 | The Siller Gun, A Poem in Five Cantos. By John Mayne |  |
57
CANTO THIRD.
THE MULTITUDE ASSEMBLED—MOST PROMINENT CHARACTERS—THE FEAST—CONTINUATION OF THE COMPETITION—NOBLE DARING OF THE PEOPLE UNDER THE THREAT OF INVASION.
59
I
Still crowding to the Waponshaw,O! what a swarm o' great and sma'!
See them, owr ditches, dykes, and a',
Exulting, spang,
Eager to join, wi' loud huzza,
The jocund thrang!
60
II
As customers cam flocking in,The ale-wives thought it nae great sin
To order fresh supplies o' gin,
For, drouthy throttles
Had left nought o' the meikle bin
But empty bottles!
III
Hegh! what a concourse now appearsO' horse, and foot, and charioteers!
Farmers, and lairds, and a' their dears—
A' ranks, and stations,
Parading on, while music cheers
The Corporations!
61
IV
Wi' scores o' gentlemen, and mair,Wha come their townsmen's joys to share,
See brave Sir Robert Laurie there,
And Eldershaw,
And young Terraughtie, worthies rare,
Belov'd by 'a!
V
Terraughtie, here a welcome guest,Was hail'd wi' raptures aft exprest:
Ten thousand tongues his worth confest—
A Patriot leal,
The object dearest to his breast
The commonweal!
62
VI
Amang the crowd was Johnny Gass,Kend through Dumfries by lad and lass:
Rever'd abune the common class,
Up late and air,
John had seen saxty Simmers pass,
A barber there!
VII
The chronicle o' former years,At him ilk ane some question speers;
But when they spak of auld forebears,
Now dead and gane,
John answer'd only wi' his tears,
Or made a mane!
63
VIII
“Oh, Sirs!” says he, wi' heavy granes,“How quickly man to age attains!
“I mind yon leddies when but weans,
“In leading-strings,
“And now their oys can dance their lanes,
“In fairy-rings!”
IX
O! wha, amang the Wrights, is heThat seems, for grace, to bear the gree?
“It's Roby Kemp: in him you see,
“On Virtue's plan,
“The traits o'true nobility—
“An honest man!”
64
X
For honest men, the crowd exclaim,Lang may our Trades preserve their name!
“And if,” cries John, “at wealth they aim,
“Like Richie Howat,
“May they bring gowd-in-gowpins hame,
“And credit to it!
XI
“To make a spune, or spoil a horn,“He left Dumfries ae dowy morn,
“Gaed far frae hame, return'd wi' corn,
“And wine, and oil,
“And, glad to live where he was born,
“Tills his ain soil!”
65
XII
And wha's he on the milk-white steed?“Wae's me!” quo' John, and shook his head:
“The gout has marr'd George Johnston's speed,
“Since, in our garden,
“We ran, when boys, for gingerbread,
“Wi' Johnny Jardine.
XIII
“Cracking his jokes wi' friends sae kirry,“Here's Deacon Threshie, wise and merry;
“And yonder's blameless Willy Berry,
“The leddies' glover,
“At five-and-fifty, bright as sherry,
“And still a lover!
66
XIV
“Sedately joining in the game,“James Hutchison now taks his aim:
“An Architect o'meikle fame;
“Wha plans wi' care;
“And builds his hopes o'bliss supreme
“On praise and pray'r.
XV
“Neist rank to him, see Deacon Gowdy,“In velvet coat as black's a mowdy:
“A gawcier man ne'er suppit crowdy,
“Did what was right,
“Or lov'd Freemasonry, uncloudy,
“Wi' mair delight.
67
XVI
“See, also, arm'd wi' sword and spear,“M'Ghee, our ain town's-bairn, draws near!
“Sirs! when the Highlandmen were here,
“In Forty-five,
“His father gart them flee for fear,
“And skulk belyve!
XVII
“Sent out disguis'd in Bedesman's gown,“To watch the foe near Annan town,
“There, ere he weel had sitten down,
“Or fed his filly,
“Unwelcome news was buzz'd around,
“About Duke Willie.
68
XVIII
“Back to Dumfries, in dread the while,“He brought in word, that, mony a mile,
“King George's Army, frae Carlisle,
“Had cross'd the Border:
“They come, cried he, in rank and file,
“And battle-order!
XIX
“This news, first told him as a hum,“Suin gart the Highlanders look glum:
“At night, when a' was dark and dumb,
“They vanish'd fairly,
“And never mair, wi' pipe and drum,
“Saw we Prince Charlie!
69
XX
“Yet, ere his flight, to our great skaith,“He levied fines; and, by my faith,
“Glenriddel and our Provost, baith,
“Awa were ta'en,
“As hostages, on pain o' death,
“To pay the Kain.
XXI
“Albeit they werena lang detain'd,“Our purse, to ransome them, was drain'd:
“Syne, having liberty regain'd,
“They canter'd hame,
“And, through a weel-spent life, sustain'd
“An honour'd name!
70
XXII
“True to their Country, King, and Law,“My blessings on our Burghers a'!
“O! never, in their Kirk or Ha',
“May Party-strife,
“Dissolving bosom-friends in twa,
“Vex man or wife!”
XXIII
But wha, amang the lookers-on,With aspect meek and mild is yon?
He's, sure, the sire o' mony a son,
If ane may guess
By them wha seem to watch the tone
He wou'd express!
71
XXIV
“That's Doctor Chapman!—shav'd by me,”Quo' John, “thir thretty years and three:
“He and his boarders come to see,
“Ere a' be done,
“Our ance-in-seven-years' Jubilee,
“The Siller Gun!”
XXV
A Scholar there, wi' loud acclaim,Did homage to the good man's name:
“Led by the lustre o' his fame,
“Frae far and near,
“Lords, lairds, and nabobs, quit their hame,
“To study here!
72
XXVI
“Nor is it only classic lair,“Mere Greek and Latin, and nae mair:
“Chapman, wi' fond parental care,
“Has lair combin'd
“With a' the gems and jewels rare
“That deck the mind!
XXVII
“O! had I follow'd up the plan“His sage instructions first began!
“The race which my school-fellows ran,
“Like stars to shine,
“And a' that elevates the man,
“Had now been mine!”
73
XXVIII
Full o' his auld Preceptor's praise,Around the Craigs the Scholar strays:
Blithe, after a' his thorny ways,
Retracing here
The gowden scenes of early days—
For ever dear!
XXIX
Returning hame, when time and careHa'e bleach'd, in foreign lands, our hair,
How sweet to breathe our native air,
And talk of joys,
And pleasures past, and friendships rare,
When we were boys!
74
XXX
Thrice happy they wha claim our meed,As men of worth, or friends in need!
Lang has thy name, benignant Reid,
Exalted stood,
For thou, in heart, and mind, and deed,
Art great, and good!
XXXI
The next, for worth, endear'd to me,And dear to a', is Sandy Key:
Like Reid, benevolent and free,
Withouten pride,
Kind to his Countrymen is he,
And a' beside!
75
XXXII
With other friends, o' great desert,Wha nobly act, through life, their part,
There's Hutchison, wi' kindly heart,
And right gude-will,
A Master o' the healing Art,
Wi' meikle skill:
XXXIII
At Hampton, jocular and gay,Is health-restoring Halliday;
Wha, making Providence his stay,
Wi' firm endeavour,
Frae Camps to Courts, attain'd his way
To royal Favour:
76
XXXIV
Link'd in th' Æsculapian train,Whom Nithsdale boasts of as her ain,
Hyslop, wha ne'er prescribes in vain,
Affords a sample
How much a family may gain
By gude example!
XXXV
O' men belanging to the Law,John Aikin was the flow'r owr a':
Like Andrew Crosbie, now awa,
His auld class-fellow,
Through kittle points he clearly saw,
Though sometimes mellow!
77
XXXVI
O! for a Muse, upon her throne,To sing o' vent'rous Clapperton,
Intrepid Ross, and Richardson,
Wha bade defiance
To Ice-bergs, or the Torrid Zone,
In aid o' Science!
XXXVII
Frae India, to our bonny town,Craigdarroch comes wi' high renown:
The Malcolms, too, we proudly own—
Four brother-wights,
A' stedfast servants o' the Crown—
A' belted knights!
78
XXXVIII
In times when War, frae year to year,Call'd forth our Armies, far and near,
Learn'd Pasley, Vict'ry's Pioneer,
Before them sped,
Or join'd them in their brave career,
Where Glory led!
XXXIX
To rank amang our men o' fame,Telford upholds a double claim:
O' fabrics of a splendid frame,
The Engineer—
In Poesy, a Poet's name,
To Eskdale dear!
79
XL
But what has been a source o' gainTo Commerce and her num'rous train,
Sage Miller, o' Dalswinton's plain,
By Nith's sweet stream,
First broach'd the Art to plough the main,
Propell'd by steam!
XLI
Sons o' the soil frae whilk we came,We've mony mae whom we cou'd name,
And, wi' them, Allan Cunningham,
Wha fondly try
To reach the pinnacle o' Fame,
However high!
80
XLII
Hail, kindred Spirits! ane and a',Men of account, without a flaw!
Pushing your fortunes, far awa,
Or, fu' o' glee,
Rejoicing at our Waponshaw,
Dumfries, wi' thee!
XLIII
How beautiful, on yonder green,The tents wi' dancing pairs between!
In front, though banners intervene,
And guns are rattling!
There's nought but happiness, I ween,
In a' this battling!
81
XLIV
For miles, by people over-run,The air resounds wi' mirth and fun:
Frae grave to gay, frae sire to son,
And great to sma',
The shooting for the Siller Gun
Delights them a'!
XLV
Behold the concourse, here and there,Gaffawing till their sides are sair!
See, as the balls whiz through the air,
Yon thoughtless wights
Careering till they find out where
Ilk bullet lights!
82
XLVI
A chosen band, at twelve at noon,Drew up to fire in grand platoon:
The troops that garrison'd the town
Return'd ilk volley;
And never, on the fourth o' June,
Were fowk mair jolly!
XLVII
The cocks-and-pales were on the run;Rum-punch was flowing by the tun;
Trenchers were handed round wi' bun,
Cookies and baiks,
Short-bread, wi' carvy nicely done,
And ait-meal cakes!
83
XLVIII
Ait-meal, the staff o' life! through thee,Our sires were hearty, brave, and free!
And, still preferring broze to tea,
Their sons are gallant,
And bear, in Arms and Arts, the gree—
Humane and valiant!
XLIX
But there was nought like feasting, tillThe grace was said by James Mackill;
For, though our townsmen feast and fill,
Without much pressing,
They keep the gude auld custom still—
To ask a blessing!
84
L
Convener Tamson means'd the board,Where sat ilk Deacon like a Lord:
John Blackstock raise, and wav'd his sword
In loyal glee—
“God save the King!” was twice encor'd,
Wi' three times three!
LI
Of a' the toasts that scour their hasses,The Kirk o' Scotland, foremost passes:
Dumfries, and a' her bonny Lasses,
And gallant Lads,
Were drank in magnum-bonum glasses,
Wi' ruffs and dads!
85
LII
And, when the loud applause had ceast,“Let's fill,” exclaim'd a score at least;
“Fill, fill to him, for his bequeest,
“In wine unmixt,
“The royal Founder o' the Feast—
“Gude James the Sixt!”
LIII
“Peace to his saul!” cries Deacon Gibb,And drain'd the goblet ilka drib:
Syne, George the Third—the Royal Rib—
The Prince, and a'—
Were drank sae aft, that tongues, ance glib,
Scarce wagg'd ava!
86
LIV
Where gladness beam'd in ilka face,Wha cou'd be dowf, whate'er his case?
The gravest gentry o' the place
In tents convene,
Mix wi' their friends, and blithely grace
The festive scene!
LV
Ev'n Maister Auld, our Letter-gae,And English Teacher, mony a day,
Forgat the cares that made him wae,
And lilted here
Sangs that shall live till time decay,
To Scotia dear!
87
LVI
He sang, wi' matchless taste and skill,The Cowden-Knowes, and Paty's Mill—
My Nanny, O!-and, sweeter still,
In life's decline,
We'll tak a cup, in kind gude-will,
For auld lang syne!
LVII
But, hark! throughout the tented plain,Where mirth, and wine, and music, reign,
Bellona, wi' her stalwart train
O' men in arms,
Recals the wand'ring Muse again
To War's alarms!
88
LVIII
There, still, instead o' marksmen true,To shoot at yonder target now,
Some fallows held their guns askew,
And some let fly
Clean owr the Craigs, ayont our view—
A mile owr high!
LIX
Rob Simson, sportsman bred and born,To won the Royal Prize had sworn;
But windy Robin's powder-horn
Blew up in air,
And he had nought but skaith and scorn,
And meikle care!
89
LX
Some chaps, bumbaz'd amid the yowder,Pat in the ball before the powder;
Some clapp'd their guns to the wrang shou'der,
Where, frae the priming,
Their cheeks and whiskers gat a scowder,
Their een, a styming!
LXI
Steeking his een, big John M'MaffHeld out his musket like a staff;
Turn'd, though the chiel was ha'f-and-ha'f,
His head away,
And, panting, cried, “Sirs! is she aff?”
In wild dismay!
90
LXII
Puir gowk! ne'er us'd to War's alarms,Though love o' fame his bosom warms,
His fears foresaw a thousand harms—
But here the Muse
Propones, for twa-three friends in arms,
A short excuse:
LXIII
Peace and gude-will had been sae langThe burthen o' the People's sang,
Their arms like useless lumber hang:
Nor fife, nor drum,
Was heard, save when the fire-bell rang
For some foul lum!
91
LXIV
Yet though, like children after play,In calm repose the People lay,
That flame whilk lighted Bruce's way
To Freedom's shrine,
Cloudless as yon bright orb o' day,
Ne'er ceas'd to shine!
LXV
For, when the French, in aftertimes,Mad wi' success, and drunk wi' crimes,
Vow'd to infest our happy climes,
And scourge the nation,
Then, with a spirit that sublimes
The humblest station—
92
LXVI
Then, ere our King cou'd gi'e command,Up raise the Genius o' the Land!
Dumfries, in mony a chosen band,
Enarm'd appears,
Fit, in ae phalanx, to withstand
A host o' spears!
LXVII
Men of a' ranks, on foot and horse,Assembled at the Market-Corss;
Where, looking up to Virtue's Source,
The People swore
Never to let a foreign Force
Pollute their shore!
93
LXVIII
Nor was this fervour only here:It spread, like wild-fire, far and near!
Scotland, to ilka virtue dear,
Though aft sair maul'd,
Scotland was never in the rear
When Danger call'd!
LXIX
At hame, afield, or far awa,She bore the brunt in front of a'!
The last to sheathe, the first to draw
Her auld Claymore,
For Liberty, her King, and Law,
And native shore!
94
LXX
O! in his King and Country's cause,How blest is he wha nobly fa's!
Bright Fame her gowden trumpet blaws,
And deathless Story
Devotes his name, wi' loud huzzas,
To endless Glory!
| The Siller Gun, A Poem in Five Cantos. By John Mayne | |