 | The Western home |  |
230
THE SCOTTISH WEAVER.
As hasting night o'er Scotia's plains
Its murky mantle flung,
And on its skirts with ruffian wrath
A threatening tempest hung,
Its murky mantle flung,
And on its skirts with ruffian wrath
A threatening tempest hung,
Beside a farm-house door, a voice
Rose o'er the howling blast,
“Ah! give us shelter from the storm,
The darkness gathers fast.
Rose o'er the howling blast,
“Ah! give us shelter from the storm,
The darkness gathers fast.
“We are not vagrants, God forbid!
A dark and evil day,
That made so many looms stand still,
Hath taken our bread away.
A dark and evil day,
That made so many looms stand still,
Hath taken our bread away.
“And now, to Inverary's vales,
In search of work we go,
And thrice the setting sun hath seen
Our way-worn course, and slow.
In search of work we go,
And thrice the setting sun hath seen
Our way-worn course, and slow.
231
“My wife a nursing infant bears,
Three younglings at her side,
Weary and cold,”—but churlish tones
The earnest suit denied.
Three younglings at her side,
Weary and cold,”—but churlish tones
The earnest suit denied.
“The humblest shed is all we ask,
Your food we will not crave,
And blessings on your head shall rest
E'en till we find a grave.
Your food we will not crave,
And blessings on your head shall rest
E'en till we find a grave.
“Ah! for our dear Redeemer's sake,
Let us till morning stay,”
The harsh key grated in its ward,—
The suppliant turn'd away.
Let us till morning stay,”
The harsh key grated in its ward,—
The suppliant turn'd away.
He held his hand before his face
To bar the blinding sleet,
And sorrow'd for those hearts that soon
Such dread repulse must meet.
To bar the blinding sleet,
And sorrow'd for those hearts that soon
Such dread repulse must meet.
“O husband, you have linger'd long;
'Tis lonesome on the wold;
Up, bairnies, to yon bonny house,
And shield ye from the cold.”
'Tis lonesome on the wold;
Up, bairnies, to yon bonny house,
And shield ye from the cold.”
232
The wretched man bent shuddering down,
Scarce kenn'd he what to say,
He could not find it in his heart
To take her hope away.
Scarce kenn'd he what to say,
He could not find it in his heart
To take her hope away.
Yet o'er the moor, for many a league,
All desolate and drear,
He knew no other dwelling rose,
The traveller's sight to cheer.
All desolate and drear,
He knew no other dwelling rose,
The traveller's sight to cheer.
“Jeanie, my poor and patient wife,
God give thee strength to bear;
'Neath yonder roof we may not bide,
There is no mercy there.”
God give thee strength to bear;
'Neath yonder roof we may not bide,
There is no mercy there.”
The weary woman groan'd aloud:
“Not for myself I cry,
But for the babe that feebly pines,
Methinks its death is nigh.”
“Not for myself I cry,
But for the babe that feebly pines,
Methinks its death is nigh.”
The little children sobb'd and wept,
And, clinging round her said,
“O mother! mother! 'tis so long
Since you have given us bread.”
And, clinging round her said,
“O mother! mother! 'tis so long
Since you have given us bread.”
233
The pitying father hush'd their grief,
And drew them to his side,
Till sleep, the angel, on their cheeks
The trickling sorrow dried;
And drew them to his side,
Till sleep, the angel, on their cheeks
The trickling sorrow dried;
Then spread his mantle o'er their breasts,
Scant though it was and poor,
And there mid driving snows they cower'd,
Upon the dreary moor.
Scant though it was and poor,
And there mid driving snows they cower'd,
Upon the dreary moor.
Wild throbb'd his aching head, and wide
His starting eyeballs strain,
While through the darkness, lurid fires
Seem'd flashing from his brain:
His starting eyeballs strain,
While through the darkness, lurid fires
Seem'd flashing from his brain:
Strange phantom-forms went gibbering by,
And woke to fearful strife
The thoughts that nerve the reckless hand
Against the traveller's life.
And woke to fearful strife
The thoughts that nerve the reckless hand
Against the traveller's life.
A new and dauntless strength he felt,
Like giant in his prime,
Such strength as drives the madden'd wretch
To judgment ere his time.
Like giant in his prime,
Such strength as drives the madden'd wretch
To judgment ere his time.
234
But from the fountain of his soul
Uprose a contrite prayer,
That Heaven would crush the seeds of crime,
And break the tempter's snare.
Uprose a contrite prayer,
That Heaven would crush the seeds of crime,
And break the tempter's snare.
Kind tones the awful revery broke,
A human form drew near,
An humble serving-man who mark'd
Their misery severe;
A human form drew near,
An humble serving-man who mark'd
Their misery severe;
One who the stern denial heard
That check'd the plaint of need,
And ventured to an outhouse rude
The hapless group to lead.
That check'd the plaint of need,
And ventured to an outhouse rude
The hapless group to lead.
Oh poor man, who thyself hast quaked
'Neath hunger-pang, and cold,
Or felt the lashing of the winds
Through garments thin and old;
'Neath hunger-pang, and cold,
Or felt the lashing of the winds
Through garments thin and old;
Far better canst thou feel for those
Who bide misfortune's blast,
Than Plenty's proud and pamper'd sons
Who share the rich repast,
Who bide misfortune's blast,
Than Plenty's proud and pamper'd sons
Who share the rich repast,
235
Who, lapp'd in luxury, rejoice
By fireside bright and warm,
Or from their curtain'd pillow list
The howling of the storm.
By fireside bright and warm,
Or from their curtain'd pillow list
The howling of the storm.
Rest to those wearied ones, how sweet!
E'en on that pauper-bed,
The tatter'd blanket o'er them cast,
The straw beneath them spread.
E'en on that pauper-bed,
The tatter'd blanket o'er them cast,
The straw beneath them spread.
But, at gray dawn, a piercing shriek!
Hark to that wild despair!
“My babe! my babe! she breathes no more!”
Oh Spoiler! art thou there?
Hark to that wild despair!
“My babe! my babe! she breathes no more!”
Oh Spoiler! art thou there?
That ghastly face the children mark'd
As up from sleep they sprang,
The thin blue fingers clench'd so close
In the last hunger-pang.
As up from sleep they sprang,
The thin blue fingers clench'd so close
In the last hunger-pang.
And pitiful it was to see
How meagre want and care
Had set the wasting seal of years
On brow so small and fair.
How meagre want and care
Had set the wasting seal of years
On brow so small and fair.
236
Loud rose the wail of childhood's wo:
“Will she not wake again,
Our play-mate sister? Never more?”
Keen was that transient pain.
“Will she not wake again,
Our play-mate sister? Never more?”
Keen was that transient pain.
But whosoe'er hath chanced to hear
A mother's cry of dread,
Who, waking, on her bosom finds
Her nursling cold and dead,—
A mother's cry of dread,
Who, waking, on her bosom finds
Her nursling cold and dead,—
Its nerveless lip empower'd no more
The fount of life to press,
And gleeful smile and speaking eye
Mute to the fond caress,—
The fount of life to press,
And gleeful smile and speaking eye
Mute to the fond caress,—
I say, whoe'er that sound hath heard
Invade his lone retreat,
Will keep the echo in his soul
While memory holds her seat.
Invade his lone retreat,
Will keep the echo in his soul
While memory holds her seat.
The father started to her side,
He spoke no word of wo;
Words!—would they dare in such an hour
Their poverty to show?
He spoke no word of wo;
Words!—would they dare in such an hour
Their poverty to show?
237
E'en manly nature reel'd to meet
Such sudden shock of grief,—
And drowning thought to trifles clung,
In search of vain relief.
Such sudden shock of grief,—
And drowning thought to trifles clung,
In search of vain relief.
The swallows, startled from their nests
By pain's discordant sound,
Among the rafters bare and brown
Went circling round and round;
By pain's discordant sound,
Among the rafters bare and brown
Went circling round and round;
And gazing on their aimless flight,
He strove, with futile care,
To parry for a little space
The anguish of despair.
He strove, with futile care,
To parry for a little space
The anguish of despair.
But now, e'en hardest human hearts
With sympathy were fraught,
For late remorse the kindness woke
That pity should have taught.
With sympathy were fraught,
For late remorse the kindness woke
That pity should have taught.
There lay the babe so still and cold,
Crush'd 'neath affliction's weight,
For whom, perchance, their earlier care
Had won a longer date;
Crush'd 'neath affliction's weight,
For whom, perchance, their earlier care
Had won a longer date;
238
But in the churchyard's grassy bound
A narrow spot they gave,
With tardy charity, that yields—
Instead of bread—a grave.
A narrow spot they gave,
With tardy charity, that yields—
Instead of bread—a grave.
Sad tears of agonizing grief
Bedew'd the darling's clay,
And then that stricken-hearted group
Pursued their mournful way.
Bedew'd the darling's clay,
And then that stricken-hearted group
Pursued their mournful way.
O'er Scotia's glens and mountains rude
A toilsome path they wound,
Or 'neath some cotter's lowly roof
A nightly shelter found,
A toilsome path they wound,
Or 'neath some cotter's lowly roof
A nightly shelter found,
Until, mid Inverary's vales,
Once more a home they knew,
And from the father's earnest hand
The unresting shuttle flew.
Once more a home they knew,
And from the father's earnest hand
The unresting shuttle flew.
And though but scant the dole he earn'd,
Yet prudence found a way
To make it satisfy the needs
Of each returning day.
Yet prudence found a way
To make it satisfy the needs
Of each returning day.
239
So, to her parents' heavy lot
Some filial aid to lend,
The eldest, Bessie, left her home,
A shepherd's flock to tend.
Some filial aid to lend,
The eldest, Bessie, left her home,
A shepherd's flock to tend.
Unceasing, for her helpless ones,
The industrious mother strove,
And season'd still the homeliest meal
With sweet maternal love.
The industrious mother strove,
And season'd still the homeliest meal
With sweet maternal love.
Oft, when the quiet gloaming fell
O'er heathery field and hill,
And 'tween the daylight and the dark
Her busier toils were still,
O'er heathery field and hill,
And 'tween the daylight and the dark
Her busier toils were still,
She told them wild and stirring tales
Of Scotia's old renown,
And of the Bruce who bravely won,
In evil times, the crown;
Of Scotia's old renown,
And of the Bruce who bravely won,
In evil times, the crown;
Or sang, to rouse their patriot zeal,
Some high, heroic stave;
Or whisper'd, through her swelling tears,
Of their lost sister's grave;
Some high, heroic stave;
Or whisper'd, through her swelling tears,
Of their lost sister's grave;
240
Or bade them duly, night and morn,
Whene'er they knelt in prayer,
To supplicate for Bessie dear
Their God's protecting care.
Whene'er they knelt in prayer,
To supplicate for Bessie dear
Their God's protecting care.
Yet joyous was the hour when they,
With shout and gambol fleet,
Went bounding from the cottage door
The approaching sire to greet,
With shout and gambol fleet,
Went bounding from the cottage door
The approaching sire to greet,
Who twice a month, from distant scenes
Of weary toil and care,
Walk'd three times three long Scottish miles
To spend his Sabbath there.
Of weary toil and care,
Walk'd three times three long Scottish miles
To spend his Sabbath there.
And when, like lone and glimmering star,
Across the heath he spied
The rush-light in the window placed
His homeward steps to guide,
Across the heath he spied
The rush-light in the window placed
His homeward steps to guide,
Methought a spirit's wing was his,
From all obstruction free,
Till by his Jeanie's side he sate,
The wee things on his knee.
From all obstruction free,
Till by his Jeanie's side he sate,
The wee things on his knee.
241
There, while the humble fire of peat
A flickering radiance threw,
The oatmeal parritch had a zest
The unloving never knew.
A flickering radiance threw,
The oatmeal parritch had a zest
The unloving never knew.
And from the poor man's thrilling heart
Such grateful praise arose,
As they have never learn'd to breathe
Who never shared his woes.
Such grateful praise arose,
As they have never learn'd to breathe
Who never shared his woes.
Once, when the hallow'd day of rest
Had pass'd serenely by,
And evening with its sober vail
Encompass'd earth and sky,
Had pass'd serenely by,
And evening with its sober vail
Encompass'd earth and sky,
Their cottage worship duly paid,
While from the pallet near,
The little sleepers' breathing fell
Like music on their ear,
While from the pallet near,
The little sleepers' breathing fell
Like music on their ear,
The faithful pair with kind discourse
Beguiled the gathering shade,
As fitful o'er the darken'd wall
The blinking ingle play'd.
Beguiled the gathering shade,
As fitful o'er the darken'd wall
The blinking ingle play'd.
242
Then Jeanie many a soothing word
To Willie's heart address'd,
Her head upon his shoulder laid,
His arm around her press'd.
To Willie's heart address'd,
Her head upon his shoulder laid,
His arm around her press'd.
Much of their bairnies' weal she spake,
And with confiding air
Incited for their tender years
A father's watchful care,
And with confiding air
Incited for their tender years
A father's watchful care,
With tearful eye and trembling tone,
As one about to trust
Fond treasures to another's hand,
And slumber in the dust.
As one about to trust
Fond treasures to another's hand,
And slumber in the dust.
Her heavenly hopes, she said, were bright,
But mortal life was frail,
And something, whispering, warn'd her soul
That soon her strength might fail.
But mortal life was frail,
And something, whispering, warn'd her soul
That soon her strength might fail.
“Oh, Willie dearest! ne'er before
I've stay'd thy lingering tread,
For well I know 'tis hard to take
The time that earns our bread.
I've stay'd thy lingering tread,
For well I know 'tis hard to take
The time that earns our bread.
243
“But now one single day I ask,
For then, the weight that bow'd
My spirit with its presage dire,
May prove an April cloud.”
For then, the weight that bow'd
My spirit with its presage dire,
May prove an April cloud.”
He stay'd, to mark the fearful pang
That hath not yet been told,
To see the livid hues of death
The rigid brow unfold.
That hath not yet been told,
To see the livid hues of death
The rigid brow unfold.
He stay'd, to find all help was vain,
Ere the next evening-tide,
And then to lay her in the grave,
Her new-born babe beside.
Ere the next evening-tide,
And then to lay her in the grave,
Her new-born babe beside.
Her new-born babe! With her it died,
And in the white shroud's fold,
Fast by her marble breast 'twas seen,
A blossom crush'd and cold.
And in the white shroud's fold,
Fast by her marble breast 'twas seen,
A blossom crush'd and cold.
Oh wounded and forsaken man!
Whom mocking Hope doth flee,
The lingering luxury of grief
Is not for such as thee.
Whom mocking Hope doth flee,
The lingering luxury of grief
Is not for such as thee.
244
Stern Toil doth summon thee away,
And thou the call must hear,
As the lone Arab strikes his tent
To roam the desert drear.
And thou the call must hear,
As the lone Arab strikes his tent
To roam the desert drear.
He closed the pleasant room where late
His cheerful hearth had burn'd,
And to the waiting landlord's hand
The household key return'd.
His cheerful hearth had burn'd,
And to the waiting landlord's hand
The household key return'd.
And to a pitying neighbour's door
His youngest nursling led,
Too weak to try the weary road
It was his lot to tread,—
His youngest nursling led,
Too weak to try the weary road
It was his lot to tread,—
With earnest words bespoke her care,
Which he would well repay,
Then bless'd the poor, unconscious boy,
And sadly turn'd away.
Which he would well repay,
Then bless'd the poor, unconscious boy,
And sadly turn'd away.
With wondering eyes, the stranger-child
The unwonted scene survey'd,
And to the darkest corner shrank,
Bewilder'd and afraid.
The unwonted scene survey'd,
And to the darkest corner shrank,
Bewilder'd and afraid.
245
From thence, escaping to his home
With bosom swelling high,
Uplifted, as he fled away,
A loud and bitter cry;
With bosom swelling high,
Uplifted, as he fled away,
A loud and bitter cry;
And wildly call'd his mother's name,
And press'd the unyielding door,
And breathless listen'd for the voice
That he must hear no more.
And press'd the unyielding door,
And breathless listen'd for the voice
That he must hear no more.
And, then, the holy hymn she taught
He lisp'd with simple wile,
As if that talisman were sure
To win her favouring smile.
He lisp'd with simple wile,
As if that talisman were sure
To win her favouring smile.
But when all efforts fruitless proved,
Exhausted with his moan,
The orphan sobb'd himself to sleep
Upon the threshold-stone.
Exhausted with his moan,
The orphan sobb'd himself to sleep
Upon the threshold-stone.
Even passing travellers paused to mark
A boy, so young and fair,
Thus slumbering on a stony bed
Amid the nipping air,—
A boy, so young and fair,
Thus slumbering on a stony bed
Amid the nipping air,—
246
A boy, whose flaxen curls, the care
Of matron love disclose,
Though sorrow's pearl-drops sprinkled lay
Upon his cheeks of rose.
Of matron love disclose,
Though sorrow's pearl-drops sprinkled lay
Upon his cheeks of rose.
But onward, toward his lot of toil
With spirit bow'd and bent,
Wee Willie walking by his side,
The widow'd father went.
With spirit bow'd and bent,
Wee Willie walking by his side,
The widow'd father went.
Silent they journey'd, hand in hand,
While from its cloud-wrapp'd head
A shower of chill and drizzling mist
The bleak Benachie shed.
While from its cloud-wrapp'd head
A shower of chill and drizzling mist
The bleak Benachie shed.
Then, from the beaten track they turn'd
A broken path to wind,
The lonely spot where Bessie dwelt,
In a far glen to find.
A broken path to wind,
The lonely spot where Bessie dwelt,
In a far glen to find.
They wander'd long o'er strath and brae,
While blasts autumnal sweep,
Before their own poor girl they spied
Tending her snowy sheep.
While blasts autumnal sweep,
Before their own poor girl they spied
Tending her snowy sheep.
247
Up toward the mountain side she gazed,
Intent, yet sad of cheer,
Expecting still, from hour to hour,
To greet her mother dear.
Intent, yet sad of cheer,
Expecting still, from hour to hour,
To greet her mother dear.
Alas! this was the appointed day
On which that tender friend
Had promised with her loving child
A little time to spend.
On which that tender friend
Had promised with her loving child
A little time to spend.
Warm stockings, that her hand would knit
From fleecy wool, to bring;
Perchance, a broader plaid, to shield
From coming winter's sting.
From fleecy wool, to bring;
Perchance, a broader plaid, to shield
From coming winter's sting.
As bounds the glad and nimble deer,
She flew, their steps to meet;
“Father! and Willie! welcome here!
But where's my mother sweet?”
She flew, their steps to meet;
“Father! and Willie! welcome here!
But where's my mother sweet?”
“Speak to her, Willie! Kiss her cheek!
That grows so pale and white;
Fain would I turn away awhile,
I cannot bear the sight.
That grows so pale and white;
Fain would I turn away awhile,
I cannot bear the sight.
248
“O sob not so, my precious son!
Speak kindly words, and say
Why your lost mother does not come,
And how she sleeps in clay.”
Speak kindly words, and say
Why your lost mother does not come,
And how she sleeps in clay.”
So, clasp'd within each other's arms,
Upon the heather dry,
Beside a clear and rippling brook
That crept unheeded by,
Upon the heather dry,
Beside a clear and rippling brook
That crept unheeded by,
They told their tale of wo, and found
In sympathy relief;
But he, the deeper mourner, sank,
In solitary grief.
In sympathy relief;
But he, the deeper mourner, sank,
In solitary grief.
And nought escaped his utterance there,
While kneeling on the sod,
Save her loved name, his poor lost wife,
And broken cries to God.
While kneeling on the sod,
Save her loved name, his poor lost wife,
And broken cries to God.
Nor long the kindred tear to pour
That smitten group might stay,
For meagre Want with tyrant frown
Were beckoning them away.
That smitten group might stay,
For meagre Want with tyrant frown
Were beckoning them away.
249
“Oh, put your trust in God, my child,”
The parting father said,
Then kiss'd his daughter's trembling lips,
And on his journey sped.
The parting father said,
Then kiss'd his daughter's trembling lips,
And on his journey sped.
And sometimes, when her task bore hard,
It seem'd a mother's sigh,
“Oh, put your trust in God, my child,”
Came breathing from the sky.
It seem'd a mother's sigh,
“Oh, put your trust in God, my child,”
Came breathing from the sky.
Oh ye, who see the suffering poor
With countless ills opprest,
Yet on in lordly chariots roll,
Nor heed their sad request;—
With countless ills opprest,
Yet on in lordly chariots roll,
Nor heed their sad request;—
Who mark the unrequited toil
That with its mountain weight
Doth crush them hopeless to the dust,
Yet leave them to their fate;
That with its mountain weight
Doth crush them hopeless to the dust,
Yet leave them to their fate;
Think of the hour, when forth, like theirs,
Your uncloth'd soul must fleet,
Its last and dread account to bide
Before the Judge's seat.
Your uncloth'd soul must fleet,
Its last and dread account to bide
Before the Judge's seat.
250
And if to feed the hungering poor,
And be the orphan's stay,
Shall be remember'd mid the ire
Of that terrific day,
And be the orphan's stay,
Shall be remember'd mid the ire
Of that terrific day,
Haste! ope the hand to mercy's deed,
The heart to sorrow's prayer,
And bid your lowly brother plead
For your forgiveness there.
The heart to sorrow's prayer,
And bid your lowly brother plead
For your forgiveness there.
NOTE.
“Strange to say, on first becoming aware of the bereavements of that terrible night, I sate for some minutes gazing upward at the fluttering and wheeling movements of a party of swallows, our fellow-lodgers, that had been disturbed by our unearthly outcry.”—
Recollections of a Hand-loom Weaver.This poem is almost a literal version of circumstances related in a book, with the above title, published in England recently, and written by William Thom, a Scotch weaver and poet. “Its object,” says the author, “is to impart to one portion of the community glimpses of what is going on in another.”
In our own happy land, the labouring poor have no idea of the distress which he thus simply yet forcibly depicts. It occurred soon after six thousand looms were stopped in the region of Dundee, and just before William Thom, with his wife and four little ones, left their home at Newlyte, in search of the means of subsistence at Inverary, as related in the preceding stanzas.
“It had been a stiff winter and an unkindly spring; but I will not expatiate on six human lives maintained on five shillings weekly, on babies prematurely thoughtful, on comely faces withering, on desponding youth, and too quickly declining age. I will describe one morning of modified starvation at Newlyte, and then pass on.
“Imagine a cold, dreary forenoon. It is eleven o'clock, but our little dwelling shows none of the signs of that time of day. The four children are still asleep. There is a bed-cover hung before the window, to keep all within as much like night as possible. The mother sits beside the bed of her children, to lull them back to sleep, when either shall show any inclination to wake. For this there is a cause. Our weekly five shillings have not come as was expected, and the only food in the house consists of a handful of oatmeal saved from the supper of last night. Our fuel is also exhausted. My wife and I were conversing in sunken whispers about making an attempt to cook the handful of meal, when the youngest child awoke, beyond the mother's power to hush it again to sleep. It finally broke out into a steady scream, which, of course, rendered it impossible to keep the rest in a state of unconsciousness. Face after face sprang up, each little one exclaiming, ‘O mother! mother! give me a piece.’ How weak a word is sorrow, to apply to the feelings of myself and my wife on that dreary day!”
| The Western home | |