University of Virginia Library

[This level turnpike road we daily tread]

This level turnpike road we daily tread,
With its high hedges hiding from our view
The features of the land we journey through,
Inspires—not dreariness alone—but dread.
Let but a cloud eclipse the blue o'erhead,
A thicket dull the distance, or a new
And unexpected turning change the hue
And current of our hopes—and peace is fled!
—Then let us leave the road awhile, my friend!
How all my being wakes, and, pulsing, thrills
To this pure mountain air! As we ascend,
How sink to insignificance our ills!
Gladness and gloom in perfect beauty blend—
Life is a lovely landscape from the hills!

[The shepherd Moses on the hillside saw]

That selfsame miracle does yet appear:
We see it i' the spring o' every year,
When whin an' bonnier broom are fairly bloom'd,
An', wavin', burn the same an' unconsum'd
—But unregardit o' baith man an' woman,
Quite unregardit, for the sicht's sae common!
They see't a' gate—alangs' the public way,
In gowden beauty bleezin', bleezin' aye,
Till every hill-tap, craig, an' spritty knowe
Owre Scotland braid like flamin' altars lowe!
Yet wha draws near wi' reverential feet?
Or is there ane that worships but to see't?
Nae thocht is theirs that God's within the buss,
Or that the grund is holy brightened thus!

I. PART I.—SONGS.

WITHIN THE SKJÆRGAARD.

THE MUSE OF POETRY.

ENCHANTED GROUND.

A MORNING LOVE-SONG.

WILLIAM'S BRIDAL.

“May happiness be in that ha',
And bliss be in that bower,
And Fortune's golden treasures fa'
Upon them every hour!”
Oh never since the world began,
And love on life had sway,
Shone sweeter face or fairer sun
Than did that bridal day!
“May happiness be in their bower,
And bliss be in their ha'—”
It was the worship o' the hour,
The wish o' ane an' a'.
And never cloud aboon them hung
That sunny bridal day;
And William's bride-elect was young
And blithesome as the May!
Oh he was brave, and she was braw,
And birds aboon them sang;
Baith boor and baron blessed the twa—
And wha would wished them wrang?
—Yet William mounts the weary stairs
To sit and sigh his lane,
And a' thae bonnie hopes o' theirs
Are blastit, ane an' ane!

VOX AMORIS.

THE DAWN OF LOVE.

BLUE-BELLS.

TO MAISRIE.

IN A HOLLOW OF THE HILLS.

FLOWER-FLAME!

THE WALL-FLOWER ON THE WALL.

THE LOVER'S WALK.

THE FISHER.

THE TRYSTING-TREE.

THE KNIGHT AND THE LADY.

II. PART II.—SCENES.

OUTWARD BOUND.

SUNSET ON THE LOMONDS.

See where into the sunset far
The terraced mountains rise,
The cresset of a single star
Just o'er them in the skies!
Oh that to me a dove's meek eyes
And snow-white wings were given,
To reach yon hills and realise
The calm they have from Heaven!
My soul is o'er the Vale of Leven,
(Though here in streets I stray)
Till fades the holy golden even;
—The wish, too, dies away!
Alas for earth, that all it may
Is but a mood in me!
And that when Heaven withdraws its ray
The mood should cease to be!

OUR DRIVE.

HOLIDAYS.

CASTLE GLOOM.

MY WINDOW.

THE CATARACT.

CASTLE DESOLATE.

WINTER: AN ELEGY.

THE VOICES OF NORWAY.

SUMMER ON THE LOMOND.

IN ORWELL ACRE.

THE LARK.

A FIRST OF MAY.

It was the first of May, and from the town
Our young folks hastened in their best array,
Our young folks hastened to bring in the May
From where she loitered on the distant down.
Said one—I hope she wears her snow-white crown;
And one—They heard the cuckoo yesterday;
I see her—cried another—far away
Like a thin streak of silver on the brown!
So to the down we came, and here and there
Our little troop went peering far and wide;
Then gathered silent: every bush was bare,
And snow in the bleak hollows was descried,
And new-born lambs wailed to the wintry air
Their feeble plaints along the lorn hillside!

THE BURN.

ANDRO'S GRIEF.

THE SUN'S GOOD NIGHT.

Over the mountain's shoulder looks
The Sun to say Good night
To all the merry singing brooks
That sparkled in his light;
To all the dancing waterfalls
That dashed their diamond spray
Against their green and ferny walls
In greeting to the day;
To every hill whose gentle breast
Swells up into the sky;
To every flower that seeks a nest
Amid the bent so dry;
To all the brave blue-bells that swing
In every passing wind;
To every bird whose wearied wing
A resting-place can find;
To quiet sheep that contemplate
His beams in grassy places;
To children with his smiles that wait
Upon their chubby faces;
To every tree that glads the glen,
Sweet birch and rowan ruddy;
To happy wives, and resting men,
And every other body!

A TRANSFORMATION.

All round a sky of dead continuous grey
Smothered the valley like a smoky tent,
Save that a small well-marked irregular rent
In the low roof let in a gleam of day.
All morning to that gap mine eyes would stray
For the blue freedom of the firmament,
And with that window I had been content
To gaze afar into the heavens alway.
But suddenly the travelling sun above
Came to the lattice, and lo! the earth was fair;
The clouds took on the lustre of a dove,
Twinkled, and flew, and melted into air!
—Such wonders works the smile of one we love
When we are half abandoned to despair!

A DREAM.

O'erburdened with a weight of woes, amassed
Slowly, I prayed—Kind spirit, grant a boon:
Show me that mine's a common care!—And soon
(The present like a mantle from me cast)
I wandered blindfold forward; till, at last,
The land of shadows and of shapes unhewn!
And lo! the pale face of a frightened moon
Looked on a sea of faces surging past!
And one sad face out of the tidal throng,
One out of millions, for a moment seen,
Turned round upon me as it swept along,
And a strange sudden joy altered the mien
—A smile sat on the lips that framed a song,
And the bright eyes spoke of a faith serene!

TREASURE-TROVE.

Clive, walking down that gallery of gold;
A shepherd in the bush, whose staring eyes
Half doubt the nugget at his feet that lies
From nature's secret treasure-house outrolled;
A ragged schoolboy, clutching in his hold
A sudden sixpence;—vainly memory tries
Similitudes to make you realise
Her ecstasy: but no! it can't be told!
—What was my find, you ask?
It was the hour
Friendly to love, when, seeing yet concealed,
Its votaries worship in a twilight bower,
That, at a crossing, at one step revealed,
Just standing clear of the cathedral tower,
The new moon argent in an azure field!

RUS IN URBE.

THE SPRING WOODS.

In life's young ardent prime,
When winds were soft and skies were blue,
And spring was making Earth anew,
These woodlands I have wandered through
From daybreak till the fall of dew,
Oh many, and many a time!
And now, from foreign clime
Backward returning with the heat
Of youth-time gone, I set my feet
In the old welcoming wood-retreat
With joy, and hear the birds repeat
With joy the same old rhyme!
Morning and evening chime—
The same old joys of eye and ear
Invite me still, and still are dear;
And merry schoolboys rambling here,
As I did whilom fifty year,
Repeat the pantomime!

A SERVICE OF LAMPS.

THE EPILOGUE.

LOCHLEVEN FROM TILLERY HILL.

Look back!—Lochleven, and a rare surprise!
Long silver lines across its bosom run
Bright in the light of the September sun:
The rest in purple shadow slumbering lies.
Yonder Benarty, here the Lomonds rise,
And you may count the islands every one
—There, in yon castle on the island dun,
Languished Queen Mary, loved of many eyes!—
The scene, though quiet, yet is fair—and full
Of interest to a guide that knows his trade;
Chiefly, I must confess, to me (and you'll
Perhaps endorse the opinion when it's made),
For that Servanus kept his Culdee school
On yon lone island in Benarty's shade.

ON READING DR JAMIESON'S HISTORY OF THE CULDEES.

Honour to them who put to rout the dark
Of Druid rule over our land forlorn,
What time to lone Iona, ocean-born,
Came through the mists Columba's wandering bark!
Honour to them who in a fragile ark
Nursed the true light amid prelatic scorn
And papist, till the Reformation morn
At midnight rose from its expiring spark!
Now in these latter times the light again,
Menaced by controversial mists and blasts,
Grows dim behind the clouds, and purblind men
Follow rush-candles while the tumult lasts:
—But blow, thou clear strong wind of Truth! and then
Shine forth, pure Faith! on strayed enthusiasts.

PAST AND FUTURE.

A LOVE IDYL.

Scene—An Orchard.
(He speaks—)
(A Pause. Then—)
(A longer pause. No answer. Then—)
(Looking after a retreating figure, her brother continues—)
(She whispers a name. Then he—)

THE COUNTRY LAIRD.

MORNING RAINBOW.

THE HAWK AND THE TWO LINNETS.

THE LAST NIGHT ON THE TOWER.

III. PART III.—SATIRES.

BONES.

The type is common: there's at least a score
That look on life as a rare piece of fun
And all its business a burlesque, for one
That sits and thinks the matter gravely o'er.
You bear with this—you bear it, and deplore;
But when in private life you cannot shun
Nor stop the laughing misery, once begun
—'Tis past all bearing, and the man's a bore!
He comes, and straight, up-curls the labial sheath,
Revealing all his dentistry within,
As if the man were God-made for his teeth
And not to show them were the fatal sin!
Is there no power above (there's none beneath)
To legislate a close time for the grin?

NIL NISI MENDACIA!

They laud him in the city: seated here
In sober contemplation, God forbid
That I should seek to hale what He has hid
From the dead bosom on that lowly bier.
—Yet I will dare to speak and be sincere:
His life like a smooth-flowing current slid
And wound through loamy flats; dozing, he did
The easy duty of his narrow sphere.
—But now they deify him?—That's the wine
The soups and savoury suppers that he gave:
You may be Divus too, if you incline;
—Give banquets while you live, and, when you “cave,”
Broadnose will snuffle platitudes divine,
And Goatlegs dance devoutly on your grave.

IN SEVEN YEARS.

Seven years ago—only seven years ago
He sat beside me in the Lecture-room
In all the grace of literary bloom,
And spake of what the next seven years would show.
Songs, and an Epic, and a Play—but no!
The Drama was played out: he would assume
Some strange new form, all radiance and perfume,
And sling his fancies o'er creation so!
—I stumbled on him near a farm to-day,
Straws in his hair and hog-wash on his sleeves;
Loud was his voice, dew-lapped his throat, and—Hay!
Damn you, the stirks are in among the sheaves!
Amused, but startled more, I turned away
And left him to his bullocks and his beeves.

KINGS BY DIVINE RIGHT.

CHRISTOPHER SLY: HIS POLITICAL SENTIMENTS.

The Peers! With what complacency they stand
On heights englorified with golden fire!
Look up, you tinker!—look up, and admire,
And let your grovelling soul with pride expand!
These are the guardians of your native land—
“And they possess it too!” But that's their hire
For guarding it: all bravery would expire
Unless rewarded with a liberal hand:
Their fathers bled for it—“Get out! you lie!
Mine fled for it, he did, at Waterloo!”
And they are long descended—“So am I;
My dad came over with the Conqueror too;
And what d'ye do for me? for Christopher Sly?
—Gimme a pot of ale, for Godsake do!”

IV. PART IV.—PSALMS.

[O Lord, all things are praising Thee always!]

O Lord, all things are praising Thee always!
The mountain's peaceful power; the restless sea
With all its surging music, fiercely free;
The busy rill that stone nor stumbling stays;
The fairy blue-bells swinging on the braes
In their ethereal beauty born of Thee:
And with distinctest voice of all does he,
My own belovèd, utter forth Thy praise!
But I, who worship Thee from day to day
In silence inarticulate, and seek
Passionately to praise Thee, and who pray
With feeling strong but thought and utter ance weak,
Am dumb as are the pebbles of the way—
Or as an infant, trying first to speak.

SONG OF THE BLADES OF GRASS.

DISTRUST.

To-day my future seemed too golden clear.
It cannot be, I said, it cannot be;
God never meant such happiness for me—
It is not good to have such pleasure here.
Thus medicining my cup of joy with fear
I sought my window, hoping half to see
The smiling heaven o'erclouded ominously—
And scared a bird, who thought I came too near.
Ungrateful bird! It was my hand that spread
That feast of crumbs for thee, and fleest thou thus?
Canst thou not trust the hand that gives thee bread?
Why then so doubtful and so timorous?
—Lord, do we grieve Thee likewise with our dread,
Distrusting all Thy gracious gifts to us?

THE COMMON CREED.

IN THE CHURCHYARD AT CHRISTIANIA.

Death has no province in the Northern Land,
To fetter, terrorise with threats, and slay;
But when he comes (and that late in the day)
He comes, as an official with his wand,
Wearing a bosom-flower and smiling bland,
To lead the spirit to its rest away.
Few tears, or none, are shed—not more than may
Grace a departure to some distant strand.
They lay the body where they can re-view
Daily its resting-place: no yew-trees wave
Funereal plumes around of faithless hue,
A sieve for all the sorrowing winds that rave,
But lightsome blossoms blend their white and blue
To make a pleasure-garden of the grave.

AN EVENING HOUR IN ORWELL ACRE.

SONG OF THE CLOVER BLOSSOM.

SABBATH ON THE HILLS.

O Lord our God, we praise Thee on the height!
Here in Thy smiling sunshine would we fling
Earth's mantle from our souls, and let them spring
Soaring to Thee, the Father of all light!
From these Thy holy hills their sunward flight
Nor toilsome were, nor tedious; on the wing
Of this pure air upborne, still should they sing,
Drawn, praising Thee, from earth to the Infinite.
—There are no larks to bless this solitude.
Silent it lies and looks on the blue sky
Like some great giant, softened and subdued
By the mild lustre of a loving eye;
Yet, though by angels' song Thine ear is wooed,
Thou hearest, Lord, the linnet's feeble cry!

A RAILWAY ACCIDENT.

For ever in my memory fast
I see thee as I saw thee last.
—What demon tempts me thus to look
Upon the page of Memory's book,
Where, blurred with blood, with anguish wet,
The annals of that hour are set?
—Heaven from mine eyes in mercy keep
That spectacle that murders sleep!
Surely the pitying angels wept
That should have compassed round and kept
This gentle life that did no harm,
And was of mine the darling charm!
The cruel tragedy is past,
And thou—for ever safe at last!
They shut the door, and locked thee in;
Good-bye, we said, amid the din
Of bells, and wheels, and gasps that burst
From that black engine's heart accurst!
Good-bye thou saidst—and in my ear
The parting tone yet lingers dear—
While on thy lips there sat the while
A tender, tearful, timorous smile
—As if thou wouldst not seem to part
With boding sorrow in thy heart.
Even now, while sorrowing here I stand,
I feel the tremor of thy hand:
Was it love's tenderness? or fear
—A consciousness that Fate was near?
Or jar of nerve from shriek and rasp?
—It was at least our final clasp!
The guard's shrill whistle brought the close,
White steam-balls from the funnel rose;
Good-byes repeated, friends drew back;
The engine moved along the track,
Strong and insensate through the gloom,
Deliberately to its doom!
As down the platform passed the train,
I saw thee, Seraph! once again:
The light shone full on eyes and brow
—I saw thee as I see thee now!
O loveliest picture Earth could claim
Set in a carriage window frame!
What radiant beauty from thy face
Lit up the darkness of the place!
It seemed the halo of a saint,
But brighter than the Masters paint,
A glory finer than the sun
—The aureole of Heaven begun!
It was as if an angel bowed
Earthward from a dark thunder-cloud,
Then gently, smilingly withdrew
While yet you gazed and ere you knew.
I charge thee, Memory, hold them fast,
Those features as I saw them last,—
Brave eyes, sweet lips, with just a trace
Of transient sadness on the face,
Saintly serenity of brow
—How poor is Earth without them now!
Thou blessèd Angel! where thou art
Is all my hope, is all my heart;
And Heaven scarce nearer now can be
Since thou art there to plead for me!

CLOUDS.

Through all the day, in sunshine and in cloud,
My heart was weighted with prophetic woe—
“Thus,” in the cloud, I dreamt, “will grief o'erflow
My smiling plains of joy, and care-weeds crowd
My sunny gardens, by young love endowed:”
And in the sunshine, “This will shortly go;
Let me not trust therein; too well I know
To none is constant happiness allowed.”—
—Whence come these roseate shores that wide outroll?
Those ebon rocks and flowery islets far
Make with that amber sea a perfect whole.
To love, all things add beauty; nought can mar.—
The sunset sweeps misgivings off my soul,
And peace drops from the wings of the first star.

HYMN FOR THE NEW YEAR.

TO A FRIEND.