 | The Siller Gun, A Poem in Five Cantos. By John Mayne |  |
27
CANTO SECOND.
ARRIVAL AT THE FIELD—BEGINNING OF THE COMPETITION—SURROUNDING SCENERY.
29
I
Now, through the Kirkgate Port, the thrangO' men in arms proceed alang:
Behold them, while the cymbals' clang
Resounds afar,
In a' the pomp, without the pang,
Or waes of war!
30
II
Aff to the Craigs, the hale forenoon,By the best paths to get there soon,
Crowds after crowds were flocking down,
In nines, and tens,
Deserting, fast, the bonniest town
That Scotia kens!
III
O happy they wha, up twa story,Saw the Procession in its glory!
Alang the roads it left out o'er ye,
Sic clouds o' stoor,
Ye cou'dna see ye'r thoomb before ye
For ha'f an hour!
31
IV
Where the lang train of armour gleams,Bright Phœbus shone in scorching beams:
Parch'd up wi' heat, nae caller streams
To weet their hasses,
The Squadrons grein'd for ale that reams
Frae Jenny Gass's!
V
They wha had corns, or broken wind,Begood to pegh and limp behind:
Laith to sit down, and still inclin'd
To try their pith,
“I hope we'll dance yet, ere we've din'd,”
Cries Geordy Smith.
32
VI
To cheer them wha began to fag,The Minstrels lows'd Apollo's bag,
And lilted up, though still they lag,
The Reel o' Boggie,
And Willy was a wanton wag,
Wi' Kath'rine Oggie!
VII
But Bruce's March to Bannockburn,To leave his banes in Freedom's urn,
Or, glorious and triumphant, spurn
Intended thraldom,
Sae rais'd their hearts, at ilka turn,
That nought cou'd hald them!
33
VIII
O! blessings on King Robert's name!On Wallace, and Sir John the Græme!
While Freedom dare assert her claim,
Or Virtue blossom,
Wallace and Bruce will aye enflame
The Patriot bosom!
IX
A' this and mair, baith ane and a',They seem'd to say, and croosely craw:
Out owr the hills and far awa,
The Pipers play'd;
And, roaring like a water-fa',
The crowd huzzay'd!
34
X
The Craigs, with ivy mantled round,Re-echo'd back the jocund sound;
And, as the Troops approach'd the ground,
Araise to view
Like some sweet islands, newly found,
In fair Pelew!
XI
Syne, louder grew the busy humO' friends rejoicing as they come:
Wi' double vir the drummers drum,
The pint-stowps clatter,
And bowls o'negus, milk and rum,
Flow round like water!
35
XII
“Tak a gude waught—I'm sure ye're weary,”Says Anny Kaillie to her deary:
John, fain to see his wife sae cheary,
Indulg'd the fun,
Gat fu', and dander'd lang and eerie,
And tint his gun—
XIII
And miss'd, mairowr, th' endearing charms(The very thought ilk bosom warms!)
Of auld acquaintances in swarms,
Meeting like brithers,
And wee-things giggling in the arms
O' their fond mithers!
36
XIV
And bonny lasses, tight and clean,Buskit to please their ain lads' een—
Lasses, whase faces, as the scene
Its tints discloses,
In glowing sweetness intervene,
Like living roses!
XV
Convener Tamson's troop, the while,Prepare for action in great style:
The laive their various firelocks pile,
By three and three,
And, 'tween ilk corps, for ha'f a mile,
Their banners flee!
37
XVI
The drums and fifes a flourish made;Three loud huzzas the menyie gaed,
And clear'd the stance, that ilka blade
The mark might view,
Far glist'ning, circled white and red,
Wi' spraings o' blue!
XVII
In mingled prospect, on the plainThat parts the Maiden-Craigs in twain,
Craems, ginge-bread-stawns, legerdemain,
And raree-shows,
Entic'd young sparks to entertain,
And treat their joes.
38
XVIII
For fear o' scant, whilk aften marsThe best o' projects in the wars,
Provisions, Ferrintosh in jars,
And casks o' beer,
Were rang'd, like batteries, on cars,
In front and rear!
XIX
Then there were tents, where, frank and free,On divot-seats, sae coziely,
Auld birkies, innocently slee,
Wi' cap and stowp,
Were e'en as blithe as blithe cou'd be—
A' fit to lowp!
39
XX
Pleas'd, they recount, wi' meikle joy,How aft they've been at sic a ploy;
Descrive past scenes; re-act the boy,
And a' his wheems:
Sweet days of youth, without alloy,
Like fairy dreams!
XXI
And mony a crack, and gallant tale,'Bout bauld forebears, sae stark and hale,
Inspir'd their breasts with ardent zeal,
While, circling round,
The reaming cogs o' nappy ale
Gaed glibber down!
40
XXII
Yet, now and then, a silent tear,For friends departed, kindred dear,
Friends, wha were aye the foremost here,
Bedew'd ilk cheek,
Mair eloquent, in grief sincere,
Than tongue can speak!
XXIII
Amang auld cronies, Geordy SmithDiscours'd of war with a' his pith:
Siege follow'd siege, till kin and kith
Were grown sae frisky,
They wou'd have drank the river Nith
Had it been whisky!
41
XXIV
To war accustom'd when a boy,A sodger's life was still his joy—
First, in the ranks at Fontenoy,
And, mony a year,
Like Hector on the plains o' Troy,
A gen'ral here!
XXV
When a' the Hammermen, sae bright,Had charged their guns, like men o' might,
Convener Tamson, wi' delight,
The sport began;
And never yet was belted knight
A blither man!
42
XXVI
Meantime, the younkers on the green,In merry rounds are dancing seen:
Wi' rapture sparkling in their een,
They mind, fu' weel,
The sappy kiss, and squeeze, between
Ilk blithesome reel!
XXVII
And, as the Highland Flings begin,Their heels grow lighter wi' the din:
They smack their hands; and, chin to chin,
They cut and caper:
Ev'n the bye-standers figure in,
And flounce, and vapour!
43
XXVIII
The Minstrels there, were, Sandy Brown,The Piper o' Lochmaben town:
Though whozzling sair, and cruppen down,
Auld Sanders seem'd,
His chaunter, for its cheering sound,
Was aye esteem'd.
XXIX
Jock Willison, a Sutor bred,Wha, for the fiddle, left his trade,
Jigg'd it far better than he sped,
For, oh! poor Jock
Cou'd ne'er gang soberly to bed,
Like other fo'k:
44
XXX
Blind-fu,' at weddings, or a dance,He'd play, though like ane in a trance;
And then, for feghting, Jock wou'd prance
At fair, or market,
And box whaever durst advance,
Till they were yarkit!
XXXI
Yet Jock was as humane as brave,And aften for the helpless strave:
To snatch the drowning frae the wave,
He'd quickly dive,
And to a weeping mither save
Her bairn alive!
45
XXXII
To hear John Bruce exert his skill,Ye'd never grudge anither gill:
O! how he scorn'd th' Italian trill,
And variations;
And gart his thairm-strings speak, at will,
True Scots vibrations!
XXXIII
Nor was it only for a reelThat Johnny was belov'd sae weel:
He loo'd his friend, was aye genteel,
And, what's far mair,
John to his Prince was true and leal,
Ev'n in despair!
46
XXXIV
But wha's he lilting in the rear,Sae saft, sae tunefu', and sae clear?
It's Dingwall, to the Muses dear,
Whase modest merit
Was sae represt for want o' gear,
Care crush'd his spirit!
XXXV
Aft, when the Waits were playing by,I've mark'd his viol with a sigh,
Soothing lorn lovers, where they lie,
To visions sweet—
Saft as a mither's lullaby,
When babies greet!
47
XXXVI
The bonny Bush abune Traquair,And Mary Scott of Yarrow, fair;
Tweedside, and O! I wish I were
Where Helen lies!
He play'd in tones that suit Despair,
When Beauty dies!
XXXVII
But, 'twere owr lang to reckon a'The strains he play'd, sae saft and slaw—
Strains o' the Minstrels, now awa,
Sweetest and last
Memorials, like our Waponshaw,
Of ages past!
48
XXXVIII
By this time, now, wi' mony a dunder,Auld guns were brattling aff like thunder:
Three parts o' whilk, in ilka hunder,
Did sae recoil,
That collar-banes gat mony a lunder,
In this turmoil!
XXXIX
Wide o' the mark, as if to scar us,The bullets ripp'd the swaird like harrows;
And, fright'ning a' the craws and sparrows
About the place,
Ramrods were fleeing thick as arrows
At Chevy Chace!
49
XL
Yet still, as through the tents we steer,Unmov'd the festive groups appear:
Lads oxter lasses, without fear,
Or dance like wud;
Blithe, when the guns gaed aff sae queer,
To hear the thud!
XLI
Disporting in the sunny beam,When gentler mates are in a breem,
Some seek the shade, and some the stream,
And banquet there
On strawberries, or cruds and cream,
And country fare!
50
XLII
O! wi' what glee the Muse stravaigsOwr a' the beauties o' the Craigs!—
Forgetting a' the ills and plagues
That aft harass us,
She scours the hills and dales, for leagues,
Round this Parnassus!
XLIII
Sweet spot! how happy ha'e I beenSeeking birds'-nests with eager een;
Or, pu'ing gowans on the green,
Where waving corn,
Blue-bells and roses, fringe the scene,
And flow'ring thorn!
51
XLIV
Yonder the lads and lasses group,To see the luckless Lover's-lowp:
Wae's me that disappointed Houp,
That cruel blight,
Shou'd drive fowk frae this warld to scoup
To endless night!
XLV
Beneath yon cliff, high beetling owr,Is chaste Diana's Maiden-Bow'r:
There, sacred to the guardian Pow'r,
A tablet stands,
Inscrib'd by a' wha make that tour,
In true-love's bands!
52
XLVI
Sae strait and narrow is the way,Nane but pure virgins enter may:
And, O! it's droll, in this essay,
When flirts, alack!
Their wee infirmities betray,
By turning back!
XLVII
Censorious Bess, that dorty dame,Cam here to carve her lover's name;
But Bessy, having been to blame
For failings, too,
Had nearly gane to her lang hame,
In squeezing through!
53
XLVIII
Hither, forbye the young and fair,Grave matrons come to tak the air;
Ev'n gentry, and the sons o' care,
Resort, a-wee,
To view, around, the beauties rare
By land and sea!
XLIX
At tide-time, with an anxious mind,The sailor's wife, lang left behind,
Looks for her love with ilka wind,
And watches here
Ship after ship, to Nith consign'd,
Till he appear!
54
L
Behold, far hence, in sylvan charms,Cots, country-seats, kirk-towns, and farms!
Hills, circling wide, wi' sheep in swarms;
And mould'ring tow'rs,
Famous, langsyne, for chiefs in arms,
And potent pow'rs!
LI
Imbower'd around, how sweet to spyCorn-rigs and orchards laughing lie!
Dumfries, wi' steeples to the sky,
And ships in crowds,
And Criffel-hill ascending high
Amang the clouds!
55
LII
Lo! glitt'ring onward to the sea,The stream that gave the Muse to me!
Pure stream, on whase green banks, wi' glee,
In Life's sweet morn,
I chac'd the gaudy butterflee,
Ere Care was born!
LIII
O! though it's mony a langsome year,Since, fu' o' care, and scant o' gear,
I left thy banks, sweet Nith, sae dear,
This heart o' mine
Lowps light whene'er I think or hear
O' thee, or thine!
56
LIV
In Seed-time, when thy Farmers saw,In Simmer, when thy roses blaw;
In Harvest, or in frost and snaw,
When Winter low'rs,
My heart and mind are with ye a'—
For ever your's!
| The Siller Gun, A Poem in Five Cantos. By John Mayne | |