The poems and songs of William Hamilton of Bangour collated with the ms. volume of his poems, and containing several pieces hitherto unpublished; with illustrative notes, and an account of the life of the author. By James Paterson |
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| II. | BOOK II. |
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 | The poems and songs of William Hamilton of Bangour |  |
29
BOOK II.
THE ARGUMENT:
THE TRIAL OF SKILL.
The Piper takes his pipes to play. The several songs are particularly described. The Fiddler is entirely confounded with the dexterity of his antagonist, and not being able to perform anything, gives it up. The Maid of the Gallowshiels, however, gives him the preference, and retires with him. The Piper's lamentation on his misfortunes.
Now in his artful hand the bagpipe held
Elate, the Piper wide surveys the field.
O'er all he throws his quick discerning eyes,
And views their hopes and fears alternate rise.
Old Glenderule, in Gallowshiels long famed
For works of skill, the perfect wonder framed;
His shining steel first lopped with dext'rous toil,
From a tall spreading elm, the branchy spoil:
The clouded wood he next divides in twain,
And smoothes them equal to an oval plain;
Six leather folds, in still connected rows,
To either plank conformed, the sides compose,
The wimble perforates the bass with care,
A destined passage opening to the air,
But once enclosed within the narrow space,
The opposing valve forbids the backward race;
Fast to the swelling bag two reeds combined
Receive the blasts of the melodious wind;
Round from the turning loom, with skill divine
Embossed, the joints in silver circles shine;
In secret prison pent the accents lie,
Until his arm the lab'ring artist ply;
Then duteous they forsake their dark abode,
Fellows no more, and wing a separate road;
These upwards through the narrow channel glide,
In ways unseen, a solemn murmuring tide;
Those through the narrow path their journey bend,
Of sweeter sort, and to the earth descend;
O'er the small pipe at equal distance lie
Eight shining holes, o'er which his fingers fly;
From side to side the aerial spirit bounds,
The flying fingers form the passing sounds,
That issuing gently through the polished door,
Mix with the common air, and charm no more.
Elate, the Piper wide surveys the field.
O'er all he throws his quick discerning eyes,
And views their hopes and fears alternate rise.
Old Glenderule, in Gallowshiels long famed
For works of skill, the perfect wonder framed;
His shining steel first lopped with dext'rous toil,
From a tall spreading elm, the branchy spoil:
The clouded wood he next divides in twain,
And smoothes them equal to an oval plain;
Six leather folds, in still connected rows,
To either plank conformed, the sides compose,
The wimble perforates the bass with care,
A destined passage opening to the air,
But once enclosed within the narrow space,
The opposing valve forbids the backward race;
Fast to the swelling bag two reeds combined
Receive the blasts of the melodious wind;
Round from the turning loom, with skill divine
Embossed, the joints in silver circles shine;
In secret prison pent the accents lie,
Until his arm the lab'ring artist ply;
Then duteous they forsake their dark abode,
Fellows no more, and wing a separate road;
These upwards through the narrow channel glide,
In ways unseen, a solemn murmuring tide;
Those through the narrow path their journey bend,
Of sweeter sort, and to the earth descend;
O'er the small pipe at equal distance lie
Eight shining holes, o'er which his fingers fly;
From side to side the aerial spirit bounds,
The flying fingers form the passing sounds,
30
Mix with the common air, and charm no more.
This gift long since old Glenderule consigned,
The lasting witness of his friendly mind,
To the famed author of the Piper's line:
Each empty space shone rich in fair design;
Himself appears high in the sculptur'd wood,
As bold in the Harlean field he stood,
Serene, amidst the dangers of the day,
Full in the van you might behold him play;
There in the humbler mood of peace he stands,
Before him pleased are seen the dancing bands;
In mazy rounds the flying ring they blend,
So lively framed they seem from earth t' ascend.
Four gilded straps the artist's arm surround,
Two knit by clasps, and two by buckles bound
His artful elbow; now the youth essays
A tuneful squeeze, to wake the sleeping lays.
With labouring bellows thus the smith inspires,
To frame the polished lock, the forge's fires;
Concealed in ashes lie the flames below,
Till the resounding lungs of bellows blow;
Then mounting high, o'er the illumined room
Spreads the brown light, and gilds the dusky gloom.
The bursting sounds, in narrow prison pent,
Rouse in their cells, loud-rumbling for a vent,
Rude tempests now the deafened ear assail,
Now gently sweet is breathed a sober gale.
As when the hawk his mountain nest forsakes,
Fierce for his prey, his rustling wings he shakes,
The air, impelled by the unharmonious shock,
Sounds clatt'ring and abrupt through all the rock;
But as he flies, he shapes, to smoother pace,
His winnowing vans, and swims the aerial space. [OMITTED]
The lasting witness of his friendly mind,
To the famed author of the Piper's line:
Each empty space shone rich in fair design;
Himself appears high in the sculptur'd wood,
As bold in the Harlean field he stood,
Serene, amidst the dangers of the day,
Full in the van you might behold him play;
There in the humbler mood of peace he stands,
Before him pleased are seen the dancing bands;
In mazy rounds the flying ring they blend,
So lively framed they seem from earth t' ascend.
Four gilded straps the artist's arm surround,
Two knit by clasps, and two by buckles bound
His artful elbow; now the youth essays
A tuneful squeeze, to wake the sleeping lays.
With labouring bellows thus the smith inspires,
To frame the polished lock, the forge's fires;
Concealed in ashes lie the flames below,
Till the resounding lungs of bellows blow;
Then mounting high, o'er the illumined room
Spreads the brown light, and gilds the dusky gloom.
The bursting sounds, in narrow prison pent,
Rouse in their cells, loud-rumbling for a vent,
Rude tempests now the deafened ear assail,
Now gently sweet is breathed a sober gale.
As when the hawk his mountain nest forsakes,
Fierce for his prey, his rustling wings he shakes,
The air, impelled by the unharmonious shock,
Sounds clatt'ring and abrupt through all the rock;
But as he flies, he shapes, to smoother pace,
His winnowing vans, and swims the aerial space. [OMITTED]
| The poems and songs of William Hamilton of Bangour | |