 | Poems and Songs |  |
Lochranza.
An Ejaculative Poem.
Oh ay! we'll to Lochranza hie,
Be fair or foul the weather,
And hear the whaups and shepherds cry
Through mists amang the heather;
And see doon “foaming from the fells,”
That for our eyes have waited,
The stream that still of freedom tells
With ardour unabated.
Be fair or foul the weather,
And hear the whaups and shepherds cry
Through mists amang the heather;
And see doon “foaming from the fells,”
That for our eyes have waited,
The stream that still of freedom tells
With ardour unabated.
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We'll rise and see the morning sun
Amang the vents grow broader;
But we the early boat will shun,
That wakes the river odour.
And we will train it safe and swift,
Our “Heralds” deftly skimming
The while our thoughts before us drift,
Our path with pleasure trimming.
Amang the vents grow broader;
But we the early boat will shun,
That wakes the river odour.
And we will train it safe and swift,
Our “Heralds” deftly skimming
The while our thoughts before us drift,
Our path with pleasure trimming.
We'll see the Cart that once was clean,
The bridge (to be) we'll fancy;
And docks, and wharfs, and ships we'll ween
The work of Necromancy.
Lochwinnoch and its swans we'll see,
Lochbirnie and its rushes;
And Garnock winding through the lea,
And gleaming through the bushes.
The bridge (to be) we'll fancy;
And docks, and wharfs, and ships we'll ween
The work of Necromancy.
Lochwinnoch and its swans we'll see,
Lochbirnie and its rushes;
And Garnock winding through the lea,
And gleaming through the bushes.
The moonworts on the hills of sand
We'll pass, but we'll not see them;
To some wild cryptogamic band,
With vasculums, we'll lea' them.
Oh! shame to take a blade of green
From knolls so bare and barren!
But there's the shore and dim sea-sheen,
And there's the way to Arran.
We'll pass, but we'll not see them;
To some wild cryptogamic band,
With vasculums, we'll lea' them.
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From knolls so bare and barren!
But there's the shore and dim sea-sheen,
And there's the way to Arran.
And now we from the harbour steam,
And now we're in the channel—
An eastern wind comes swift behind,
And pierces coat and flannel.
But where is Arran? where the peaks
That fill the soul with wonder?
The eye in vain an answer seeks—
We may as well go under.
And now we're in the channel—
An eastern wind comes swift behind,
And pierces coat and flannel.
But where is Arran? where the peaks
That fill the soul with wonder?
The eye in vain an answer seeks—
We may as well go under.
For wheresoe'er on weary feet
The gold of time we're squandering,
There still must come a time to eat,
Or brief will be our wand'ring.
So down we go to feast below—
In fear and wonder eating—
Till “Brodick Bay,” we hear one say,
“Let's up and do our greeting.”
The gold of time we're squandering,
There still must come a time to eat,
Or brief will be our wand'ring.
So down we go to feast below—
In fear and wonder eating—
Till “Brodick Bay,” we hear one say,
“Let's up and do our greeting.”
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Yes, this indeed is Brodick Strand—
We've landed and we've paid for't;
Some other scribe with less in hand
May say what's to be said for't.
For we are to Lochranza bound—
In famous trim for trudging—
And far away, ere fails the day,
We'll supper find and lodging.
We've landed and we've paid for't;
Some other scribe with less in hand
May say what's to be said for't.
For we are to Lochranza bound—
In famous trim for trudging—
And far away, ere fails the day,
We'll supper find and lodging.
“And is the Isle so empty then?
One kindly glance would please us.”
“Why! there is Reid, the best of men—
This way he looks! he sees us!”
“Now sunshine on our path shall be,
See, half across 'tis gleaming;
An eye that's kind's the sun for me—
It sweetens work and dreaming.”
One kindly glance would please us.”
“Why! there is Reid, the best of men—
This way he looks! he sees us!”
“Now sunshine on our path shall be,
See, half across 'tis gleaming;
An eye that's kind's the sun for me—
It sweetens work and dreaming.”
“What? walk? the way is steep and far,
And ye are of the city;
With over-toil the day to mar
Would surely be a pity.
There's Corrie Car!” “That thing so frail?
So obsolete, ‘yet tender.’”
“Our Queen to it entrusts her mail,
And that's our very gender.”
And ye are of the city;
With over-toil the day to mar
Would surely be a pity.
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So obsolete, ‘yet tender.’”
“Our Queen to it entrusts her mail,
And that's our very gender.”
“But see! already in the box
A gent. and lady seated.”
“Too late! too late! ah! cruel fate!
But let us bravely meet it.”
“Sir, have you room for us?” we say;
He grins, his brown teeth showing,
“'Tis not what room I have,” quoth he,
“But what's the number going?”
A gent. and lady seated.”
“Too late! too late! ah! cruel fate!
But let us bravely meet it.”
“Sir, have you room for us?” we say;
He grins, his brown teeth showing,
“'Tis not what room I have,” quoth he,
“But what's the number going?”
Away! away! around the bay
With stately pace we're driven;
Ourselves are three, four more we be,
And therefore “we are seven.”
And there's the eighth, our Jehu bold,
Across the splash-board straddling;
The ninth that beast, though first yet least,
Between the traces waddling.
With stately pace we're driven;
Ourselves are three, four more we be,
And therefore “we are seven.”
And there's the eighth, our Jehu bold,
Across the splash-board straddling;
The ninth that beast, though first yet least,
Between the traces waddling.
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“Oh! day divine!” “Oh! reckless nine!”
'Mid many a joke were saying,
As now the splash-board skyward tilts,
And now we're seaward swaying.
But Jehu, tugging at his steed,
Has not a thought of jesting;
His load to-day for luck may pray,
For he his springs is testing.
'Mid many a joke were saying,
As now the splash-board skyward tilts,
And now we're seaward swaying.
But Jehu, tugging at his steed,
Has not a thought of jesting;
His load to-day for luck may pray,
For he his springs is testing.
And so the case he calmly views,
And tugs and shouts and whistles;
He knows he carries Scotland's news,
And Arran's love epistles.
And surely we are nothing new—
The pheasant walks before us;
The heron stolid stands in view,
The blackbird whistles o'er us.
And tugs and shouts and whistles;
He knows he carries Scotland's news,
And Arran's love epistles.
And surely we are nothing new—
The pheasant walks before us;
The heron stolid stands in view,
The blackbird whistles o'er us.
The lordly deer and lady doe
But raise their heads to greet us,
And lambs, like animated snow,
Come dancing down to meets us.
The rabbit 'mong the myrtles feeds,
And of him hears us speaking;
To-day no brute a stranger heeds,
Nor flies, a shelter seeking.
But raise their heads to greet us,
And lambs, like animated snow,
Come dancing down to meets us.
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And of him hears us speaking;
To-day no brute a stranger heeds,
Nor flies, a shelter seeking.
But, ah! there comes a time, ye deer,
Ye gentle does be ready—
There loometh one with shotted gun
Towards you pointed steady.
Ye pheasants learn from man to flee—
Yet, why this lapse to sadness?
Even dukes must die; let you and I
Devote this day to gladness.
Ye gentle does be ready—
There loometh one with shotted gun
Towards you pointed steady.
Ye pheasants learn from man to flee—
Yet, why this lapse to sadness?
Even dukes must die; let you and I
Devote this day to gladness.
So all again is grand and fair,
Still thus we would be driven;
Still thus would cling, and chaff, and swing
From Brodick on to Heaven.
But while we vow to put our drive
In trim and rhythmic story,
We stop, get down, and gladly own
We're safe at last at Corrie.
Still thus we would be driven;
Still thus would cling, and chaff, and swing
From Brodick on to Heaven.
But while we vow to put our drive
In trim and rhythmic story,
We stop, get down, and gladly own
We're safe at last at Corrie.
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PART SECOND.
We lingered on the Corrie Strand,
For lingering well rewarded;
We heard the wild sea thrill the land
As never mortal heard it.
The monarch boulder on the beach
Could not be passed unheeded;
Some lesson it is there to teach—
We never tried to read it.
For lingering well rewarded;
We heard the wild sea thrill the land
As never mortal heard it.
The monarch boulder on the beach
Could not be passed unheeded;
Some lesson it is there to teach—
We never tried to read it.
Around it lambs, in friendly strife,
Were racing as we passed it;
And mighty death and fragile life
Were ne'er so well contrasted.
But not to moralise come we,
Nor muse on Styx and Charon—
To be from smoke and thinking free
Is why we came to Arran.
Were racing as we passed it;
And mighty death and fragile life
Were ne'er so well contrasted.
But not to moralise come we,
Nor muse on Styx and Charon—
To be from smoke and thinking free
Is why we came to Arran.
We saw the Sannox downward reel,
And foam and flash and glisten;
Well-pleased emotions new to feel,
And not to talk but listen.
How pure the golden margined rills—
The glens were nought without them;
And whence that silken film the hills
To-day have thrown about them?
And foam and flash and glisten;
Well-pleased emotions new to feel,
And not to talk but listen.
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The glens were nought without them;
And whence that silken film the hills
To-day have thrown about them?
Be silent! there the peaks repose!
Can this be adoration?
And, as we climb, behold how grows
The wond'rous transformation.
Yet something does the fancy seek—
The grand to mystic turning—
Some form to stalk from peak to peak,
In brazen armour burning.
Can this be adoration?
And, as we climb, behold how grows
The wond'rous transformation.
Yet something does the fancy seek—
The grand to mystic turning—
Some form to stalk from peak to peak,
In brazen armour burning.
Their names? these mighty masses named,
Like tower-lets in a burgh?
It should not be—but we shall see
A map, perhaps, to-morrow.
Meanwhile a thirst pervades the air—
That's not to be disputed—
We'll taste the stream that wimples there;
And let it be diluted.
Like tower-lets in a burgh?
It should not be—but we shall see
A map, perhaps, to-morrow.
Meanwhile a thirst pervades the air—
That's not to be disputed—
We'll taste the stream that wimples there;
And let it be diluted.
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And here our weary limbs we'll rest,
Like Jove, our clouds compelling;
This water is the very best,
Loch Katrine's own excelling.
What matter if the changing sky
Suggests a change of weather;
For, hark! at last the shepherd's cry!
The whaups' and his together.
Like Jove, our clouds compelling;
This water is the very best,
Loch Katrine's own excelling.
What matter if the changing sky
Suggests a change of weather;
For, hark! at last the shepherd's cry!
The whaups' and his together.
Is that it all? a drink; a smoke;
A stroll where streams are gleaming;
A little easing of the yoke
Of thought; a maze of dreaming.
A glimpse of foggy peaks; a sense
Of uncommitted leisure—
Is that the rare concomitance
That makes the day a pleasure?
A stroll where streams are gleaming;
A little easing of the yoke
Of thought; a maze of dreaming.
A glimpse of foggy peaks; a sense
Of uncommitted leisure—
Is that the rare concomitance
That makes the day a pleasure?
But that, and nothing more, we own,
Yet never fools were gladder;
See there the fairy burn comes down,
And there, by Jove! an adder!
Quick! strike! Poor brute! how limp it lies;
What pity that you hit it;
Ah, yes! but when the devil dies,
The devil will be pitied.
Yet never fools were gladder;
See there the fairy burn comes down,
And there, by Jove! an adder!
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What pity that you hit it;
Ah, yes! but when the devil dies,
The devil will be pitied.
And has our path by death been cross'd?—
Too fervid was our gladness;
And, lest we should go home and boast,
There comes this touch of sadness.
'Tis ever so—where'er we go
The waves of Fate come after,
With grief upon the crest of one,—
On that that follows laughter.
Too fervid was our gladness;
And, lest we should go home and boast,
There comes this touch of sadness.
'Tis ever so—where'er we go
The waves of Fate come after,
With grief upon the crest of one,—
On that that follows laughter.
No matter! we the burns have seen,
The shepherd's dogs have patted;
We've praised the mountains grey and green—
Have with the shepherd chatted.
And every stream appears to gleam
The brighter for our sipping;
And on with glee towards the sea—
The way we go—is tripping.
The shepherd's dogs have patted;
We've praised the mountains grey and green—
Have with the shepherd chatted.
And every stream appears to gleam
The brighter for our sipping;
And on with glee towards the sea—
The way we go—is tripping.
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Who prophesied 'twould rain to-day?
How poorly he's been gifted—
For “o'er the hills and far away”
The cloud he feared has drifted.
And there's our haven for the night!
Thy kindly care, Lochranza,
Till morn we'll claim, and syne, thy name
We'll weave into a stanza.
How poorly he's been gifted—
For “o'er the hills and far away”
The cloud he feared has drifted.
And there's our haven for the night!
Thy kindly care, Lochranza,
Till morn we'll claim, and syne, thy name
We'll weave into a stanza.
PART THIRD.
Awake! upon the dusty road
The clouds their stores are pouring;
The lark sits murmuring on the sod,
Afraid of skyward soaring.
The storm that's rushing down the strath
May wheel to Tobermory,
But, in the face of it, our path
Is o'er the hills to Corrie.
The clouds their stores are pouring;
The lark sits murmuring on the sod,
Afraid of skyward soaring.
The storm that's rushing down the strath
May wheel to Tobermory,
But, in the face of it, our path
Is o'er the hills to Corrie.
No! not for us the morning dram
That spoils the mood supernal;
We'll break our fast. What, eggs and ham!
Are eggs and ham eternal?
Not even one little, little fish,
Nor fresh, nor salt, nor reestit;
Nor even the native “aiten dish,”
On which the gods have feastit.
That spoils the mood supernal;
We'll break our fast. What, eggs and ham!
Are eggs and ham eternal?
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Nor fresh, nor salt, nor reestit;
Nor even the native “aiten dish,”
On which the gods have feastit.
Our bill! let's see how much we've got
To keep in trim the body;
What's this? There's some one had a lot
Of halfs! and here's some toddy!
Have we been at our country's curse?
“Perhaps, but I am stronger;”
“And I am not a whit the worse,”
“And I am ages younger.”
To keep in trim the body;
What's this? There's some one had a lot
Of halfs! and here's some toddy!
Have we been at our country's curse?
“Perhaps, but I am stronger;”
“And I am not a whit the worse,”
“And I am ages younger.”
Farewell! good host! we'll come again;
We've had some splendid raining—
So good, that some of us would fain
Arrange about remaining.
We seek not, Sovereign Nature, here
Your wild free will to fetter;
But might the blast behind us veer,
It surely would be better.
We've had some splendid raining—
So good, that some of us would fain
Arrange about remaining.
We seek not, Sovereign Nature, here
Your wild free will to fetter;
But might the blast behind us veer,
It surely would be better.
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We climb the steep with steady pace—
Still darker clouds are lowering;
And still the blast that hits the face
Is streams about us showering.
How grand were now a thunder-burst,
With lightning flashing o'er us;
Or, if a water-spout were thurst
From out the clouds before us.
Still darker clouds are lowering;
And still the blast that hits the face
Is streams about us showering.
How grand were now a thunder-burst,
With lightning flashing o'er us;
Or, if a water-spout were thurst
From out the clouds before us.
No palate-parching dust to-day
From every footfall rises;
No sparkling streamlet by the way
To rest and taste entices.
A royal rain! a thorough drench!
Let's troll a line together;
Ten thousand rills foam down the hills,
And burst frae 'mang the heather.
From every footfall rises;
No sparkling streamlet by the way
To rest and taste entices.
A royal rain! a thorough drench!
Let's troll a line together;
Ten thousand rills foam down the hills,
And burst frae 'mang the heather.
Enough, ye kind condensing fogs,
Of patterings and of plashing;
The sheep, the shepherd, and the dogs,
Have had a bounteous washing.
The breasting of a storm so rare
Our limbs is strongly taxing;
But see! the torrent in the air
Is surely thinner waxing.
Of patterings and of plashing;
The sheep, the shepherd, and the dogs,
Have had a bounteous washing.
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Our limbs is strongly taxing;
But see! the torrent in the air
Is surely thinner waxing.
And has it ceased to rain at last?
Unsling the wallet leathern—
Our thirst has been increasing fast,
Let's pledge the birks like brethren.
And there's a finely-filtered rill
Among the myrtles oozing;
What's that you say? A better day
You would not think of choosing.
Unsling the wallet leathern—
Our thirst has been increasing fast,
Let's pledge the birks like brethren.
And there's a finely-filtered rill
Among the myrtles oozing;
What's that you say? A better day
You would not think of choosing.
Come on! come on! 'twill rain anon;
Ach! there, as vile as ever,
The brute that shocked us yesterday;
Away! it makes me shiver.
The watershed! two tiny burns,
Twin sisters, there are parted;
Each lingers looking back, and turns
And murmurs broken-hearted.
Ach! there, as vile as ever,
The brute that shocked us yesterday;
Away! it makes me shiver.
The watershed! two tiny burns,
Twin sisters, there are parted;
Each lingers looking back, and turns
And murmurs broken-hearted.
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Behold again the unwearied sea
Beneath the rain cloud streaming;
Essays once more to swamp the shore—
“And that's the heron screaming.”
'Twas thus he cried above the flood
That drowned a world for sinning:
“Hark! scream the third! Prophetic bird,
The second flood's beginning.”
Beneath the rain cloud streaming;
Essays once more to swamp the shore—
“And that's the heron screaming.”
'Twas thus he cried above the flood
That drowned a world for sinning:
“Hark! scream the third! Prophetic bird,
The second flood's beginning.”
“Oh! sea! thou ever varying dream!
Creation's grandest mourner!”
Enough! I know a nobler theme—
Our inn is round the corner.
There's Corrie's parlour, and its fire
With visioned comfort coming;
Then in(n)ward, Ho! we'll dripping go,
Of coming comforts humming.
Creation's grandest mourner!”
Enough! I know a nobler theme—
Our inn is round the corner.
There's Corrie's parlour, and its fire
With visioned comfort coming;
Then in(n)ward, Ho! we'll dripping go,
Of coming comforts humming.
PART FOURTH.
Indeed we've to Lochranza been,
We've trudgéd hence and hither,
And have a double sample seen
Of royal highland weather.
We've been and seen—what have we not?
But, lass, it has been raining;
So let us have some whisky hot
The time our duds are draining.
We've trudgéd hence and hither,
And have a double sample seen
Of royal highland weather.
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But, lass, it has been raining;
So let us have some whisky hot
The time our duds are draining.
And we shall dine if soon we may—
To fast we shall be sorry;
Yet we have but an hour to stay,
And then we fly from Corrie.
Meanwhile, the whisky hot, sweet lass—
Be sure the water's boiling;
And let us, gently warming, pass
To rest from hours of toiling.
To fast we shall be sorry;
Yet we have but an hour to stay,
And then we fly from Corrie.
Meanwhile, the whisky hot, sweet lass—
Be sure the water's boiling;
And let us, gently warming, pass
To rest from hours of toiling.
Oh! happy hour! to hear it pour
Without—no drop abating;
Why should we fret if some get wet
While we are snugly waiting?
But there's the dinner bell—we'll dine,
With appetite abundant;
This roast is prime, this stew's sublime,
And everything's redundant.
Without—no drop abating;
Why should we fret if some get wet
While we are snugly waiting?
But there's the dinner bell—we'll dine,
With appetite abundant;
This roast is prime, this stew's sublime,
And everything's redundant.
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Our chariot is at the door,
The charioteer is waiting;
And now we're under rain once more,
Of future aches debating.
No doe to-day delights the eye,
No antlered forest rover;
“The brutes, like every thing that's wise,
Of course, are under cover.”
The charioteer is waiting;
And now we're under rain once more,
Of future aches debating.
No doe to-day delights the eye,
No antlered forest rover;
“The brutes, like every thing that's wise,
Of course, are under cover.”
“Oh, yes! it is a gallant steed,
And, though he might be fatter,
No storm fears he, nor flood, nor sea—
Oh, yes! he's used to water.”
“He once was swam for life and won.”
“Oh, yes! and did not rue it;
So, should it rain as thick again,
He's sure to pull us through it.”
And, though he might be fatter,
No storm fears he, nor flood, nor sea—
Oh, yes! he's used to water.”
“He once was swam for life and won.”
“Oh, yes! and did not rue it;
So, should it rain as thick again,
He's sure to pull us through it.”
“And here's his Grace! He looks like one
That had a noble ettle,
And grand historic work had done.”
“But then he's only metal.”
“There's Brodick Pier! at once embark,
Cease, prancing brute! wo, woa!
We'll have to call our ship the ‘Ark’—
Yes! and the captain, ‘Noah.’”
That had a noble ettle,
And grand historic work had done.”
“But then he's only metal.”
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Cease, prancing brute! wo, woa!
We'll have to call our ship the ‘Ark’—
Yes! and the captain, ‘Noah.’”
But where's the captain and the ship?
Away? we can't believe it;
He could not pass the harbour slip
And none of us perceive it.
“Och! never fear! she'll soon be here,
No use at all complaining;
She longer stays on rainy days,”
“But this is more than raining.”
Away? we can't believe it;
He could not pass the harbour slip
And none of us perceive it.
“Och! never fear! she'll soon be here,
No use at all complaining;
She longer stays on rainy days,”
“But this is more than raining.”
See how the waiting shed is packed!
What gloomy, fretful faces;
Those folks are sure that they endure
Some frolic of his Grace's.
Omnipotent? Of course he is!
No Arran boat dare linger
A moment on a day like this
Would he but lift his finger.
What gloomy, fretful faces;
Those folks are sure that they endure
Some frolic of his Grace's.
Omnipotent? Of course he is!
No Arran boat dare linger
A moment on a day like this
Would he but lift his finger.
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But there's our boat! Our wait is past!
With glee the crowd's infected!
Like everything that comes at last,
She comes when least expected.
And so our trip is o'er. Adieu!
Ye peaks unseen and barren;
On deck remain—'twill cease to rain
As soon's we're clear of Arran.
With glee the crowd's infected!
Like everything that comes at last,
She comes when least expected.
And so our trip is o'er. Adieu!
Ye peaks unseen and barren;
On deck remain—'twill cease to rain
As soon's we're clear of Arran.
Enough! it is enough! We moan
And murmur unregarded;
The weather clerk neglects our groan,
Or else he has not heard it.
Our pilot, stolid as a stone,
Keeps through the torrent peering;
Good soul! he shall not sink alone
If he astray is steering.
And murmur unregarded;
The weather clerk neglects our groan,
Or else he has not heard it.
Our pilot, stolid as a stone,
Keeps through the torrent peering;
Good soul! he shall not sink alone
If he astray is steering.
But why upon a theme so sad
Still harping? Does it matter?
So wet, you say, “Well, so you may—
You have been under water.”
“Yes, I have drank it with my air—
My pants are soaked and shrinking;
'Tis water, water everywhere.”
“But most of it's for drinking.”
Still harping? Does it matter?
So wet, you say, “Well, so you may—
You have been under water.”
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My pants are soaked and shrinking;
'Tis water, water everywhere.”
“But most of it's for drinking.”
Oh for some rare nepenthean draught!
To keep the life-stream flowing—
Light up the face, and sadness chase,
And set the limbs agoing.
Oh for some wizard-woven lay—
Some charm, howe'er unholy—
To pierce, with smile-creating ray,
This cloud of melancholy.
To keep the life-stream flowing—
Light up the face, and sadness chase,
And set the limbs agoing.
Oh for some wizard-woven lay—
Some charm, howe'er unholy—
To pierce, with smile-creating ray,
This cloud of melancholy.
Ardrossan! What? in port at last
With not a soul amissing?
We'll find our train, defy the rain,
And leave the boat our blessing.
How pleasant has the journey been—
How free from tiresome tameness;
But pleasanter by far, I ween,
Without that streaming sameness.
With not a soul amissing?
We'll find our train, defy the rain,
And leave the boat our blessing.
How pleasant has the journey been—
How free from tiresome tameness;
But pleasanter by far, I ween,
Without that streaming sameness.
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Awake, thou daring sleeper! wake!
Thy bones to ache thou'rt dooming.
“What's that?” “The grinding of the brake.”
“And yon?” “The Suburb looming.”
Ah! home, sweet home! How gladly we
Shall stretch and rest to-morrow;
And dream of dreaming by the sea,
In nooks that know not sorrow.
Thy bones to ache thou'rt dooming.
“What's that?” “The grinding of the brake.”
“And yon?” “The Suburb looming.”
Ah! home, sweet home! How gladly we
Shall stretch and rest to-morrow;
And dream of dreaming by the sea,
In nooks that know not sorrow.
| Poems and Songs | |