each wood, explored each copse and cave, - As a fierce gnome invades the quiet grave; - Still did he hear his roar, his ravage see. - But, still unseen himself, the wolf continued free. - - Three days had sped, and Giulio had not traced - The monster out, although he tracked his waste; - And standing on a mountain's rugged brow, - Giulio, despairing, breathed to Heaven a vow, - That he would bring the wolf in triumph slain, - Or never see his native home again, - And Giulio's vow was kept--the monster fell, - But not by him--a sadder tale I tell! - - One eve--it was the fourth--he threw him down, - Fatigued and foot-sore, on the mountain brown; - No wolf as yet had crossed his anxious way, - Although, where'er he roamed, he heard his bay; - Loth to return until the wolf he slew, - Yet, ah! his heart, to love, to feeling, true, - Led him to where his lover's hut arose, - As if her vicinage could soothe his woes. - There for awhile he lingered, and he wept - The tear of fond remembrance--slumber crept - Upon his eyes, for he was overspent, - Wasted for want of needful nourishment: - Before him in the moonlight rolled a stream, - Whose murmur lulled him to a blissful dream: - A dream of love, of happiness and pride,-- - He thought he slew the wolf, and won his blushing bride. - - Beyond the river, to its very edge - Along the bank, there grew a bushy hedge, - Where oft alone, beneath the twilight dim, - The lovely maid would steal to think of him;-- - A stir!--a motion!--it was not the breeze - That shook the hedge,--for why waved not the trees? - He started and awoke--again it shook,-- - His gun was in his hand--one hurried look, - One rapid touch--the fatal ball was sped,-- - A long wild shriek was heard, and Giulio's dream was read. - - In triumph now, he thought of home again,-- - The prize was his, the wolf at length was slain-- - Swift as the ball that from his rifle flew, - He reached the river, and swam gaily through: - The corpse lay there before him in the light!-- - Why breaks that mournful shriek upon the night? - Why motionless stands Giulio gazing there, - A form of stone, a statue of despair? - At length he spoke--"Is _this_ the wolf I've sought - In glen, and mount, and precipice remote? - Its skin is soft, its eyes are bright and fair, - And still they smile on me,--the wolf's should glare; - But sweet though sad, still do they charm my view, - Like my fair bride's, the beautiful, the blue-- - The wolf!--ah, horror! 'tis herself I've slain! - I feel it, like a fire within my brain, - And on my heart--no tear is in mine eye-- - For her alone I lived,--with her I die." - The stream is near, he lifts her as a child, - While from his o'erpressed heart there bursts a wild - And fiendish laugh,--the peasants wondering hear, - And in a crowd assemble, half in fear: - In the broad moonlight then, as in a dream, - A figure rushed before them to the stream; - That form did bear another--on the brink - He pauses not--one plunge--they sink! they sink! - 'Twas Giulio and his bride!--they rise no more,-- - And onward rolls the stream as smoothly as before. - - - - - THE APRIL CLOUD. - - - FAIR as the feather of a dove - That has in gloom been dipt; - Like to a smile, that, flung from love, - Its banishment hath wept; - See yonder little cloud swims by, - As if it sprung to birth, - Mid summer sunshine of the sky, - And winter storms of earth. - - Alas! there ne'er was angel yet - Who from her heaven took wing, - But when the air of earth she met - Became a fallen thing: - And thus yon cloud, that seems so dim, - When near our earth 'tis driven, - Would look all light, if it would skim - Far upward nearer Heaven. - - - - - SPRING. - - - CAN aught be more magnificent than Spring? - Mountain and mead, and foliage and flower, - Assume a bridal look, as if the Sun - Had solemnized his nuptials with the Earth. - A green and growing grandeur consecrates - The general land, like an anointed Queen; - The soil begins to quicken with the birth, - And bounteously proseminates its gifts; - A glory reigns supreme o'er all, a Balm - That moves, like Inspiration, in the soul, - And gives a motive to each quiet thought, - Stirring, in transport, like a little bird. - Creation seems a path to brighter worlds-- - A track to better homes. A permeant good - Pervades the Universe, and all is joy. - The river runs, like one of nimble foot, - And smiling aspect, to embrace the sea, - Henceforth incorporate; even as the youth, - Of fervent spirit and of sanguine hope, - Comes from his home obscure, and wanders forth - To mingle with the world, and there is lost. - The ruminating Ocean is at peace, - And its faint murmur--for its voice is ne'er - All silent--like a half forgotten tone - Seems but the echo of a broken chime, - As if a part of memory, pilgrim-like, - Had gone in quest of all, and died away - Amid the distant traces of the past. - The gentle breeze comes from its groves of spice, - And fragrance bears throughout the Virgin air; - And hark! the woodland music--warblings soft - Steal on the gladdened ear--from every hedge, - From every forest dim, a voice proceeds - Of deep-felt rapture, praise and gratitude. - The swan disports upon the quiet lake, - And shares the cheerfulness that all enjoy; - While thoughts, without a voice, of Heaven remote - In the still waters mirrored, stir its breast.-- - All circumstance of language is too faint - The beautiful of Nature to pourtray; - The eloquent sense, the feeling sensitive, - Alone holds free communion with her charms: - While thought awakes, like day-dawn, and goes forth - To gather stores of knowledge;--like a draught - Of the pure fountain to the unrefreshed, - The bloom of Spring exhilarates the mind, - And gives a tone to virtue--its approach - Is as the coming of sweet health to one - Long time afflicted, for its bloom is blest. - - - - - POESY. - - - ITS sweetest song the cygnet sings - As a soft prelude to its death, - And in that song expends its breath;-- - What boots it that the Poet flings - His wildest notes on high, - Or strikes with truest hand the strings, - If all his strains must die? - And why should he his notes prolong, - If no one listens to his song? - - Yet can the Poet ne'er resign - The lyre he loves, for it alone - Consoles him, when all else is gone; - Its spirit, like the breath divine, - That stirred the water's face, - Pervades ev'n to the farthest line - Of universal space; - And music through the whole is flung, - As when the morning angels sung. - - An echo lingers on each peak, - In every vale, on every hill-- - Should men not listen, angels will; - For Poesy shall never speak, - Shall never sing in vain; - In solitude the breeze shall seek - And still repeat her strain, - Where'er, like an aerial tone, - Her spirit and her voice have gone. - - She moves o'er flowers--her handmaid fair, - Bright Summer, in a joyous dance - Doth still before her path advance, - Sweet blossoms strewing every where, - Which, falling, grow divine; - Fresh incense crowds upon the air, - And floats above her shrine, - Like beauty, when her welcome voice - Makes the whole universe rejoice. - - Why then should her adorer fear, - Or why her votary despond?-- - Partaker of a bliss beyond - All feelings, all enjoyments here, - His impulses sublime - Soar, ev'n in this contracted sphere, - O'er nature and o'er time; - And her undying triumphs spread - A glow like glory round his head. - - - - - SONNET. - - TO A FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR. - - - 'TIS evening, and the summer has put on - Her richest dress, her way with flowers is strewed, - Beauty and music dwell in every wood, - And bower and meadow, hill and valley lone; - A gentle shower is o'er, the earth has wept - Its fragrance into freshness. In this hour,-- - When in a flood of glory all is dipped, - By the soft influence of a higher power,-- - My spirit leaves its prison-house, and flies - Towards the sweet haunts of thy pleasant home, - Where, lover-like, thy river[1] loves to roam;-- - 'Tis there I see thee with my mental eyes, - And hold communion with thee day by day, - Though now we never meet, and haply never may. - - [1] The Tweed, near Kelso. - - - - - THE GIPSY'S LULLABY. - - - SLEEP, baby, sleep! - Though thy fond mother's breast, - Where thy young head reclines, - Is a stranger to rest; - And oh! may soft slumber - Descend on thine e'e, - That the sorrow she feels - May be shared not by thee. - Sleep, baby, sleep! - - Thy father has gone - On his perilous track, - And thy mother will weep, - Till he safely comes back; - But rest thee in peace, - With soft sleep in thine e'e, - Though the tear is in her's - That is shared not by thee. - Sleep, baby, sleep! - - - - - WOODLAND SONG. - - - WILL you go to the woodlands with me, with me, - Will you go to the woodlands with me? - When the sun's on the hill, and all nature is still, - Save the sound of the far-dashing sea. - - For I love to lie lone on the hill, the hill, - I love to lie lone on the hill, - When earth, sea, and sky, in loveliness vie, - And all nature around me is still. - - Then my fancy is ever awake, awake, - My fancy is never asleep; - Like a bird on the wing, like a swan on the lake, - Like a ship far away on the deep. - - And I love 'neath the green boughs to lie, to lie; - I love 'neath the green boughs to lie; - And see far above, like the smiling of love, - A glimpse, now and then, of the sky. - - When the hum of the forest I hear, I hear, - When the hum of the forest I hear,-- - 'Tis solitude's prayer, pure devotion is there, - And its breathings I ever revere.-- - - I kneel myself down on the sod, the sod, - I kneel myself down on the sod, - 'Mong the flowers and wild heath, and an orison breathe - In lowliness up to my God. - - Then peace doth descend on my mind, my mind, - Then peace doth descend on my mind; - And I gain greater scope to my spirit and hope, - For both then become more refined. - - Oh! whatever my fate chance to be, to be, - My spirit shall never repine, - If a stroll on the hill, if a glimpse of the sea, - If the hum of the forest be mine. - - - - - SONNET. - - THE OCEAN. - - - OH! that the Ocean were my element! - And I could dwell among its deepest waves, - Like one whose home is in its gushing caves, - Beneath the waters, whether tame or rent. - Would I could roam down where the Mermaid laves - Her half-formed limbs!--for Envy comes not there, - Nor Pride nor Hatred, nor is Malice sent, - Nor the deep sullenness of dark Despair. - Would I were not of earth--but of the sea! - And held communion with its creatures fair: - Gentle in its gentleness, but whene'er - A tempest shook it, and the winds were free, - My bounding spirit would delight to soar, - Float in its foam, and revel in its roar! - - - - - MOUNT HOREB. (5) - - - OH, Holy Mount! on every side - Deserts are stretching far and wide, - Where thou, uptowering to the sky, } - Dost shoot thy double head on high, } - Mount Horeb, and Mount Sinai; } - And when the weary traveller stands, - Alone amid the sterile sands, - Seeking for water, vain pursuit, - To quench his thirst, grown absolute, - Groaning, as fainter grows his hope, - For water!--water!--but a drop, - His ever burning thirst t' appease; - He through the sudden moonlight sees - Thy dark and shadowy masses rise, - A solace to his weary eyes; - Then gladly on he wends, for he - Becomes refreshed at sight of thee; - For well he knows, that springs and fruit, - Above, below, thy sides salute; - For o'er the wastes of Rephidim, - There is no spot of peace for him, - Until he reach the rock, whence burst - A well, to quench the raging thirst - Of Israel, when they murmured there, - For water, in their deep despair. - - Thrice Sacred Mount! how oft hast thou, - (Though none but pilgrims tread thee now,) - Been hallowed as the blest abode - Of the Most High! Jehovah! God! - Whene'er in furthering his plan - Of mercy and of love to man, - He deigned to touch our earth, to hold - Communion with his Seers of old, - His presence consecrated thee, - His temple and his throne to be. - 'Twas on thy Mount that God, concealed - Within the burning bush, revealed - To Moses his command, to free - His people from their slavery. - There, from the midst of fire and flame, - He did his perfect law proclaim: - Then seemed God's presence in their sight, - A great, a mighty burst of light - Upon thy topmost mount, a fire - Devouring, brighter, deeper, higher, - Than e'er their eyes beheld, a crown - Of glory on thy head, that down - Through all the desert brightness past, - Like wild flame from a holocaust: - And gazing on thy glorious height, } - Israel was dazzled by the sight } - Of that intolerable light. } - - Pursued by persecution's flame, - Elijah to the desert came; - And as he rested in thy cave, - Which shelter and concealment gave, - God spoke! he lay entranced in fear, - "Elijah! speak! what dost thou here?" - He answered,--"Jezabel abhorred - Hath put the prophets to the sword, - And I alone escaped, to be - A prophet and a priest to thee." - Then the Almighty gave command, - "Go forth, and on the mountain stand!" - But ere Elijah could reply, - A great and mighty wind passed by, - Which rent the mountains and the rocks - In pieces, by resistless shocks: - The desert sands uprose afar, - Moving like giant forms in war; - But, when the tempest ceased to rave, - Elijah still within the cave, - Remained unhurt, unmoved, alone-- - A mighty earthquake's shock anon - Shook to its base the Sacred Mount, - And soon a fire, like a small fount, - Came bursting from the highest spot, - Increasing, but consuming not. - The earthquake vanished as it came, - And after it that holy flame; - And hark! a still small voice was heard, - Like sweetest music from a bird; - A still small voice! that speaks to youth - Of wisdom, piety, and truth: - Elijah heard--with solemn pace, - (His mantle covering his face,) - He rose and stood without the cave, - Relying on God's power to save: - The hurricane had past away, - And calm and bright the prospect lay; - Far up the double mountain stood, - Varied by water and by wood; - He saw the herbage thickly grow, - The bubbling springs, and far below - He saw the semicircular fount, - That like a bent bow skirts the mount; - He saw the desert spread beneath, - Like an extended vale of death; - He saw the blue sky far above, - Light up in one bright blaze of love; - A burst, of sunshine fell on him, - To which all other light was dim; - He heard again that still small voice, - Which made his inmost heart rejoice: - It was the Lord! and power he gave - Elijah, to anoint and save. - - Thrice Blessed Mount! thou art a sign, - A type of penitence divine; - Whene'er in darkness and in fear, - We wander in the desert drear - Of sin, and doubt, the welcome light - Of truth breaks sudden on our sight; - The heart becomes a hallowed dome, - Where holy feelings find a home; - For there the law of God secure, - Makes every thought and impulse pure: - Repentance may be slow to bring - Comfort and healing on its wing; - The doubting sinner in despair, - Asks, trembling, in a hurried prayer, - If guilt like his, of foulest trace, - Can hope for pardon and for grace: - But, when such doubts are swept away, - The still small voice of truth bears sway: - For Jesus died and rose again, - To free the world from guilt and pain: - Jesus, the only Son of God, - Like Moses, takes the gospel rod, - And strikes the barren rock within, - Hardened by wickedness and sin-- - Whence springs a living well, to free - The thirsty soul from misery. - He, like Elijah from his cave, - Came to the world with power to save; - And Israel, trusting to his aid, - Shall innocent and pure be made; - Redeemed, shall reach the heavenly land, - Supported by his mighty hand. - - - - - WRITTEN BENEATH AN ELM, - - _In a City Churchyard._ - - - UNDER thy shadow how many recline, - Who never knew rest 'neath the fig-tree or vine![2] - They pass from the banquet, the mall and the mart, - Here they meet, here they mingle, never to part. - - Who comes from the porch, with colourless vest, - And faded black coat, once the minister's best? - The mattock and shovel support him like staves, - As he totters familiarly over the graves. - - 'Tis the hoary old sexton, whose home has been here, - Since the days of his boyhood--and now he is sere; - These mounds are his world--he can name all the lairs, - As a monarch his realms, or a merchant his wares. - - Yet though he apportions a dwelling for all, - And delights when he handles the mattock and pall; - Though his thin hairs are gray, and though feeble his pace, - He ne'er for himself yet has chosen a place. - - Thou wert here when his sire did this office fulfil-- - When the son too is gone, thou wilt blossom here still: - How strange that the grass, and the trees, and the weeds, - Flourish best on that spot whence corruption proceeds! - - On thy trunk some rude sculptor has carved out his name-- - Idle labour! for fleeting and false is such fame: - Lo! wherever we look there is charactered stone, - But to whom is the dust each commemorates known? - - Oh! bury me not by the multitude's side, - I would shun them in death, as in life I avoid; - Where the loathsome newt creeps, 'neath the rank hemlock's shade, - Is not where I would that my bones should be laid. - - But bear me away to the limitless sea, - And heave me afar 'mong its billows so free: - Where my flesh may be wasted, but never shall rot-- - Where man is not dust, and corruption is not. - - Oh delight! to be tost from wild wave to wild wave-- - I seek not for rest--it is found in the grave-- - And my skeleton bleach on the foam it is cast-- - A link of the future--a wreck of the past. - - But alas! if the doom of my kind must be mine, - If my bones in the land of decay must recline; - Seek me out some lone glen, some wild Highland vale, - Where the tempest's loud shriek shall my coronach wail. - - A rude rugged land, with a wild heather sod, - Where the sun never shone, where man's foot never trod; - Where the gleam of the day falls with withering blight, - And a desolate darkness comes with the night. - - Where the waterfall roars like a storm o'er the heath, - The scathed Pine above, and the hoar Elm beneath; - 'Mongst the lone, and the mighty, the vast and the deep-- - 'Tis there, as their own, that a Poet should sleep. - - [2] Micah iv. 4. - - - - - THE WELLS O' WEARY. - - - DOWN in the valley lone, - Far in the wild wood, - Bubble forth springs, each one - Weeping like childhood; - Bright on their rushy banks, - Like joys among sadness, - Little flowers bloom in ranks-- - Glimpses of gladness. - - Sweet 'tis to wander forth, - Like pilgrims at even; - Lifting our souls from earth - To fix them on Heaven; - Then in our transport deep, - This world forsaking: - Sleeping as Angels sleep, - Mortals awaking! - - - - - DRYBURGH ABBEY. (6) - - - BY Tweed's fair stream, in a secluded spot, - Rises an ivy-crowned monastic pile; - Beneath its shadow sleeps the WIZARD, SCOTT; - A Ruin is his resting-place--no vile - Unconsecrated grave-yard is the soil-- - Few moulder there, but these the loved, the good, - The honoured, and the famed--and sweet flowers smile - Around the precincts of the Abbeyhood, - While Cedar, Oak, and Yew adorn that solitude. - - Hail, Dryburgh! to thy sylvan shades all hail!-- - As to a shrine, from places far away, - With awe-struck spirit, to thy classic vale - Shall pilgrims come, to muse, perchance to pray; - More hallowed now than in thy elder day, - For sacred is the earth wherein is laid - The Poet's dust; and still his mind, his lay, - And his renown, shall flourish undecayed, - Like his loved country's fame, that is not doomed to fade. - - - - - POEMS HERE FIRST COLLECTED. - - - - - COLLECTED POEMS. - - - - - GRACE. - - - COME, free-given grace! source of all lasting peace; - My care-worn heart has wanted thee full long; - The charms of earthly joys and pleasures cease, - And fain I'd stray thy tranquil paths among, - Where withered weeds and noxious odours strong - Come not, as here I find them rankly meet; - Give me thy pleasant ways and thy contentments sweet! - - Contentments sweet are ever with thee still; - In the lone valley, where the streamlet flows, - On distant mountain, on the heath-clad hill, - Where springs the daisy, or where blooms the rose, - Even in the desert where no green thing grows; - 'Mid trials of this world, whate'er they be, - Still peace, and joy, and truth accompany with thee. - - With thee there is no darkness; thou dost show - The Sun of Glory shining in His might; - With thee there is no sadness; thou dost go - Into the grief-broke heart, and with the light - Of heavenly love mak'st it serene and bright; - Ah! who that can thy blessings call his own, - Would deem himself, with thee, forsaken or alone? - - Alone! no, never! Jesus still is near; - Friendless we cannot be with Him our friend-- - Our counsellor--although deserted here - By all who to that cherished name pretend-- - His friendship, like Himself, shall have no end; - And for our solace freely is bestowed, - Trusting in Him while here, the bounteous grace of God! - - The grace of God softens the hardened heart. - And makes it oft in gushing joy to sing; - As rod of Moses caused the rock to part, - And made the living waters forth to spring; - The grace of God serenest pleasures bring, - And leads the mind from carnal thoughts away - Into retirements sweet, in solitude to pray. - - To pray!--blest privilege! For evermore - To pray and praise, and lift the soul above - This sordid earth, and, as a lark doth soar, - Ascend into the realms of truth and love, - Whence once the Spirit came in form of dove! - Thither, oh! thither would it wing its flight-- - For ever "take its rest," there where there comes no night! - - - - - MATIN. - - - THE gleam of light that passes o'er - The world ere dawn of day; - That, faintly flashing, shines before - The darkness is away: - - Is not the smile of morn, in bright - And deeply glorious lines; - 'Tis the first presage of its light, - The morning star that shines. - - - - - IMMORTALITY. - -[The following verses were suggested by the striking reply of a -Protestant minister, who was about to proceed to Ireland, to labour -among the deluded and ignorant Popish peasantry, and who, on being -warned by a friend of the personal danger he thereby incurred, nobly -answered, "I am immortal, till my work is done!"] - - - WHAT nerves the soldier in the field, - When foes are raging nigh? - What makes him proudly scorn to yield, - Though numbers round him die? - The faith that Heaven directs each ball, - And course that it shall run;-- - 'Tis, that he knows he will not fall, - Until his work be done! - - What makes the sailor on the wreck, - When storms are frowning near, - Bear up, with heart and form erect - His bosom free from fear?-- - 'Tis that he feels that God is by, - To shield him like a son;-- - 'Tis, that he knows he will not die, - Until his work be done! - - God holds the winds as by a rein, - Which still they must obey; - The ocean fierce he doth restrain, - By his all-guiding sway: - The hand that bears the planets high. - Upholds the fulgent sun, - Has fixed the hour that all must die, - When their set work is done! - - What arms the martyr 'midst his fires, - To smile serene at death; - And his whole heart and soul inspires - With never-changing faith?-- - Until the victor's crown is gained, - The laurel wreath is won; - Th' oppressor's fury is restrained-- - His work must first be done! - - What leads Christ's servant still to dare - All dangers for his sake, - And with unshaken firmness bear, - Ills that the boldest shake? - The trust that God is ever nigh, - To prosper what's begun; - To send a blessing from on high, - Upon his work when done! - - And when the good fight he has fought, - His earthly struggles o'er, - He finds the recompense he sought, - Where grief is felt no more: - 'Tis then he gains th' appointed prize, - His triumph is begun;-- - He lives immortal in the skies, - When all his work is done! - - - - - LINES - - ON THE DEATH OF JOHN SINCLAIR, ESQ., - - _7th April 1844._ - - - WHEN from its prison-house of clay - The spirit is unbound, - When one we love is borne away - To the lone narrow mound: - We feel as if the charm were gone - That renders life so dear, - And as a darkening cloud were thrown - O'er all our prospects here. - - And when _he_ died, we mourned for him - As only they could mourn - Who felt as if a precious limb - Were from the body torn. - Gentle and kind, and always true, - Revered wherever known; - No guile his bosom ever knew, - 'Twas friendship's sacred throne. - - From painful days, without relief, - Death brought at last release; - The change that gave to us but grief - To him was lasting peace. - We bore him to his hill-side grave,[3] - To sleep, but not alone; - To kindred dust his dust we gave, - To mingle with his own. - - To teach us that our home is not - Here, where we seek to live, - But that we have a happier lot - Than aught this world can give, - Death comes,--and when right understood - His lesson sure is blest.-- - Thus one by one, the loved, the good, - Are gathered to their rest! - - [3] He was interred in the family burying-place, New - Calton Burying-ground, Edinburgh. - - - - - WEEP NOT FOR THE DEAD. - - Jeremiah xxii. 10. - - - OH! weep not for the dead; they are at rest-- - No more shall earthly cares their minds molest; - Waste not a thought on them, nor yet bemoan - Who to the grave's cold heritage have gone. - - No sorrow know they in their narrow bed; - They sin no more who slumber with the dead; - They are at rest, from earth-born troubles free,-- - Fixed is their doom, as lies the stricken tree. - - Weep for yourself--for those who linger here, - In pain and sadness, through the varying year; - Still looking through life's vista to the close, - When faith in Christ alone can bring repose. - - And weep for those who go to other climes, - With toil and hoarding to gain gold betimes-- - From friends and country parted, as if nought - But this world's fleeting wealth were worth their thought! - - Weep for the dead in sin--the guilty soul - That might, but yet refuses, to be whole-- - For him who never heard the Saviour's name, - For him who, having heard, rejects the same. - - Oh! weep not for the dead, nor those who go - Into mortality's dread depths below; - But weep for those who mourn and suffer here, - The slaves of sin, and all its guilty fear! - - - - - IDOLS. - - "What have I to do any more with Idols?"--Hos. xiv. 8. - - - WHERE'ER the light of gospel truth - Has shed its glorious rays, - The heart casts off all shapes uncouth, - And shuns the wonted ways. - - The hills assume a brighter mould, - The flowers a fairer hue, - We quit the fading and the old, - And seek the fresh and new. - - The dark and dismal thoughts that brood - Within the carnal mind, - Are straightway changed to bright and good, - When there the truth hath shined: - - As metals in the earth deep set, - Though worthless in its womb, - Refined by skilful art, do yet - Precious and rich become. - - But man, degenerate from his birth, - Headlong in guilt is driven, - Still does his spirit cling to earth, - When it should rise to heaven. - - To vile and perverse courses prone,-- - The viler more his boast, - Rejects all guidance save his own, - And sunk in sin, is lost. - - Like dark and savage men, that dwell - In soul-benighted lands, - That blindly worship things of hell, - The work of their own hands. - - For hideous shapes, instead of dread, - They fierce devotion feel, - And the more hideous they are made, - The greater is their zeal. - - Ye sinners that to Idols bow, - Let light illume your heart, - Leave earth-born things to earth below, - And seek the better part. - - Come to the fountain free to all, - Drink of the living spring; - Before the cross of Jesus fall, - And own Him for your King. - - Come from your dark unwholesome holes, - With hateful things within, - Come and seek comfort to your souls, - And walk no more in sin. - - If self still claims the foremost place, - Where Christ should reign alone, - Self is the Idol that, through grace, - Must quite be overthrown. - - The lust and vanity of life, - All pomp and pride of mind, - Are but the source of grief and strife, - And leave no joy behind: - - Jesus alone is Sovereign King, - In Earth and Heaven above; - And why should we to Idols cling, - When we have Him to love? - - - - - TRUTH. - - - IT is not in the heart of thought, - Nor in the breast of care; - That truth its dwelling-place has sought, - For all is sterile there: - - Nor is it in the mind, where gay - Delusive visions throng, - That chastening truth can find a way - Its glittering dreams among: - - Yet as within the desert far, - There are reflections given - Of light, so in the heart there are - Remembrances of Heaven. - - - - - SABBATH MORN. - - - ON Sabbath morn, one feels - Exalted 'bove the world, and longs to go - Forth to the house of God; and, as the slow - And solemn church-chime on him steals, - - He seems to tread the height - Of Heaven, rise with his risen Lord, and there - Pour out his soul in never-ceasing prayer, - And worship with the saints in light. - - And peace, and joy, and faith - Are his, and all things that the earth contains, - And all above, through the Redeemer's pains, - And groans, and victory o'er death! - - Glory to Him who willed - That man should live, not die! to Him who made - The Sabbath for our comfort, and who said - The soul on Christ its hopes should build! - - - - - SABBATH EVE. - - - ON Sabbath eve, how sad, - Yet sweet, the thoughts that come into the mind, - Unbid, but not unwelcome, and which find - Communion there, and to its solace add. - - The world seems bright no more; - Its witching charms are gone, its voice is dumb: - Vainly its pleasures to the soul say "Come!" - The wish for their enjoyment now is o'er. - - Thoughts of the dead are they - Which then we feel, low whispering to the heart, - Telling that we, like them, must soon depart, - And, with them, go to dull and cold decay. - - How strange it is, in sooth, - That Sabbath morn and eve should, to the breast, - Weary with cares of life, bring thoughts of REST-- - Strong proof of its great purpose and its truth! - - - - - DREAMS OF THE LIVING. - - - NO golden dreams, near quiet streams, - On swelling slopes, no high-reached hopes; - These of themselves are mute: - The spirit wakes, the fancies shoot - Where Nature points, but she - Thought curbs, not renders free, - Unless her portals wide she opes, - And gives of Truth the fruit. - - And man, a dreamer from his youth, - Ne'er knoweth, nor can know, the truth, - Save when Religion with its light - Shines on his mind, to guide his sight. - From every day that dawns, he claims - New thoughts, new fancies, and new aims, - That lead to nothing, nothing leave, - But vague ideas that deceive! - - Boyhood is dreaming, when it quits - Substantial joys for counterfeits; - Courts pleasure as a lasting thing, - Nor deems it bears a hidden sting; - And yields all feeling and all sense, - For hopes that bring no recompense. - Well, when its follies it forsakes, - And from its feverish dreams awakes! - - The loveliness of woman gives - More cause for dreams than aught that lives; - And youth, when it aspires to find - Gladness in beauty, wanting mind, - Like guileless child, is ever dreaming - Of joy and brightness only seeming; - And knows not, till the dream is past, - What spells around the heart are cast. - - And manhood dreams,--when o'er the soul - Ambition has secured control,-- - Of power, and wealth, and worldly state, - And all the splendours of the great: - Builds monuments, to which decay - Clings as a resting-place and prey, - Nor thinks how weak are all his pains, - When nothing at the last remains. - - And age, that ought to know the best, - Is but a dreamer like the rest; - O'erlooking, in its downward pace, - The landmarks of its upward race; - No wisdom from the past it earns, - And from the present only learns - To dread the future; and its staff - Writes its own weary epitaph. - - What dream they of? Earth, with its feelings cold, - Its passions withered, tales that have been told, - And generations dead--the same dull tone - That from the chambers of the past hath gone, - Is echoed now; but, as before, its strain, - For warning, or for teaching, is in vain! - - And hearts on which has come the early blight, - And hopes that never knew aught here but slight, - And scattered flowers, and blossoms tossed and shaken, - And promises foregone, and trusts forsaken, - Still show men's visions false, but still they cherish - Dreams of the earth, which only lure to perish. - - No glow of life, no ante-taste of heaven, - From sordid earth-born thoughts like theirs is given; - But disappointment, with its lagging train - Of blighted prospects, tells that all is vain; - Yet to this earth's allurements fixed, the heart, - Like a wrecked vessel, drifts, without a chart. - Truth teaches higher hopes, and better things, - And o'er the mind a lasting solace brings. - - Oh! that the soul on Heaven were ever bent, - And all its feelings thitherward were sent! - Then would our visions from the world arise, - Clear as the sun, and radiant as the skies: - Visions of light and love that ne'er decay, - No strifes to scare, no terrors to dismay; - But peace, unchanging as the Christian's faith-- - Peace in our life, untroubled hope in death! - - - - - LINES. - - - MAN knows he is immortal: there's within - A principle that tells him that his soul, - Which in himself exists, shall never die, - Although his outward tenement becomes, - By the slow-wasting chemistry of death, - Forgotten, undistinguishable dust. - His mind, his heart, his impulses, are all - Subservient to his soul, his noblest part, - That came from God, returns to God again. - If he his passions could o'ercome and sway, - Place Prudence as a wary sentinel - On all his words and purposes, that trip - He might in neither, he were great indeed! - But sense and selfishness his judgment warp, - And so debase his nature, that, having not - Of his own mind the moral mastery, - His thoughts, affections, powers, and faculties, - Are under the dominion of a yoke - More galling than a tyrant's. Slave of Sin! - - - - - SONNETS. - - _Written on viewing the Picture of "The Deluge," painted by - F. Danby, Esq., A.R.A._ - - - WE gaze in awe upon the solemn scene, - With sense and soul absorbed, as if the sight - Were tranced in that o'erpowering vengeful light - Which shrouds the setting sun; and what has been - A world is now a waste of waters, higher - And darker swells the flood, like one vast pall - Thrown o'er the guilty ones of earth, Heaven's ire - Who braved ere-while.--How fearful, how sublime, - How terrible the sight!--widely they climb, - To rock and mountain top to 'scape their doom, - While rushing torrents, dome and palace hall, - The work of man with man himself, consume; - Nor these alone! Rock, cliff, and mountain grey, - God's handiwork, become with man, their prey! - - How vast the guilt that thus could doom a world - So beautiful as ours was ere man sinned,-- - The waters sweeping, like a mighty wind, - To whelm the earth, from its foundations hurled; - All nature stood aghast, its course was changed-- - A comet threw afar its lurid gleam, - Up-broke the fountains of the ocean stream, - While a fierce earthquake thro' the centre ranged, - Shattering the mountains in its might.--How vain - Was then the strength of man, as poor his pride, - To stem the onsweep of that ceaseless tide, - Which desolation spread o'er mount and plain! - Anguish and terror, madness and despair, - Took hold on all, before they perished there! - - A towering rock, whose shadow in past days - Was hailed by weary ones a place of rest, - Affords brief shelter on its shelving breast - To struggling sufferers crowding from all ways, - Trampling their fellows down for life, sweet life! - Alas! the JUDGMENT'S on them, they as well - Might build their hopes on sand, as stay the swell - Of the full flood and elemental strife. - Yet has not God forgotten all his love - To sinful men, the ARM they madly brave - "Though strong to smite is also strong to save"-- - The ark floats high a buried world above! - While o'er a lifeless pair, to Heaven still dear, - A kneeling Angel drops a pitying tear! (7) - - - - - THOUGHT. - - - LIKE one who on a mountain stands, - When morning into day expands, - And, as a glory, views from Heaven - The plenteousness of brightness given; - Even so is he, who marks remote - The early cheering dawn of thought - Advancing o'er th' awakened mind, - Till truth, within the soul defined, - Spreads light and knowledge in the breast, - And sets all doubts and fears at rest. - - - - - LINES. - - WRITTEN ON THE ATTEMPTED ASSASSINATION OF THE QUEEN. - - _20th July 1840._ - - - FAIR as the summer in its joyous prime, - Free from all thoughts of guile, all dread of ill, - Unconscious that a traitor could exist - Within her wide dominions, forth she came, - Young, happy, unattended, save by him, - The husband she had chosen from the world; - All hearts her own--no other guard she wished-- - When ambushed treason aimed its coward blow, - Which Heaven ordained should harmless pass her by, - In mercy to the realms that own her sway. - - Ah! had the public foe, in hostile league, - Come openly against her life and crown, - The chivalry of England, not yet dead, - Had promptly flown to arms, and formed - Around her then a shield impenetrable, - Her sacred person to defend, or die. - From out of England's millions, only one - Was found, so void of all the feelings of a man, - As point a deadly weapon at the breast - Of England's pride--a woman and a Queen! - Then the high bravery of her race was shown; - She blenched not, quivered not, but sat erect; - While, with the lion courage of the Saxon, - Which both their hearts inspired, her consort threw - Himself at once between her and the danger, - To shield the life so dear to him and us. - - The loyal heart of Britain beat with joy - At their escape--the young, the loved, the true! - Many and fervent were the prayers breathed - To Heaven, that they might live extended years, - And each year, as it came, their happiness - Increase, and ours! Thus let the traitor's hopes - For ever end, thus fruitless be his aims-- - His snares recoil upon himself alone! - - How beautiful the trait of filial love, - Of reverence daughterly, was then evinced, - When, freed from danger from th' assassin's arm, - She promptly to her mother hastes, herself - To be the foremost bearer of the tidings, - And, in her own particular person, bring - The proof and the assurance of her safety, - Ere Rumour's tongue had magnified details! - Ah! worthy of her people's love, is she - Who thus could show the veneration due, - At such a time, to her who gave her being! - - The ways of men are in the hands of One - Who cannot err; the destinies of all - On earth, peasants as well as potentates, - Are under His sole guardianship and guidance. - A truism this; yet there are men who doubt, - Nay, worse, deny it; even though instances, - Occurring daily, show the constant care - Of Providence o'er thoughtless, sinful men. - - How oft does evil o'er our head impend, - And we not know it, till the danger's past! - How oft, when evil comes, provided is - A remedy, we know not how or whence! - Ah! blind, and worse than blind, are they who doubt. - The brutish beasts that roam the fields and woods, - And never heard of God, or gospel truth, - Of Christ and his salvation, better are, - And wiser, than the Atheist and Sceptic. - - High is the sovereign's power, and great the sway - Which kings possess; but, higher, greater still - Is His, the King of Kings, who overrules - All things for good to them who love his laws. - - Tyrants have had avengers, but the good - Need fear no peril, dread no coming ill; - Their trust in One who fails not, cannot fail; - In whose hand is the breath of princes held, - As much as meaner men's. To Him thy way commit. - - - - - I'M NAEBODY NOO. - - _The complaint of an old man reduced in the world. Contributed - to the Book of Scottish Song._ - - - I'M naebody noo, though in days that are gane, - Whan I'd hooses, and lands, and gear o' my ain, - There war' mony to flatter, and mony to praise, - And wha but mysel' was sae prood in those days! - - Ah! then roun' my table wad visitors thrang, - Wha laughed at my joke, and applauded my sang, - Though the tane had nae point, and the tither nae glee; - But of coorse they war' grand when comin' frae me! - - Whan I'd plenty to gie, o' my cheer and my crack, - There war' plenty to come, and wi' joy to partak'; - But whanever the water grew scant at the well, - I was welcome to drink all alane by mysel'. - - Sae lang as my bottle was ready and free, - Friends in dozens I had wha then crooded to prie, - They sat ower the toddy until they war' fou,-- - Noo I drink by mysel', for I'm naebody noo. - - Whan I'd nae need o' aid, there were plenty to proffer, - And noo whan I want it, I ne'er get the offer; - I could greet whan I think hoo my siller decreast, - In the feasting o' those who came only to feast. - - The fulsome respec' to my gowd they did gie, - I thought a' the time was intended for me, - But whanever the end o' my money they saw, - Their friendship, like it, also flickered awa'. - - My advice ance was sought for by folks far and near, - Sic great wisdom I had ere I tint a' my gear, - I'm as weel able yet to gie counsel, that's true, - But I may jist haud my wheesht, for I'm naebody noo. - - - - - SONG. - - _Contributed to the Book of Scottish Song._ - - - THERE'S plenty come to woo me, - And ca' me sweet and fair, - There's plenty say they lo'e me, - But they never venture mair: - They never say they'll marry, - Though love is all their tune, - From June to Janu-a-ry, - From January to June. - - I canna keep frae smilin', - At their flatteries and art; - Wi' a' their fond beguilin', - They'll ne'er beguile my heart. - For nought can fix a maiden - Whase heart is warm and true, - But vows wi' marriage laden, - Though mony come to woo. - - That a's no gowd that glitters - I've either heard or read, - And marriage has its bitters, - As well as sweets, is said. - But though it gets the blame o' - Some things that winna' tell, - The fau't that folks complain o' - Lies often wi' themsel'. - - The year, as on it ranges, - Within its twelvemonths' fa', - Shows many sudden changes, - And's lightsome wi' them a'; - Though winter's tempests thicken, - Spring comes wi' cheerful face; - And summer smiles to quicken - A' nature wi' its grace. - - The year of life is marriage, - And we canna wed too sune, - Whan twa divide the carriage, - The wark is cheerily dune. - If one true heart wad hae me, - For better and for worse, - Wi' him I'd gladly share aye - The blessing and the curse. - - - - - THE STOUT OLD BRITISH SHIP. - - - HURRAH! for the stout old British ship, - The monarch of the sea! - That bounds like a greyhound from the slip, - When the sails are loosened free! - That, spite of the storm and deadly gun, - Ne'er yet its course gave o'er; - And never knew what 'twas to run - A hostile flag before! - It long has the bulwark been of our rights, - Of our freedom still the stay; - Then give to the brave old British ship, - Three British cheers--hurrah! - - When Nelson trode its quarter-deck, - Its glory was in its prime; - Victory he had at his finger-beck, - As proved in every clime: - Then England was honoured and feared by all, - And nations sung her praise; - But that is a tale we may not recall - In these degenerate days: - For the stout old ship lies idly ashore, - Laid up like a useless tree; - Its battles and cruises now are o'er, - Though it still is fit for sea! - - The vaunting foreigner long has felt - Its thunders on the main, - And he smiles when he thinks the blows it dealt - Shall ne'er be dealt again. - But the spirit of Nelson is not dead, - It bounds in a hundred hearts, - And his story of fame is remembered and read, - And studied with our charts! - For cherished with care is the glory it won, - The meed of a thousand years; - And its foes will fly as they often have done, - When the stout old ship appears! - - When the brave old ship, as bright as morn, - Hoists high its well-known flag; - The flag that has still been unsullied borne, - Since the days of Drake and Sprague. - Let's see who'll dare dispute its right, - To the empire of the main, - 'Twill prove its title clear and bright, - Against the world again! - Then give to the stout old British ship, - Of our freedom still the stay, - That long has the bulwark been of our rights, - Three British cheers--hurrah! - - - - - LINES, - - ON THE INFANT SON AND DAUGHTER OF THE HON. COL. MONTAGUE. - - - HOW fair is childhood; like the ray - Of summer morn, the blush of day. - Bright scions of a noble race, - Blooming in love and youthful grace, - In innocence and beauty's pride! - As rosebuds blossoming at ease, - Showering their beauties on the breeze, - On some green mountain's side. - - High thoughts are with that lovely boy, - In whose dark eye beams radiant joy; - May blessings on his years attend, - And Heaven its choicest favours send! - Hope of an honourable line, - With feeling heart and mind endued, - May health, and peace, and every good, - And length of life, be thine. - - Oh! love it is a blessed thing, - And to the heart doth comfort bring; - But the fond throb that for a brother - A sister feels, excels all other, - Save only that by parents known: - Sweet maid, a pure affection cheers - Thy gentle heart, and still endears - Thy very smile and tone. - - No cares upon those brows of light, - Round which the tresses cluster bright, - Like mossy flowers 'mong sunshine blended, - Have yet, with envious trace, descended: - But all is happiness and mirth,-- - Ye look like cherubs sent from Heaven, - With hope, and joy, and beauty given, - To cheer this weary earth. - - 1838. - - - - - THE MARTYRS. - - - FAITHFUL to God, 'mid persecutions dire, - The lion-hearts of old still firmly stood, - Unawed by terrors of the block or fire, - For truth and freedom freely gave their blood; - The path of duty lay before them plain, - And boldly they advanced, nor turned again. - - A throne cast down, erected was once more, - An exiled king, a nation, welcomed back; - Planted in blood it was, and tears, and gore, - Its only props the scaffold and the rack; - And there the brave and good did nobly fall, - That Christ the Saviour might be all in all, - - Calmly the martyr Guthrie met his fate, - A victim to oppression's cruel laws, - Nor would, for proudest prelate's form and state, - A traitor turn to his dear Master's cause; - With him no joy on earth so great could be, - As thus to die for Christ's supremacy. - - On the lone mountains of their native land, - Where blooms the heather fragrantly and fair, - In the green valleys waved by breezes bland, - Struck mercilessly down while met in prayer, - Lie Scotland's martyrs in their nameless moulds, - Sustained by Him who the great worlds upholds. (8) - - - - - CALEDONIA, MY COUNTRY! - - - CALEDONIA, my country! How bright is the fame, - Like a halo of glory, that circles thy name; - When thy children remember their fathers' renown, - Can they, faithless, consent e'er to sully thy crown? - - In the battles of freedom, the hot fields of fight, - Thy great men of old stoutly fought for the right; - By their conquering swords, blessed and aided by Heaven, - The hosts of the foe from our country were driven. - - In the fair realms of song thy sons also excel, - Midst the gifted of earth do their memories dwell; - And of praise of thy minstrels, from nations around, - Still the echo returns, with a flattering sound. - - But purer, and brighter, and higher, by far, - Than of those that have triumphed in song or in war, - Are the names,--never breathed but with love they are heard,-- - Of thy fearless Reformers, thy Martyrs revered. - - Now thy sword is at rest, and thy harp is laid by, - But the sword of the Spirit still waves from on high, - And the harp of the Lord sounds in majesty forth, - As of yore it was heard from the lands of the north. - - Again, oh, my country! on thy hills of renown, - Oppression, relentless, has darkly come down-- - On the breeze of the mountain is borne the loud wail, - And the lowlands reply to the wrongs of the Gael. - - From the dark page of history shadows are cast, - And the woes of the future loom out from the past; - There are omens of evil, enshrouded in blood, - But in midst of them all, there are tokens of good. - - - - - I CANNA SLEEP. - - _Written in 1833. Contributed to the Book of Scottish Song._ - - - I CANNA sleep a wink, lassie, - When I gang to bed at night, - But still o' thee I think, lassie, - Till morning sheds its light. - I lie an' think o' thee, lassie, - And I toss frae side to side, - Like a vessel on the sea, lassie, - When stormy is the tide. - - My heart is no my ain, lassie, - It winna bide wi' me, - Like a birdie it has gane, lassie, - To nestle saft wi' thee. - I canna lure it back, lassie, - Sae keep it to yoursel'; - But oh! it sune will brak, lassie, - If you dinna use it well. - - Where the treasure is they say, lassie, - The spirit lingers there, - An' mine has fled away, lassie, - You needna' ask me where. - I marvel oft if rest, lassie, - On my eyes and heart wad bide, - If I thy troth possessed, lassie, - And thou wert at my side. - - - - - YONDER SUNNY BRAE. - - - ON yonder sunny brae we met, - Amid the summer flowers; - And never can my heart forget - The rapture of those hours, - When she I loved forsook her home - And there with me did stray, - Oh! oft delighted did we roam - On yonder sunny brae. - - The gushing of the waterfall, - The sunshine of the sky, - The bloom, the balm, and, more than all, - The sparkle of her eye, - Brought to my heart a blissful tide - That drove all care away, - And I was happy at her side, - On yonder sunny brae. - - 'Twas there I breathed my fondest vow, - Nor told my love in vain; - And I am happy with her now, - Though years have passed since then. - No sweeter scene my eyes shall see - Though far my steps should stray: - There's not a spot so dear to me - As yonder sunny brae. - - - - - THE EAGLE'S NEST, AND OTHER POEMS. - - HERE FIRST PRINTED. - - - - - THE EAGLE'S NEST. - - - GRACE ADAM was a farmer's daughter, - Her youth in the far west was spent, - Where Mississippi's mighty water - Rolls like a flood that will have vent. - - She was a blooming country maiden, - Like those one sees in market towns, - With egg and butter baskets laden, - Dressed in their smartest hats and gowns. - - In household work and dairy labours - Her time passed pleasantly away, - A pattern she to all the neighbours, - Healthy and cheerful as the day. - - Grace Adam was a farmer's daughter,-- - Some share of beauty she could boast, - And lovers, near and far off, sought her, - Each striving who could flatter most. - - From 'mong them all her heart selected - One gentle youth who seemed sincere, - He was by every one respected, - And more it needs not saying here. - - Within an outfield stood an only - Old beech-tree, lightning-smote, and dead,-- - Its branches bare, and bleached, and lonely, - An eagle built its nest amid. - - Forsook the mountain's summit hoary, - The beetling cliff above the sea, - Sought not the forests of Missouri, - But sheltered on this shattered tree. - - And oft to see this noble creature, - Many there came from parts thereby, - Training its young, as is its nature, - To spread their wings and upward fly. - - Among the rest a student, rambling - In woods and meadows, also came, - In search of useful knowledge scrambling, - Wherever he could find the same. - - Grace Adam was a farmer's daughter,-- - Her father had approved her choice; - For duty and her feelings taught her - 'Twere best to have her parents' voice. - - Oft as the summer sunset glowing - Came down in splendour o'er the west, - The lovers forth together going, - Would wander to the eagle's nest. - - And there in courtship sweet and prudent - The happy hours fast slipt away;-- - And often there, too, came the student, - To watch the birds at close of day. - - And so they soon became acquainted, - He knew they were betrothed before; - But while their future bliss _they_ painted, - _His_ object still was to explore. - - The marriage-day, longed for yet dreaded - By maidens fair, at last came round, - Grace Adam and her love were wedded, - With hope and every blessing crowned. - - Their home was in a distant city - Far, far from where her youth was spent, - Where Mississippi's water mighty - Pours like a flood that will have vent. - - And never more the lordly river, - Or its green banks, was Grace to see, - The dear-loved farm, no more, and never - The lonely shattered eagle's tree. - - New duties claimed now her attention, - New feelings rose at name of wife, - And as time passed, she ceased to mention - The loved scenes of her early life. - - Some years had gone, and she could gather - Her children round about her knee,-- - Long since in churchyard lay her father, - And fallen was the eagle's tree. - - And now in course of worldly changes - Another town their home became; - For business oft-times turns the hinges - Of man's condition and his aim. - - And there they settled, growing older, - But Grace aright years passing read; - For the grey hairs appearing told her - Time left its shadow on her head. - - Years twenty since the farmer's daughter - Left the scenes where her youth was spent, - Where Mississippi's mighty water - Rolls like a flood that will have vent. - - Within that town broke out a fever, - Smiting alike the rich and poor; - 'Twas typhus, grim Death's surest lever - To turn the churchyards o'er and o'er. - - Many, o'erborne with grief and watching - At couch of those oppressed with pains, - A hurried hour of slumber snatching, - Woke with the fever in their veins. - - Spared not the children or the father, - Passed not the anxious mother by, - In one swift grave the parents gather - Their offspring with them as they lie. - - Lamented many a one his dearest - Borne to the house whence no retrace, - Mourned high and low for friends the nearest - Soon carried to their resting place. - - A time of gloom, and doubt, and terror, - A time of sorrow and dismay; - The breath of death upon life's mirror - All ghastly and infectious lay. - - A time of judgment, when God's dealings - Make the most careless cry to Him,-- - A time to try the human feelings,-- - When even Hope grows faint and dim. - - Just at the last, when near expending - Its baleful force ere sped away, - Grace caught the fever while attending - A smitten neighbour as she lay. - - Grief in the house but late so cheerful, - Pain on the heart but late so light, - Her husband and her children tearful - Watched o'er her sickbed day and night. - - Beat low the pulse with languid movement, - And stopped the functions of the brain, - No sign her eye gave of improvement - As day and night return again. - - Hastened the Doctor, if yet human - Aid might avail to save her life, - He saw and knew the suffering woman, - Although not as a wedded wife. - - Years twenty since the farmer's daughter - Had met the student at the tree, - Where Mississippi's mighty water - Rolls like a full flood to the sea. - - Bent near the Doctor then, and laid he - His hand upon her wasted breast, - And with low cheerful whisper said he - No more words than "the eagle's nest!" - - The change was sudden and amazing,-- - Opened her eyes and closed again, - And like the keel of vessel grazing - The ground, grated her teeth in twain. - - Gasped a long breath, as if a struggle - Were going on, as night with morn, - No sound made but a low faint guggle, - Like cry of infant newly born. - - A smile passed o'er her features sunken, - Grasped she the hand beside her then, - Remembrance, just as one half-drunken, - Strove to retrace its course again. - - Ah! then came back the well-known faces - Of her young days upon her mind, - The scenes of long ago, in traces - All clear and full and well defined. - - She saw her father as he taught her - Her youthful lessons at his knee, - Where Mississippi's mighty water - Rolls like a full flood to the sea. - - She saw her mother too beside her - Long, long since taken to her rest, - And then, as opened Memory wider, - She stood beneath the eagle's nest, - - With him she loved, in courtship prudent, - And of love's sweetest cup she drank, - She saw again the youthful student,-- - All that came after was a blank. - - Thus ever Memory touched can bring time, - With its past feelings into light, - And thus the sweet joys of her spring-time - Came rushing thickly on her sight. - - Thus, too, doth roused Imagination - Vibrate the tender chords that bind - The wide links of Association - Within the chambers of the mind. - - Then turned the fever, as the meeting - Of the free air upon her brain, - Her pulse resumed a quickened beating, - Revolved the wheels of life again. - - And day by day she gained new strength then - Beneath the Doctor's care and skill, - Able to quit her bed at length then, - 'Twas this she loved to talk of still, - - That when Death's dart did o'er her hover, - And she could find no sleep or rest, - 'Twas this that made her to recover, - The simple words, "the eagle's nest!" (9) - - - - - THE ADVENT OF TRUTH. - - - A time there is, though far its dawn may be, - And shadows thick are brooding on the main, - When, like the sun upspringing from the sea, - Truth shall arise, with Freedom in its train; - - And Light upon its forehead, as a star - Upon the brow of heaven, to shed its rays - Among all people, wheresoe'er they are, - And shower upon them calm and happy days. - - As sunshine comes with healing on its wing, - After long nights of sorrow and unrest, - Solace and peace, and sympathy to bring - To the grieved spirit and unquiet breast. - - No more shall then be heard the slave's deep groan, - Nor man man's inhumanity deplore, - All strife shall cease and war shall be unknown, - And the world's golden age return once more. - - And nations now that, with Oppression's hand, - Are to the dust of Earth with sorrow bowed, - Shall then erect, in fearless vigour, stand, - And with recovered freedom shout aloud. - - Along with Truth, Wisdom, her sister-twin, - Shall come--they two are never far apart,-- - At their approach, to some lone cavern Sin - Shall cowering flee, as stricken to the heart. - - Right shall then temper Justice, as 'tis meet - It should, and Justice give to Right its own; - Might shall its sword throw underneath its feet, - And Tyranny, unkinged, fall off its throne. - - Then let us live in hope, and still prepare - Us and our children for the end, that they - Instruct may those who after them shall heir, - To watch and wait the coming of that day. - - - - - LINES, - - SUGGESTED BY A WALK IN A GARDEN. - - - BALMY as the dew from its own blossoms, - And soothing as the fragrance it creates, - Comes the sweet influence of this summer eve - To my o'ercharged heart--there is a breeze - Moving amid the foliage, soft and low, - As cradled murmur from a babe asleep. - It is a time for holy thoughts to spring, - And contemplation fill the awakened mind. - - Lo! a bright sunbeam stands 'tween heaven and earth, - Taking its farewell look ere day departs, - And seeking still to light the gloom below, - As Hope,--even when the darkness comes, and Joy - Hath fled,--to cheer the heart, still lingering, smiles: - And when it goes,--ah! no, it ne'er all goes:-- - The sunbeam fades, a moment, and its light, - All shed, dies still-born, swiftly shone and o'er; - But Hope, blest Hope, ev'n when it seems away, - Is near, evermore near, it cannot live - Apart, 'tis wedded to the soul for aye,-- - God joined them twain, and nought can sunder them,-- - Near, ever near, and ever bringing peace, - Groping among the dark things of man's spirit, - And shedding o'er the troubled mind its light, - As a stray ray of sunshine wanders 'mong - The shattered arches of a fallen ruin. - - Ere sunset leaves the world, and sinks behind - The illumined ocean, let me muse awhile. - - 'Twas in a garden that that hideous thing, - Sin, first was born accurst, and now all through - The wide wide universe it ranges fierce. - Where man has placed his foot its trace is seen. - The serpent's slimy trail is everywhere, - Disfiguring, polluting, and destroying, - Death following in its track inseparably. - - But oh! my soul be humbled, yet rejoice;-- - It was, too, in a garden that the great, - The only all-sufficient, all-atoning - Propitiatory sacrifice for sin - Commenced its consummation, when the Man - Christ Jesus swat for thee great drops of blood, - (Even he, the Second Person of the Godhead,) - And prayed in agony that the cup might pass, - If so his Father willed; but none on earth - Or yet in Heaven could drink it, none save Him; - And when the sacrifice was all complete - On Calvary, and satisfied was Justice, - Mercy and Hope held out their hands to man, - And, in Christ's name, showed him redemption's way. - The shame and misery that Adam felt - In Eden's garden, when the first great sin - Was challenged, was as nothing to compare - With the deep agony which on that night,-- - That dreadful night in which he was betrayed,-- - Our Surety felt, when in Gethsemane - He took upon himself to pay the full - Ransom and penalty of that first sin - Which Adam sinned, and all his race in him. - - Of that first sin did Adam put the blame - On Eve, "the woman whom thou gavest me." - Eve on the serpent shifted it, and proud - Was he that he had circumvented both, - Doomed on his womb to crawl in dust, and bruised - His head by woman's seed, short-lived his pride.-- - Christ took upon Himself the sin and all - Its anguish, nor like Adam vainly strove - To shift it to another, knowing well - No other could redeem it but Himself. - Sinless, a sacrifice for sin, that sin - Might from the souls of men be washed away. - 'Twas for that sin, and its infeftments wide - That Jesus died, that its entail cut off - Might be from Adam and his lineage, far - As generations yet to come extend, - And man restored to his lost paradise. - No flaming sword waves at its portals now, - Entrance to bar to the redeemed on earth; - No angels guard the gates to keep them shut, - But open ever are they to the elect, - And there bright angels stand, with joy - To welcome all who come in Christ's name in. - - But now the sun hath bade the world good night, - And gathering darkness warns me to my home. - - - - - SONNET. - - SUNSHINE. - - - ON the old forest, bright the sunrays play, - And from the boughs hang, tinging the green leaves - With golden light that downward interweaves, - Past branch and stem finding itself a way; - And on the greensward, and among the fern, - Some trace of sunshine still we can discern, - A sunbeam's scattered droppings gone astray - Among the wild-flowers, where they nestle close - Within the long grass, or the woodland moss, - Making for Earth a dress with colours gay. - Oh! on our pathway thus may sunshine fall, - And like the little flowers, our hopes still bloom,-- - A share of it at least, if not it all,-- - To light the darkness and to cheer the gloom. - - - - - SONG. - - AT E'ENING, WHAN THE KYE WAR IN. - - - AT e'ening whan the kye war in, - An' lasses milking thrang, - A neebour laird cam ben the byre, - The busy maids amang. - He stood ahint the routin' kye - An' round him glowered a wee, - Then stole to whar young Peggy sat, - The milkpail at her knee. - - "Sweet Peggy, lass," thus spoke the laird, - "Wilt listen to my tale?" - "Stan' out the gate, laird," Peggy cried, - "Or you will coup the pail: - "Mind, Hawkie here's a timorous beast, - An' no acquent wi you." - "Ne'er fash," quo' he, "the milking time's - The sweetest time to woo. - - "Ye ken, I've aften tauld ye that - I've thretty kye and mair, - "An' ye'd be better owning them - Than sittin' milkin' there. - "My house is bein, and stocket weel - In hadden and in ha', - "An' ye've but just to sae the word - Tae leddy be o' a'." - - "Wheesht, laird," quo Peggy, "dinna mak' - Yersel a fule an' me, - "I thank ye, for yer offer kind, - But sae it canna be. - "Maybe yer weel stocked house and farm, - An' thretty lowing kine, - "May win some ither lassie's heart, - They hae nae charms for mine; - - "For in the kirk I hae been cried, - My troth is pledged and sworn, - "An' tae the man I like mysel', - I'll married be the morn'." - The laird, dumfoundered at her words, - Had nae mair will to try'r; - But turned, and gaed far faster out, - Than he'd come in the byre. - - - - - STANZAS - - ON A BUST OF MARSHAL NEY, - - _Presented by the Prince De Moskwa to Donald Sinclair, - Esq. Edinburgh._ - - - THERE stands the hero, "bravest of the brave," - A name well earned, that he to whom alone - NEY, second, scarce to him, in glory shone, - After a hard fought day in honour gave: - And ever shall his laurels greenly wave,-- - Still flourishing with time, for time can ne'er - Blight his deserved renown not even _there_,-- - Over his bloody and untimely grave. - - Where flew the Eagle in its wide domain, - There was he ever foremost in the fight, - Leading his band of heroes, strong in might, - To conquest still,--In Switzerland and Spain, - And where the Rhine, majestic to the main, - Through many fertile lands, doth proudly flow, - His prowess won applause, even from the foe, - Midst blood and carnage on each battle plain. - - High rose his genius with the tide of war, - His country's annals of his valour tell, - Impetuous as the torrent, when the swell - Of waters fierce pours onward from afar, - And sweeps before it every stop and bar: - Where'er his sword flashed, with its sunlike ray, - There victory followed closely on the way, - And danger's track was marked by many a scar. - - Rednitz and Neuwied well his courage knew, - When yet his early deeds foretold the fame - That soon would throw a halo round his name; - Manheim and Hohenlinden felt it too, - And Elchingen and Jena found him true, - Eylau and Friedland, names of high renown, - Moscow and its retreat, his glory crown, - Which paled not even at bloody Waterloo! - - Immortal warrior, could France reward - Thy mighty deeds but with a traitor's death? - The shame is hers, not thine; thy latest breath - Was for thy country, and as one prepared - Thou met'st thy fate, as soldier should on guard: - And still shall time, with every rolling year - The more thy memory to France endear, - And mourned thy fate shall be by patriot and bard. - - Thy death has left a blot upon the fame - Of Wellington and England, ne'er to be - Removed or justified,--alas! that he, - Who with a word thy safety could proclaim, - With callous heart refused to speak the same. - The deed, like that which stained, with blackest ray, - Great Nelson's honour in Palermo's bay, - Our history records "with sorrow and with shame." (10) - - - - - WINTER. - - _Written at Two-Waters, Herts, 11th January 1840, - for a Lady's Album._ - - - COME! we will wander to the lone hill-side, - And, awe-struck, view the winter in its pride;-- - Crispy the grass and scant; - The little flowers have vanished, not a trace - Is left of blossom on pale Nature's face:-- - Restraint lies mighty on the stream--it sings - No more--dead, dead now,--like all other things; - The trees, as spectres gaunt, - Or churchyard monuments, all scattered stand, - As if they mourned the bareness of the land,-- - Meagre as pallid want. - Where be the fairies now, the little fays, - That dance in buttercups in summer days, - Though only Poets view - Their gambols in the flowers and in the rays - Of noonday, which the common sight gainsays, - To Fancy ever new! - - The grasshopper is gone. Ah, me! can death - Have will to stop _its_ modicum of breath? - Swift fly the clouds, why should they fly so swift? - Come they like Angel-spirits, with a gift - Of mercy to mankind? - In this drear time, the heart asks where are they - That tell of sunshine being on the way? - The harbingers of light and genial heat, - That make the meadows and the valleys sweet - When softly sighs the wind: - Make rich the upland grass to mountain goat, - When balm and beauty through the ether float, - Like gossamer reclined. - Oh! for a cheerful note from blackbird--gone, - All gone, the songster and his song are flown; - There's nought to cheer the ear. - Oh! now to list the mavis in the wood,-- - The psalms of Nature's singers, always good, - Bring solace to the year. - - Oh! for one glimpse of sunshine, to remind - The Earth of summer, ever bland and kind. - - - - - HUMAN CONDUCT. - - - WHY is it that the heart of man - So full is of vagary, - That when he's told what's right, he jerks - The rein, and does contrary. - - Like skittish horse, or stubborn pig, - Or other self-willed creature, - That in the public highways shows - Its vile and perverse nature. - - There's many a lesson taught to man, - But little does he mind them, - Many's the warning given to him,-- - He throws them all behind him. - - But let me a short tale relate - Instead of moralising, - You'll prize it more, I dare to say, - Than any such premising. - - The sun was shining on the hills, - The countryside looked sweeter, - And brighter and more beautiful - Than I can tell in metre. - - It was the spring-time of the year, - That pleasant balmy season, - When freshness passes o'er the earth, - And come the buds the trees on. - - When Nature young looks, and is young, - But though she dresses gaily, - The time grows old, for Time, like man, - Grows older daily, daily! - - Ah me! that men should be so weak - As not to read the lesson,-- - Ripe fruits are offered them, but they - The garbage love to mess on. - - One day along a country road - With hedge and hawthorn bristling, - A country lad was passing, and - In merry mood was whistling. - - Stout was he and his joints well knit, - And firm as time-tried timber, - But light withal and agile too, - No sapling yet was limber. - - Anon a horseman came that way - Who sat on horseback rarely, - This the horse knew as well as he, - And so had bolted fairly. - - The young man eyed him as he came - And was by no means idle, - For as he passed he leapt in front, - And caught him by the bridle. - - The horse reared back, and with the shock - His rider fell right over - Among the mud, and well for him - The place was soft as clover. - - Brought to his feet, without a hurt, - But all o'er very muddy, - He thanked the lad, well-pleased to find - He sound was and unbloody. - - He was a thin spare man, and past - Mid-life, and looking sickly; - Not that his health was touched at all, - Or that his limbs were weakly; - - But he had been for many years - In towns a constant dweller, - Confined to business close, and this - On health is oft a teller. - - He had an eye for bales and goods, - And turnings of the market; - But for the country's picturesque, - His shadow rare did dark it. - - He rode out had to breathe the air, - And give his nerves a bracing, - His steed unruly had become, - His horsemanship disgracing. - - The countryman pulled up some grass, - No readier thing appearing, - And rubbed him down in ostler style, - The mud from off him clearing. - - And then for having saved his life,-- - To cut my tale the shorter,-- - He offered him, as a reward, - To take him as his porter; - - And if he showed capacity, - To give him education, - To make him fit in course of time, - To fill a higher station. - - The youth agreed to't, for he thought, - (While handing back the bridle) - He'd like the change, besides just then - He happened to be idle. - - In Glasgow busy city now, - Behold this country clown bred, - First porter and then junior clerk, - And learning to be town bred. - - Years passed, the sun shines once a day, - But days make years, and every - Sun that rises counts one, thus time - Flows on, as water rivery. - - Through all gradations of the desk - The youth, still true and steady, - Had risen till, from senior clerk, - He partner was already. - - The merchant now, as commerce had - To counting-house long held him, - Resolved to take his ease at last, - And came to business seldom: - - The junior partner and head-clerk - Care of the cash-box keeping, - While he himself had chosen to be - What's called the partner sleeping. - - The countryman, no longer young, - Had toiled both late and early, - And gained some wealth, and 'twas his boast - That he had won it fairly. - - But with it he had learnt betimes - And aye the more the faster, - Some of the city's ways that were - Not pleasing to his master. - - He ne'er had married, and was fond - Of being hospitable; - For 'twas his pride always to have - His friends around his table: - - And so extravagant became, - To feasting much addicted, - And rich wines drinking, which of course - His income much restricted. - - One night his master was in town - And heard he had a party, - An old man now, not wanting sense, - But humorous and hearty; - - Yet this he to himself oft thought, - He thought that 'twas a pity, - His clerk should spend his money in - Thus feasting all the city. - - And so resolved to call on him - And bring him to his senses, - Not by a lecture commonplace - Of prudence and expenses: - - But by a something which he had, - A sort of old memento, - That in his judgment was well worth - Of lectures grave a cento. - - It was a frosty night, and there - Had been a fall of snow on, - The slippery streets required great skill - And caution them to go on. - - With but one fall, he reached the house, - The entrance well he knew there, - Sudden and unexpected burst - Amidst the jovial crew there. - - The gas burnt clear, the host looked blue, - And not the lights, as use is - When one particular guest appears - That no one introduces. - - He said, "Lies the skeleton frost - On one street and another, - "I tripped and fell, and where I lay - One skeleton hugged his brother. - - "His breath is on each pane congealed, - Cold enters through each portal, - "How my teeth chatter with the cold, - A sign that we are mortal. - - "What's this, a banquet spread and rich, - The wines all bright and glowing, - "No thought of this when you I met - Along the road-side going." - - He then produced a bundle which - He opened with derision, - And singly held up the contents - To their astonished vision. - - There was the wellworn hairy cap, - The corderoys to back it, - His host had owned, and there too was - His former fustian jacket. - - These were the clothes the country lad - Had on at their first meeting, - And these he now brought forth to be - To him his present greeting; - - That he might pause in his career - Of jollity and revel, - Lest in his age, reduced he should - Be to his former level. - - 'Tis strange that human conduct oft - So reckless is and hollow, - That when the right path reason shows, - It seeks the wrong to follow. - - The master having said and done, - Quick vanished from them after: - The host attempted at the time - To turn it off with laughter. - Next morn reflection made him take - The hint,--and to be brief then,-- - Though roughly put, 'twas kindly meant,-- - He turned o'er a new leaf then. - - - MORAL. - - To be of any use, reproof - Still strong should be and home put, - A lecture grave or saying wise - The mind is quickly from put; - - Instead of gen'ral moral saws, - Facts personal lay stress on, - And like a surgeon probing deep, - Reform is in the lesson. - - - - - COURTSHIP LINES. - - - OH! let not sorrow cloud thine eye, - Or doubt oppress thy heart, - For love, like truth, can never lie, - Nor truth, like love, depart. - To be mine own, I've chosen thee, - From all the world deems fair; - And I've vowed thine own to be, - Then wherefore cherish care? - - Thou canst not think a love like mine, - Could e'er to thee cause pain; - Or make thy gentle heart repine - That it has loved in vain: - Thee still mine eyes desire to see, - Like sunlight from above; - For all my heart is full of thee, - And all my heart is love. - - 1833. - - - - - LOVE-WEAKNESS. - - - I canna' get my mouth about it, - It lies so deeply on my heart, - That aye when trying to divulge it, - My thoughts fly somehow all apart. - - Were I to learn the best confession - That e'er by pen of man was writ, - To try to speak it in her presence - I should not have the power or wit. - - As in the rose's opening petals - Devotion pure is ever spread, - So in the flushings of my countenance - She my heart's feelings must have read. - - Oh! gladly anywhere I'd venture, - Dare anything to prove it true; - But to disclose my ardent passion - Is just the thing I canna' do. - - I canna' get my mouth about it, - It lies so deeply on my heart, - That aye when trying to divulge it, - My thoughts fly somehow all apart. - - - - - LINES - - TO THE REV. HENRY DUDLEY RYDER, - - _On reading his volume, entitled "The Angelicon, a Gallery - of Sonnets, on the Divine Attributes, and the Passions, the - Graces, and the Virtues."_ - - - THY strains, sweet poet, have the power - To give a solace to the mind, - What time the clouds of sadness lour,-- - Like sighs of thine own "lyred wind." - - For when thy page I deeply trace, - Where thoughts and fancies thickly throng, - It brings to mind free nature's grace, - Where wood-birds tune their mystic song; - - And pleasant streams in ways remote, - Where sweetest music loves to reign; - Where solitude gives birth to thought, - And thought is born of thought again; - - Visions of earth, the pure and bright, - As poet only hath divined, - When high-toned genius pours her light, - Upon the rapt and feeling mind. - - Well hast thou sung the grace and love - Th' Almighty deigns bestow on man, - When seeking mercy from above - By His own sole appointed plan. - - And well, too, hast thou shown the sway - The passions have o'er mortal kind, - Avarice, Ambition, Jealousy, - And other turmoils of the mind. - - These, like the rays that burst from heaven, - Shine brightly forth in verse of thine, - For the proud gift to thee is given, - To charm, to waken, to refine. - - Go on thy way, thy song must claim, - From a dull world its ardent praise; - With saintly Herbert's twine thy name, - And bind with Herbert's verse thy lays. - - - - - THE POET. - - - I WAS told yesterday by one with wise - Solemn aspect, and wrinkles 'bout his eyes, - That poetry is an idle trade, alack! - He had a good black coat upon his back, - And deemed himself respectable,--he said, too, - That he who verses writes will never do - Well in the world, that his character is gone, - And he himself no better than a drone. - So having said he walked away well pleased;-- - Now that's a man, I say, whose mind's diseased. - Has he in summer ever watched a rose - Burst into blossoming, and as it grows - More and more beautiful, sweeten all the air - With its rich perfume,--poetry was there. - - A sunbeam thrown across - The clouds, that makes them glow - With light ineffable - To eyes from earth below; - A small wave of the sea - When the vast ocean waits - The coming of the storm, - That slightly agitates - Its surface passing,--as - When of danger near - First made aware, the roused - Lion, though not in fear - Looks up, the watchfire then - Kindling in his eye, - His mane scarcely as yet - Moved, nor erected high - His head, but his proud glance - Circling keen, rapid, stern,-- - There poetry is seen - By one that can discern. - A priest of Nature's own, - One she herself ordains, - The poet walks in brightness, - And still new blessings gains. - The sky above hath in it - More beauty to his sight, - Than to the world it shines - In its canopy of light. - - The flowers his kindred are - That grow in fields remote; - They waken in his heart - The pure wellsprings of thought: - They speak to him alone - With low and whispering voice, - Like gentle maiden to - The lover of her choice. - - And none but he can tell - What is it that they say, - For a most sweet communion - Is their's to cheer his way. - The ocean in its vastness, - He loves, too, as he sees - It driven by the tempest, - Or slumbering in the breeze. - It brings into his vision - The coming of that day, - When Time within Eternity - Shall merge itself away. - - The forest trees antique - Are his familiar friends, - With the spirit of the woods - His own for ever blends: - And voices of the past, - With fancies of old times, - Do their murmurings recall - Which he fondly puts in rhymes. - - Echoes of distant lands - Beyond the western sea, - Or in the burning east, - Where'er they chance to be, - Are brought to him at night - And cheer his spirit then, - When sleep forsakes the eyes - Of care-worn worldly men. - And ever for his kind - Doth his spirit warmly yearn, - And his verses speak of things - Which only he can learn. - - The human heart, and all - Its feelings, hopes and fears, - All that it fondly loves, - All that it blindly fears, - Its sympathies, affections, - Its duties and desires, - All that its doubts foreshadow, - All that its pride inspires, - - Its sorrows and its faintings, - Its buoyancy and glee, - Its passions and its promptings, - Its truth and constancy; - He knows, and can depicture, - For of the human mind - He is the chosen minister, - The prophet of his kind. - - Such, yea and more, the poet is, - Had he had a choice - Of destinies, if in his fate - Had been heard his voice; - It might have been so that he had - Been a worldling born, - And looked solemn like his scorners, - And had gravely worn - A black coat too, of fashion's cut, - And smoothed trim his beard, - And shook his head wisely, and been - Sententious, and feared - The world's opinion, and condemned - Poetry as idle, - But in his vocation he can - Ne'er his feelings bridle. - His thoughts are in a stronger hand - Than his own, his mind - Has thinks passing in it still, that - Cannot be confined: - Like the birds flying as they list - Through the summer air, - Or the clouds driven by the breeze - Floating everywhere. - - - - - LIGHT AND SHADOW. - - - SHINE down, fair sun, on vale and hill, - And light each height and hollow;-- - No shade rests in the air, but still - On earth the shadows follow. - - Grow green, old trees, where'er you may - Your festival be keeping;-- - On branch and stem, on leaf and spray, - Decay is slowly creeping. - - Bloom bright, fair flowers, in wild or mead, - Around you all perfuming;-- - The blight that mingles with each seed, - The blossom is consuming. - - Grow well, sweet fruit, on garden walls, - Or in hot-houses hasting;-- - The sooner ripe, the sooner falls - Corruption with its wasting. - - Flow on, calm river, still flow on - With ever constant motion;-- - Soon shalt thou mingle, all unknown, - Forgotten in the Ocean. - - Play up, sweet music, to the ear, - A merry note of gladness;-- - The chords that lively stricken cheer, - Give also tones of sadness. - - Shine bright, young Summer, o'er the earth, - And fill the land with laughter;-- - Soon Autumn comes to mar thy mirth, - And winter follows after. - - Burn high, fair hope, within the breast, - By pleasant things attended;-- - Misdoubt and fear do still molest - Our life, till it is ended. - - Fill slow, oh! Time, the rounded cup - Of numbered hours that's set us; - Soon shall our days be gathered up, - And even our own forget us. - - Then shine, fair sun, on vale and hill, - On tower and town and meadow;-- - 'Tis Heaven that sends the brightness still, - Earth only gives the shadow. - - - - - THE EARLY DEAD. - - _On my youngest Daughter, died 20th March 1845, aged twenty-one - months._ - - - SHE rests within her little grave, - A bud of promise too soon taken, - And wanting the sweet smile she gave, - We deem ourselves as if forsaken. - - Life wore for her no luring guise, - She tasted time, and found it dreary, - Calmly she closed her gentle eyes, - As one that falls asleep aweary: - - Like to a star whose little ray - Is quenched ev'n when 'tis brightly shining; - Or as a flower that fades away - While yet its bloom tells nought of pining. - - And when her latest sigh was spent, - And fled her spirit to its Giver, - We felt as with it also went - A lapsed part of our heart for ever. - - Oh! twice before we knew the blight - Upon the heart that deeply falleth, - When death for ever from the sight, - Of our own life a portion calleth: - - But though it has the power to slay, - Still is this consolation given, - It cannot take the hope away - That we shall meet again in heaven. - - There is a place of rest above, - A home for children there provided, - To which away from earth, in love - Their guileless spirits still are guided. - - And when our hearts with sorrow sink - And our weak eyes are sore with weeping, - 'Twill soothe and cheer us still to think - That they sweet watch are o'er us keeping. - - And in the dark and lonely night, - When sleep our eyelids have forsaken, - We'll see again the faces bright - Of our three babes so early taken. - - - - - A DIRGE. - - - MOURN for the untimely dead! - Early blossoms quickly shed! - Soon taken to their long long rest, - Now there waves - The green grass thickly o'er their breast, - On their graves. - - Neither care nor sorrow now - Leaves its trace upon their brow, - Nor can pain them more molest, - For there waves - The green grass thickly o'er their breast, - On their graves. - - Little flowers their heads begem, - But they cannot look at them, - For death's cold hand their eyes have prest, - And there waves - The green grass thickly o'er their breast - On their graves. - - Winds sigh through the shadowing trees, - Summer brings the hum of bees; - But no sounds can their ears invest, - Where there waves - The green grass thickly o'er their breast - On their graves. - - Still they lie in their low beds, - To sleep till the last morn sheds - Its light upon their place of rest: - Now there waves - The green grass thickly o'er their breast - On their graves. - - - - - A BENEDICTION. - - - GOD bless thee! is my fervent prayer, - At morn and eve, from day to day, - Ev'n as thou tend'st, with anxious care, - Thy children dear with love alway. - - God keep thee ever in His grace, - And still new mercies on thee shower, - Ev'n as thou fold'st in thy embrace - Thine infants tender every hour. - - God love thee, with the love he shows - Still to his own, in earth and heaven, - Ev'n as thou lov'st, with true love, those - Who to thy keeping have been given. - - God guide thee still through all thy days, - And let no evil on thee light, - Ev'n as thou guid'st and guard'st the ways, - Of thy dear offspring day and night. - - God comfort thee in all thy grief, - And ever thy sure Hope remain, - Ev'n as thou comfort'st with relief - Thy little ones in woe and pain. - - God cherish thee throughout thy life, - In weal and woe thy guardian be, - Ev'n as a mother and a wife - Thou still hast cherished them and me. - - - - - HEALTH. - - - OH! what a thing is health to lose, - And what a prize to gain, - Most valued when the spirit woos - Its coming back again. - - After long days and restless nights, - Reclined on weary bed, - How sweet when first its blessing lights - Upon the aching head. - - Its coming turns the life, as doth - The ocean with its tide, - Or as the spring renews the growth - Of what Earth's stores provide. - - Power, fame, and with them cherished gold, - That form man's constant aim, - All would be gladly overtold - Its halcyon bliss to claim. - - It passes life and death between, - From heaven's own portals borne, - Like the sweet under-light scarce seen - That parts the night from morn. - - An emblem of the peace that springs, - To chase away all strife, - An earnest of the grace, that brings - Life to the inner life. - - - - - THE GAME OF LIFE. - - - WATCHING the game of life as daily played, - One marvels at the blunders that are made; - Few trust to chance alone to gain their aim, - But with the means they use 'tis just the same. - Low cunning some employ, and call it skill, - Or substitute for Reason headstrong Will; - And when they win the prize for which they strive, - To their own genius they the credit give; - But when they lose, the blame on fate is thrown; - They never think the fault may be their own. - Others who boast that cunning they disdain, - Affect by Pride their purposes to gain; - High-reaching objects do their minds devise, - By which they blind their own and neighbours' eyes; - Aiming at lofty things, they highly rate - Their own designings, but they find too late - That for success mere unassisted Pride - Does not all necessary means provide; - So thinking surely to promote their aim, - And win the stake of their ambition's game, - But not particular as to how 'tis played, - They call, Pride's contrast, meanness to their aid: - Yet ev'n though Fortune should their hopes attend, - It does not change the matter in the end; - Meanness and Pride may climb the highest hill, - But Pride and meanness they continue still. - - Since Life's a game where all their part must play, - Reason and Truth should in it have the sway, - Or wanting these, as is too oft the case, - Folly and Passion will usurp their place. - - When this weak body dwindles into dust, - And man becomes the nothing that he must, - How puny then will to the soul appear - All that man toils and struggles for when here! - Bound to the narrow aims and views of Earth, - At death his spirit finds that all is dearth - That to this world relates, and well that he - Makes Time provide still for Eternity. - - - - - CONSUMPTION. - - - LIKE monumental Patience, see Decay - Watching the sand-glass slowly wear away, - While Death at hand, amid her waning powers, - Counts, as a monk his beads, her numbered hours. - Upon her brow, o'er which the tresses wave, - The cold dew gathers, dankly, of the grave, - And in her pale mild eyes a lustre shines, - As if her spirit, as she wastes, refines; - While ever and anon her sunken cheek, - Life's fading beauties delicately streak; - As the departing sun from ocean's brinks - Sheds out its glories brightly ere it sinks! - - - - - CHANGE. - - - GRIEF and change and sure decay - All on earth are doomed to know, - What the Past's memorials say - Must the Present undergo. - - Time but shifts his glass about, - And the sands their aims adjust, - In Creation's bounds throughout - All that is returns to dust. - - On the bud and on the flower, - On the child and man grown grey, - Change is passing every hour, - Death has set his snare to slay. - - And the feelings when they glow - With a taste of joy intense, - Soon a tinge of sadness know, - Dimming quickly all the sense. - - Vainly do we strive to keep - Such scant solace as we feel, - Blight unseen on all doth creep, - Pleasures hidden stings conceal. - - Weary soon become the things - That at first make glad our way, - And To-morrow never brings - The same joy we knew To-day. - - Toil exhausts, and strong Desire - Wasteth both the heart and head - With its strugglings, as the fire - Fastest burns the more 'tis fed. - - Life is all a chequered score, - Death and Time direct the chess, - One hath not a triumph more, - Nor the other one the less. - - Thus amid Mutation's range, - Man, impatient of relief, - Learns himself to long for change, - Even though bringing with it grief. - - - - - VIRTUE. - - - HE was a sage old man who said, - While in the public way he stood, - Virtue is best of all, because - Without it there is nothing good. - - He was no stoic who thus spoke - A word so practical and true, - Nor sophist that would grandly say - What he would ne'er attempt to do: - - But one of those wise heathen men - Who Reason followed as a guide, - And by it he was learned a truth - So humbling to mere human pride. - - Yet even to him, with all the lore - Philosophy amassed of old, - Was the full meaning all unknown - Of what unaided Reason told. - - A wiser man than he hath said, - By God's own spirit taught the same, - That wisdom is the chiefest thing - Deserving of man's fervent aim. - - Wisdom and virtue both are one, - And only are attained aright - In their whole fulness and intent, - When sought in Revelation's light. - - By it the sage old heathen's word - In all its breadth is understood; - Wisdom is best of all, he said, - Without it there is nothing good. (11) - - - - - VAIN HOPES. - - - VAIN is his labour who begins to sow, - Ere he has well prepared the soil below; - And vainer still his aim who hopes to win - To Heaven, before repenting of his sin. - - Weak is his wish who looks for full crops grown, - Who has prepared his land and no seed sown; - But weaker still his hopes who thinks to win - To Heaven, with mere repentance of his sin. - - To till the land and lay it out for seeds, - And yet none sown, will bring forth nought but weeds; - And wanting grace to fill, the void within - Breeds, with self-merit, all presumptuous sin. - - Fruitless his skill who would a vessel steer - Without a rudder to direct and veer; - More fruitless still his aim who seeks to win - To Heaven, when wanting prayer for light within. - - Hopeless his task who seeks to safely go, - Without a chart the dangerous rocks to show; - More hopeless still his aim, who seeks to win - To Heaven, when wanting faith to lead him in. - - - - - THE VALLEY OF LIFE. - - - IN the still midnight hour I sat alone - Within my chamber, sunk in reverie, - No sound disturbed my musings, all was hushed - In silence and in sleep, the light near done, - A dim uncertain flickering threw around. - The waning fire was but a heap of ashes, - While there and there a feeble red remained, - That now and then threw out a fitful gleam. - Something like slumber fell upon my eyes, - And a dream passed o'er my spirit stealthily, - As, in the early grey of morn, the mists, - Gathered in masses, up the hill-sides creep, - Ere they dissolve before the sun away. - Remembrance cannot all its features tell, - Though vivid and particular they seemed - When that dread vision on my senses came, - And I could trace the shadowy details, - As one might mark a phantom army march - O'er its last field of battle, ere it passed, - Into obscurity,--could note it then,-- - But afterwards cannot recall the place, - Order and rank, of each brigade and file. - - Methought I stood upon a bare hill-top, - And overlooked a vast and fertile plain - Peopled with many multitudes,--there met - Men of all tribes and nations that the globe - Holds in its wide extent, of every kind, - The Mongol, the Malayan, and the Negro, - The red American and Caucasian fair. - Among them Evil strode ubiquitous, - And threw its shadow wheresoe'er it came. - Its Jackal, lewd Temptation, went before, - With angel face and soft alluring eyes, - While close behind Guilt, Anguish, Care, and Pain - Followed incessantly, and left on all - Their mark impressed as with hot iron seared. - As then I looked upon the scene below, - Meseemed that wheresoe'er Temptation came, - And she came everywhere,--no spot escaped,-- - That many, most indeed of these vast crowds, - Themselves threw madly in her way, and sought - To win her smiles, nor deemed them poisonous; - And once within her meshes, few had will - To fly them, or to manfully resist, - As a strong man confronts his enemy, - And strives to overthrow him where they meet;-- - And she the while assumed all shapes and moods - That suited were to their intents and aims, - For, with a penetrating eye precise, - Intuitively still their minds she knew, - Tendencies and dispositions, and wore,-- - As snares in readiness she had for all,-- - The very guise adapted for their lure, - But carefully concealed the stings they bore. - - Disease and sorrow on her victims fell, - Too late they felt the curse that is entailed - On all who to the Tempter yield, and thus - Become an early prey to Evil, whose - Inheritance is misery and woe. - - And I beheld some 'mongst the various crowds - Who stood aloof from her, and would not be - Entangled with her witcheries or wiles. - These with a resolute will refused to come - Within her reach, and so escaped the first - Of Evil's followers, Guilt, though more or less, - They had their share of what the others left - Behind,--Care, Pain, and Anguish,--for the doom - Pronounced on Man was on them, but they knew - That these, to all who hold out to the end, - With a pure conscience and unspotted mind, - To their endurance will be tempered still, - And, in due season, turn to lasting good, - Which to their spirits consolation brought. - - The valley watered was with goodly rivers, - Upon the banks of which were many met. - Prudence was one, and on its grassy sides - Sat some who, calculating every chance, - A deaf ear to Temptation, when she came, - Turned, unseduced from their proprieties. - Repentance was another, near it lay - Those who Remorse felt and a wounded spirit, - Seeking relief from agonising thought - And racking self-reproach. Beyond these two - Was Perseverance, where returning health - Was found by all who there due time remained. - And farther still, with borders ever green, - And fresh flowers ever springing, ever new, - Were two sweet rills, Virtue and Faith their names, - Where peace of mind was known and purity: - And those who sought their banks,--they were not few, - Though, midst the mighty myriads around, - They seemed but small in number and select,-- - Remained unshaken in their constancy, - Resisting all enticements of the Tempter, - And gladly following the path of duty, - Which brought to them a sure and high reward. - On these, whate'er their griefs and trials were, - And they had many, to refine their souls, - And make them nobler after victory, - Enduring hope and perfect peace abode. - But whereso'er I looked besides, was seen - The power of Ill, shedding on all who bore - The fated impress of humanity, - Torment and fear, and bitter agony, - And pain intolerable,--At the sight - My spirit shrank, and, starting, I awoke! - - - - - AFTER-THOUGHT. - - - MAN values many things far more - Than their own worth told o'er and o'er, - Computed at its highest score. - - He counts his gold with anxious care, - As his whole heart's desire were there, - And hoards up treasures for his heir. - - He gives his labour, time, and health, - To add still something to his wealth, - And life enjoys as if by stealth. - - When pleasure's mood his thoughts employ, - He plays with every passing joy, - Just as a child does with its toy. - - He does not to reflexion call - What after reckoning may befall, - For how he has possessed them all. - - In the lapse onward of his years, - Ere age or grief his spirit sears, - He keeps no note of hopes or fears. - - Nor does he estimate his days, - That each its after-mead conveys, - Whether for censure or for praise, - - As they deserve especially, - Each day it is his lot to see, - As bearing on futurity. - - At night he tells up all his gains, - The more he gets the more he strains, - Or at his losses he complains. - - And then, as one who does his best, - He folds his arms upon his breast, - And with contentment takes his rest. - - Thus daily should he estimate - His bygone hours, and calculate - Their good or ill upon his fate; - - That when his days all vanished have, - They may no bitter reckoning crave,-- - There's no renewal in the grave. - - - - - NOTES. - - - - - NOTES. - - - NOTE 1, PAGE 55. - - "_The Alpine Horn._" - -Reichard, a German writer, affirms that when the sun sets, the shepherd -who dwells on the highest part of the Alps, calls through his horn, -"Praise God the Lord!" and the other shepherds, hearing the sound, -hasten out of their huts and repeat it. This continues for some time, -and the name of the Lord is thus re-echoed from mountain to valley. -When the sound ceases, all kneel down on the mountain, and their -prayers ascend together to the throne of grace. The shepherd from the -summit of the mountain then proclaims "Good night!" which is instantly -repeated by the rest. They then retire to their homes. - - - NOTE 2, PAGE 69. - - "_But come not near the hollyhock._" - -The flower of the hollyhock contains a species of poison, which is -fatal to bees, and round its nectaries and petals several of these -insects are frequently found lying insensible. - - - NOTE 3, PAGE 85. - - _Loch Awe._ - -A lake in Argyleshire. My earliest years were spent in its -neighbourhood; but I have not been there since I was a mere boy. - - "Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wandered, - My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid; - On chieftains long perished my memory pondered, - As daily I strode through the pine-covered glade." - - BYRON. - -According to the Guide Books, Loch Awe and its vicinity, more perhaps -than any other district in the Highlands, abound with memorials of -former ages. The lake is thirty miles in extent, and of the average -breadth of one, although in some places it does not exceed half a -mile. It is surrounded by mountains finely wooded, and like many of -the Scottish lakes, its surface is studded over with small islands, -beautifully tufted with trees, and some of them large enough to admit -of being pastured. Upon the island of Innis-Hail are the remains of -a convent; and on a rocky promontory at the eastern extremity of the -lake stand the magnificent ruins of Kilchurn Castle. This structure, -which still exhibits the vestiges of a castellated square tower, was -built in 1440, by Sir John Campbell, (second son of Argyle,) Knight of -Rhodes, and ancestor of the Breadalbane family, and in later times it -became, from the extensive view it commanded of the lake, the favourite -residence of the chiefs of the family. In 1745 it was garrisoned by -the king's troops, in order to defend the pass into the Highlands, and -secure the tranquillity of the country. Emerging from the ocean, and -rising on the north-east bank of Loch Awe, soars Ben Cruachan, the -largest mountain in Argyleshire. Its perpendicular height is 3,390 -feet above the level of the sea, and its circumference at the base is -upwards of twenty miles. On the south, the ascent is gentle nearly to -the summit, where it rises abrupt, and divides into two points, each -having the form of a sugar-loaf. Before the storm, "the spirit of the -mountain shrieks" from Ben Cruachan, Ben Doran, and some other Highland -mountains. When Burke made his tour in Scotland, he declared that Loch -Awe was the most picturesque lake he had ever seen. It was in a narrow -pass in the vicinity of this lake that King Robert Bruce defeated the -Macdougals of Lorn, in 1308. In Loch Awe are found salmon, trout, eels, -and other fresh water fish. The lake discharges itself by the river Awe -into Loch Etive at Bunawe Ferry. - - - NOTE 4, PAGE 87. - - _The Wolf._ - -Wolves were once the scourge of England, and are still numerous in many -parts of France. The Poem is founded on an incident which occurred -some years ago in Picardy--the details of which were similar, with the -exception that the peasant shot his mother instead of his sweetheart, -in mistake for the wolf of which he was in pursuit. The last of these -ferocious animals seen in the neighbourhood of Guisne was shot by a -woman named Louise Vernette, nearly fifty years ago. During a severe -winter, when the whole country was covered with snow, a she-wolf, -urged to desperation by hunger, had entered her cottage at an early -hour of the morning, and carried off her infant, as it lay in the -cradle. The mother, on returning from the labours of the field, with -frantic lamentations searched the neighbourhood for her child. During -her wanderings she encountered a peasant, breathless from a long and -unavailing pursuit of the savage beast, which he had seen entering a -wood about three leagues distant with the child in its jaws. The whole -village immediately renewed the chase; the mother, arming herself with -a gun, was, as might have been expected, the most indefatigable, and, -penetrating into the recesses of the forest, encountered the monster, -which she shot dead. No traces of the miserable infant were ever -discovered. - - - NOTE 5, PAGE 105. - - _Mount Horeb._ - -Mount Sinai stands about 120 miles south from Jerusalem, and nearly 260 -eastward from Grand Cairo in Egypt. The mountain is of no great extent, -but extremely high, and has two tops; the western of which is called -Horeb, and the eastern, which is about a third higher, Sinai. There are -several springs and fruit-trees on Horeb, but nothing except rainwater -on the top of Sinai. The ascent of both is very steep, and can only be -effected by steps, now much effaced, which the Empress Helena, mother -of Constantine the Great, caused to be cut in the marble rock. At the -foot of Mount Sinai, on the north, and near to the ascent of Mount -Horeb, there was a monastery dedicated to Saint Catherine, but now in -ruins, not far distant from which there stands a fountain of very clear -water, formed like a bow or arch. A little above which is to be seen -the Cave where Elijah rested when God spoke unto him, 1 Kings xix. From -the top of Sinai, God proclaimed his law to the Hebrews amid devouring -flames of fire, Exod. xxiv. The Rock Rephidim, which seems to have -been a clift fallen off from the side of Sinai, and lies like a large -loose stone in the midst of the valley, gives name to that part of the -desert nearest the mountain. There are twelve openings in it, whence, -on being struck by Moses, the waters gushed out for the supply of the -Israelites, during the forty years they tarried in the desert, Exod. -xvii. - - - NOTE 6, PAGE 116. - - _Dryburgh Abbey._ - -The ruins of Dryburgh Abbey are surpassingly interesting, from their -antiquity, history, picturesque appearance, and more than all, from the -GREAT MINSTREL being buried there. The grave of Sir Walter Scott is -in St. Mary's Aisle of the Abbey Church of Dryburgh, which is in the -form of a cross, and the Poet lies in the left transept of the Cross, -part of which is still standing, and close to where the high altar -formerly stood. This transept is divided into three burial-places; -that of Sir Walter Scott, Baronet, in right of his grandmother, Lady -Haliburton's family; that of James Erskine, Esq. of Shieldhall and -Melrose; and that of James G. Haig, Esq. of the ancient family of -Bemersyde. These, with the tomb-house of the Earl of Buchan, in St. -Moden's Chapel, and that of James Anderson, Esq. of Gledswood, form, -I believe, the only cemeteries in Dryburgh. These venerable ruins -stand on a romantic peninsula, formed by one of the great windings -of the Tweed, commonly called the crescent of that river, in the -south-west nook of Berwickshire, where the river divides that county -from Roxburghshire. The land rises in a sloping bank from the margin of -the Tweed to the top of Dryburgh Hill, about 800 feet high, on which -stands the colossal statue of _Wallace_, erected by the late revered -Earl of Buchan. The trees in the neighbourhood of Dryburgh have a very -luxuriant appearance, and some of them are rather remarkable. There are -many vestiges of old oaks to be found, and the ash and the yew have -grown to a surprising height and circumference; and there is still, -in the cemetery of the Abbey, a yew-tree of uncommon beauty, which is -upwards of ten feet in circumference, at six feet from the ground. In -the grounds opposite the mansion house of Dryburgh, there are also some -fine trees, particularly a noble cedar, which has been much admired. -Many interesting remains of antiquity have been dug up in Dryburgh -Abbey and places adjacent. - - - NOTE 7, PAGE 140. - - _Sonnets on Danby's Picture._ - -Mr Danby could scarcely have chosen a better subject for the display of -his great powers than that of the Deluge. In this highly effective and -beautiful work of art, an Angel of light is introduced, weeping over -the lifeless bodies of a giant and a female, who, floating above the -swelling waters on a hastily constructed raft, were crushed to death by -a fallen tree. This part of the scene is evidently illustrative of that -passage in Scripture which refers to the "Sons of God," who "saw that -the daughters of men were fair, and they took them wives of all whom -they chose." The "Sons of God," according to the best commentators, -were a race of men favoured by God, but who generally incurred his -displeasure, and perished with mankind in general. - - - NOTE 8, PAGE 157. - - "_Calmly the martyr Guthrie met his fate._" - -Mr James Guthrie, minister of Stirling, was executed at Edinburgh, on -the 1st of June 1661, for his adherence to the Covenant. In his dying -speech, he solemnly declared,--"I take God to record upon my soul, I -would not exchange this scaffold with the palace or the mitre of the -greatest prelate in Britain." - - - NOTE 9, PAGE 167. - - _The Eagle's Nest._ - -The incident here versified is founded on fact, although I have taken -the liberty slightly to alter the details,--to change the scene, as it -were, of the heroine's birth-place,--and to give her a name of my own -choosing. The case is thus narrated by Dr Rush of Philadelphia, in his -"Lectures on the Utility of a Knowledge of the Mind to a Physician," -lect. xi.:-- - -"During the time I passed at a country school, at Cecil county, in -Maryland," says that eminent medical philosopher, "I often went, on a -holiday, with my schoolmates, to see an eagle's nest, upon the summit -of a dead tree in the neighbourhood of the school, during the time of -the incubation of that bird. The daughter of the farmer in whose field -the tree stood, and with whom I became acquainted, married, and settled -in this place about forty years ago. In our occasional interviews, we -now and then spoke of the innocent pursuits and rural pleasures of our -youth, and, among other things, of the eagle's nest in her father's -field. A few years ago I was called to visit this woman, when she was -in the lowest stage of a typhus fever. Upon entering her room, I caught -her eye, and, with a cheerful tone of voice, said only--'The eagle's -nest!' She seized my hand, without being able to speak, and discovered -strong emotions of pleasure in her countenance, probably from a sudden -association of all her early domestic connexions and enjoyments with -the words I had uttered. From that time she began to recover. She is -now living, and seldom fails, when we meet, to salute me with the echo -of--'The eagle's nest!'" - - - NOTE 10, PAGE 193. - - "_Our history records, 'with sorrow and with shame.'_" - -Marshal Ney was shot in violation of a solemn capitulation--the -Convention of Paris;--by the twelfth article of which an amnesty -was granted to all persons in the capital, whatever might be their -opinions, their offices, or their conduct. Marshal Davoust, who had -concluded the Convention, explained it in favour of Ney,--and so -will impartial history. The Duke of Wellington, however, on being -appealed to by the unfortunate Ney, during the trial returned the cold -and lawyer-like answer,--"That the Convention was merely a military -convention, and did not, and could not, promise pardon for political -offences, on the part of the French government." And so Ney, the most -heroic of all the marshals of the French Revolution, was most foully -murdered in the garden of the Luxembourg, to satisfy a point of mere -military etiquette! Like the Dacian captive of old,-- - - "Butchered to make a Roman holiday." - -That the Duke of Wellington did not at once strongly remonstrate -against the illegality of the act was unfortunate for his own fame. It -required but the saving of Ney's life to have made him the greatest man -of his time. That the act was illegal is acknowledged by the ablest -jurisconsults of Europe. Well might Ney himself exclaim, when he found -that his death was resolved upon:--"I am accused against the faith of -treaties, and they will not let me justify myself. I appeal to Europe -and to posterity!" - - - NOTE 11, PAGE 241. - - "_He was a sage old man who said._" - -A sophist, wishing to perplex Thales, who was one of the seven wise men -of Greece, asked him many difficult questions; to all of which the sage -replied without the least hesitation. To one of those questions,--which -was the following,--"What is the best of all things?" Thales gave -this response: "Virtue; because without it there is nothing good." -Such is the conviction of mere unassisted and stumbling reason, the -voice of nature, and the unequivocal and direct assertion of a heathen -philosopher.--_Preface to Piety and Intellect Relatively Estimated, by -Dr Henry Edwards._--An excellent work. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by William Anderson - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** - -***** This file should be named 54505.txt or 54505.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/5/0/54505/ - -Produced by Larry B. 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