The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd Centenary Edition. With a Memoir of the Author, by the Rev. Thomas Thomson ... Poems and Life. With Many Illustrative Engravings [by James Hogg] |
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| POETICAL TALES AND BALLADS. |
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
287
POETICAL TALES AND BALLADS.
Connel of Dee.
Connel went out by a blink of the moon
To his light little bower in the deane;
He thought they had gi'en him his supper owre soon,
And that still it was lang until e'en.
Oh! the air was so sweet, and the sky so serene,
And so high his soft languishment grew—
That visions of happiness danc'd o'er his mind;
He long'd to leave parent and sisters behind,
For he thought that his Maker to him was unkind:
For that high were his merits he knew.
To his light little bower in the deane;
He thought they had gi'en him his supper owre soon,
And that still it was lang until e'en.
Oh! the air was so sweet, and the sky so serene,
And so high his soft languishment grew—
That visions of happiness danc'd o'er his mind;
He long'd to leave parent and sisters behind,
For he thought that his Maker to him was unkind:
For that high were his merits he knew.
Sooth, Connel was halesome, and stalwart to see,
The bloom of fayre yudith he wore;
But the lirk of displeasure hang over his bree,
Nae glisk of contentment it bore;
He lang'd for a wife with a mailen and store;
He grevit in idless to lie;
Afar from his cottage he wished to remove
To wassail and waik, and unchided to rove,
And beik in the cordial transports of love
All under a kindlier sky.
The bloom of fayre yudith he wore;
But the lirk of displeasure hang over his bree,
Nae glisk of contentment it bore;
He lang'd for a wife with a mailen and store;
He grevit in idless to lie;
Afar from his cottage he wished to remove
To wassail and waik, and unchided to rove,
And beik in the cordial transports of love
All under a kindlier sky.
Oh sweet was the fa' of that gloaming to view!
The day-lighte crap laigh on the doon,
And left its pale borders abeigh on the blue,
To mix wi' the beams of the moon.
The hill hang its skaddaw the greinwud aboon,
The houf of the bodyng Benshee;
Slow o'er him were sailing the cloudlets of June;
The beetle began his wild airel to tune,
And sang on the wynde with ane eirysome croon,
Away on the breeze of the Dee!
The day-lighte crap laigh on the doon,
And left its pale borders abeigh on the blue,
To mix wi' the beams of the moon.
The hill hang its skaddaw the greinwud aboon,
The houf of the bodyng Benshee;
Slow o'er him were sailing the cloudlets of June;
The beetle began his wild airel to tune,
And sang on the wynde with ane eirysome croon,
Away on the breeze of the Dee!
With haffat on lufe poor Connel lay lorn,
He languishit for muckle and mair;
His bed of greine hether he eynit to scorn,
The bygane he doughtna weel bear.
Attour him the greine leife was fannyng the air,
In noiseless and flychtering play;
The hush of the water fell saft on his ear,
And he fand as gin sleep, wi' her gairies, war near,
Wi' her freaks and her ferlies and phantoms of fear,
But he eidently wysit her away.
He languishit for muckle and mair;
His bed of greine hether he eynit to scorn,
The bygane he doughtna weel bear.
Attour him the greine leife was fannyng the air,
In noiseless and flychtering play;
The hush of the water fell saft on his ear,
And he fand as gin sleep, wi' her gairies, war near,
Wi' her freaks and her ferlies and phantoms of fear,
But he eidently wysit her away.
Short time had he sped in that sellible strife
Ere he saw a young maiden stand by,
Who seem'd in the bloom and the bell of her life;
He wist not that ane was sae nigh!
But sae sweet was her look, and sae saft was her eye,
That his heart was all quaking with love;
And then there was kything a dimple sae sly,
At play on her cheek, of the moss-rose's dye,
That kindled the heart of poor Connel on high
With ravishment deadlye to prove.
Ere he saw a young maiden stand by,
Who seem'd in the bloom and the bell of her life;
He wist not that ane was sae nigh!
But sae sweet was her look, and sae saft was her eye,
That his heart was all quaking with love;
And then there was kything a dimple sae sly,
At play on her cheek, of the moss-rose's dye,
That kindled the heart of poor Connel on high
With ravishment deadlye to prove.
He deemed her a beautiful spirit of night,
And eiry was he to assay;
But he found she was mortal with thrilling delight,
For her breath was like zephyr of May;
Her eye was the dew-bell, the beam of the day,
And her arm it was softer than silk;
Her hand was so warm, and her lip was so red,
Her slim taper waiste so enchantingly made,
And some beauties moreover that cannot be said—
Of bosom far whiter than milk!
And eiry was he to assay;
But he found she was mortal with thrilling delight,
For her breath was like zephyr of May;
Her eye was the dew-bell, the beam of the day,
And her arm it was softer than silk;
Her hand was so warm, and her lip was so red,
Her slim taper waiste so enchantingly made,
And some beauties moreover that cannot be said—
Of bosom far whiter than milk!
Poor Connel was reaved of all power and of speech,
His frame grew all powerless and weak;
He neither could stir, nor caress her, nor fleech;
He trembled, but word couldna speak.
But Oh! when his lips touched her soft rosy cheek,
The channels of feeling ran dry;
He found that like emmets his life-blood it crept,
His liths turned as limber as dud that is steeped;
He streekit his limbs, and he moaned and he wept,
And for love he was just gaun to die.
His frame grew all powerless and weak;
He neither could stir, nor caress her, nor fleech;
He trembled, but word couldna speak.
But Oh! when his lips touched her soft rosy cheek,
The channels of feeling ran dry;
He found that like emmets his life-blood it crept,
His liths turned as limber as dud that is steeped;
He streekit his limbs, and he moaned and he wept,
And for love he was just gaun to die.
The damsel beheld, and she raised him so kind,
And she said, “My dear beautiful swain,
Take heart till I tell you the hark of my mind;
I'm weary of living my lane;
I have castles, and lands, and flocks of my ain,
But want ane my gillour to share;
A man that is hale as the hart on the hill,
As stark, and as kind, is the man to my will,
Who has slept on the heather and drank of the rill,
And, like you, gentle, amorous, and fair.
And she said, “My dear beautiful swain,
Take heart till I tell you the hark of my mind;
I'm weary of living my lane;
I have castles, and lands, and flocks of my ain,
But want ane my gillour to share;
A man that is hale as the hart on the hill,
As stark, and as kind, is the man to my will,
Who has slept on the heather and drank of the rill,
And, like you, gentle, amorous, and fair.
“I often hae heard, that like you there was nane,
And I ance got a glisk of thy face;
Now far have I ridden, and far have I gane,
In hopes thou wilt nurice the grace
To make me thy ain—Oh, come to my embrace,
For I love thee as dear as my life!
I'll make thee a laird of the boonmost degree,
My castles and lands I'll give freely to thee;
Though rich and abundant, thine own they shall be,
If thou wilt but make me thy wife.”
And I ance got a glisk of thy face;
Now far have I ridden, and far have I gane,
In hopes thou wilt nurice the grace
To make me thy ain—Oh, come to my embrace,
For I love thee as dear as my life!
I'll make thee a laird of the boonmost degree,
My castles and lands I'll give freely to thee;
Though rich and abundant, thine own they shall be,
If thou wilt but make me thy wife.”
Oh! never was man sae delighted and fain!
He bowed a consent to her will;
Kind Providence thankit again and again,
And 'gan to display his rude skill
In leifu' endearment; and thought it nae ill
To kiss the sweet lips of the fair,
And press her to lie, in that gloamin' sae still,
Adown by his side in the howe of the hill,
For the water flowed sweet, and the sound of the rill
Would soothe every sorrow and care.
He bowed a consent to her will;
288
And 'gan to display his rude skill
In leifu' endearment; and thought it nae ill
To kiss the sweet lips of the fair,
And press her to lie, in that gloamin' sae still,
Adown by his side in the howe of the hill,
For the water flowed sweet, and the sound of the rill
Would soothe every sorrow and care.
No—she wadna lie by the side of a man
Till the rites of the marriage were bye.
Away they hae sped; but soon Connel began,
For his heart it was worn to a sigh,
To fondle, and simper, and look in her eye,
Oh! direful to bear was his wound!
When on her fair neck fell his fingers sae dun—
It strak through his heart like the shot of a gun!
He felt as the sand of existence were run:
He trembled, and fell to the ground.
Till the rites of the marriage were bye.
Away they hae sped; but soon Connel began,
For his heart it was worn to a sigh,
To fondle, and simper, and look in her eye,
Oh! direful to bear was his wound!
When on her fair neck fell his fingers sae dun—
It strak through his heart like the shot of a gun!
He felt as the sand of existence were run:
He trembled, and fell to the ground.
O Connel, dear Connel, be patient a while!
These wounds of thy bosom will heal,
And thou with thy love mayest walk many a mile
Nor transport nor passion once feel.
Thy spirits once broke on electeric wheel,
Cool reason her empire shall gain;
And haply, repentance in dowy array,
And laithly disgust may arise in thy way,
Encumbering the night, and o'ercasting the day,
And turn all those pleasures to pain.
These wounds of thy bosom will heal,
And thou with thy love mayest walk many a mile
Nor transport nor passion once feel.
Thy spirits once broke on electeric wheel,
Cool reason her empire shall gain;
And haply, repentance in dowy array,
And laithly disgust may arise in thy way,
Encumbering the night, and o'ercasting the day,
And turn all those pleasures to pain.
The mansion is gained, and the bridal is past,
And the transports of wedlock prevail;
The lot of poor Connel the shepherd is cast
'Mid pleasures that never can fail.
The balms of Arabia sweeten the gale,
The tables for ever are spread
With damask, and viands and heart-cheering wine
Their splendour and elegance fully combine;
His lawns they are ample, his bride is divine,
And of goud-fringed silk is his bed.
And the transports of wedlock prevail;
The lot of poor Connel the shepherd is cast
'Mid pleasures that never can fail.
The balms of Arabia sweeten the gale,
The tables for ever are spread
With damask, and viands and heart-cheering wine
Their splendour and elegance fully combine;
His lawns they are ample, his bride is divine,
And of goud-fringed silk is his bed.
The transports of love gave rapture, and flew;
The banquet soon sated and cloyed;
Nae mair they delighted, nae langer were new,
They could not be ever enjoyed!
He felt in his bosom a fathomless void,
A yearning again to be free;
Than all that voluptuous sickening store,
The wine that he drank and the robes that he wore,
His diet of milk had delighted him more
Afar on the hills of the Dee.
The banquet soon sated and cloyed;
Nae mair they delighted, nae langer were new,
They could not be ever enjoyed!
He felt in his bosom a fathomless void,
A yearning again to be free;
Than all that voluptuous sickening store,
The wine that he drank and the robes that he wore,
His diet of milk had delighted him more
Afar on the hills of the Dee.
Oh, oft had he sat by the clear springing well,
And dined from his wallet full fain!
Then sweet was the scent of the blue heather-bell,
And free was his bosom of pain.
The laverock was lost in the lift, but her strain
Came trilling so sweetly from far,
To rapture the hour he would wholly resign,
He would listen, and watch, till he saw her decline,
And the sun's yellow beam on her dappled breast shine,
Like some little musical star.
And dined from his wallet full fain!
Then sweet was the scent of the blue heather-bell,
And free was his bosom of pain.
The laverock was lost in the lift, but her strain
Came trilling so sweetly from far,
To rapture the hour he would wholly resign,
He would listen, and watch, till he saw her decline,
And the sun's yellow beam on her dappled breast shine,
Like some little musical star.
And then he wad lay his blue bonnet aside,
And turn his rapt eyes to the heaven,
And bless his kind Maker who all did provide;
And beg that he might be forgiven,
For his sins were like crimson—all bent and uneven
The path he had wilesomely trod;
Then who the delight of his bosom could tell!
Oh, sweet was that meal by his pure mountain well;
And sweet was its water he drank from the shell,
And peaceful his moorland abode.
And turn his rapt eyes to the heaven,
And bless his kind Maker who all did provide;
And beg that he might be forgiven,
For his sins were like crimson—all bent and uneven
The path he had wilesomely trod;
Then who the delight of his bosom could tell!
Oh, sweet was that meal by his pure mountain well;
And sweet was its water he drank from the shell,
And peaceful his moorland abode.
But now was he deaved and babbled outright,
By gossips in endless array,
Who thought not of sin nor of Satan aright,
Nor the dangers that mankind belay;
Who joked about heaven, and scorned to pray,
And gloried in that was a shame.
Oh, Connel was troubled at things that befell!
So different from scenes he had once loved so well,
He deemed he was placed on the confines of hell,
And fand like the sa'ur of its flame!
By gossips in endless array,
Who thought not of sin nor of Satan aright,
Nor the dangers that mankind belay;
Who joked about heaven, and scorned to pray,
And gloried in that was a shame.
Oh, Connel was troubled at things that befell!
So different from scenes he had once loved so well,
He deemed he was placed on the confines of hell,
And fand like the sa'ur of its flame!
Of bonds and of law-suits he still was in doubt,
And old debts coming due every day;
And a thousand odd things he ken'd naething about
Kept him in continued dismay.
At board he was awkward, nor wist what to say,
Nor what his new honours became;
His guests they wad mimic and laugh in their sleeve;
He blushed, and he faltered, and scarce dought believe
That men were so base as to smile and deceive;
Or eynied of him to make game!
And old debts coming due every day;
And a thousand odd things he ken'd naething about
Kept him in continued dismay.
At board he was awkward, nor wist what to say,
Nor what his new honours became;
His guests they wad mimic and laugh in their sleeve;
He blushed, and he faltered, and scarce dought believe
That men were so base as to smile and deceive;
Or eynied of him to make game!
Still franker and freer his gossippers grew,
And preyed upon him and his dame;
Their jests and their language to Connel were new,
It was slander, and cursing, and shame.
He groaned in his heart, and he thought them to blame
For revel and rout without end;
He saw himself destined to pamper and feed
A race whom he hated, a profligate breed,
The scum of existence to vengeance decreed,
Who laughed at their God and their friend.
And preyed upon him and his dame;
Their jests and their language to Connel were new,
It was slander, and cursing, and shame.
He groaned in his heart, and he thought them to blame
For revel and rout without end;
He saw himself destined to pamper and feed
A race whom he hated, a profligate breed,
The scum of existence to vengeance decreed,
Who laughed at their God and their friend.
He saw that in wickedness all did delight,
And he ken'dna what length it might bear;
They drew him to evil by day and by night,
To scenes that he trembled to share.
His heart it grew sick, and his head it grew fair,
And he thought what he dared not to tell:
He thought of the far distant hills of the Dee;
Of his cake, and his cheese, and his lair on the lea
Of the laverock that hung on the heaven's e'e-bree
His prayer, and his clear mountain well.
And he ken'dna what length it might bear;
They drew him to evil by day and by night,
To scenes that he trembled to share.
His heart it grew sick, and his head it grew fair,
And he thought what he dared not to tell:
He thought of the far distant hills of the Dee;
Of his cake, and his cheese, and his lair on the lea
Of the laverock that hung on the heaven's e'e-bree
His prayer, and his clear mountain well.
His breast he durst sparingly trust wi' the thought
Of the virtuous days that were fled;
Yet still his kind lady he loved as he ought,
Or soon from that scene he had fled.
It now was but rarely she honoured his bed—
'Twas modesty, heightening her charms!
A delicate feeling that man cannot ween:
O Heaven! each night from his side she had been—
He found it at length—nay, he saw't wi' his een,
She slept in a paramour's arms!!!
Of the virtuous days that were fled;
Yet still his kind lady he loved as he ought,
Or soon from that scene he had fled.
It now was but rarely she honoured his bed—
'Twas modesty, heightening her charms!
289
O Heaven! each night from his side she had been—
He found it at length—nay, he saw't wi' his een,
She slept in a paramour's arms!!!
It was the last pang that the spirit could bear,
Destruction and death was the meed:
For forfeited vows there was nought too severe;
Even conscience applauded the deed.
His mind was decided, her doom was decreed;
He led her to chamber apart,
To give her to know of his wrongs he had sense,
To chide and upbraid her in language intense,
And kill her, at least, for her heinous offence—
A crime at which demons would start!
Destruction and death was the meed:
For forfeited vows there was nought too severe;
Even conscience applauded the deed.
His mind was decided, her doom was decreed;
He led her to chamber apart,
To give her to know of his wrongs he had sense,
To chide and upbraid her in language intense,
And kill her, at least, for her heinous offence—
A crime at which demons would start!
With grievous reproaches, in agonized zeal,
Stern Connel his lecture began;
He mentioned her crime!—She turned on her heel
And her mirth to extremity ran.
“Why, that was the fashion!—no sensible man
Could e'er of such freedom complain.
What was it to him? there were maidens enow
Of the loveliest forms, and the loveliest hue,
Who blithely would be his companions, he knew,
If he wearied of lying his lane.”
Stern Connel his lecture began;
He mentioned her crime!—She turned on her heel
And her mirth to extremity ran.
“Why, that was the fashion!—no sensible man
Could e'er of such freedom complain.
What was it to him? there were maidens enow
Of the loveliest forms, and the loveliest hue,
Who blithely would be his companions, he knew,
If he wearied of lying his lane.”
How Connel was shocked!—but his fury still rose,
He shivered from toe to the crown;
His hair stood like heath on the mountain that grows,
And each hair had a life of its own.
“O thou most”—But whereto his passion had flown
No man to this day can declare,
For his dame, with a frown, laid her hand on his mouth,
That hand once as sweet as the breeze of the south;
That hand that gave pleasures and honours and routh;
And she said, with a dignified air:—
He shivered from toe to the crown;
His hair stood like heath on the mountain that grows,
And each hair had a life of its own.
“O thou most”—But whereto his passion had flown
No man to this day can declare,
For his dame, with a frown, laid her hand on his mouth,
That hand once as sweet as the breeze of the south;
That hand that gave pleasures and honours and routh;
And she said, with a dignified air:—
“Peace, booby! if life thou regardest, beware;
I have had some fair husbands ere now;
They wooed, and they flattered, they sighed and they sware,
At length they grew irksome like you.
Come hither one moment, a sight I will show
That will teach thee some breeding and grace.”
She opened a door, and there Connel beheld
A sight that to trembling his spirit impelled;
A man standing chained, who nor 'plained, nor rebelled,
And that man had a sorrowful face.
I have had some fair husbands ere now;
They wooed, and they flattered, they sighed and they sware,
At length they grew irksome like you.
Come hither one moment, a sight I will show
That will teach thee some breeding and grace.”
She opened a door, and there Connel beheld
A sight that to trembling his spirit impelled;
A man standing chained, who nor 'plained, nor rebelled,
And that man had a sorrowful face.
Down creaked a trap-door, on which he was placed,
Right softly and slowly it fell;
And the man seemed in terror, and strangely amazed,
But why, Connel could not then tell.
He sunk and he sunk as the vice did impel;
At length, as far downward he drew,
Good Lord! In a trice, with the pull of a string,
A pair of dread shears, like the thunderbolt's wing,
Came snap on his neck, with a terrible spring,
And severed it neatly in two.
Right softly and slowly it fell;
And the man seemed in terror, and strangely amazed,
But why, Connel could not then tell.
He sunk and he sunk as the vice did impel;
At length, as far downward he drew,
Good Lord! In a trice, with the pull of a string,
A pair of dread shears, like the thunderbolt's wing,
Came snap on his neck, with a terrible spring,
And severed it neatly in two.
Adown fell the body—the head lay in sight,
The lips in a moment grew wan;
The temple just quivered, the eye it grew white,
And upward the purple threads span.
The dark crooked streamlets along the boards ran,
Thin pipings of reek could be seen;
Poor Connel was blinded, his lugs how they sung!
He looked once again, and he saw like the tongue,
That motionless out 'twixt the livid lips hung,
Then mirkness set over his e'en.
The lips in a moment grew wan;
The temple just quivered, the eye it grew white,
And upward the purple threads span.
The dark crooked streamlets along the boards ran,
Thin pipings of reek could be seen;
Poor Connel was blinded, his lugs how they sung!
He looked once again, and he saw like the tongue,
That motionless out 'twixt the livid lips hung,
Then mirkness set over his e'en.
He turned and he dashed his fair lady aside;
And off like the lightning he broke,
By staircase and gallery, with horrified stride;
He turned not, he staid not, nor spoke;
The iron-spiked court-gate he could not unlock,
His haste was beyond that of man;
He stopped not to rap, and he staid not to call,
With ram-race he cleared at a bensil the wall,
And headlong beyond got a grievous fall,
But he rose, and he ran, and he ran!
And off like the lightning he broke,
By staircase and gallery, with horrified stride;
He turned not, he staid not, nor spoke;
The iron-spiked court-gate he could not unlock,
His haste was beyond that of man;
He stopped not to rap, and he staid not to call,
With ram-race he cleared at a bensil the wall,
And headlong beyond got a grievous fall,
But he rose, and he ran, and he ran!
As stag of the forest, when fraudfully coiled,
And mured up in barn for a prey,
Sees his dappled comrades dishonoured and soiled
In their blood, on some festival day,
Bursts all intervention, and hies him away,
Like the wind over holt, over lea;
So Connel pressed on, all encumbrance he threw,
Over height, over hollow, he lessened to view:
It may not be said that he ran, for he flew,
Straight on for the hills of the Dee.
And mured up in barn for a prey,
Sees his dappled comrades dishonoured and soiled
In their blood, on some festival day,
Bursts all intervention, and hies him away,
Like the wind over holt, over lea;
So Connel pressed on, all encumbrance he threw,
Over height, over hollow, he lessened to view:
It may not be said that he ran, for he flew,
Straight on for the hills of the Dee.
The contrair of all other runners in life,
His swiftness increased as he flew,
But be it remembered, he ran from a wife,
And a trap-door that sunk on a screw.
His prowess he felt and decidedly knew,
So much did his swiftness excel,
That he skimmed the wild paths like a thing of the mind,
And the stour from each footstep was seen on the wind,
Distinct by itself for a furlong behind,
Before that it mingled or fell.
His swiftness increased as he flew,
But be it remembered, he ran from a wife,
And a trap-door that sunk on a screw.
His prowess he felt and decidedly knew,
So much did his swiftness excel,
That he skimmed the wild paths like a thing of the mind,
And the stour from each footstep was seen on the wind,
Distinct by itself for a furlong behind,
Before that it mingled or fell.
He came to a hill, the ascent it was steep,
And much did he fear for his breath;
He halted, he ventured behind him to peep,—
The sight was a vision of death!
His wife and her paramours came on the path,
Well mounted, with devilish speed;
O Connel, poor Connel, thy hope is a wreck!
Sir, run for thy life, without stumble or check,
It is thy only stake, the last chance for thy neck,—
Strain Connel, or death is thy meed!
And much did he fear for his breath;
He halted, he ventured behind him to peep,—
The sight was a vision of death!
His wife and her paramours came on the path,
Well mounted, with devilish speed;
O Connel, poor Connel, thy hope is a wreck!
Sir, run for thy life, without stumble or check,
It is thy only stake, the last chance for thy neck,—
Strain Connel, or death is thy meed!
Oh wend to the right, to the woodland betake;
Gain that, and yet safe thou may'st be;
How fast they are gaining! Oh stretch to the brake!
Poor Connel, 'tis over with thee!
In the breath of the horses his yellow locks flee,
The voice of his wife's in the van;
Even that was not needful to heighten his fears,
He sprang o'er the bushes, he dash'd thro' the briers,
For he thought of the trap-door and damnable shears,
And he cried to his God, and he ran.
Gain that, and yet safe thou may'st be;
How fast they are gaining! Oh stretch to the brake!
Poor Connel, 'tis over with thee!
In the breath of the horses his yellow locks flee,
The voice of his wife's in the van;
290
He sprang o'er the bushes, he dash'd thro' the briers,
For he thought of the trap-door and damnable shears,
And he cried to his God, and he ran.
Through gallwood and bramble he floundered amain,
No bar his advancement could stay;
Though heels-over-head whirled again and again,
Still faster he gained on his way.
This moment on swinging bough powerless he lay,
The next he was flying along
So lightly, he scarce made the green leaf to quake;
Impetuous he splashed through the bog and the lake,
He rainbowed the hawthorn, he needled the brake,
With power supernaturally strong.
No bar his advancement could stay;
Though heels-over-head whirled again and again,
Still faster he gained on his way.
This moment on swinging bough powerless he lay,
The next he was flying along
So lightly, he scarce made the green leaf to quake;
Impetuous he splashed through the bog and the lake,
He rainbowed the hawthorn, he needled the brake,
With power supernaturally strong.
The riders are foiled, and far lagging behind,
Poor Connel has leisure to pray;
He hears their dread voices around on the wind,
Still farther and farther away—
“O Thou who sit'st thron'd o'er the fields of the day,
Have pity this once upon me!
Deliver from those that are hunting my life,
From traps of the wicked that round me are rife,
And oh, above all, from the rage of a wife,
And guide to the hills of the Dee!
Poor Connel has leisure to pray;
He hears their dread voices around on the wind,
Still farther and farther away—
“O Thou who sit'st thron'd o'er the fields of the day,
Have pity this once upon me!
Deliver from those that are hunting my life,
From traps of the wicked that round me are rife,
And oh, above all, from the rage of a wife,
And guide to the hills of the Dee!
“And if ever I grumble at Providence more,
Or scorn my own mountains of heath;
If ever I yearn for that sin-breeding ore,
Or shape to complaining a breath,
Then may I be nipt with the scissors of death”—
No farther could Connel proceed:
He thought of the snap that he saw in the nook;
Of the tongue that came out, and the temple that shook,
Of the blood and the reek, and the deadening look:
He lifted his bonnet and fled.
Or scorn my own mountains of heath;
If ever I yearn for that sin-breeding ore,
Or shape to complaining a breath,
Then may I be nipt with the scissors of death”—
No farther could Connel proceed:
He thought of the snap that he saw in the nook;
Of the tongue that came out, and the temple that shook,
Of the blood and the reek, and the deadening look:
He lifted his bonnet and fled.
He wandered and wandered thro' woodlands of gloom,
And sorely he sobbed and he wept;
At cherk of the pyat, or bee's passing boom,
He started, he listened, he leaped.
With eye and with ear a strict guardship he kept;
No scene could his sorrows beguile:
At length he stood lone by the side of the Dee;
It was placid and deep, and as broad as a sea;
Oh, could he get over, how safe he might be,
And gain his own mountains the while!
And sorely he sobbed and he wept;
At cherk of the pyat, or bee's passing boom,
He started, he listened, he leaped.
With eye and with ear a strict guardship he kept;
No scene could his sorrows beguile:
At length he stood lone by the side of the Dee;
It was placid and deep, and as broad as a sea;
Oh, could he get over, how safe he might be,
And gain his own mountains the while!
'Twas dangerous to turn, but proceeding was worse,
For the country grew open and bare,
No forest appeared, neither broomwood nor gorse,
Nor furze that would shelter a hare.
Ah! could he get over how safe he might fare;
At length he resolved to try;
At worst 'twas but drowning, and what was a life
Compared to confinement in sin and in strife,
Beside a trap-door and a scandalous wife?
'Twas nothing—he'd swim, or he'd die.
For the country grew open and bare,
No forest appeared, neither broomwood nor gorse,
Nor furze that would shelter a hare.
Ah! could he get over how safe he might fare;
At length he resolved to try;
At worst 'twas but drowning, and what was a life
Compared to confinement in sin and in strife,
Beside a trap-door and a scandalous wife?
'Twas nothing—he'd swim, or he'd die.
Ah! he could not swim, and was loath to resign
This life for a world unknown;
For he had been sinning, and misery condign
Would sure be his portion alone.
How sweetly the sun on the green mountain shone;
And the flocks they were resting in peace,
Or bleating along on each parallel path:
The lambs they were skipping on fringe of the heath—
How different might kythe the lone valleys of death,
And cheerfulness evermore cease?
This life for a world unknown;
For he had been sinning, and misery condign
Would sure be his portion alone.
How sweetly the sun on the green mountain shone;
And the flocks they were resting in peace,
Or bleating along on each parallel path:
The lambs they were skipping on fringe of the heath—
How different might kythe the lone valleys of death,
And cheerfulness evermore cease?
All wistful he stood on the brink of the pool,
And dropt on its surface the tear;
He started at something that boded him dool,
And his mouth fell wide open with fear.
The trample of gallopers fell on his ear;
One look was too much for his eye;
For there was his wife, and her paramours twain,
With whip and with spur coming over the plain;
Bent forward, revengeful, they galloped amain,
They hasten, they quicken, they fly!
And dropt on its surface the tear;
He started at something that boded him dool,
And his mouth fell wide open with fear.
The trample of gallopers fell on his ear;
One look was too much for his eye;
For there was his wife, and her paramours twain,
With whip and with spur coming over the plain;
Bent forward, revengeful, they galloped amain,
They hasten, they quicken, they fly!
Short time was there now to deliberate, I ween,
And shortly did Connel decree;
He shut up his mouth, and he closed his een,
And he pointed his arms like a V,
And like a scared otter, he dived in the Dee,
His heels pointed up to the sky;
Like bolt from the firmament downward he bears;
The still liquid element startled uprears,
It bubbled, and bullered, and roared in his ears,
Like thunder that bellows on high.
And shortly did Connel decree;
He shut up his mouth, and he closed his een,
And he pointed his arms like a V,
And like a scared otter, he dived in the Dee,
His heels pointed up to the sky;
Like bolt from the firmament downward he bears;
The still liquid element startled uprears,
It bubbled, and bullered, and roared in his ears,
Like thunder that bellows on high.
He soon found the symptoms of drowning begin,
And painful the feeling be sure,
For his breath it gaed out, and the water gaed in.
With drumble and mudwart impure;
It was most unpleasant, and hard to endure,
And he struggled its inroads to wear;
But it rushed by his mouth, and it rushed by his nose,
His joints grew benumbed, all his fingers and toes,
And his een turned they neither would open nor close,
And he found his departure was near.
And painful the feeling be sure,
For his breath it gaed out, and the water gaed in.
With drumble and mudwart impure;
It was most unpleasant, and hard to endure,
And he struggled its inroads to wear;
But it rushed by his mouth, and it rushed by his nose,
His joints grew benumbed, all his fingers and toes,
And his een turned they neither would open nor close,
And he found his departure was near.
One time he came up, like a porpoise, above,
He breathed and he lifted his eye,
It was the last glance of the land of his love,
Of the world, and the beautiful sky:
How bright looked the sun from his window on high,
Through furs of the light golden grain!
Oh, Connel was sad, but he thought with a sigh,
That far above yon peaceful vales of the sky,
In bowers of the morning he shortly might lie,
Though very unlike it just then.
He breathed and he lifted his eye,
It was the last glance of the land of his love,
Of the world, and the beautiful sky:
How bright looked the sun from his window on high,
Through furs of the light golden grain!
Oh, Connel was sad, but he thought with a sigh,
That far above yon peaceful vales of the sky,
In bowers of the morning he shortly might lie,
Though very unlike it just then.
He sunk to the bottom, no more he arose,
The waters for ever his body inclose;
The horse-mussel clasped on his fingers and toes,
All passive he suffered the scathe.
But oh, there was one thing his heart could not brook.
Even in his last struggles his spirit it shook;
The eels, with their cursed equivocal look,
Redoubled the horrors of death.
Oh, aye since the time that he was but a bairn,
When catching his trouts in the Cluny or Gairn,
At sight of an eel he would shudder and darn!
It almost deprived him of breath.
The waters for ever his body inclose;
The horse-mussel clasped on his fingers and toes,
All passive he suffered the scathe.
But oh, there was one thing his heart could not brook.
Even in his last struggles his spirit it shook;
The eels, with their cursed equivocal look,
Redoubled the horrors of death.
291
When catching his trouts in the Cluny or Gairn,
At sight of an eel he would shudder and darn!
It almost deprived him of breath.
He died, but he found that he never would be
So dead to all feeling and smart,
No, not though his flesh were consumed in the Dee,
But that eels would some horror impart.
With all other fishes he yielded to mart,
Resistance became not the dead;
The minnow, with gushet sae gowden and braw,
The siller-ribbed perch, and the indolent craw,
And the ravenous ged, with his teeth like a saw,
Came all on poor Connel to feed.
So dead to all feeling and smart,
No, not though his flesh were consumed in the Dee,
But that eels would some horror impart.
With all other fishes he yielded to mart,
Resistance became not the dead;
The minnow, with gushet sae gowden and braw,
The siller-ribbed perch, and the indolent craw,
And the ravenous ged, with his teeth like a saw,
Came all on poor Connel to feed.
They rave and they rugged, he cared not a speal,
Though they preyed on his vitals alone;
But, Lord! when he felt the cold nose of an eel,
A quaking seized every bone;
Their slid slimy forms lay his bosom upon,
His mouth that was ope, they came near;
They guddled his loins, and they bored thro' his side,
They warped all his bowels about on the tide.
[OMITTED]
[OMITTED]
Though they preyed on his vitals alone;
But, Lord! when he felt the cold nose of an eel,
A quaking seized every bone;
Their slid slimy forms lay his bosom upon,
His mouth that was ope, they came near;
They guddled his loins, and they bored thro' his side,
They warped all his bowels about on the tide.
[OMITTED]
[OMITTED]
Young Connel was missed, and his mother was sad,
But his sisters consoled her mind;
And said, he was wooing some favourite maid,
For Connel was amorous and kind.
Ah! little weened they that their Connel reclined
On a couch that was loathful to see!
'Twas mud—and the water-bells o'er him did heave;
The lampreys passed through him without law or leave,
And windowed his frame like a riddle or sieve,
Afar in the deeps of the Dee!
But his sisters consoled her mind;
And said, he was wooing some favourite maid,
For Connel was amorous and kind.
Ah! little weened they that their Connel reclined
On a couch that was loathful to see!
'Twas mud—and the water-bells o'er him did heave;
The lampreys passed through him without law or leave,
And windowed his frame like a riddle or sieve,
Afar in the deeps of the Dee!
It was but a night, and a midsummer night,
And next morning when rose the red sun,
His sisters in haste their fair bodies bedight,
And, ere the day's work was begun,
They sought for their Connel, for they were undone
If aught should their brother befall:
And first they went straight to the bower in the deane,
For there he of late had been frequently seen;
For nature he loved, and her evening scene
To him was the dearest of all.
And next morning when rose the red sun,
His sisters in haste their fair bodies bedight,
And, ere the day's work was begun,
They sought for their Connel, for they were undone
If aught should their brother befall:
And first they went straight to the bower in the deane,
For there he of late had been frequently seen;
For nature he loved, and her evening scene
To him was the dearest of all.
And when within view of his bourack they came,
It lay in the skaddow so still,
They lift up their voices and called his name,
And their forms they shone white on the hill;
When, trow you, that hallo so erlisch and shrill
Arose from those maids on the heath?
It was just as poor Connel most poignant did feel,
As reptiles he loved not of him made a meal,
Just when the misleered and unmannerly eel
Waked him from the slumbers of death.
It lay in the skaddow so still,
They lift up their voices and called his name,
And their forms they shone white on the hill;
When, trow you, that hallo so erlisch and shrill
Arose from those maids on the heath?
It was just as poor Connel most poignant did feel,
As reptiles he loved not of him made a meal,
Just when the misleered and unmannerly eel
Waked him from the slumbers of death.
He opened his eyes, and with wonder beheld
The sky and the hills once again;
But still he was haunted, for over the field
Two females came running amain.
No form but his spouse's remained on his brain;
His sisters to see him were glad;
But he started bolt upright in horror and fear,
He deemed that his wife and her minions were near,
He flung off his plaid, and he fled like a deer,
And they thought their poor brother was mad.
The sky and the hills once again;
But still he was haunted, for over the field
Two females came running amain.
No form but his spouse's remained on his brain;
His sisters to see him were glad;
But he started bolt upright in horror and fear,
He deemed that his wife and her minions were near,
He flung off his plaid, and he fled like a deer,
And they thought their poor brother was mad.
He 'scaped; but he halted on top of the rock;
And his wonder and pleasure still grew;
For his clothes were not wet, and his skin was unbroke,
But he scarce could believe it was true
That no eels were within; and too strictly he knew
He was married and buckled for life.
It could not be a dream; for he slept and awoke;
Was drunken, and sober; had sung, and had spoke;
For months and for days he had dragged in the yoke
With an unconscientious wife.
And his wonder and pleasure still grew;
For his clothes were not wet, and his skin was unbroke,
But he scarce could believe it was true
That no eels were within; and too strictly he knew
He was married and buckled for life.
It could not be a dream; for he slept and awoke;
Was drunken, and sober; had sung, and had spoke;
For months and for days he had dragged in the yoke
With an unconscientious wife.
However it was, he was sure he was there,
On his own native cliffs of the Dee:
Oh never before looked a morning so fair,
Or the sun-beam so sweet on the lea!
The song of the merl from her old hawthorn tree,
And the blackbird's melodious lay,
All sounded to him like an anthem of love;
A song that the spirit of nature did move;
A kind little hymn to their Maker above,
Who gave them the beauties of day.
On his own native cliffs of the Dee:
Oh never before looked a morning so fair,
Or the sun-beam so sweet on the lea!
The song of the merl from her old hawthorn tree,
And the blackbird's melodious lay,
All sounded to him like an anthem of love;
A song that the spirit of nature did move;
A kind little hymn to their Maker above,
Who gave them the beauties of day.
So deep the impression was stamped on his brain;
The image was never defaced;
Whene'er he saw riders that galloped amain,
He darned in some bush till they passed.
At kirk or at market sharp glances he cast,
Lest haply his wife might be there;
And once, when the liquor had kindled his e'e,
It never was known who or what he did see,
But he made a miraculous flight from Dundee,
The moment he entered the fair.
The image was never defaced;
Whene'er he saw riders that galloped amain,
He darned in some bush till they passed.
At kirk or at market sharp glances he cast,
Lest haply his wife might be there;
And once, when the liquor had kindled his e'e,
It never was known who or what he did see,
But he made a miraculous flight from Dundee,
The moment he entered the fair.
But never again was his bosom estranged
From his simple and primitive fare;
No longer his wishes or appetite ranged
With the gay and voluptuous to share.
He viewed every luxury of life as a snare:
He drank of his pure mountain spring;
He watched all the flowers of the wild as they sprung;
He blest his sweet laverock, like fairy that sung,
Aloft on the hem of the morning cloud hung,
Light fanning its down with her wing.
From his simple and primitive fare;
No longer his wishes or appetite ranged
With the gay and voluptuous to share.
He viewed every luxury of life as a snare:
He drank of his pure mountain spring;
He watched all the flowers of the wild as they sprung;
He blest his sweet laverock, like fairy that sung,
Aloft on the hem of the morning cloud hung,
Light fanning its down with her wing.
And oft on the shelve of the rock he reclined,
Light carolling humorsome rhyme,
Of his midsummer dream, of his feelings refined,
Or some song of the good olden time.
And even in age was his spirit in prime,
Still reverenced on Dee is his name;
His wishes were few, his enjoyments were rife,
He loved and he cherished each thing that had life,
With two small exceptions, an eel and a wife,
Whose commerce he dreaded the same.
Light carolling humorsome rhyme,
Of his midsummer dream, of his feelings refined,
Or some song of the good olden time.
And even in age was his spirit in prime,
Still reverenced on Dee is his name;
His wishes were few, his enjoyments were rife,
He loved and he cherished each thing that had life,
With two small exceptions, an eel and a wife,
Whose commerce he dreaded the same.
292
A Greek Pastoral.
Where proud Olympus rears his head
As white as the pall of the sheeted dead,
And mingling with the clouds that sail
On heaven's pure bosom, softly pale,
Till men believe that the hoary cloud
Is part of the mountain's mighty shroud,
While far below, in lovely guise,
The enchanted vale of Tempe lies,
There sat a virgin of peerless fame—
Thessalia's sweetest, comeliest dame,—
Gazing upon the silver stream,
As if in a rapt Elysian dream.
Far, far below her glowing eye,
Standing on an inverted sky,
Where clouds and mountains seem'd to swingle,
And Ossa with Olympus mingle,
She saw a youth of manly hue,
In robes of green and azure blue,
Of grape, of orange, and of rose,
And every dye the rainbow knows;
The nodding plumes his temples graced,
His sword was girded to his waist:
And much that maiden's wonder grew,
At a vision so comely and so new;
And, in her simplicity of heart,
She ween'd it all the enchanter's art.
As white as the pall of the sheeted dead,
And mingling with the clouds that sail
On heaven's pure bosom, softly pale,
Till men believe that the hoary cloud
Is part of the mountain's mighty shroud,
While far below, in lovely guise,
The enchanted vale of Tempe lies,
There sat a virgin of peerless fame—
Thessalia's sweetest, comeliest dame,—
Gazing upon the silver stream,
As if in a rapt Elysian dream.
Far, far below her glowing eye,
Standing on an inverted sky,
Where clouds and mountains seem'd to swingle,
And Ossa with Olympus mingle,
She saw a youth of manly hue,
In robes of green and azure blue,
Of grape, of orange, and of rose,
And every dye the rainbow knows;
The nodding plumes his temples graced,
His sword was girded to his waist:
And much that maiden's wonder grew,
At a vision so comely and so new;
And, in her simplicity of heart,
She ween'd it all the enchanter's art.
As straining her eyes adown the steep,
At this loved phantom of the deep,
She conjured him to ascend, and bless
With look of love his shepherdess.
And when she beheld him mount the tide,
With eagle eye and stately stride,
She spread her arms and her bavaroy,
And scream'd with terror and with joy.
At this loved phantom of the deep,
She conjured him to ascend, and bless
With look of love his shepherdess.
And when she beheld him mount the tide,
With eagle eye and stately stride,
She spread her arms and her bavaroy,
And scream'd with terror and with joy.
The comely shade, approaching still
To the surface of the silent rill,
Beckon'd the maid with courteous grace,
And look'd her fondly in the face,
Till even that look she could not bear,
It was so witching and so dear.
She turn'd her eyes back from the flood,
And there a Scottish warrior stood,
Of noble rank and noble mien,
And glittering in his tartans sheen.
To the surface of the silent rill,
Beckon'd the maid with courteous grace,
And look'd her fondly in the face,
Till even that look she could not bear,
It was so witching and so dear.
She turn'd her eyes back from the flood,
And there a Scottish warrior stood,
Of noble rank and noble mien,
And glittering in his tartans sheen.
She neither fainted, scream'd, nor fled,
But there she sat astonished;
Her eyes o'er his form and feature ran—
She turn'd to the shadow, then the man;
Till at last she fix'd a look serene
Upon the stranger's manly mien.
Her ruby lips fell wide apart;
High beat her young and guileless heart,
Which of itself reveal'd the tale,
By the quiverings of its snowy veil,—
A living statue feminine,
A model cast in mould divine;
There she reclined, enchanted so,
She moved not finger, eye, nor toe,
From fear one motion might dispel
The great enchanter's thrilling spell.
But there she sat astonished;
Her eyes o'er his form and feature ran—
She turn'd to the shadow, then the man;
Till at last she fix'd a look serene
Upon the stranger's manly mien.
Her ruby lips fell wide apart;
High beat her young and guileless heart,
Which of itself reveal'd the tale,
By the quiverings of its snowy veil,—
A living statue feminine,
A model cast in mould divine;
There she reclined, enchanted so,
She moved not finger, eye, nor toe,
From fear one motion might dispel
The great enchanter's thrilling spell.
“'Tis all enchantment! Such a grace
Ne'er ray'd a human virgin's face:
'Tis all enchantment—rock and river—
May the illusion last for ever!”
Exclaim'd the youth—“O maiden dear,
Are such enchantments frequent here?”
Ne'er ray'd a human virgin's face:
'Tis all enchantment—rock and river—
May the illusion last for ever!”
Exclaim'd the youth—“O maiden dear,
Are such enchantments frequent here?”
“Yes, very!” said this mould of love;
But hand or eye she did not move,
But whispering said,
As if afraid
Her breath would melt the comely shade;
“Yes, very! This enchanted stream
Has visions raised in maiden's dream,
Of lovers' joys, and bowers of bliss,
But never aught so sweet as this.
Oh, pass not like fleeting cloud away!
Last, dear illusion,—last for aye!
And tell me, if on earth there dwell
Men suiting woman's love so well.”
YOUTH.But hand or eye she did not move,
But whispering said,
As if afraid
Her breath would melt the comely shade;
“Yes, very! This enchanted stream
Has visions raised in maiden's dream,
Of lovers' joys, and bowers of bliss,
But never aught so sweet as this.
Oh, pass not like fleeting cloud away!
Last, dear illusion,—last for aye!
And tell me, if on earth there dwell
Men suiting woman's love so well.”
“I came from the isle of the evening sun,
Where the solans roost, and the wild deer run;
Where the giant oaks have a gnarl'd form,
And the hills are coped with the cloud and the storm;
Where the hoar-frost gleams on the valleys and brakes,
And a ceiling of crystal roofs the lakes:
And there are warriors in that land,
With helm on head and sword in hand;
And tens of thousands roving free,
All robed and fair as him you see.
I took the field to lead my own
Forward to glory and renown;
I learn'd to give the warrior word,
I learn'd to sway the warrior's sword,
Till a strange enchantment on me fell—
How I came here I cannot tell.
Where the solans roost, and the wild deer run;
Where the giant oaks have a gnarl'd form,
And the hills are coped with the cloud and the storm;
Where the hoar-frost gleams on the valleys and brakes,
And a ceiling of crystal roofs the lakes:
And there are warriors in that land,
With helm on head and sword in hand;
And tens of thousands roving free,
All robed and fair as him you see.
I took the field to lead my own
Forward to glory and renown;
I learn'd to give the warrior word,
I learn'd to sway the warrior's sword,
Till a strange enchantment on me fell—
How I came here I cannot tell.
“There came to the field an old gray man,
With a silver beard and a visage wan;
And out of the lists he beckon'd me,
And began with a tale of mystery,
Which soon, despite of all control,
Took captive my surrender'd soul.
With a powerful sway,
It roll'd away,
Till evening dropp'd her curtain gray,
And the bittern's cry
Was heard on high,
And the lamps of glory begemm'd the sky;
Yet still the amazing tale proceeded,
And still I follow'd, and still I heeded,—
For darkness or light,
The day or the night,
The last or the first,
Or hunger or thirst,
To me no motive could impart—
It was only the tale that charm'd my heart.
With a silver beard and a visage wan;
And out of the lists he beckon'd me,
And began with a tale of mystery,
Which soon, despite of all control,
Took captive my surrender'd soul.
With a powerful sway,
It roll'd away,
Till evening dropp'd her curtain gray,
And the bittern's cry
Was heard on high,
And the lamps of glory begemm'd the sky;
Yet still the amazing tale proceeded,
And still I follow'd, and still I heeded,—
For darkness or light,
The day or the night,
293
Or hunger or thirst,
To me no motive could impart—
It was only the tale that charm'd my heart.
“We posted on till the morning sun,
And still the tale was never done;
Faster and faster the old man went,
Faster and faster I ran, intent
That tale of mystery out to hear,
Till the ocean's roll-call met my ear;
For the forest was past, and the shore was won,
And still the tale was never done.
And still the tale was never done;
Faster and faster the old man went,
Faster and faster I ran, intent
That tale of mystery out to hear,
Till the ocean's roll-call met my ear;
For the forest was past, and the shore was won,
And still the tale was never done.
“He took to a boat, but said no word;
I follow'd him in of my own accord,
And spread the canvas to the wind,
For I had no power to stay behind:
We sail'd away, and we sail'd away,
I cannot tell how many a day;—
But the winsome moon did wax and wane,
And the stars dropp'd blood on the azure main,
And still my soul with burning zeal
Lived on the magic of that tale,
Till we came to this enchanted river,
When the old gray man was gone for ever.
He faded like vapour before the sun,
And in a moment the tale was done.
And here am I left,
Of all bereft,
Except this zone of heavenly weft,
With the flowers of Paradise inwove,
The soft and silken bands of love.
Art thou the angel of this glade—
A peri, or a mortal maid?”
I follow'd him in of my own accord,
And spread the canvas to the wind,
For I had no power to stay behind:
We sail'd away, and we sail'd away,
I cannot tell how many a day;—
But the winsome moon did wax and wane,
And the stars dropp'd blood on the azure main,
And still my soul with burning zeal
Lived on the magic of that tale,
Till we came to this enchanted river,
When the old gray man was gone for ever.
He faded like vapour before the sun,
And in a moment the tale was done.
And here am I left,
Of all bereft,
Except this zone of heavenly weft,
With the flowers of Paradise inwove,
The soft and silken bands of love.
Art thou the angel of this glade—
A peri, or a mortal maid?”
MAIDEN.
“It is all enchantment! Once on a time
I dwelt in a distant eastern clime—
Oh, many a thousand miles away,
Where our day is night, and our night is day;
Where beauty of woman is no bliss,
And the Tigris flows, a stream like this.
I was a poor and fatherless child,
And my dwelling was in the woodland wild,
Where the elves waylaid me out and in;
And my mother knew them by their din,
And charm'd them away from our little cot—
For her eyes could see them, but mine could not.
I dwelt in a distant eastern clime—
Oh, many a thousand miles away,
Where our day is night, and our night is day;
Where beauty of woman is no bliss,
And the Tigris flows, a stream like this.
I was a poor and fatherless child,
And my dwelling was in the woodland wild,
Where the elves waylaid me out and in;
And my mother knew them by their din,
And charm'd them away from our little cot—
For her eyes could see them, but mine could not.
“One summer night, which I never can rue,
I dream'd a dream that turn'd out true:
I thought I stray'd on enchanted ground,
Where all was beauty round and round;
The copse and the flowers were full in bloom,
And the breeze was laden with rich perfume.
There I saw two golden butterflies,
That shone like the sun in a thousand dyes;
And the eyes on their wings that glow'd amain,
Were like the eyes on the peacock's train.
I did my best
To steal on their rest,
As they hung on the cowslip's damask breast;
But my aim they knew,
And shier they grew,
And away from flower to flower they flew.
I ran—I bounded as on wings,
For my heart was set on the lovely things;
And I call'd, and conjured them to stay,
But they led me on, away, away!
Till they brought me to enchanted ground,
When a drowsiness my senses bound;
And when I sat me down to rest,
They came and they flutter'd round my breast;
And when I laid me down to sleep,
They lull'd me into a slumber deep;
And I heard them singing, my breast above,
A strain that seem'd a strain of love:—
It was sung in a shrill and soothing tone,
By many voices join'd in one.
I dream'd a dream that turn'd out true:
I thought I stray'd on enchanted ground,
Where all was beauty round and round;
The copse and the flowers were full in bloom,
And the breeze was laden with rich perfume.
There I saw two golden butterflies,
That shone like the sun in a thousand dyes;
And the eyes on their wings that glow'd amain,
Were like the eyes on the peacock's train.
I did my best
To steal on their rest,
As they hung on the cowslip's damask breast;
But my aim they knew,
And shier they grew,
And away from flower to flower they flew.
I ran—I bounded as on wings,
For my heart was set on the lovely things;
And I call'd, and conjured them to stay,
But they led me on, away, away!
Till they brought me to enchanted ground,
When a drowsiness my senses bound;
And when I sat me down to rest,
They came and they flutter'd round my breast;
And when I laid me down to sleep,
They lull'd me into a slumber deep;
And I heard them singing, my breast above,
A strain that seem'd a strain of love:—
It was sung in a shrill and soothing tone,
By many voices join'd in one.
Cradle Song of the Elves.
Hush thee, rest thee, harmless dove!
Child of pathos, and child of love,
Thy father is laid
In his cold deathbed,
Where waters encircle the lowly dead;
But his rest is sweet
In his winding sheet,
And his spirit lies at his Saviour's feet.
Then hush thee, rest thee, child of bliss!
Thou flower of the eastern wilderness!
Thy mother has waked in her cot of the wild,
And has wail'd for the loss of her only child;
But the prayer is said,
And the tear is shed,
And her trust in her God unaltered;
But oh! if she knew
Of thy guardians true,
And the scenes of bliss that await for you,
She would hymn her joys to the throne above—
Hush thee, rest thee, child of love!
Hush thee, rest thee, fatherless one!
Joy is before thee, and joy alone;
There is not a fay that haunts the wild,
That has power to hurt the orphan child:
For the angels of light,
In glory bedight,
Are hovering around by day and night—
A charge being given
To spirits of Heaven,
That the elves of malice afar be driven.
Then, hush thee, rest thee, lovely creature!
Till a change is wrought in thy mortal nature.
Child of pathos, and child of love,
Thy father is laid
In his cold deathbed,
Where waters encircle the lowly dead;
But his rest is sweet
In his winding sheet,
And his spirit lies at his Saviour's feet.
Then hush thee, rest thee, child of bliss!
Thou flower of the eastern wilderness!
Thy mother has waked in her cot of the wild,
And has wail'd for the loss of her only child;
But the prayer is said,
And the tear is shed,
And her trust in her God unaltered;
But oh! if she knew
Of thy guardians true,
And the scenes of bliss that await for you,
She would hymn her joys to the throne above—
Hush thee, rest thee, child of love!
Hush thee, rest thee, fatherless one!
Joy is before thee, and joy alone;
There is not a fay that haunts the wild,
That has power to hurt the orphan child:
For the angels of light,
In glory bedight,
Are hovering around by day and night—
A charge being given
To spirits of Heaven,
That the elves of malice afar be driven.
Then, hush thee, rest thee, lovely creature!
Till a change is wrought in thy mortal nature.
“When I awoke from this dreamless slumber,
There were beings around me without number:
They had human faces, of heaven beaming,
And wings upon their shoulders streaming;
Their eyes had a soft, unearthly flame,
And their lovely locks were all the same;
Their voices like those of children young,
And their language was not said, but sung;
I ween'd myself in the home above,
Among beings of happiness and love.
There were beings around me without number:
They had human faces, of heaven beaming,
And wings upon their shoulders streaming;
Their eyes had a soft, unearthly flame,
And their lovely locks were all the same;
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And their language was not said, but sung;
I ween'd myself in the home above,
Among beings of happiness and love.
“Then they laid me down so lightsome and boon,
In a veil that was like a beam of the moon,
Or a ray of the morning passing fair,
And wove in the loom of the gossamer;
And they bore me aloft, over tower and tree,
And over the land, and over the sea:
There were seven times seven on either side,
And their dazzling robes stream'd far and wide.
It was such a sight as man ne'er saw;
Which pencil of heaven alone could draw,
If dipp'd in the morning's glorious dye,
Or the gorgeous tints of the evening sky,
Or in the bright celestial river,
The fountain of light, that wells for ever.
In a veil that was like a beam of the moon,
Or a ray of the morning passing fair,
And wove in the loom of the gossamer;
And they bore me aloft, over tower and tree,
And over the land, and over the sea:
There were seven times seven on either side,
And their dazzling robes stream'd far and wide.
It was such a sight as man ne'er saw;
Which pencil of heaven alone could draw,
If dipp'd in the morning's glorious dye,
Or the gorgeous tints of the evening sky,
Or in the bright celestial river,
The fountain of light, that wells for ever.
“But whither they bore me, and what befell,
For the soul that's within me I dare not tell;
No language could make you to conceive it,
And if you did, you would not believe it:
But after a thousand visions past,
This is my resting place at last.
These flocks and fields they gave to me,
And they crown'd me the Queen of Thessaly.
And, since that time, I must confess
I've no experience had of less
Than perfectest, purest happiness;
And now I tremble lest love's soft spell
Should break the peace I love so well.”
YOUTH.For the soul that's within me I dare not tell;
No language could make you to conceive it,
And if you did, you would not believe it:
But after a thousand visions past,
This is my resting place at last.
These flocks and fields they gave to me,
And they crown'd me the Queen of Thessaly.
And, since that time, I must confess
I've no experience had of less
Than perfectest, purest happiness;
And now I tremble lest love's soft spell
Should break the peace I love so well.”
“No! love is the source of all that's sweet,
And only for happy beings meet—
The bond of creation since time began,
That brought the grace of heaven to man.
Let us bathe in its bliss without control,
And love with all the heart and soul;
For mine are with thee, and only thee,
Thou Queen of the maidens of Thessaly!”
MAIDEN.
“If thou couldst love as a virgin can,
And not as sordid selfish man;
If thy love for me
From taint were as free
As the evening breeze from the Salon sea,
Or the odours hale
Of the morning gale,
Breathed over the flowers of Tempe's vale;
And no endearment or embrace,
That would raise a blush on a virgin's face,
Or a saint's below, or a spirit's above—
Then I could love!—Oh, as I could love!”
YOUTH.
“Thou art too gentle, pure, and good,
For a lover of earthly flesh and blood;
But I will love thee and cherish thee so,
As a maiden was never loved here below;
With a heavenly aim,
And a holy flame,
And an endearment that wants a name.
I will lead thee where the breeze is lightest,
And where the fountain wells the brightest,
Where the nightingale laments the oftest,
And where the buds of flowers are softest:
There in the glade,
My lovely maid,
I will fold within this rainbow plaid.
I will press her to my faithful breast,
And watch her calm and peaceful rest;
And o'er each aspiration dear,
I will breathe a prayer to Mercy's ear;
And no embrace or kiss shall be,
That a saint in heaven will blush to see.”
Then the maiden sank on his manly breast,
As the tabernacle of her rest;
And as there, with closed eyes, she lay,
She almost sigh'd her soul away,
As she gave her hand to the stranger guest,
The comely youth of the stormy west.
As the tabernacle of her rest;
And as there, with closed eyes, she lay,
She almost sigh'd her soul away,
As she gave her hand to the stranger guest,
The comely youth of the stormy west.
Thus ends my yearly offering bland,
The Laureate's Lay of the Fairy Land.
The Laureate's Lay of the Fairy Land.
The Russiadde:
A FRAGMENT OF AN ANCIENT EPIC POEM, SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN WRITTEN BY GILBERT HUME, A SUTOR OF SELKIRK.
BOOK FIRST.
A song of sooth and sober sadness,
Of matchless might and motley madness,
Long as the reach of morning lingle,
And brisk as blaze of evening ingle,
Begin, my Borough Muse, and sing;—
And Janet's wheel her boldest string
Shall vibrate to thy swelling note,
Of days, and deeds so long forgot.
Of matchless might and motley madness,
Long as the reach of morning lingle,
And brisk as blaze of evening ingle,
Begin, my Borough Muse, and sing;—
And Janet's wheel her boldest string
Shall vibrate to thy swelling note,
Of days, and deeds so long forgot.
In Selkirk, famed in days of yore
For sutors, but for heroes more:
When wont to raise her hundreds duly,
Her sutors then were heroes truly;
And on red Flodden's dreadful day,
When other powerful clans gave way,
And left our king in fatal fray,
The burly sutors firmly stood,
And dyed the field with Southron blood:
Though flanked, and turned, and flanked again,
Still round them rose the walls of slain;
Though galled by darts, by horses trode on,
They bore their standard off from Flodden,
Which still, on that returning day,
We bear aloft in proud array.
For sutors, but for heroes more:
When wont to raise her hundreds duly,
Her sutors then were heroes truly;
And on red Flodden's dreadful day,
When other powerful clans gave way,
And left our king in fatal fray,
The burly sutors firmly stood,
And dyed the field with Southron blood:
Though flanked, and turned, and flanked again,
Still round them rose the walls of slain;
Though galled by darts, by horses trode on,
They bore their standard off from Flodden,
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We bear aloft in proud array.
My ancient town of hides and rosin!
I'll blow thy foes up by the dozen.
Selkirk! thou earned thy very name,
Rekindling Freedom's sacred flame.
When Europe's chiefs all prostrate lay,
Beneath a haughty Pontiff's sway,
Thou mock'd the mighty, blind alliance,
And Christendom set at defiance;
Dared on his flagrant bulls to trample,
Before king John set the example;
And ere his anathemas ceased,
Sold thy d---d kirk and hanged the priest.
I'll blow thy foes up by the dozen.
Selkirk! thou earned thy very name,
Rekindling Freedom's sacred flame.
When Europe's chiefs all prostrate lay,
Beneath a haughty Pontiff's sway,
Thou mock'd the mighty, blind alliance,
And Christendom set at defiance;
Dared on his flagrant bulls to trample,
Before king John set the example;
And ere his anathemas ceased,
Sold thy d---d kirk and hanged the priest.
Selkirk, for these exploits so famed,
And hundreds more I have not named,
Shall yet, I hope, in future days,
Raised by her sons' romantic lays,
Above all Scottish towns prevail,
As scene of this heroic tale.
And hundreds more I have not named,
Shall yet, I hope, in future days,
Raised by her sons' romantic lays,
Above all Scottish towns prevail,
As scene of this heroic tale.
Well then;—as all old tales began,
“In Selkirk once there lived a man;”
But such a man! Ah! shall we ever
Behold his like again? No, never!
His name was John; his trade, 'tis true,
Was boots and shoes to shape and sew:
My muse has so much cant about her—
In short, he was a Selkirk sutor.
“In Selkirk once there lived a man;”
But such a man! Ah! shall we ever
Behold his like again? No, never!
His name was John; his trade, 'tis true,
Was boots and shoes to shape and sew:
My muse has so much cant about her—
In short, he was a Selkirk sutor.
Genius of Virgil, here inspire me,
That men may read, though not admire me!
Of every method of description,
In verse, or prose, without restriction,
For saying most, and telling least,
Thine is the easiest and the best.
That men may read, though not admire me!
Of every method of description,
In verse, or prose, without restriction,
For saying most, and telling least,
Thine is the easiest and the best.
John was a man near six feet high,
Who had a dark and piercing eye;
His hair and beard were black and bushy;
His nose was high, his brows were brushy;
Large were his limbs, his shoulders broad,
Fitted to bear a mighty load.
Of manly make from crown to sole,
Though his work dress was coarse and droll,
Such was the man; view him with fears,
He'll turn even worse than he appears.
Who had a dark and piercing eye;
His hair and beard were black and bushy;
His nose was high, his brows were brushy;
Large were his limbs, his shoulders broad,
Fitted to bear a mighty load.
Of manly make from crown to sole,
Though his work dress was coarse and droll,
Such was the man; view him with fears,
He'll turn even worse than he appears.
Alas, how ill ourselves we know;
So much to mark in outward show!
From which 'tis hard the soul to scan—
'Tis that within which forms the man.
So much to mark in outward show!
From which 'tis hard the soul to scan—
'Tis that within which forms the man.
John had six sons of mettle keen,
As ever in Selkirk town were seen.
At every feat of strength, or art,
Requiring steady hand or heart;
At breaking brand with Border foe;
Or aiming shaft from hunter's bow,
To wound the erne or mountain roe;
Or piercing salmon in the stream,
Though darting like the lightning's gleam;
Whoever tried to prove their equal,
Were always baffled in the sequel.
Their bread in honesty they earned,
Their father's trade they all had learned;
Yet sooth to say, they never staid
From muster field or Border raid.
As ever in Selkirk town were seen.
At every feat of strength, or art,
Requiring steady hand or heart;
At breaking brand with Border foe;
Or aiming shaft from hunter's bow,
To wound the erne or mountain roe;
Or piercing salmon in the stream,
Though darting like the lightning's gleam;
Whoever tried to prove their equal,
Were always baffled in the sequel.
Their bread in honesty they earned,
Their father's trade they all had learned;
Yet sooth to say, they never staid
From muster field or Border raid.
In youth, John had a warrior been,
Had many a bloody battle seen;
Yet though his strength was unabated,
Of deeds of death his soul was sated;
And weary of its murderous noise,
He now delighted most in boys:
He'd play with them at bat or ball,
Or any game they chose to call.
No oath was minced while John was by;
No word spoke angrily or high;
But each strove to outdo the others
In generous acts, as all were brothers:
So high they valued his esteem,
What he approved they all would seem.
His stall was large and seated round,
There every boy a shelter found;
Even dogs that were ill-used at home,
To this abode of peace would come,
And fawn on all with much affection,
Aye sure to meet a kind reception.
Had many a bloody battle seen;
Yet though his strength was unabated,
Of deeds of death his soul was sated;
And weary of its murderous noise,
He now delighted most in boys:
He'd play with them at bat or ball,
Or any game they chose to call.
No oath was minced while John was by;
No word spoke angrily or high;
But each strove to outdo the others
In generous acts, as all were brothers:
So high they valued his esteem,
What he approved they all would seem.
His stall was large and seated round,
There every boy a shelter found;
Even dogs that were ill-used at home,
To this abode of peace would come,
And fawn on all with much affection,
Aye sure to meet a kind reception.
On winter evenings cold and bright,
That stall was crowded every night
With those who loved his minstrelsy,
For many a tale and song had he;
And much he loved to see them all
Silent as squires in courtly hall.
And how their ardour rose and fell,
As different tales he chose to tell!
What pleasure glowed in every face,
At Robin Hood or Chevy Chace!
And how it thrilled each stripling's blood,
To hear how Maitland victor stood!
That stall was crowded every night
With those who loved his minstrelsy,
For many a tale and song had he;
And much he loved to see them all
Silent as squires in courtly hall.
And how their ardour rose and fell,
As different tales he chose to tell!
What pleasure glowed in every face,
At Robin Hood or Chevy Chace!
And how it thrilled each stripling's blood,
To hear how Maitland victor stood!
That day their good king James was born,
The boys came all to dine with John.
In four close circles, on the green,
His youthful guests, all neat and clean,
John eyed with pride and high delight;
And in the middle stood upright,
To see that each got ample share
Of homely, healthy, Forest fare.
But none would taste, till John addressing
His Maker, asked on all a blessing.
The boys came all to dine with John.
In four close circles, on the green,
His youthful guests, all neat and clean,
John eyed with pride and high delight;
And in the middle stood upright,
To see that each got ample share
Of homely, healthy, Forest fare.
But none would taste, till John addressing
His Maker, asked on all a blessing.
His night-cap in his coat disposed,
With folded hands and eye-lids closed;
Bent one foot forward from erect,
And attitude of great respect;
With reverend tone, and fervent air,
He thus to God preferred his prayer:—
With folded hands and eye-lids closed;
Bent one foot forward from erect,
And attitude of great respect;
With reverend tone, and fervent air,
He thus to God preferred his prayer:—
“O thou who rul'st above the sky,
Yet feed'st the ravens young that cry;
Make grateful us poor worthless sinners,
For this and all our plenteous dinners,
Whilst many better have nor bread,
Nor house nor home to hide their head:
These gifts, so kindly given by thee,
I give to those I love to see.
My God! may every tender breast
With grace and virtue be impressed;
And in whatever state they stand,
May they be honours to our land;
And each fond parent's hope surmised,
In all be fully realized;
Nor ever vice or lucre draw
Them off from thee, their King, and law.
May every nation under heaven
Have grace of thee, and sins forgiven:
And mind old Scotland 'mongst the rest;
And be thy name for ever blessed.”
Yet feed'st the ravens young that cry;
Make grateful us poor worthless sinners,
For this and all our plenteous dinners,
296
Nor house nor home to hide their head:
These gifts, so kindly given by thee,
I give to those I love to see.
My God! may every tender breast
With grace and virtue be impressed;
And in whatever state they stand,
May they be honours to our land;
And each fond parent's hope surmised,
In all be fully realized;
Nor ever vice or lucre draw
Them off from thee, their King, and law.
May every nation under heaven
Have grace of thee, and sins forgiven:
And mind old Scotland 'mongst the rest;
And be thy name for ever blessed.”
No morning dawned on Ettrick fair,
That John did not begin with prayer;
No evening closed on his abode,
He did not close with thanks to God.
In each man's joy he bore a part,
And each man's sorrow wrung his heart.
That John did not begin with prayer;
No evening closed on his abode,
He did not close with thanks to God.
In each man's joy he bore a part,
And each man's sorrow wrung his heart.
Oh, how can language paint the distance,
'Twixt such a life and mere existence!
How many eat, drink, sleep, and then
Just eat and drink to sleep again;
And lose the fragrance of the morn
For qualms, by base intemperance born!
'Twixt such a life and mere existence!
How many eat, drink, sleep, and then
Just eat and drink to sleep again;
And lose the fragrance of the morn
For qualms, by base intemperance born!
Others employ the immortal mind,
To wrest and vex the human kind;
Foul slander, strife, and litigation,
Are all their aim and meditation;
And nought so well repay their labours,
As losses which affect their neighbours.
And he whom Fortune sore hath crushed,
They joy to humble in the dust;
Nought left in life wherein to trust.
The partial law of substance fleeces,
And these his good name tear to pieces.
To wrest and vex the human kind;
Foul slander, strife, and litigation,
Are all their aim and meditation;
And nought so well repay their labours,
As losses which affect their neighbours.
And he whom Fortune sore hath crushed,
They joy to humble in the dust;
Nought left in life wherein to trust.
The partial law of substance fleeces,
And these his good name tear to pieces.
Another loves to rob and plunder;
O'er fields of death to guide the thunder;
And still his fev'rish mind is brewing
How to arise on others' ruin.
The nations groan, for pity crying,
The fields are heaped with dead and dying;
No qualm of conscience! no disgust!
For power and rule is all his lust.
But thanks to Him who rules on high,
And lightens nature with his eye,
That few such monsters, very few
On earth these ravages renew.
Two such within an age are sure
As much as mankind can endure,
And God in mercy oft sends fewer.
O'er fields of death to guide the thunder;
And still his fev'rish mind is brewing
How to arise on others' ruin.
The nations groan, for pity crying,
The fields are heaped with dead and dying;
No qualm of conscience! no disgust!
For power and rule is all his lust.
But thanks to Him who rules on high,
And lightens nature with his eye,
That few such monsters, very few
On earth these ravages renew.
Two such within an age are sure
As much as mankind can endure,
And God in mercy oft sends fewer.
But when stern death, with look determined,
Approaches grim—the mind, in ferment,
Views worlds beyond the grave aghast,
And fearful glancing o'er the past,
No action to insure the future—
Who would not then be John the Sutor?
And with him rather take their chance,
Than with the Pope or King of France?
Approaches grim—the mind, in ferment,
Views worlds beyond the grave aghast,
And fearful glancing o'er the past,
No action to insure the future—
Who would not then be John the Sutor?
And with him rather take their chance,
Than with the Pope or King of France?
“But, Muse, you promised me a story:
Leave off your prosing, I implore ye;
Page after page I here have wrote,
And all the length that I have got
Is just no more, nor further than,
In Selkirk once there lived a man:
If thus you wind and wind about her,
I'll ne'er get on with John the Sutor.”
Leave off your prosing, I implore ye;
Page after page I here have wrote,
And all the length that I have got
Is just no more, nor further than,
In Selkirk once there lived a man:
If thus you wind and wind about her,
I'll ne'er get on with John the Sutor.”
Well, well, my master, I obey thee:
Where left I off my story, pray thee?
But 'tis so good and so sublime,
I'll tell it o'er a second time.
Where left I off my story, pray thee?
But 'tis so good and so sublime,
I'll tell it o'er a second time.
I said, as all old tales began,
In Selkirk once there lived a man;
Mentioned his name, and recreations,
His sons, their might, and occupations.
I hate description's meagre art,
And love a tale with all my heart;
And this that I am going to tell,
John said (and I believe it well)
Was strictly true. But who can doubt o't?
It bears't upon the very snout o't,
And proved to Selkirk boys a feast
Full twenty times a-year at least.
In Selkirk once there lived a man;
Mentioned his name, and recreations,
His sons, their might, and occupations.
I hate description's meagre art,
And love a tale with all my heart;
And this that I am going to tell,
John said (and I believe it well)
Was strictly true. But who can doubt o't?
It bears't upon the very snout o't,
And proved to Selkirk boys a feast
Full twenty times a-year at least.
Once on a day, in Mercia's bound,
There lived a man for might renowned,
His name was Russell; but in sport,
Or else because the name was short,
Men called him Russ: no doubt, his name
You oft have heard, and wondrous fame.
So great his strength that, in this age,
The truth no credit will engage.
The pine that on the mountain grew,
With ease up from its hold he drew:
Huge rocks, which mortals ne'er had shoved,
Nor ever thought to be removed,
From Eildon's proud vermilioned brow,
He dashed upon the plain below.
Once by a furious bull o'erthrown,
Quite unawares, and all alone—
A bull, for strength of horn and hide,
Unequalled on the Border side—
Russ rose, renewed the rough attack,
And tossed him fairly on his back!
Carved with his sword ('tis truth I tell ye)
Saint Andrew's cross on his broad belly:
He rolled, he bellowed, torn with pain,
Then groaned to death upon the plain.
If this is not heroic writing,
I give the palm up for inditing.
There lived a man for might renowned,
His name was Russell; but in sport,
Or else because the name was short,
Men called him Russ: no doubt, his name
You oft have heard, and wondrous fame.
So great his strength that, in this age,
The truth no credit will engage.
The pine that on the mountain grew,
With ease up from its hold he drew:
Huge rocks, which mortals ne'er had shoved,
Nor ever thought to be removed,
From Eildon's proud vermilioned brow,
He dashed upon the plain below.
Once by a furious bull o'erthrown,
Quite unawares, and all alone—
A bull, for strength of horn and hide,
Unequalled on the Border side—
Russ rose, renewed the rough attack,
And tossed him fairly on his back!
Carved with his sword ('tis truth I tell ye)
Saint Andrew's cross on his broad belly:
He rolled, he bellowed, torn with pain,
Then groaned to death upon the plain.
If this is not heroic writing,
I give the palm up for inditing.
297
In small affray, stout men a score
Would sink, or fly his fist before;
But in a regular field of blood,
Unarmed, impatient, still he stood:
He never missed, at the first blow,
To break his sword or cleave his foe.
Would sink, or fly his fist before;
But in a regular field of blood,
Unarmed, impatient, still he stood:
He never missed, at the first blow,
To break his sword or cleave his foe.
One day, Laird Coom beheld him stand
Amid the ranks with hilt in hand;
And brought him mighty goad of steel,
Meant for a belt to waggon wheel,
Which Russell quickly heaved on high,
While pleasure lightened in his eye.
Woe to the man was nigh that day!
He mowed the Southrons down like hay;
Nor once perceived that, as he drew
Each stroke, as many Scots he slew.
The English saw, and stooping low,
Evited oft the dreadful blow,
Which coming round withouten stay,
Aye swept whole ranks of Scots away.
Laird Coom came up, and d---n'd and swore,
“Hold, Russ; for love of Christ give o'er;
Your club is dyed with kinsmen's blood,
You do ten times more ill than good.”
Amid the ranks with hilt in hand;
And brought him mighty goad of steel,
Meant for a belt to waggon wheel,
Which Russell quickly heaved on high,
While pleasure lightened in his eye.
Woe to the man was nigh that day!
He mowed the Southrons down like hay;
Nor once perceived that, as he drew
Each stroke, as many Scots he slew.
The English saw, and stooping low,
Evited oft the dreadful blow,
Which coming round withouten stay,
Aye swept whole ranks of Scots away.
Laird Coom came up, and d---n'd and swore,
“Hold, Russ; for love of Christ give o'er;
Your club is dyed with kinsmen's blood,
You do ten times more ill than good.”
But Russ, this great and wondrous man,
A hero was more ways than one:
Perhaps no mortal e'er so far
Excelled in that called Venus' war.
Through all the country flew his fame,
Myriads of fair he overcame;
And then for children (precious things)
He beat the Turks or Persian kings!
A hero was more ways than one:
Perhaps no mortal e'er so far
Excelled in that called Venus' war.
Through all the country flew his fame,
Myriads of fair he overcame;
And then for children (precious things)
He beat the Turks or Persian kings!
It happened ill, it happened worse,
(Men's joys too often earn a curse!)
Two lovely sisters fell to crying—
Their parents thought the girls were dying:
Sent for the bishop, then beside them
Sung psalms, and prayed for grace to guide them.
For sooth, the bishop said, 'twas hard
If two such flowers should not be spared
To bloom awhile in youthful beauty,
And patterns prove of filial duty;
That so much love and harmless frolic
Should be cut off by windy cholic!
Two doctors then in haste are sent for,
Who came well furnished at a venture,
And eased the maids with little bustle;
But ah! the blame fell sore on Russell.
For the goodman, in one short hour,
Instead of twain, as heretofore,
Of daughter, grandchild, brother, cousin,
Could now count o'er the round half dozen.
(Men's joys too often earn a curse!)
Two lovely sisters fell to crying—
Their parents thought the girls were dying:
Sent for the bishop, then beside them
Sung psalms, and prayed for grace to guide them.
For sooth, the bishop said, 'twas hard
If two such flowers should not be spared
To bloom awhile in youthful beauty,
And patterns prove of filial duty;
That so much love and harmless frolic
Should be cut off by windy cholic!
Two doctors then in haste are sent for,
Who came well furnished at a venture,
And eased the maids with little bustle;
But ah! the blame fell sore on Russell.
For the goodman, in one short hour,
Instead of twain, as heretofore,
Of daughter, grandchild, brother, cousin,
Could now count o'er the round half dozen.
The church, the law, are up in arms;
Fear for his champion Coom alarms:
“By heavens,” said he, “my noble fellow,
You must escape, ere they compel you
Before their court to stand your trial,
And drink of death the bitterest vial:
If once you come within their power,
Not distant is your dying hour.”
Coom loved the man, plain be it spoken,
He was a shield not easily broken;
And Lady Coom, that lovely creature,
The sweetest work of wayward nature,
Would rather all her lands and rents,
Her turrets, domes, and battlements,
And her old laird in death were dubbed,
Before her favourite Russ was snubbed.
This must be noted to be plain,
A laird's wife was called lady then.
Fear for his champion Coom alarms:
“By heavens,” said he, “my noble fellow,
You must escape, ere they compel you
Before their court to stand your trial,
And drink of death the bitterest vial:
If once you come within their power,
Not distant is your dying hour.”
Coom loved the man, plain be it spoken,
He was a shield not easily broken;
And Lady Coom, that lovely creature,
The sweetest work of wayward nature,
Would rather all her lands and rents,
Her turrets, domes, and battlements,
And her old laird in death were dubbed,
Before her favourite Russ was snubbed.
This must be noted to be plain,
A laird's wife was called lady then.
This champion, this most wondrous youth,
Had foresight of right stunted growth,
So short, that, as the proverb goes,
He scarcely saw before his nose.
The lady gave her favourite horse;
A sword, a lance, and heavy purse;
And bade him ride, nor make a stand,
Till in the midst of Cumberland;
And she would soon, for his mischance,
Remission gain from Rome or France.
Had foresight of right stunted growth,
So short, that, as the proverb goes,
He scarcely saw before his nose.
The lady gave her favourite horse;
A sword, a lance, and heavy purse;
And bade him ride, nor make a stand,
Till in the midst of Cumberland;
And she would soon, for his mischance,
Remission gain from Rome or France.
Away rode Russ, for England bound,
Swift as in chase of hawk or hound;
Dash went the steed through mire and ford,
Without or spur or cheering word,
For he was proven of mettle keen,
And oft had in the foray been.
Three miles, at least, thus Russell flew,
When rose a humble cot in view,
Where dwelt a damsel, fair and gay
As e'er was meadow-flower in May.
Russ knew her well, she was so good,
So gentle, and so kind of mood,
He could not pass, but lighted down—
His haste was o'er, his fear was flown.
Fear, said I? that ne'er reached his heart,
Except for thirst or hunger's smart.
Swift as in chase of hawk or hound;
Dash went the steed through mire and ford,
Without or spur or cheering word,
For he was proven of mettle keen,
And oft had in the foray been.
Three miles, at least, thus Russell flew,
When rose a humble cot in view,
Where dwelt a damsel, fair and gay
As e'er was meadow-flower in May.
Russ knew her well, she was so good,
So gentle, and so kind of mood,
He could not pass, but lighted down—
His haste was o'er, his fear was flown.
Fear, said I? that ne'er reached his heart,
Except for thirst or hunger's smart.
Russ spent the day, and eke the night,
In raptures of supreme delight.
Unhappy man! his passions fooled him;
The impulse of the moment ruled him;
There sat he, trifling, toying, laughing,
The blood-red wine in torrents quaffing,
Till next day's sun the hills illumines,
All thoughtless of the church's summons.
In raptures of supreme delight.
Unhappy man! his passions fooled him;
The impulse of the moment ruled him;
There sat he, trifling, toying, laughing,
The blood-red wine in torrents quaffing,
Till next day's sun the hills illumines,
All thoughtless of the church's summons.
The country heard, the country ran,
Resolved to catch the sinful man,
And his huge bulk to jelly boil
In caldron of offensive oil.
Russell's brave courser neighed in stall;
His sword and lance were hung in hall,
If hall it could be called, where smoke
Brooded condense o'er hearth of rock:
One only room the house contained,
Where Russell and his flower remained.
Resolved to catch the sinful man,
And his huge bulk to jelly boil
In caldron of offensive oil.
Russell's brave courser neighed in stall;
His sword and lance were hung in hall,
If hall it could be called, where smoke
Brooded condense o'er hearth of rock:
One only room the house contained,
Where Russell and his flower remained.
His courser first the mob secured,
And next his lance and trusty sword;
Then rushed they in, while fierce before
Gleamed halbert, pitchfork, and claymore;
And loud they raised the dreadful cry,
“Yield, yield thee, sinner; yield or die!”
And next his lance and trusty sword;
298
Gleamed halbert, pitchfork, and claymore;
And loud they raised the dreadful cry,
“Yield, yield thee, sinner; yield or die!”
Bold Russ sprung up, the table held
Before him as a general shield,
And swore by man's congenial mother,
He'd neither do the one nor the other.
Before him as a general shield,
And swore by man's congenial mother,
He'd neither do the one nor the other.
The damsel screamed—that note of fear
Acted as charm on Russell's ear;
For who would not his best blood spend
To please the fair, and them defend?
That note of fear was watch-word good,
And cost a few their precious blood.
Like tiger o'er his tender young,
Russ on the crowd in fury sprung;
Swords, lances, pitchforks, men and all,
Bore with his table 'gainst the wall,
Their bodies squeezed as thin as paper,
And laughed to see them grin and caper;
While squirting blood so fiercely played,
That holes were in the ceiling made.—
Now, gallant Muse, I think thou'lt show 'em
Thou can'st indite heroic poem.
Acted as charm on Russell's ear;
For who would not his best blood spend
To please the fair, and them defend?
That note of fear was watch-word good,
And cost a few their precious blood.
Like tiger o'er his tender young,
Russ on the crowd in fury sprung;
Swords, lances, pitchforks, men and all,
Bore with his table 'gainst the wall,
Their bodies squeezed as thin as paper,
And laughed to see them grin and caper;
While squirting blood so fiercely played,
That holes were in the ceiling made.—
Now, gallant Muse, I think thou'lt show 'em
Thou can'st indite heroic poem.
Priest, monk, and peasant, next advance guard,
And every vent with sword and lance guard,
And then, at once to end their fears,
They fired the house about his ears.
Russ coughed, and sneezed, and rubbed his eyes,
As clouds of smoke began to rise,
“What! shall I like a dolt,” said he,
“Be smoked to death like silly bee?
Nor once my utmost vigour prove,
To save myself, and save my love?
Come, follow me; I'll clear a path,
Or like a hero yield my breath.”
And every vent with sword and lance guard,
And then, at once to end their fears,
They fired the house about his ears.
Russ coughed, and sneezed, and rubbed his eyes,
As clouds of smoke began to rise,
“What! shall I like a dolt,” said he,
“Be smoked to death like silly bee?
Nor once my utmost vigour prove,
To save myself, and save my love?
Come, follow me; I'll clear a path,
Or like a hero yield my breath.”
The bolts and bars like reeds he tore,
The door from off its hinges bore,
And like the cloud-struck ocean wave,
That hurls the tar to watery grave;
So on the crowd our hero bore,
While cowl and mitre sunk before.
The door from off its hinges bore,
And like the cloud-struck ocean wave,
That hurls the tar to watery grave;
So on the crowd our hero bore,
While cowl and mitre sunk before.
But though the door was breast-plate strong,
And crushed at first the opposing throng;
Although a shield of sure defence,
It would not wield to any sense,
But flapped as slowly to the ground
As arm of windmill in its round.
The door away in rage he threw,
And looked around for weapon true;
For sword or lance he did not hover,
He knew, one stroke and these were over.
And crushed at first the opposing throng;
Although a shield of sure defence,
It would not wield to any sense,
But flapped as slowly to the ground
As arm of windmill in its round.
The door away in rage he threw,
And looked around for weapon true;
For sword or lance he did not hover,
He knew, one stroke and these were over.
But time was precious, for the train
Were rallying to the strife amain;
What weapon Russ chose in his haste,
No human foresight will suggest,
Nor mind approve—withouten jest
It was a lean and sordid priest,
That chanced among his feet to lie,
Not dead, but in extremity.
Were rallying to the strife amain;
What weapon Russ chose in his haste,
No human foresight will suggest,
Nor mind approve—withouten jest
It was a lean and sordid priest,
That chanced among his feet to lie,
Not dead, but in extremity.
Him by the heels he roughly drew,
And soon in air his reverence flew
With rapid whirl, and broken howls,
Pouring destruction on their souls;
All those on whom the strokes alighted
Sunk calmly down, in death benighted.
Of every mace, or sword, in field red,
That Russell e'er before had wielded,
None ever wrought such dreadful doom
As did this limb of papal Rome.
The monks and peasants mixed were lying,
The field was strewed with dead and dying;
The rest from ravage so uncivil
Fled, swearing Russell was the devil.
And soon in air his reverence flew
With rapid whirl, and broken howls,
Pouring destruction on their souls;
All those on whom the strokes alighted
Sunk calmly down, in death benighted.
Of every mace, or sword, in field red,
That Russell e'er before had wielded,
None ever wrought such dreadful doom
As did this limb of papal Rome.
The monks and peasants mixed were lying,
The field was strewed with dead and dying;
The rest from ravage so uncivil
Fled, swearing Russell was the devil.
Our hero gazed all thoughtful—drew
One hand across his dripping brow;
The other still above his breast,
Held by the heel the mangled priest;
In case of more malignant foes,
That weapon he wished not to lose.
One hand across his dripping brow;
The other still above his breast,
Held by the heel the mangled priest;
In case of more malignant foes,
That weapon he wished not to lose.
The news spread o'er the Merse like fire;
The people all were roused to ire,
And flocked in crowds from east and west,
Our hero quite to circumvest;
And either bind his hands and feet,
Or pierce him through with arrows fleet.
The people all were roused to ire,
And flocked in crowds from east and west,
Our hero quite to circumvest;
And either bind his hands and feet,
Or pierce him through with arrows fleet.
Still stood bold Russell, all alone;
His steed and armour both were gone:
He tried to reason, but his thought
In vain was called, in vain was sought;
'Twas gone!—evanished in the blast
Of toils and pleasures newly past.
Nought could he settle, nothing frame,
Save travelling back the way he came.
His steed and armour both were gone:
He tried to reason, but his thought
In vain was called, in vain was sought;
'Twas gone!—evanished in the blast
Of toils and pleasures newly past.
Nought could he settle, nothing frame,
Save travelling back the way he came.
Short then had been his span of life,
For thousands hastened to the strife,
Had not dame Venus, from the sky,
Beheld him with a pitying eye;
And hasted, on celestial wing,
Her favourite hero off to bring.
For thousands hastened to the strife,
Had not dame Venus, from the sky,
Beheld him with a pitying eye;
And hasted, on celestial wing,
Her favourite hero off to bring.
Russ saw, descending full in view,
Something like swan or white sea-mew,
Swift as the eagle of the main,
Or red bolt reeling through the rain,
Which lighting on the level nigh,
Russ chanced to turn a curious eye.
Something like swan or white sea-mew,
Swift as the eagle of the main,
Or red bolt reeling through the rain,
Which lighting on the level nigh,
Russ chanced to turn a curious eye.
But how surprised was he, to see
A nymph come smiling o'er the lea;
Straight as the stateliest pine that grows,
And fresh as bosom of the rose;
Taper and round was every limb,
Her waist was short—not over slim:
The veil, o'er her fair bosom thrown,
Though muslin of the sky, seemed brown.
Never did air become so well,
Never did form so sweetly swell.
Her sweet ripe lips of rosy hue,
Her speaking eye so soft and blue;
Her locks light waving as she run,
Like yellow clouds before the sun;
Her blushes sly, that went and came,
Set Russell's gallant heart on flame.
“Brave youth,” she said, “cheer up thy heart;
I cannot bear with thee to part;
For me and mine thou hast done more
Than ever Scotsman did before.
Say, wilt thou leave this field of blood,
And go with me for ill or good?”
A nymph come smiling o'er the lea;
Straight as the stateliest pine that grows,
And fresh as bosom of the rose;
Taper and round was every limb,
Her waist was short—not over slim:
The veil, o'er her fair bosom thrown,
Though muslin of the sky, seemed brown.
299
Never did form so sweetly swell.
Her sweet ripe lips of rosy hue,
Her speaking eye so soft and blue;
Her locks light waving as she run,
Like yellow clouds before the sun;
Her blushes sly, that went and came,
Set Russell's gallant heart on flame.
“Brave youth,” she said, “cheer up thy heart;
I cannot bear with thee to part;
For me and mine thou hast done more
Than ever Scotsman did before.
Say, wilt thou leave this field of blood,
And go with me for ill or good?”
Russell looked sly, with sheepish grin,
His heart-strings thrilled his breast within!
“Yes, madam, yes; be 't ill or well,
By Heaven, I'll follow thee to hell!”
His heart-strings thrilled his breast within!
“Yes, madam, yes; be 't ill or well,
By Heaven, I'll follow thee to hell!”
“Then come along,” she quick replied,
“Your foes approach on every side;
Come on my back without delay,
I'll bear thee from their rage away.”
“Your foes approach on every side;
Come on my back without delay,
I'll bear thee from their rage away.”
“What! on your back?—indeed! indeed!
Madam, you'll make but sober speed.
Come on your back!—use you so ill!
No, curse me, madam, if I will.”
Madam, you'll make but sober speed.
Come on your back!—use you so ill!
No, curse me, madam, if I will.”
“Thou art my champion,” she replied,
“And whether well or woe betide,
Thou'st given thy word, thou'st given thy oath,
And Russell thou shalt keep them both:
Yes; soon shalt thou of wonders tell,
Seen in the farthest nook of hell.
Come, haste thee; see, thy foes are near;
An hundred shafts are pointed here,
All waiting but the twang of string,
In thy brave blood to wet the wing.
Thou art my hope, my only care;
I'll bear thee through the yielding air,
Through bowels of the earth and sea,
And every danger shield from thee.
The rainbow's lovely arch we'll climb;
Sail on yon saffron cloud sublime;
Then souse, our panting breasts to lave,
In ocean's green and shelvy wave,
Till in Breadalbane's deepest dell,
Where this green world is but a shell,
An easy passage there I know
Down to the dismal shades below.
Come, haste, we have no time to stay,
I'll bear thee from this mob away.”
“And whether well or woe betide,
Thou'st given thy word, thou'st given thy oath,
And Russell thou shalt keep them both:
Yes; soon shalt thou of wonders tell,
Seen in the farthest nook of hell.
Come, haste thee; see, thy foes are near;
An hundred shafts are pointed here,
All waiting but the twang of string,
In thy brave blood to wet the wing.
Thou art my hope, my only care;
I'll bear thee through the yielding air,
Through bowels of the earth and sea,
And every danger shield from thee.
The rainbow's lovely arch we'll climb;
Sail on yon saffron cloud sublime;
Then souse, our panting breasts to lave,
In ocean's green and shelvy wave,
Till in Breadalbane's deepest dell,
Where this green world is but a shell,
An easy passage there I know
Down to the dismal shades below.
Come, haste, we have no time to stay,
I'll bear thee from this mob away.”
Russell's dull reason found her household
Of crude ideas all bamboozled:
Of all that speech, from end to end,
One word he could not comprehend;
But stood with head on shoulder leaning,
As striving to conceive her meaning.
Of crude ideas all bamboozled:
Of all that speech, from end to end,
One word he could not comprehend;
But stood with head on shoulder leaning,
As striving to conceive her meaning.
Then by the wrists she griped him fast,
And lightly o'er her shoulders cast;
Clasped his huge fists around her bosom;
Bade him hold fast lest she should lose him:
Then, swift as heron or curlew,
Began to scale the ether blue.
No other hold beneath the sky
Could have induced bold Russ to fly;
He was so high too ere he knew,
That, though he soon began to rue,
For fear of rocks and rails below,
He durst not for his soul let go.
And lightly o'er her shoulders cast;
Clasped his huge fists around her bosom;
Bade him hold fast lest she should lose him:
Then, swift as heron or curlew,
Began to scale the ether blue.
No other hold beneath the sky
Could have induced bold Russ to fly;
He was so high too ere he knew,
That, though he soon began to rue,
For fear of rocks and rails below,
He durst not for his soul let go.
They entered soon a thunder cloud,
When Russell shrunk, and sighed as loud
As if the dame had popped him in
An icy river to the chin;
And held a gripe like grisly death,
Till Venus almost lost her breath.
When Russell shrunk, and sighed as loud
As if the dame had popped him in
An icy river to the chin;
And held a gripe like grisly death,
Till Venus almost lost her breath.
The sights that there our hero saw,
Were far surpassing reason's law;
He saw the royals of the sky
Play off their dread artillery:
A thousand warriors, tall and grim,
Plied in the cloud so dark and dim;
Loading their guns of monstrous frame,
With bowls of elemental flame.
A spectre colonel, tall and gray,
Bawled out the order, “fire away!”
Crash went the bolts, in thunder borne;—
The bosom of the cloud was torn,
The earth was bored, the rocks were riven,
And scarcely 'scaped the halls of heaven;
The rude concussion broke so high,
It jingled the windows of the sky.
Russ every moment was in dread
The burning bolts would singe his head;
Or that the tubes would interpose,
And break his forehead or his nose;
But rolling sulphur, hail, and flame,
All oped before the lovely dame.—
Well done, my Muse! by that same rule,
Virgil's a prosing drivelling fool.
Were far surpassing reason's law;
He saw the royals of the sky
Play off their dread artillery:
A thousand warriors, tall and grim,
Plied in the cloud so dark and dim;
Loading their guns of monstrous frame,
With bowls of elemental flame.
A spectre colonel, tall and gray,
Bawled out the order, “fire away!”
Crash went the bolts, in thunder borne;—
The bosom of the cloud was torn,
The earth was bored, the rocks were riven,
And scarcely 'scaped the halls of heaven;
The rude concussion broke so high,
It jingled the windows of the sky.
Russ every moment was in dread
The burning bolts would singe his head;
Or that the tubes would interpose,
And break his forehead or his nose;
But rolling sulphur, hail, and flame,
All oped before the lovely dame.—
Well done, my Muse! by that same rule,
Virgil's a prosing drivelling fool.
Far up the welkin now they wind,
And leave the speckled world behind.
Russ never saw a scene so fair
As Scotland from the ambient air.
O'er valleys clouds of vapour rolled,
While others beamed in burning gold;
And stretching far and wide between,
Were fading shades of fairy green.
The glassy sea that round her quakes,
Her thousand isles and thousand lakes,
Her mountains frowning o'er the main,
Her waving fields of golden grain—
On such a scene, so sweet, so mild,
The radiant sunbeam never smiled.
Let him who dares my lay asperse,
Try match a Selkirk sutor's verse.
And leave the speckled world behind.
Russ never saw a scene so fair
As Scotland from the ambient air.
O'er valleys clouds of vapour rolled,
While others beamed in burning gold;
And stretching far and wide between,
Were fading shades of fairy green.
The glassy sea that round her quakes,
Her thousand isles and thousand lakes,
Her mountains frowning o'er the main,
Her waving fields of golden grain—
On such a scene, so sweet, so mild,
The radiant sunbeam never smiled.
Let him who dares my lay asperse,
Try match a Selkirk sutor's verse.
As up the firmament he flew,
Still less and less the island grew;
At length, as on a map unfurled,
He looked on half the glowing world,
Where oceans rolled and rivers ran,
To bound the aims of sinful man.
Still less and less the island grew;
300
He looked on half the glowing world,
Where oceans rolled and rivers ran,
To bound the aims of sinful man.
Russ looked above, he looked below,
But one from the other could not know;
Knew neither east, west, up nor down,
Which was the earth, or which the moon;
Each seemed the same, in each degree,
And each seemed high and low as he:
His senses all began to vary,
He felt a strange and bad quandary.
But one from the other could not know;
Knew neither east, west, up nor down,
Which was the earth, or which the moon;
Each seemed the same, in each degree,
And each seemed high and low as he:
His senses all began to vary,
He felt a strange and bad quandary.
“Bless me,” said Russ, “where are we now?
Madam, why all this great ado?
If for Breadalbane's bounds thou bearest,
Thou'rt going round to seek the nearest;
Besides, the air's become so rarefied,
For breath my bosom must be scarified.
Keep from the moon, I humbly pray,
Else there I shall be forced to stay;
The attraction's strong, and I'm so heavy,
That doubtless you'll be forced to leave me.
Madam, why all this great ado?
If for Breadalbane's bounds thou bearest,
Thou'rt going round to seek the nearest;
Besides, the air's become so rarefied,
For breath my bosom must be scarified.
Keep from the moon, I humbly pray,
Else there I shall be forced to stay;
The attraction's strong, and I'm so heavy,
That doubtless you'll be forced to leave me.
Dame Venus laughed, yet was afraid
It might prove just as Russ had said;
And round her atmosphere so blue
Took of the moon a distant view.
Russ saw his sinful countryman
Beneath his burden groaning wan,
Who to the moon was whipped up one day,
For stealing sticks upon a Sunday.
He saw, besides, an iron gate,
At which a hungry colt did wait;
Over the spikes his nose was lying,
And Russell thought he whiles was neighing.
The new moon glowed in all her charms,
Yet clasped the old moon in her arms,
Much like himself and lovely dame:
All this he saw, then off they came.
It might prove just as Russ had said;
And round her atmosphere so blue
Took of the moon a distant view.
Russ saw his sinful countryman
Beneath his burden groaning wan,
Who to the moon was whipped up one day,
For stealing sticks upon a Sunday.
He saw, besides, an iron gate,
At which a hungry colt did wait;
Over the spikes his nose was lying,
And Russell thought he whiles was neighing.
The new moon glowed in all her charms,
Yet clasped the old moon in her arms,
Much like himself and lovely dame:
All this he saw, then off they came.
He was so near the ample sky,
Its plain he fairly could espy:
Whether 'twas made of crystal blue,
Or bottle-glass, he scarcely knew;
But 'twas the one, and he could prove it:
The stars were lamps that burnt above it;
The sun a fire that flamed amain,
On which the coals were showered like rain.
And when the damps rose from below,
A haze upon this glass would grow,
Till little seraphs scrubbed it clean,
Then fire and lamps again were seen.
On polar swivel it kept its twirl,
And swept around with rapid whirl;
Thus sun and stars about were borne—
That these were facts Russ could have sworn.
Its plain he fairly could espy:
Whether 'twas made of crystal blue,
Or bottle-glass, he scarcely knew;
But 'twas the one, and he could prove it:
The stars were lamps that burnt above it;
The sun a fire that flamed amain,
On which the coals were showered like rain.
And when the damps rose from below,
A haze upon this glass would grow,
Till little seraphs scrubbed it clean,
Then fire and lamps again were seen.
On polar swivel it kept its twirl,
And swept around with rapid whirl;
Thus sun and stars about were borne—
That these were facts Russ could have sworn.
They reached this nether world again,
Just in the middle of the main:
Sweet Venus' bosom beat so high
With her huge burden through the sky,
She hovered low, her limbs to lave
Slight on the bow of emerald wave;
Each billow tipt, her breast to cool,
Like swallow on the evening pool,
While trembling sailors shunned the track
Of dolphin on the mermaid's back.
Just in the middle of the main:
Sweet Venus' bosom beat so high
With her huge burden through the sky,
She hovered low, her limbs to lave
Slight on the bow of emerald wave;
Each billow tipt, her breast to cool,
Like swallow on the evening pool,
While trembling sailors shunned the track
Of dolphin on the mermaid's back.
Some roguish tricks she next began,
Floating on wave like buoyant swan,
Light o'er the billows heaved on high,
Then sunk between from human eye.
Russ capered sore with phiz uncouth;
He shut his eyes, he shut his mouth,
Expecting, every wave that broke,
With brine his bellows-pipe would choke.
Floating on wave like buoyant swan,
Light o'er the billows heaved on high,
Then sunk between from human eye.
Russ capered sore with phiz uncouth;
He shut his eyes, he shut his mouth,
Expecting, every wave that broke,
With brine his bellows-pipe would choke.
Sly Venus laughed, then dived below,
The wonders of her power to show:
Russ from the lady durst not sever,
But thought he then was gone for ever.
Then first his heart perceived alarms
For the effects of female charms.
The wonders of her power to show:
Russ from the lady durst not sever,
But thought he then was gone for ever.
Then first his heart perceived alarms
For the effects of female charms.
No, Russell, no—the lovely creatures
Have nought malicious in their natures.
If woman's gentle heart you gain,
True to the last she will remain;
Nor danger, poverty, nor pride,
Nought, nought will drive her from thy side:
Though fickle's buckled to her name,
Our sex for ever are to blame.
Have nought malicious in their natures.
If woman's gentle heart you gain,
True to the last she will remain;
Nor danger, poverty, nor pride,
Nought, nought will drive her from thy side:
Though fickle's buckled to her name,
Our sex for ever are to blame.
Soon on the channels of the tide
Sat Russell and his lovely guide;
He felt as light, and breathed as pure,
As in the glens of Lammermuir.
But here my Muse her breath must draw,
Before she sing what Russell saw.
Sat Russell and his lovely guide;
He felt as light, and breathed as pure,
As in the glens of Lammermuir.
But here my Muse her breath must draw,
Before she sing what Russell saw.
Mora Campbell.
When that dire year had come and gone,
That laid the pride of Caledon
At one infuriate venture, low,
Beneath the foot of cruel foe—
That cursed year, whose memory brands
With burning flame her northern lands,
And deep on mountain, fell, and flood,
Is graved in characters of blood—
It was when last was heard the jar,
The tempest, and the clang of war
Within our isle; when April's sun
Saw red Culloden lost and won,
And the bold lineage of the Gael
Trodden like dust o'er moor and dale;—
When the bright star of Stuart's race
Was dashed from its resplendent place,
That ruddy star which through the spheres
Had shone sublime a thousand years,
That rose through blood in times of yore,
A light ensanguined always bore,
Then set in blood for evermore;
That laid the pride of Caledon
At one infuriate venture, low,
Beneath the foot of cruel foe—
That cursed year, whose memory brands
With burning flame her northern lands,
And deep on mountain, fell, and flood,
Is graved in characters of blood—
It was when last was heard the jar,
The tempest, and the clang of war
Within our isle; when April's sun
Saw red Culloden lost and won,
And the bold lineage of the Gael
Trodden like dust o'er moor and dale;—
When the bright star of Stuart's race
Was dashed from its resplendent place,
That ruddy star which through the spheres
Had shone sublime a thousand years,
That rose through blood in times of yore,
A light ensanguined always bore,
Then set in blood for evermore;
301
'Twas then and there, where England's bands
Lay mid Lochaber's ruined lands,
And held loud revels of delight,
Feasting and dancing day and night,
With every freak, and whim, and game,
That conqu'rors in despite could frame;
The chiefs of Diarmid all were there,
Noted for heroes tall and fair,
Of manly mete and noble mein,
All blazing in their tartans sheen;
A name of majesty and power,
Whose might in Scotia's darkest hour,
Had oft been roused and starkly tried,
But always on the strongest side.
For why, they say, with power avail?
'Tis they who always turn the scale;
For where they join their potent name,
The side of power must be with them.
Lay mid Lochaber's ruined lands,
And held loud revels of delight,
Feasting and dancing day and night,
With every freak, and whim, and game,
That conqu'rors in despite could frame;
The chiefs of Diarmid all were there,
Noted for heroes tall and fair,
Of manly mete and noble mein,
All blazing in their tartans sheen;
A name of majesty and power,
Whose might in Scotia's darkest hour,
Had oft been roused and starkly tried,
But always on the strongest side.
For why, they say, with power avail?
'Tis they who always turn the scale;
For where they join their potent name,
The side of power must be with them.
Howe'er that be, or false or true,
A tale of love hath nought to do;
Suffice it, that the Campbells were
The chief great name of Scotland there;
And hence their dames and maidens fair
Came to the camp their joys to share:
And sooth such dancing and deray,
Such galliardise and gambols gay,
Ne'er sounded over shore and vale
On dark Lochaber's dusky gale.
A tale of love hath nought to do;
Suffice it, that the Campbells were
The chief great name of Scotland there;
And hence their dames and maidens fair
Came to the camp their joys to share:
And sooth such dancing and deray,
Such galliardise and gambols gay,
Ne'er sounded over shore and vale
On dark Lochaber's dusky gale.
Among the rest there came a maid
From green Glen-Lyon's mountain glade,
Hight Mora Campbell, one whose mien
Excell'd all beauty ever seen
In Scotia's stern and stormy reign,
Where beauty strove to bloom in vain.
But though the maidens of Argyle,
Gathered from continent and isle,
From Mull of Morven to Loch-Orn,
From gray Glenorchy and from Lorn,
Breadalbane's maidens, bronzed and tall,
And the blue eyes of Fortingall;
Yet Mora of Glen-Lyon shone
O'er all unequall'd, and alone,
Like the young moon on summer even,
Walking amid the stars of heaven.
From green Glen-Lyon's mountain glade,
Hight Mora Campbell, one whose mien
Excell'd all beauty ever seen
In Scotia's stern and stormy reign,
Where beauty strove to bloom in vain.
But though the maidens of Argyle,
Gathered from continent and isle,
From Mull of Morven to Loch-Orn,
From gray Glenorchy and from Lorn,
Breadalbane's maidens, bronzed and tall,
And the blue eyes of Fortingall;
Yet Mora of Glen-Lyon shone
O'er all unequall'd, and alone,
Like the young moon on summer even,
Walking amid the stars of heaven.
Great was the friendly strife among
The courtly warriors of the throng,
To gain this peerless maiden's hand
At serenade or saraband;
For where a maiden shows her face,
Whate'er her nation or her race,
Man still will love, and still will woo
The best—of thousands—or of two.
Be she a savage, serf, or slave,
Or maiden of the emerald wave;
Nay, be she sable, brown, or fair,
She's loved, if better be not there.
The courtly warriors of the throng,
To gain this peerless maiden's hand
At serenade or saraband;
For where a maiden shows her face,
Whate'er her nation or her race,
Man still will love, and still will woo
The best—of thousands—or of two.
Be she a savage, serf, or slave,
Or maiden of the emerald wave;
Nay, be she sable, brown, or fair,
She's loved, if better be not there.
So was it here; the southern host
Were feasted at their foemen's cost,
And there, in reckless riot, lay
Watching the north for many a day:
But, oh, what stir, and joy, and ramp,
When these young maidens sought the camp!
Then all was compliment and cooing,
With toying, teasing, love, and wooing.
Were feasted at their foemen's cost,
And there, in reckless riot, lay
Watching the north for many a day:
But, oh, what stir, and joy, and ramp,
When these young maidens sought the camp!
Then all was compliment and cooing,
With toying, teasing, love, and wooing.
But short their stay, a visit sped
More to the living than the dead,
Though some had sighs and tears to feign
Above the graves of kinsmen slain;
And now warm vows of love were cast
On ladies' ears, as thick and fast
As leaves fall from Lochaber trees,
Or snow-flakes from her northern breeze.
More to the living than the dead,
Though some had sighs and tears to feign
Above the graves of kinsmen slain;
And now warm vows of love were cast
On ladies' ears, as thick and fast
As leaves fall from Lochaber trees,
Or snow-flakes from her northern breeze.
Among the rest, an English knight,
Sir Hugh De Vane of Barnard hight,
Made love to Mora in such way
That her young mind was moved to stay,
And take her lot for ill or good
With a young knight of noble blood.
Her brother, too, seemed to approve,
Vouching Sir Hugh's unblemished love,
But urged her not to stay or go,
Or answer him with yes or no.
Sir Hugh De Vane of Barnard hight,
Made love to Mora in such way
That her young mind was moved to stay,
And take her lot for ill or good
With a young knight of noble blood.
Her brother, too, seemed to approve,
Vouching Sir Hugh's unblemished love,
But urged her not to stay or go,
Or answer him with yes or no.
The sequel scarcely need I tell—
They had no heart to say farewell;
The maid was won, you may foresee,
As all maids are, or wish to be;
For what fair maiden can refuse,
When gallant youthful warrior sues?
Their hands in holy bond were tied;
Sir Hugh was happy with his bride,
As youth could with such beauty be,
And drank of pleasure to the lee;
But ne'er his marriage would confess
To one of all the jocund mess,
Save her own brother, from whose hand
He got the flower of fair Scotland—
A proud and haughty youth was he,
As Highland captain needs must be.
They had no heart to say farewell;
The maid was won, you may foresee,
As all maids are, or wish to be;
For what fair maiden can refuse,
When gallant youthful warrior sues?
Their hands in holy bond were tied;
Sir Hugh was happy with his bride,
As youth could with such beauty be,
And drank of pleasure to the lee;
But ne'er his marriage would confess
To one of all the jocund mess,
Save her own brother, from whose hand
He got the flower of fair Scotland—
A proud and haughty youth was he,
As Highland captain needs must be.
The army's ordered by the crown
To foreign lands, to earn renown,
And all are forced, howe'er inclined,
To leave their Highland loves behind.
Mora prepared at break of day
To follow her dear lord away,
Wherever call'd to face a foe,
Or honour beckon'd him to go;
But by the general was withstood,
And order'd with her sisterhood.
Up came young Campbell of the glen,
Fierce as a lion from his den,
In mood provoking stern reply,
And fierce defiance in his eye:
“My lord,” said he, “I may not bear
Such court'sy to my sister dear.
Think'st thou her birth and lineage good,
The best of Albyn's noble blood,
No better than that motley race
Brought by thy kinsmen to disgrace?
I tell thee, lord, unto thy brow,
My sister's higher born than thou;
And more, she is thy nephew's spouse,
By all the holy marriage vows—
Wed with a ring—his lawful wife—
I the maintainer with my life.”—
“Hence to thy post, thou saucy Scot,
Thy high descent I question not;
Nay, doubt not that thy sires renown'd
Were mighty kings, revered and crown'd,
O'er some poor glen of shaggy wood,
Before the universal flood;
But this I know, that blood of thine
Commingle never shall with mine,
To taint it with rebellion's ban,
Thy nation's curse since time began.
The charge is false—I know Sir Hugh
Not for his soul this thing durst do,
Without my knowledge and consent;
He would not stoop to circumvent
A beauteous maiden to disgrace—
I'll question him before her face.”
To foreign lands, to earn renown,
And all are forced, howe'er inclined,
To leave their Highland loves behind.
Mora prepared at break of day
To follow her dear lord away,
Wherever call'd to face a foe,
Or honour beckon'd him to go;
But by the general was withstood,
And order'd with her sisterhood.
Up came young Campbell of the glen,
Fierce as a lion from his den,
In mood provoking stern reply,
And fierce defiance in his eye:
“My lord,” said he, “I may not bear
Such court'sy to my sister dear.
Think'st thou her birth and lineage good,
The best of Albyn's noble blood,
302
Brought by thy kinsmen to disgrace?
I tell thee, lord, unto thy brow,
My sister's higher born than thou;
And more, she is thy nephew's spouse,
By all the holy marriage vows—
Wed with a ring—his lawful wife—
I the maintainer with my life.”—
“Hence to thy post, thou saucy Scot,
Thy high descent I question not;
Nay, doubt not that thy sires renown'd
Were mighty kings, revered and crown'd,
O'er some poor glen of shaggy wood,
Before the universal flood;
But this I know, that blood of thine
Commingle never shall with mine,
To taint it with rebellion's ban,
Thy nation's curse since time began.
The charge is false—I know Sir Hugh
Not for his soul this thing durst do,
Without my knowledge and consent;
He would not stoop to circumvent
A beauteous maiden to disgrace—
I'll question him before her face.”
Up came Sir Hugh, and took his stand
Hard by his general's trembling hand;
He heard his words, and saw his look,
While Campbell with resentment shook,
And Mora stood as deadly pale
As floweret in December's gale;
Sooth the young warrior bore a mind
Not to be envied or defined.
Hard by his general's trembling hand;
He heard his words, and saw his look,
While Campbell with resentment shook,
And Mora stood as deadly pale
As floweret in December's gale;
Sooth the young warrior bore a mind
Not to be envied or defined.
“Sir, tell me, on your word, your life,
Is this young dame your wedded wife?”
Is this young dame your wedded wife?”
Sir Hugh grew wan, Sir Hugh grew red,
He tried to speak, but speech had fled;
Three times he tried the truth to own,
And thrice the word he gulped down;
Then with a burst of gather'd breath,
“No,” he replied, as if in wrath.—
“Thou liest, thou dog! Darest thou deny
I witness'd with mine ear, mine eye,
Thy interchange of marriage vow?
The ring is on her finger now,
The lines of marriage in her breast;
And this dire wrong must be redress'd
To that dear maid, or, by the rood,
I'll cancel't in thy traitor blood.
For thy soul's worth this truth deny!”—
This Campbell's fierce and proud reply:
But ere the half of it was said,
Mora had sunk to earth as dead;
She heard its import, saw its meed,
And all the woe that would succeed.
He tried to speak, but speech had fled;
Three times he tried the truth to own,
And thrice the word he gulped down;
Then with a burst of gather'd breath,
“No,” he replied, as if in wrath.—
“Thou liest, thou dog! Darest thou deny
I witness'd with mine ear, mine eye,
Thy interchange of marriage vow?
The ring is on her finger now,
The lines of marriage in her breast;
And this dire wrong must be redress'd
To that dear maid, or, by the rood,
I'll cancel't in thy traitor blood.
For thy soul's worth this truth deny!”—
This Campbell's fierce and proud reply:
But ere the half of it was said,
Mora had sunk to earth as dead;
She heard its import, saw its meed,
And all the woe that would succeed.
Young Campbell, by affection tied,
Was quickly at his sister's side,
And aided by his kinsmen keen,
He bore her lifeless from the green.
Sir Hugh was moved, and struggled hard
'Twixt insult and sincere regard,
And would have follow'd to his harm,
But was withheld by strength of arm.
Was quickly at his sister's side,
And aided by his kinsmen keen,
He bore her lifeless from the green.
Sir Hugh was moved, and struggled hard
'Twixt insult and sincere regard,
And would have follow'd to his harm,
But was withheld by strength of arm.
The Scot to reason did not try,
As deep his wrong his wrath was high.
As for the General, 'twas his will
Always to use the clansmen ill;
He seem'd to view them as a race
Destined for nothing but disgrace,
And therefore tried with all his care
To hound the dog and hold the hare.
The dire event I grieve to tell;
They challenged, fought, and Campbell fell;
And ere poor Mora's beauteous eye
Re-opened on the morning sky;
Ere reason had her throne resumed,
And darken'd intellect return'd,
Her only brother, her sole shield,
Was carried wounded from the field,
With all his tartans crimson-dyed,
And stretch'd down by his sister's side.
As deep his wrong his wrath was high.
As for the General, 'twas his will
Always to use the clansmen ill;
He seem'd to view them as a race
Destined for nothing but disgrace,
And therefore tried with all his care
To hound the dog and hold the hare.
The dire event I grieve to tell;
They challenged, fought, and Campbell fell;
And ere poor Mora's beauteous eye
Re-opened on the morning sky;
Ere reason had her throne resumed,
And darken'd intellect return'd,
Her only brother, her sole shield,
Was carried wounded from the field,
With all his tartans crimson-dyed,
And stretch'd down by his sister's side.
This was a trial too severe
For youth and beauty well to bear;
And that same day the English host
March'd off, and hope of love was lost;
And Mora's young elastic mind,
Brisk as Glen-Lyon's balmy wind,
And placid as the evening's fall
On the green bowers of Fortingall,
Was all at once, before its prime,
In misery plunged without a crime.
I know of no such deadly smart
To fall on maiden's bleeding heart.
For youth and beauty well to bear;
And that same day the English host
March'd off, and hope of love was lost;
And Mora's young elastic mind,
Brisk as Glen-Lyon's balmy wind,
And placid as the evening's fall
On the green bowers of Fortingall,
Was all at once, before its prime,
In misery plunged without a crime.
I know of no such deadly smart
To fall on maiden's bleeding heart.
When the Almighty's sacred sway
Calls our dear bosom friends away,
There is a cause we calm should be—
A reverence due to the decree—
A holy awe that swathes the past
And present, dark and overcast,
Both in a glorious future light,
Eternal, infinite, and bright;
And thus our deepest sorrow given,
Is mingled with a ray of heaven.
Calls our dear bosom friends away,
There is a cause we calm should be—
A reverence due to the decree—
A holy awe that swathes the past
And present, dark and overcast,
Both in a glorious future light,
Eternal, infinite, and bright;
And thus our deepest sorrow given,
Is mingled with a ray of heaven.
But when affection all and whole,
The very pillars of the soul,
Are placed on one sole being here,
For whom alone this life is dear,
To find that one our trust betray,
And all our hopes in ruin lay—
Then 'reaved, astonished, and forsaken,
The structure of the soul is shaken,
Without one prop whereon to rest,
That will not pierce the stooping breast,
Or thought of one beloved so well,
Unshaded by a tinge of hell;
This is a grief without remede—
This, this is wretchedness indeed!
The very pillars of the soul,
Are placed on one sole being here,
For whom alone this life is dear,
To find that one our trust betray,
And all our hopes in ruin lay—
Then 'reaved, astonished, and forsaken,
The structure of the soul is shaken,
Without one prop whereon to rest,
That will not pierce the stooping breast,
Or thought of one beloved so well,
Unshaded by a tinge of hell;
This is a grief without remede—
This, this is wretchedness indeed!
303
In this dire state of dumb dismay
And hopeless grief, for many a day,
Of every cheering ray bereft,
Was Mora of Glen-Lyon left.
She never waked one morn to cumber,
On which she wish'd not still to slumber;
She never sunk that night to rest,
On which she wish'd not to be blest
With dreamless sleep that break should never,
Unknown, unknowing ought for ever.
And hopeless grief, for many a day,
Of every cheering ray bereft,
Was Mora of Glen-Lyon left.
She never waked one morn to cumber,
On which she wish'd not still to slumber;
She never sunk that night to rest,
On which she wish'd not to be blest
With dreamless sleep that break should never,
Unknown, unknowing ought for ever.
In that fond heart where love had reigned,
A vacancy alone remain'd,
A dreary void, which to supply
Nothing remain'd beneath the sky;
For with the husband of her youth,
His sacred honour and his truth,
Vanish'd her hope, her fear, her all.
But yet, at pity's gentle call,
Some kind emotions woke anew;
She to her suffering brother flew,
Yielded to nature's kindred sway,
And nursed and soothed him night and day;
Nor once produced unwelcome theme,
By mention of her husband's name.
A vacancy alone remain'd,
A dreary void, which to supply
Nothing remain'd beneath the sky;
For with the husband of her youth,
His sacred honour and his truth,
Vanish'd her hope, her fear, her all.
But yet, at pity's gentle call,
Some kind emotions woke anew;
She to her suffering brother flew,
Yielded to nature's kindred sway,
And nursed and soothed him night and day;
Nor once produced unwelcome theme,
By mention of her husband's name.
Home to Glen-Lyon's lonely glade,
The wounded warrior was convey'd,
And after tedious illness borne,
Dejected, wearied, and outworn,
He yielded up his spirit brave,
And sunk to an untimely grave.
And just before his life's last close,
Glen-Lyon's flower, her faded rose,
Wept o'er a young and helpless guest,
And nursed him on her youthful breast—
A lovely babe; he throve and grew,
Prattled, and smiled, and nothing knew
Of all his mother's yearnings strong,
And all her deep and deadly wrong.
The wounded warrior was convey'd,
And after tedious illness borne,
Dejected, wearied, and outworn,
He yielded up his spirit brave,
And sunk to an untimely grave.
And just before his life's last close,
Glen-Lyon's flower, her faded rose,
Wept o'er a young and helpless guest,
And nursed him on her youthful breast—
A lovely babe; he throve and grew,
Prattled, and smiled, and nothing knew
Of all his mother's yearnings strong,
And all her deep and deadly wrong.
Sir Hugh, with feelings rack'd and torn,
And spirit wounded and forlorn,
At all the ills his hand had wrought,
And conduct with dishonour fraught,
Was hurried by his General far,
To combat in a foreign war,
And hold command in that campaign
That ravaged Alsace and the Rhine.
But from that day he first denied
His youthful wife in warrior pride,
And left her guardian and her shield
A-bleeding on Boleskine field,
From thence in fortune ill or good,
He was a man of altered mood—
A man who only seem'd to take
A thought of life for sorrow's sake;
Fought but to mitigate his woe,
And gloried not in friend or foe.
And spirit wounded and forlorn,
At all the ills his hand had wrought,
And conduct with dishonour fraught,
Was hurried by his General far,
To combat in a foreign war,
And hold command in that campaign
That ravaged Alsace and the Rhine.
But from that day he first denied
His youthful wife in warrior pride,
And left her guardian and her shield
A-bleeding on Boleskine field,
From thence in fortune ill or good,
He was a man of altered mood—
A man who only seem'd to take
A thought of life for sorrow's sake;
Fought but to mitigate his woe,
And gloried not in friend or foe.
Three years of fierce and bloody feud
Produced a transient quietude,
And brave Sir Hugh's diminished corps
Returned to England's welcome shore.
Meanwhile his son on Highland brae,
By one more relative's decay,
Succeeded had, by birth allied,
To fair Glen-Lyon far and wide,
To castle, peel, and barbican,
The greatest laird of all his clan.
Produced a transient quietude,
And brave Sir Hugh's diminished corps
Returned to England's welcome shore.
Meanwhile his son on Highland brae,
By one more relative's decay,
Succeeded had, by birth allied,
To fair Glen-Lyon far and wide,
To castle, peel, and barbican,
The greatest laird of all his clan.
Why does fair Mora of the wild
Thus deck herself and comely child;
Not in Clan-Campbell's tartans sheen,
The red, the yellow, and the green;
But in new robes of southern hue,
Pale garments of cerulean blue;
And daily take a stand sublime,
Like meteors of a foreign clime?
Thus deck herself and comely child;
Not in Clan-Campbell's tartans sheen,
The red, the yellow, and the green;
But in new robes of southern hue,
Pale garments of cerulean blue;
And daily take a stand sublime,
Like meteors of a foreign clime?
Ask not again—thou know'st full well,
Nought of this world in which we dwell,
No fault nor failing, time nor space,
Can woman's maiden love efface.
It blossoms, still a virgin gem,
And offspring strengthens still the stem.
Sooner may maiden fresh and fair
Forget her locks of flowing hair,
That, heaving with her balmy breath,
To lover's heart throws shaft of death;
Sooner neglect its crescent bow,
And shed oblique above the brow,
And all her charms aright to set,
Than once an early love forget;
Nay, sooner may maternal love
A truant to her nature prove,
And her betrothed affections flee
The infant smiling on her knee,
Than she can from her heart dethrone
The father of that lovely one.
Even when poor Mora's heart was reft
Of all, still sovereign love was left.
Nought of this world in which we dwell,
No fault nor failing, time nor space,
Can woman's maiden love efface.
It blossoms, still a virgin gem,
And offspring strengthens still the stem.
Sooner may maiden fresh and fair
Forget her locks of flowing hair,
That, heaving with her balmy breath,
To lover's heart throws shaft of death;
Sooner neglect its crescent bow,
And shed oblique above the brow,
And all her charms aright to set,
Than once an early love forget;
Nay, sooner may maternal love
A truant to her nature prove,
And her betrothed affections flee
The infant smiling on her knee,
Than she can from her heart dethrone
The father of that lovely one.
Even when poor Mora's heart was reft
Of all, still sovereign love was left.
And now she thought—what could she do,
But ween her husband still was true!
And, when in freedom, would not fail
To seek Glen-Lyon's Highland dale,
Where counts would soon have been made even,
And all forgotten and forgiven?
But ween her husband still was true!
And, when in freedom, would not fail
To seek Glen-Lyon's Highland dale,
Where counts would soon have been made even,
And all forgotten and forgiven?
He sent not—came not once that way;
Though many a weary hour and day
She, and the boy of her delight,
Stood robed in southern garments bright,
Straining, with anxious eye intent,
South from the highest battlement,
Then every night she dreamed anew,
Of meeting with her own Sir Hugh;
And every day she took her stand,
And look'd unto the southern land:
While every time she kissed her boy,
A mother's pride, a mother's joy,
Waked ardent longings to attain
Sight of his father once again.
Though many a weary hour and day
She, and the boy of her delight,
Stood robed in southern garments bright,
Straining, with anxious eye intent,
South from the highest battlement,
Then every night she dreamed anew,
Of meeting with her own Sir Hugh;
And every day she took her stand,
And look'd unto the southern land:
While every time she kissed her boy,
A mother's pride, a mother's joy,
Waked ardent longings to attain
Sight of his father once again.
304
Her heart could brook no more delay,
And southward on a dubious way,
She with her boy disguised is gone—
By land, by sea, they journey'd on,
And soon arrived with purpose shrewd,
Mid London's mingled multitude,
Where straight she went in courtly style,
To Lady Ella of Argyle,
And there did secretly impart
Each wish and purpose of her heart.
That lady welcomed her the more
As all her wrongs she knew before,
And oft had wish'd most fervently,
A mediatrix there to be;
Though, certes, little did she ween
Her friend was beauty's peerless queen.
And southward on a dubious way,
She with her boy disguised is gone—
By land, by sea, they journey'd on,
And soon arrived with purpose shrewd,
Mid London's mingled multitude,
Where straight she went in courtly style,
To Lady Ella of Argyle,
And there did secretly impart
Each wish and purpose of her heart.
That lady welcomed her the more
As all her wrongs she knew before,
And oft had wish'd most fervently,
A mediatrix there to be;
Though, certes, little did she ween
Her friend was beauty's peerless queen.
What scope for matron's subtle aid!
Their potent measures soon were laid;
And forth came Mora of the glen,
Amid a wilderness of men,
All gazing—all entranced outright,
At her resplendent beauty bright:
For no such loveliness or worth
As this fair vision of the North
Had e'er been seen by mortal man,
Or heard of since the world began.
The lady took her friend so fair
To balls, assemblies, everywhere;
And sooth she was a comely sight,
In silken tartans blazing bright:
A comet of bedazzling ray;
A rainbow in a winter day;
A meteor of the frozen zone,
As bright in course as quickly gone.
For purpose justified and plain,
The lady surnamed her M'Vane,
Her husband's name, though unperceived,
Through Scottish breviat interweaved.
Then every day the clamour spread,
Of this unrivalled Highland maid,
And every day brought wooers store,
In splendour to Duke Archibald's door;
But all advances soon were check'd
By distant coldness and respect,
And lords and courtiers sued in vain
To the unparagon'd M'Vane.
Sir Hugh, so dull and saturnine;
Chanced to behold, without design,
In all her elegance unfurl'd,
This streamer of the northern world;
For there were many movements sly,
To bring her to his languid eye,
Which no inducement could invite
To look on lady with delight.
Their potent measures soon were laid;
And forth came Mora of the glen,
Amid a wilderness of men,
All gazing—all entranced outright,
At her resplendent beauty bright:
For no such loveliness or worth
As this fair vision of the North
Had e'er been seen by mortal man,
Or heard of since the world began.
The lady took her friend so fair
To balls, assemblies, everywhere;
And sooth she was a comely sight,
In silken tartans blazing bright:
A comet of bedazzling ray;
A rainbow in a winter day;
A meteor of the frozen zone,
As bright in course as quickly gone.
For purpose justified and plain,
The lady surnamed her M'Vane,
Her husband's name, though unperceived,
Through Scottish breviat interweaved.
Then every day the clamour spread,
Of this unrivalled Highland maid,
And every day brought wooers store,
In splendour to Duke Archibald's door;
But all advances soon were check'd
By distant coldness and respect,
And lords and courtiers sued in vain
To the unparagon'd M'Vane.
Sir Hugh, so dull and saturnine;
Chanced to behold, without design,
In all her elegance unfurl'd,
This streamer of the northern world;
For there were many movements sly,
To bring her to his languid eye,
Which no inducement could invite
To look on lady with delight.
The effect was instant, powerful, strong,
Without the force of right or wrong
To rectify or countervail:
Once more was heaved the loaded scale.
Oh there was something in her air,
So comely, so divinely fair,
So fraught with beauty's genial glow,
Like angel dream'd of long ago,
That all his energies of mind
To this dear object were confined!
He durst not think of former spouse,
Nor dream of former broken vows;
Because, without this lady, he
Found life was utter misery.
Unto Argyle all was unknown;
The lady Ella knew alone;
But he, good man, was to his end,
A Campbell's best and firmest friend:
And judging this a proper fit,
He urged the beauty to submit.
No—she had reasons indirect
A Southern always to suspect;
And unto one should never yield,
Till bonds and contracts, sign'd and seal'd,
Were all made firm in liege and land,
And lodged in good Duke Archibald's hand.
Then lothly did she yield consent
To vows of love so vehement,
And they were wed in princely style,
Within the palace of Argyle.
If brave Sir Hugh loved well before,
This time was added ten times more:
'Twas as if love had raised its head,
In resurrection from the dead;
And fix'd on being all supreme,
Like something in a long-lost dream,
And with an energy intense,
As far surpassing mortal sense,
He loved, as blessed spirits prove,
When meeting in the realms above.
Without the force of right or wrong
To rectify or countervail:
Once more was heaved the loaded scale.
Oh there was something in her air,
So comely, so divinely fair,
So fraught with beauty's genial glow,
Like angel dream'd of long ago,
That all his energies of mind
To this dear object were confined!
He durst not think of former spouse,
Nor dream of former broken vows;
Because, without this lady, he
Found life was utter misery.
Unto Argyle all was unknown;
The lady Ella knew alone;
But he, good man, was to his end,
A Campbell's best and firmest friend:
And judging this a proper fit,
He urged the beauty to submit.
No—she had reasons indirect
A Southern always to suspect;
And unto one should never yield,
Till bonds and contracts, sign'd and seal'd,
Were all made firm in liege and land,
And lodged in good Duke Archibald's hand.
Then lothly did she yield consent
To vows of love so vehement,
And they were wed in princely style,
Within the palace of Argyle.
If brave Sir Hugh loved well before,
This time was added ten times more:
'Twas as if love had raised its head,
In resurrection from the dead;
And fix'd on being all supreme,
Like something in a long-lost dream,
And with an energy intense,
As far surpassing mortal sense,
He loved, as blessed spirits prove,
When meeting in the realms above.
The joy that lighten'd in her eye,
Was watched by his with ecstasy;
On every accent of her tongue
His ravished ear enraptured hung;
And sometimes as its Highland twang
Out through his vitals thrilling rang,
It seem'd to bring a pang of woe,
And tears would all unbidden flow,
As linked in some mysterious way,
With visions of a former day.
Was watched by his with ecstasy;
On every accent of her tongue
His ravished ear enraptured hung;
And sometimes as its Highland twang
Out through his vitals thrilling rang,
It seem'd to bring a pang of woe,
And tears would all unbidden flow,
As linked in some mysterious way,
With visions of a former day.
But faithless lover never pass'd
Without due chastening at the last;
And grievous penalties in store
Were lurking now Sir Hugh before.
One eve, when rung the dinner bell,
His lady was announced unwell;
And worse—on some mysterious plea,
Firmly refused his face to see.
The warrior was astonished quite;
His senses seem'd involved in night,
As if he struggled, conscience-check'd,
Some dire offence to recollect;
But could not all its weight perpend,
Nor its dimensions comprehend.
His spirit shrunk within his frame;
He watch'd the eye of noble dame,
And saw with dreadour and with doubt,
A flame enkindling him about,
That would his heart or honour sear;
But yet he wist not what to fear.
He moved about like troubled sprite,
And rested neither day nor night;
For still his darling, his espoused,
All access to her lord refused.
At length he sought, in rueful style,
The stately Ella of Argyle.
Without due chastening at the last;
And grievous penalties in store
Were lurking now Sir Hugh before.
One eve, when rung the dinner bell,
His lady was announced unwell;
And worse—on some mysterious plea,
Firmly refused his face to see.
The warrior was astonished quite;
His senses seem'd involved in night,
305
Some dire offence to recollect;
But could not all its weight perpend,
Nor its dimensions comprehend.
His spirit shrunk within his frame;
He watch'd the eye of noble dame,
And saw with dreadour and with doubt,
A flame enkindling him about,
That would his heart or honour sear;
But yet he wist not what to fear.
He moved about like troubled sprite,
And rested neither day nor night;
For still his darling, his espoused,
All access to her lord refused.
At length he sought, in rueful style,
The stately Ella of Argyle.
“Madam, by all the holy ties,
Which none knew more than thou to prize;
By those endearments prized the most,
Which thou hast sigh'd for, gain'd and lost,
Tell me my doom. What is my crime?
And why this painful pantomime?
To know the worst will be relief
From this exuberance of grief.”
Which none knew more than thou to prize;
By those endearments prized the most,
Which thou hast sigh'd for, gain'd and lost,
Tell me my doom. What is my crime?
And why this painful pantomime?
To know the worst will be relief
From this exuberance of grief.”
“Sir Hugh, it grieves me much to be
The herald of perplexity,
But letters have arrived of late,
That of injurious matters treat;
This lovely dame, whom you have wed,
Hath our kind guardianship misled;
And is not seemingly the dame,
Either in lineage or in name,
Which she assumed. They hold it true,
That she's a wife and mother too;
That this is truth, I do not know,
But reasons have to dread it so.”
The herald of perplexity,
But letters have arrived of late,
That of injurious matters treat;
This lovely dame, whom you have wed,
Hath our kind guardianship misled;
And is not seemingly the dame,
Either in lineage or in name,
Which she assumed. They hold it true,
That she's a wife and mother too;
That this is truth, I do not know,
But reasons have to dread it so.”
Sir Hugh shed some salt tears of grief,
Which brought more anguish than relief,
And thought, as naturally he must,
“I am a sinner! God is just!”
Then blazed he forth with storm and threat,
To blame the lady of deceit.
“Madam,” said he, “the lady came
Forth under your auspicious name;
And who could deem deceitful wile,
Used by the house of great Argyle?
I to the duke make my appeal;
From all his princely honest zeal,
I know he'll rid me of this shame,
So derogating to his name.
If she's a wife, I her forego,
To censures fitting thereunto;
And if a mistress, must disclaim
All union with her bloated name;
For though I love her more than life
She ne'er can be my lady wife.
Unto the duke's awards I bow,
I know this deed he'll disallow.”
Which brought more anguish than relief,
And thought, as naturally he must,
“I am a sinner! God is just!”
Then blazed he forth with storm and threat,
To blame the lady of deceit.
“Madam,” said he, “the lady came
Forth under your auspicious name;
And who could deem deceitful wile,
Used by the house of great Argyle?
I to the duke make my appeal;
From all his princely honest zeal,
I know he'll rid me of this shame,
So derogating to his name.
If she's a wife, I her forego,
To censures fitting thereunto;
And if a mistress, must disclaim
All union with her bloated name;
For though I love her more than life
She ne'er can be my lady wife.
Unto the duke's awards I bow,
I know this deed he'll disallow.”
Unto Duke Archibald straight he went,
His grievous injuries to vent;
Who heard him with his known degree
Of calm respect and dignity:
Then said, “I take no blame in ought;
The comely dame my sister brought
Unto my halls, as courtly guest,
And she's incapable of jest.
If this fair dame you have espoused,
Hath our high name, and you, abused,
I give her up without defence,
To suffer for her fraudulence.
Let officers attend, and bear
Her to a jail, till she appear
In court, and this sad blame remove;
I hope her innocence she'll prove.”
His grievous injuries to vent;
Who heard him with his known degree
Of calm respect and dignity:
Then said, “I take no blame in ought;
The comely dame my sister brought
Unto my halls, as courtly guest,
And she's incapable of jest.
If this fair dame you have espoused,
Hath our high name, and you, abused,
I give her up without defence,
To suffer for her fraudulence.
Let officers attend, and bear
Her to a jail, till she appear
In court, and this sad blame remove;
I hope her innocence she'll prove.”
The officers arrived in haste;
Argyle went to his lovely guest,
To learn if she was not belied;
But no one knew what she replied;
For back he came in sullen mood,
Without remark, evil or good,
And seem'd determined to consign
Mora to punishment condign.
Ere her commitment was made out,
Sir Hugh, in choler and in doubt,
Pleaded to hear from her own mouth,
Whate'er it was, the honest truth;
Then he, impassioned and uproused,
Made rank confusion more confused,
By raging on with stormy din,
Threatening Argyle and all his kin—
When lo! in manifest concern,
The Lady Ella, flush'd and stern,
Came in and with reproving look,
Accosted the astonished duke.
Argyle went to his lovely guest,
To learn if she was not belied;
But no one knew what she replied;
For back he came in sullen mood,
Without remark, evil or good,
And seem'd determined to consign
Mora to punishment condign.
Ere her commitment was made out,
Sir Hugh, in choler and in doubt,
Pleaded to hear from her own mouth,
Whate'er it was, the honest truth;
Then he, impassioned and uproused,
Made rank confusion more confused,
By raging on with stormy din,
Threatening Argyle and all his kin—
When lo! in manifest concern,
The Lady Ella, flush'd and stern,
Came in and with reproving look,
Accosted the astonished duke.
“My lord, your writ you may affere;
'Tis well the officers are here—
For such an injury propense,
Such dark degrading delinquence,
Ne'er proffer'd was by mortal man
To lady of our kin and clan.
Let the offence have judgment due!”
“'Tis my request,” replied Sir Hugh.
“Yes, warrior! vengeance shall be had—
And for thy sake, we'll superadd,
As said the prophet to the king,
Thou art the man hath done the thing.
My lord, the criminal malign,
Is this high favourite of thine,
Who hath us proffer'd that disgrace,
Which no effrontery can outface.
False the advice to us was brought—
'Tis he the misery hath wrought,
Unto the lovely dame agrieved,
Whom late he from your hand received.
Poor lady! reft of hope and fame,
And all that was her rightful claim—
My lord, believe it if you can,
This bold Sir Hugh was married man—
Married for seven years before
He came a wooer to your door.”
'Tis well the officers are here—
For such an injury propense,
Such dark degrading delinquence,
Ne'er proffer'd was by mortal man
To lady of our kin and clan.
Let the offence have judgment due!”
“'Tis my request,” replied Sir Hugh.
“Yes, warrior! vengeance shall be had—
And for thy sake, we'll superadd,
As said the prophet to the king,
Thou art the man hath done the thing.
My lord, the criminal malign,
Is this high favourite of thine,
Who hath us proffer'd that disgrace,
Which no effrontery can outface.
False the advice to us was brought—
'Tis he the misery hath wrought,
Unto the lovely dame agrieved,
Whom late he from your hand received.
306
And all that was her rightful claim—
My lord, believe it if you can,
This bold Sir Hugh was married man—
Married for seven years before
He came a wooer to your door.”
“I'll not believe,” Argyle replied,
“That man alive durst have defied
Me to my face in such a way.
Sir, straight this calumny gainsay,
If thou the least respect wouldst claim
To noble warrior's honour'd name.”
“All false! all false, my lord, in faith,”
Sir Hugh replied with stifled breath:
“A hoax, a flam your grace to gall;
To prove it I defy them all.”
“That man alive durst have defied
Me to my face in such a way.
Sir, straight this calumny gainsay,
If thou the least respect wouldst claim
To noble warrior's honour'd name.”
“All false! all false, my lord, in faith,”
Sir Hugh replied with stifled breath:
“A hoax, a flam your grace to gall;
To prove it I defy them all.”
“The proof, Sir Knight, shall soon be brought,
Home to your heart with vengeance fraught.
Your former spouse, from Highland wood,
Is here in blooming lustihood;
And as appropriate garniture,
And a kind welcome to secure,
A sweet young family hath brought,
Wild as young cubs in forest caught—
Whose thews and features are no shams,
Whose carrot locks and kilted hams
The darkest secrets might betray,
Were there no other 'mergent way.
She has call'd here in deep distress—
Our fair friend's anguish you may guess;
From this, what marvel can there be
That she denies your face to see?”
Home to your heart with vengeance fraught.
Your former spouse, from Highland wood,
Is here in blooming lustihood;
And as appropriate garniture,
And a kind welcome to secure,
A sweet young family hath brought,
Wild as young cubs in forest caught—
Whose thews and features are no shams,
Whose carrot locks and kilted hams
The darkest secrets might betray,
Were there no other 'mergent way.
She has call'd here in deep distress—
Our fair friend's anguish you may guess;
From this, what marvel can there be
That she denies your face to see?”
Hast thou not seen the morning ray
Ascend the east with springing day,
Now red, now purple, and now pale,
The herald of the stormy gale?
Thou hast. Yet thou can'st never view
The dead blank look of brave Sir Hugh.
Two wives at once to deprehend him—
And Highland wives—The Lord defend him!
Ascend the east with springing day,
Now red, now purple, and now pale,
The herald of the stormy gale?
Thou hast. Yet thou can'st never view
The dead blank look of brave Sir Hugh.
Two wives at once to deprehend him—
And Highland wives—The Lord defend him!
Argyle was wroth, it might be seen,
Yet still preserved his look serene,
He saw the guilty deed confess'd,
By signs which could not be repress'd;
And studied in his lordly mind,
The sharpest punishment assign'd,
When Duncan with broad Highland face,
Came in with bow, and “Please her grace,
Tere pe fine lhady at her gate,
Whose grhief of mhind pe very grheat;
And pretty poy upon her hand,
As was not porn in any land—
Prave Highlander so prave and young,
And spaiks in her own moter tongue;
What shall her nainsel say or dhoo?
She cries to speak with prave Sir Hugh.”
Yet still preserved his look serene,
He saw the guilty deed confess'd,
By signs which could not be repress'd;
And studied in his lordly mind,
The sharpest punishment assign'd,
When Duncan with broad Highland face,
Came in with bow, and “Please her grace,
Tere pe fine lhady at her gate,
Whose grhief of mhind pe very grheat;
And pretty poy upon her hand,
As was not porn in any land—
Prave Highlander so prave and young,
And spaiks in her own moter tongue;
What shall her nainsel say or dhoo?
She cries to speak with prave Sir Hugh.”
Sir Hugh then thought without a doubt
That evils compass'd him about.
“O lord!” he cried, in fervent way,
Then turned in manifest dismay—
“I'll go,” said he, “straight to the gate—
I must not let the lady wait.”—
“No,” cried Argyle, “you 'scape not so.
Guards, keep the door, till once we know
How he himself of this can clear.
Duncan, go bring the lady here.”
That evils compass'd him about.
“O lord!” he cried, in fervent way,
Then turned in manifest dismay—
“I'll go,” said he, “straight to the gate—
I must not let the lady wait.”—
“No,” cried Argyle, “you 'scape not so.
Guards, keep the door, till once we know
How he himself of this can clear.
Duncan, go bring the lady here.”
Duncan bow'd low, and off he ran,
A pliant and right joyful man—
Deeming the lady sure of grace,
When brought before his master's face;
For tartan'd dame from glen or isle,
Ne'er sued in vain to great Argyle.
A pliant and right joyful man—
Deeming the lady sure of grace,
When brought before his master's face;
For tartan'd dame from glen or isle,
Ne'er sued in vain to great Argyle.
In came young Mora, blushing deep,
Fresh from Glen-Lyon's lordly steep;
The healthful odours of the wild,
Breathing around her and her child.
Their fragrance came like freshening gale,
For grateful travellers to inhale—
Like kindred roses sweet and bland,
Or wandering wind from fairy land.
The boy was robed like royal fay,
In bold Clan-Gillan's bright array—
Belted and plumed, the elfin smiled,
The phœnix of his native wild;
Herself in the same robes bedight
She wore on her first bridal night,
When he she long had nursed in pain,
Led her unto the darksome fane,
And gave her hand without a stain,
And heart, never to change again,
While torches glimmer'd dimly on
Boleskine's sacred altar-stone.
Fresh from Glen-Lyon's lordly steep;
The healthful odours of the wild,
Breathing around her and her child.
Their fragrance came like freshening gale,
For grateful travellers to inhale—
Like kindred roses sweet and bland,
Or wandering wind from fairy land.
The boy was robed like royal fay,
In bold Clan-Gillan's bright array—
Belted and plumed, the elfin smiled,
The phœnix of his native wild;
Herself in the same robes bedight
She wore on her first bridal night,
When he she long had nursed in pain,
Led her unto the darksome fane,
And gave her hand without a stain,
And heart, never to change again,
While torches glimmer'd dimly on
Boleskine's sacred altar-stone.
The astonish'd group stood moveless still,
And neither utter'd good nor ill.
Such beauty, grace, and comely mould,
Said more than language ever told
For her and hers. Ere she'd begun
To speak, some favour she had won—
But some resemblance that she bore,
Some unacknowledged likeness more—
Even great Argyle, of tranquil mien,
And noted for perception keen,
Held no suspicion that the dame,
That comely mother, was the same
Who queen of beauty rank'd the while
In the emporium of our isle.
And neither utter'd good nor ill.
Such beauty, grace, and comely mould,
Said more than language ever told
For her and hers. Ere she'd begun
To speak, some favour she had won—
But some resemblance that she bore,
Some unacknowledged likeness more—
Even great Argyle, of tranquil mien,
And noted for perception keen,
Held no suspicion that the dame,
That comely mother, was the same
Who queen of beauty rank'd the while
In the emporium of our isle.
He was the first that silence broke;
Taking her hand, these words he spoke:
“Fair lady, I have heard a part
Of how much wrong'd and grieved thou art.
What share I had by suit or sway,
I'll rue until my dying day;
But this I promise, that thy right
Shall be as sacred in my sight
As thou of kindred had'st a claim,
And she an alien to our name:
Declare thy grievous wrongs erewhile,
And trust the issue to Argyle.”
Taking her hand, these words he spoke:
“Fair lady, I have heard a part
Of how much wrong'd and grieved thou art.
What share I had by suit or sway,
I'll rue until my dying day;
But this I promise, that thy right
Shall be as sacred in my sight
As thou of kindred had'st a claim,
And she an alien to our name:
307
And trust the issue to Argyle.”
“My honoured liege, thy handmaid, I,
And of M'Calan's lineage high;
Glen-Lyon's verdant hills I claim,
And Mora Campbell is my name,
His sister, who commission bore
Under Young Campbell of Mamore,
Who led your grace's clansmen bold,
On that dark Culloden's bloody wold.
And of M'Calan's lineage high;
Glen-Lyon's verdant hills I claim,
And Mora Campbell is my name,
His sister, who commission bore
Under Young Campbell of Mamore,
Who led your grace's clansmen bold,
On that dark Culloden's bloody wold.
“That summer when the English host
Lay on Lochaber's ruined coast,
Some dames and maidens of your line
Went to the camp, to intertwine
With laurel every hero's plume
Who fought rebellion to consume.
Too much elated there and then,
This gallant knight, Sir Hugh de Vane,
Made love to me by suit and boon,
And won my youthful heart too soon.
We married were by chaplain vile,
In old Boleskine's holy isle—
My brother present; here's the ring;
The registers, the entering,
As safe and solemn to my mind
As man alive could couple bind.
Sir Hugh dares not the truth deny,
Nor in one point give me the lie.
Lay on Lochaber's ruined coast,
Some dames and maidens of your line
Went to the camp, to intertwine
With laurel every hero's plume
Who fought rebellion to consume.
Too much elated there and then,
This gallant knight, Sir Hugh de Vane,
Made love to me by suit and boon,
And won my youthful heart too soon.
We married were by chaplain vile,
In old Boleskine's holy isle—
My brother present; here's the ring;
The registers, the entering,
As safe and solemn to my mind
As man alive could couple bind.
Sir Hugh dares not the truth deny,
Nor in one point give me the lie.
“But when the order questionless
Came for the host to march express,
His tongue, to truth and honour dead,
Denied me at the army's head;
While the base chaplain stood as glum
As rigid statue, deaf and dumb—
A mere automaton, subjected
To do as general's eye directed.
Came for the host to march express,
His tongue, to truth and honour dead,
Denied me at the army's head;
While the base chaplain stood as glum
As rigid statue, deaf and dumb—
A mere automaton, subjected
To do as general's eye directed.
“My brother charged Sir Hugh in wrath,
Fought him, and met untimely death;
While I, in sorrow and in pain,
Fled to my native hills again;
Where, of young mother all forlorn,
This sweet unfather'd babe was born,
Who now is rightful heir to all
Glen-Lyon's braes and Fortingall.
Fought him, and met untimely death;
While I, in sorrow and in pain,
Fled to my native hills again;
Where, of young mother all forlorn,
This sweet unfather'd babe was born,
Who now is rightful heir to all
Glen-Lyon's braes and Fortingall.
“But yet, my lord—who would believe't?—
For all the injuries I received,
I found my heart, in woeful plight,
Still clung unto this cruel knight,
With such a fondness, mix'd with pain,
I found I ne'er could love again.
Therefore, in thine and Heaven's sight,
I claim him as my primal right.”
For all the injuries I received,
I found my heart, in woeful plight,
Still clung unto this cruel knight,
With such a fondness, mix'd with pain,
I found I ne'er could love again.
Therefore, in thine and Heaven's sight,
I claim him as my primal right.”
“Certes, you may, and him obtain;
Your claim's substantial, fair, and plain;
Your suit you will not—cannot miss.
But then the worst of all is this,
That he'll be hung for felony;
Then what hast thou, or what has she?”
Your claim's substantial, fair, and plain;
Your suit you will not—cannot miss.
But then the worst of all is this,
That he'll be hung for felony;
Then what hast thou, or what has she?”
“I think, my lord,” Sir Hugh replied,
With haggard air and look aside,
“Since hanging's doom must overtake,
Let it be now for pity's sake.
I've fought in battle-field and glen
The fiercest of the sons of men;
The Mackintoshes, stern and gray,
And the blue Camerons of the brae;
I've braved the Frenchmen's serried might,
At morn, at eve, at dead of night:
But all these battles, fierce and famed,
Compared with this, can ne'er be named;
Mere pigmies to a giant's form,
A zephyr to a raging storm,
A lady's pinpoint to a block,
A chariot's to an earthquake's shock.
Most loved, most lovely, dreaded two!
I never was o'ercome till now,
Nor felt so feverishly. In brief,
A hanging would be great relief:
My lord—'tis truth—(I'll not evade)—
Each word that lovely dame hath said.”
With haggard air and look aside,
“Since hanging's doom must overtake,
Let it be now for pity's sake.
I've fought in battle-field and glen
The fiercest of the sons of men;
The Mackintoshes, stern and gray,
And the blue Camerons of the brae;
I've braved the Frenchmen's serried might,
At morn, at eve, at dead of night:
But all these battles, fierce and famed,
Compared with this, can ne'er be named;
Mere pigmies to a giant's form,
A zephyr to a raging storm,
A lady's pinpoint to a block,
A chariot's to an earthquake's shock.
Most loved, most lovely, dreaded two!
I never was o'ercome till now,
Nor felt so feverishly. In brief,
A hanging would be great relief:
My lord—'tis truth—(I'll not evade)—
Each word that lovely dame hath said.”
“Good lord!” exclaimed the ancient chief,
“This deed unhinges all belief!
What fiend could move thee thus to treat
Our kinswoman, so fair, so sweet;
And then to come with front of brass
To our own house—and, by the mass,
Straight wed—another to destroy,
As if a Campbell were a toy?
What spirit from the dark abyss
Could move thee to such deed as this?”
“This deed unhinges all belief!
What fiend could move thee thus to treat
Our kinswoman, so fair, so sweet;
And then to come with front of brass
To our own house—and, by the mass,
Straight wed—another to destroy,
As if a Campbell were a toy?
What spirit from the dark abyss
Could move thee to such deed as this?”
“God knows, my lord! The thing to me
Is an unfathom'd mystery;
But I suppose it was alone
The devil himself that urged me on;
For I declare, as I've to die,
No man e'er loved so well as I
This lovely dame. But I was bit
And bullied till I lost my wit;
Yet never since that hour of teen
One happy moment have I seen.
I love this last one too, 'tis true;
But, Mora, by my soul I vow,
'Tis for her likeness unto you.”
Is an unfathom'd mystery;
But I suppose it was alone
The devil himself that urged me on;
For I declare, as I've to die,
No man e'er loved so well as I
This lovely dame. But I was bit
And bullied till I lost my wit;
Yet never since that hour of teen
One happy moment have I seen.
I love this last one too, 'tis true;
But, Mora, by my soul I vow,
'Tis for her likeness unto you.”
The tears ran down young Mora's cheek;
She turn'd away, but could not speak,
Till Lady Ella of Argyle,
With face uplighted by a smile,
Arose, and took a hand of each,
And said, “Sir Hugh, this shameful breach
Of truth and honour quite o'erpowers
This dame, whose virgin love was yours,
And never will from you depart,
While the warm tide pervades her heart.
But though that heart you sore have wrung,
She cannot bear to see you hung;
And she is right; for, to my mind,
Hanging's no joke, and that you'll find.
And what may this dear boy betide,
Without a father him to guide?
And what disgrace the cant will be,
‘Your father hung on Tyburn tree!’
Take both the dames then, as you can,
Speed to Cathay or Hindoostan,
Where you may take a score or two,
And none to say, 'Tis wrong you do.”
She turn'd away, but could not speak,
Till Lady Ella of Argyle,
With face uplighted by a smile,
Arose, and took a hand of each,
And said, “Sir Hugh, this shameful breach
Of truth and honour quite o'erpowers
This dame, whose virgin love was yours,
And never will from you depart,
While the warm tide pervades her heart.
308
She cannot bear to see you hung;
And she is right; for, to my mind,
Hanging's no joke, and that you'll find.
And what may this dear boy betide,
Without a father him to guide?
And what disgrace the cant will be,
‘Your father hung on Tyburn tree!’
Take both the dames then, as you can,
Speed to Cathay or Hindoostan,
Where you may take a score or two,
And none to say, 'Tis wrong you do.”
“Yes, there is one,” Dame Mora said,
While tears came streaming to her aid.
But ere another word she spoke,
Old Duncan Glas the silence broke,
With face as grim and as demure,
As winter cloud before the shower—
“Oh plaise her grace, fwat shall she too?
Mattam Te-fane waits here pelow,
Wit salt tears stotting o'er her chin,
And very mat for to pe in.”
While tears came streaming to her aid.
But ere another word she spoke,
Old Duncan Glas the silence broke,
With face as grim and as demure,
As winter cloud before the shower—
“Oh plaise her grace, fwat shall she too?
Mattam Te-fane waits here pelow,
Wit salt tears stotting o'er her chin,
And very mat for to pe in.”
Wild as a maniac looked De Vane;
Then to the window ran amain,
And threw it open, quite intent
To brain himself, and supervent
This dreadful war of Highland wives,
And both their shameful narratives,
Before the just but proud Argyle,
The greatest subject of our isle;
But both the ladies held him fast,
To take one farewell for the last.
Argyle looked stern in troubled way,
And wist not what to do or say,
Till Lady Ella once again
Address'd the knight in cheerful strain:—
Then to the window ran amain,
And threw it open, quite intent
To brain himself, and supervent
This dreadful war of Highland wives,
And both their shameful narratives,
Before the just but proud Argyle,
The greatest subject of our isle;
But both the ladies held him fast,
To take one farewell for the last.
Argyle looked stern in troubled way,
And wist not what to do or say,
Till Lady Ella once again
Address'd the knight in cheerful strain:—
“Cheer up, Sir Hugh; for, on my life,
Your first, your last, your only wife,
Your virgin love, whose heart you won,
And mother of your comely son,
Now takes your hand. The scheme was mine,
And happy be you and your line;
The lovely dames are both the same,
In hers how knew you not your name?
Twice married now—Unequall'd lot!
But law redoubled breaks it not.
I join your hands, too long apart,
And wish you joy with all my heart!”
Your first, your last, your only wife,
Your virgin love, whose heart you won,
And mother of your comely son,
Now takes your hand. The scheme was mine,
And happy be you and your line;
The lovely dames are both the same,
In hers how knew you not your name?
Twice married now—Unequall'd lot!
But law redoubled breaks it not.
I join your hands, too long apart,
And wish you joy with all my heart!”
The crystal tears from his blue eyes
Pour'd bright as dew-drops from the skies;
His manly frame with joy was shivering,
And his round ruby lip was quivering,
As down he kneel'd in guise unmeet,
Embraced and kiss'd the ladies' feet;
Then seized his child in boyhood's bloom,
And danced and caper'd round the room.
But such a night of social glee,
Of wassail, song, and revelry,
Was not that night in Britain's isle,
As in the house of great Argyle.
Pour'd bright as dew-drops from the skies;
His manly frame with joy was shivering,
And his round ruby lip was quivering,
As down he kneel'd in guise unmeet,
Embraced and kiss'd the ladies' feet;
Then seized his child in boyhood's bloom,
And danced and caper'd round the room.
But such a night of social glee,
Of wassail, song, and revelry,
Was not that night in Britain's isle,
As in the house of great Argyle.
This was not the Duchess of Argyle, who had died previously to this adventure; but the Lady Elizabeth Campbell, or Ella, as the duke called her familiarly, who then lived with him.
The Good Man of Alloa.
Did you never hear of a queer auld man,
A very strange man was he,
Who dwelt on the bonnie banks of Forth,
In a town full dear to me?
A very strange man was he,
Who dwelt on the bonnie banks of Forth,
In a town full dear to me?
But if all be true, as I heard tell,
And as I shall tell to thee,
There was never such a thing befell
To a man in this countrye.
And as I shall tell to thee,
There was never such a thing befell
To a man in this countrye.
One day he sat on a lonely brae,
And sorely he made his moan,
For his youthful days had pass'd away,
And ronkilt age came on;
And sorely he made his moan,
For his youthful days had pass'd away,
And ronkilt age came on;
And he thought of the lightsome days of love,
And joyful happy souls,
Quhill the tears ran ower the auld man's cheeks,
And down on his button holes.
And joyful happy souls,
Quhill the tears ran ower the auld man's cheeks,
And down on his button holes.
“Ochone, ochone!” quod the poor auld man,
“Where shall I go lay mine head?
For I am weary of this world,
And I wish that I were dead;
“Where shall I go lay mine head?
For I am weary of this world,
And I wish that I were dead;
“That I were dead, and in my grave,
Where cares could not annoy,
And my soul safely in a land
Of riches and of joy.
Where cares could not annoy,
And my soul safely in a land
Of riches and of joy.
“Yet would I like ane cozy bed
To meet the stroke of death,
With a holy psalm sung ower mine head,
And swoofit with my last breath;
To meet the stroke of death,
With a holy psalm sung ower mine head,
And swoofit with my last breath;
“With a kind hand to close mine eyne,
And shed a tear for me;
But, alack, for poverty and eild,
Siccan joys I can never see!
And shed a tear for me;
But, alack, for poverty and eild,
Siccan joys I can never see!
“For, though I have toil'd these seventy years,
Wasting both blood and bone,
Striving for riches as for life,
Yet riches I have none.
Wasting both blood and bone,
Striving for riches as for life,
Yet riches I have none.
“For though I seized them by the tail,
With proud and joyful mind,
Yet did they take them wings and fly,
And leave me here behind;
With proud and joyful mind,
Yet did they take them wings and fly,
And leave me here behind;
“They left me here to rant and rair,
Mocking my raving tongue,
Though skraighing like ane gainder goose
That is 'reft of his young.
Mocking my raving tongue,
Though skraighing like ane gainder goose
That is 'reft of his young.
“Oh, woe is me! for all my toil,
And all my dear-bought gains,
Yet must I die a cauldrife death,
In poverty and pains!
And all my dear-bought gains,
Yet must I die a cauldrife death,
In poverty and pains!
309
“Oh! where are all my riches gone,
Where, or to what country?
There is gold enough into this world,
But none of it made for me.
Where, or to what country?
There is gold enough into this world,
But none of it made for me.
“Yet Providence was sore misled,
My riches to destroy,
Else many a poor and virtuous heart
Should have had cause of joy.”
My riches to destroy,
Else many a poor and virtuous heart
Should have had cause of joy.”
Then the poor auld man laid down his head,
And rairit for very grief,
And streikit out his limbs to die;
For he knew of no relief.
And rairit for very grief,
And streikit out his limbs to die;
For he knew of no relief.
But bye there came a lovely dame,
Upon a palfrey gray;
And she listen'd unto the auld man's tale,
And all he had to say,—
Upon a palfrey gray;
And she listen'd unto the auld man's tale,
And all he had to say,—
Of all his griefs, and sore regret,
For things that him befell,
And because he could not feed the poor,
Which thing he loved so well.
For things that him befell,
And because he could not feed the poor,
Which thing he loved so well.
“It is great pity,” quod the dame,
“That one so very kind,
So full of charity and love,
And of such virtuous mind,
“That one so very kind,
So full of charity and love,
And of such virtuous mind,
“Should lie and perish on a brae,
Of poverty and eild,
Without one single hand to prove
His solace and his shield.”
Of poverty and eild,
Without one single hand to prove
His solace and his shield.”
She took the old man her behind
Upon her palfrey gray,
And swifter nor the southland wind
They scour'd the velvet brae.
Upon her palfrey gray,
And swifter nor the southland wind
They scour'd the velvet brae.
And the palfrey's tail behind did sail
O'er locker and o'er lea;
While the tears stood in the old man's eyne,
With swiftness and with glee;
O'er locker and o'er lea;
While the tears stood in the old man's eyne,
With swiftness and with glee;
For the comely dame had promised him
Of riches mighty store,
That his kind heart might have full scope
For feeding of the poor.
Of riches mighty store,
That his kind heart might have full scope
For feeding of the poor.
“Now grace me save!” said the good auld man;
“Where bears thy bridle hand?
Art thou going to break the Greenock bank?
Or the bank of fair Scotland?
“Where bears thy bridle hand?
Art thou going to break the Greenock bank?
Or the bank of fair Scotland?
“My conscience hardly this may brook;
But on this you may depend,
Whatever is given unto me,
Is to a righteous end.”
But on this you may depend,
Whatever is given unto me,
Is to a righteous end.”
“Keep thou thy seat,” said the comely dame,
“And conscience clear and stenne;
There is plenty of gold in the sea's bottom
To enrich ten thousand men.
“And conscience clear and stenne;
There is plenty of gold in the sea's bottom
To enrich ten thousand men.
“Ride on with me, and thou shalt see
What treasures there do lie;
For I can gallop the emerald wave,
And along its channels dry.”
What treasures there do lie;
For I can gallop the emerald wave,
And along its channels dry.”
“If thou canst do that,” said the good old man,
“Thou shalt ride thy lane for me;
For I can neither swim, nor dive,
Nor walk the raging sea:
“Thou shalt ride thy lane for me;
For I can neither swim, nor dive,
Nor walk the raging sea:
“For the salt water would blind mine eyne,
And what should I see there?
And buller buller down my throat;
Which thing I could not bear.”
And what should I see there?
And buller buller down my throat;
Which thing I could not bear.”
But away and away flew the comely dame
O'er moorland and o'er fell;
But whether they went north or south,
The old man could not tell.
O'er moorland and o'er fell;
But whether they went north or south,
The old man could not tell.
And the palfrey's tail behind did sail,
A comely sight to see,
Like little wee comet of the dale
Gaun skimmering o'er the lea.
A comely sight to see,
Like little wee comet of the dale
Gaun skimmering o'er the lea.
When the old man came to the salt sea's brink,
He quaked at the ocean faem;
But the palfrey splash'd into the same,
As it were its native hame.
He quaked at the ocean faem;
But the palfrey splash'd into the same,
As it were its native hame.
“Now Christ us save!” cried the good old man;
“Hath madness seized thine head?
For we shall sink in the ocean wave,
And bluther quhill we be dead.”
“Hath madness seized thine head?
For we shall sink in the ocean wave,
And bluther quhill we be dead.”
But the palfrey dash'd o'er the bounding wave,
With snifter and with stenne;
It was firmer nor the firmest sward
In all the Deffane glen.
With snifter and with stenne;
It was firmer nor the firmest sward
In all the Deffane glen.
But the good old man he held, as death
Holds by a sinner's tail;
Or as a craven clings to life,
When death does him assail.
Holds by a sinner's tail;
Or as a craven clings to life,
When death does him assail.
And the little wee palfrey shot away,
Like dragon's fiery train,
And up the wave, and down the wave,
Like meteor of the main.
Like dragon's fiery train,
And up the wave, and down the wave,
Like meteor of the main.
And its streaming tail behind did sail
With shimmer and with sheen;
And whenever it struck the mane of the wave,
The flashes of fire were seen.
With shimmer and with sheen;
And whenever it struck the mane of the wave,
The flashes of fire were seen.
“Ochone! ochone!” said the good old man,
“It is awesome to be here!
I fear these riches for which I greine
Shall cost me very dear;
“It is awesome to be here!
I fear these riches for which I greine
Shall cost me very dear;
“For we are running such perilous race
As mortals never ran;
And the devil is in that little beast,
If ever he was in man!”
As mortals never ran;
And the devil is in that little beast,
If ever he was in man!”
310
“Hurrah! hurrah! my bonnie gray!”
Cried the Maiden of the Sea;
“Ha! thou canst sweep the emerant deep
Swifter nor bird can flee!
Cried the Maiden of the Sea;
“Ha! thou canst sweep the emerant deep
Swifter nor bird can flee!
“For thou wast bred in a coral bed,
Beneath a silver sun,
Where the broad daylight, or the moon by night,
Could never never won;
Beneath a silver sun,
Where the broad daylight, or the moon by night,
Could never never won;
“Where the buirdly whale could never sail,
Nor the lazy walrus row;
And the little wee thing that gave thee suck,
Was a thing of the caves below.
Nor the lazy walrus row;
And the little wee thing that gave thee suck,
Was a thing of the caves below.
“And thou shalt run till the last sun
Sink o'er the westland hill;
And thou shalt ride the ocean tide
Till all its waves lie still.
Sink o'er the westland hill;
And thou shalt ride the ocean tide
Till all its waves lie still.
“Away! away! my bonnie gray!
Where billows rock the dead,
And where the richest prize lies low,
In all the ocean's bed.
Where billows rock the dead,
And where the richest prize lies low,
In all the ocean's bed.
The palfrey scrapit with his foot,
And snorkit fearsomelye;
Then lookit over his left shoulder,
To see what he could see.
And snorkit fearsomelye;
Then lookit over his left shoulder,
To see what he could see.
And as ever you saw a moudiwort
Bore into a foggy lea,
So did this little devilish beast
Dive down into the sea.
Bore into a foggy lea,
So did this little devilish beast
Dive down into the sea.
The good old man he gave a rair
As loud as he could strain:
But the waters closed aboon his head,
And down he went amain!
As loud as he could strain:
But the waters closed aboon his head,
And down he went amain!
But he neither blutherit with his breath,
Nor gaspit with his ganne,
And not one drop of salt water
Adown his thropple ran.
Nor gaspit with his ganne,
And not one drop of salt water
Adown his thropple ran.
But he rode as fair, and he rode as free,
As if all swaithed and furl'd
In MacIntosh's patent ware,—
The marvel of this world.
As if all swaithed and furl'd
In MacIntosh's patent ware,—
The marvel of this world.
At length they came to a gallant ship,
In the channels of the sea,
That leant her shoulder to a rock,
With her masts full sore aglee.
In the channels of the sea,
That leant her shoulder to a rock,
With her masts full sore aglee.
And there lay many a gallant man,
Rock'd by the moving main;
And soundly soundly did they sleep,
Never to wake again.
Rock'd by the moving main;
And soundly soundly did they sleep,
Never to wake again.
The ships might sail, and friends might wail,
On margin of the sea,
But news of them they would never hear
Till the days of eternitye;
On margin of the sea,
But news of them they would never hear
Till the days of eternitye;
For it was plain, as plain could be,
From all they saw around,
That the ship had gone down to the deep
Without one warning sound—
From all they saw around,
That the ship had gone down to the deep
Without one warning sound—
Without one prayer pour'd to heaven—
Without one parting sigh,
Like sea-bird sailing on the wave,
That dives, we know not why.
Without one parting sigh,
Like sea-bird sailing on the wave,
That dives, we know not why.
It was a woeful sight to see,
In bowels of the deep,
Lovers and lemans lying clasp'd
In everlasting sleep.
In bowels of the deep,
Lovers and lemans lying clasp'd
In everlasting sleep.
So calmly they lay on their glitty beds,
And in their hammocks swung,
And the billows rock'd their drowsy forms,
And over their cradles sung.
And in their hammocks swung,
And the billows rock'd their drowsy forms,
And over their cradles sung.
And there was laid a royal maid,
As calm as if in heaven,
Who had three gold rings on each finger,
On her mid finger seven;
As calm as if in heaven,
Who had three gold rings on each finger,
On her mid finger seven;
And she had jewels in her ears,
And bracelets brave to see;
The gold that was around her head
Would have bought earldoms three.
And bracelets brave to see;
The gold that was around her head
Would have bought earldoms three.
Then the good old man pull'd out his knife—
It was both sharp and clear—
And he cut off the maiden's fingers small,
And the jewels from ilka ear.
It was both sharp and clear—
And he cut off the maiden's fingers small,
And the jewels from ilka ear.
“Oh, shame, oh, shame!” said the comely dame,
“Woe worth thy ruthless hand!
How darest thou mangle a royal corpse,
Once flower of many a land?
“Woe worth thy ruthless hand!
How darest thou mangle a royal corpse,
Once flower of many a land?
“And all for the sake of trinkets vain,
'Mid such a store as this?”
“Ochone, alake!” quod the good auld man,
“You judge full far amiss;
'Mid such a store as this?”
“Ochone, alake!” quod the good auld man,
“You judge full far amiss;
“It is better they feed the righteous poor,
That on their God depend;
Than to lie slumbering in the deep
For neither use nor end,
That on their God depend;
Than to lie slumbering in the deep
For neither use nor end,
“Unless to grace a partan's limb
With costly, shining ore,
Or deck a lobster's burly snout—
A beast which I abhor!”
With costly, shining ore,
Or deck a lobster's burly snout—
A beast which I abhor!”
Then the Sea-maid smiled a doubtful smile,
And said, with lifted e'e—
“Full many a righteous man I have seen,
But never a one like thee!
And said, with lifted e'e—
“Full many a righteous man I have seen,
But never a one like thee!
“But thou shalt have thine heart's desire,
In feeding the upright;
And all the good shall bless the day
That first thou saw the light.”
In feeding the upright;
And all the good shall bless the day
That first thou saw the light.”
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Then she loaded him with gems of gold,
On channel of the main;
Yet the good old man was not content,
But turn'd him back again.
On channel of the main;
Yet the good old man was not content,
But turn'd him back again.
And every handful he put in,
He said right wistfullye,
“Och, this will ane whole fortune prove
For one poor familye!”
He said right wistfullye,
“Och, this will ane whole fortune prove
For one poor familye!”
And he neifuit in, and he neifuit in,
And never could refrain,
Quhill the little wee horse he could not move,
Nor mount the wave again;
And never could refrain,
Quhill the little wee horse he could not move,
Nor mount the wave again;
But he snorkit with his little nose,
Till he made the sea rocks ring,
And waggit his tail across the wave
With many an angry swing.
Till he made the sea rocks ring,
And waggit his tail across the wave
With many an angry swing.
“Come away, come away, my little bonnie gray,
Think of the good before;
There is as much gold upon thy back
As will feed ten thousand poor!”
Think of the good before;
There is as much gold upon thy back
As will feed ten thousand poor!”
Then the little wee horse he strauchlit on,
Through darkling scenes sublime—
O'er shoals, and stones, and dead men's bones;
But the wave he could not climb:
Through darkling scenes sublime—
O'er shoals, and stones, and dead men's bones;
But the wave he could not climb:
But along, along, he sped along
The floors of the silent sea,
With a world of waters o'er his head,
And groves of the coral tree.
The floors of the silent sea,
With a world of waters o'er his head,
And groves of the coral tree.
And the tide stream flow'd, and the billows row'd
An hundred fathoms high;
And the light that lighted the floors below
Seem'd from some other sky;
An hundred fathoms high;
And the light that lighted the floors below
Seem'd from some other sky;
For it stream'd and trembled on its way,
Of beams and splendour shorn,
And flow'd with an awful holiness,
As on a journey borne,
Of beams and splendour shorn,
And flow'd with an awful holiness,
As on a journey borne,
Till at length they saw the glorious sun,
Far in the west that glow'd,
Flashing like fire-flaughts up and down
With every wave that row'd.
Far in the west that glow'd,
Flashing like fire-flaughts up and down
With every wave that row'd.
Then the old man laugh'd a heartsome laugh,
And a heartsome laugh laugh'd he,
To see the sun in such a trim
Dancing so furiouslye;
And a heartsome laugh laugh'd he,
To see the sun in such a trim
Dancing so furiouslye;
For he thought the angels of the even
Had taken the blessed sun,
To toss in the blue blanket of heaven,
To make them glorious fun.
Had taken the blessed sun,
To toss in the blue blanket of heaven,
To make them glorious fun.
But at length the May and her palfrey gray,
And the good old man beside,
Set their three heads aboon the wave,
And came in with the flowing tide.
And the good old man beside,
Set their three heads aboon the wave,
And came in with the flowing tide.
Then all the folks on the shores of Fife
A terror flight began,
And the burgess men of old Kinross
They left their hames and ran;
A terror flight began,
And the burgess men of old Kinross
They left their hames and ran;
For they ken'd the Sea-maid's glossy e'e,
Like the blue of heaven that shone;
And the little wee horse of the coral cave,
That neither had blood nor bone.
Like the blue of heaven that shone;
And the little wee horse of the coral cave,
That neither had blood nor bone.
And they said, when she came unto their coast,
She never came there for good,
But warning to give of storms and wrecks,
And the shedding of Christian blood.
She never came there for good,
But warning to give of storms and wrecks,
And the shedding of Christian blood.
Alake for the good men of Kinross,
For their wits were never rife!
For now she came with a mighty store,
For the saving of poor men's life.
For their wits were never rife!
For now she came with a mighty store,
For the saving of poor men's life.
When the little wee horse he found his feet
On the firm ground and the dry,
He shook his mane, and gave a graen,
And threw his heels on high,
On the firm ground and the dry,
He shook his mane, and gave a graen,
And threw his heels on high,
Quhill the gold play'd jingle on the shore
That eased him of his pain;
Then he turn'd and kick'd it where it lay,
In very great disdain.
That eased him of his pain;
Then he turn'd and kick'd it where it lay,
In very great disdain.
And he hitt the old man right behind
With such unsparing might,
That he made him jump seven ells and more,
And on his face to light.
With such unsparing might,
That he made him jump seven ells and more,
And on his face to light.
“Now, woe be to thee for a wicked beast!
For since ever thy life began,
I never saw thee lift thy foot
Against a righteous man.
For since ever thy life began,
I never saw thee lift thy foot
Against a righteous man.
“But fare-thee-well, thou good old man,
Thy promise keep in mind;
Let this great wealth I have given to thee
Be a blessing to thy kind.
Thy promise keep in mind;
Let this great wealth I have given to thee
Be a blessing to thy kind.
“So as thou strive so shalt thou thrive,
And be it understood
That I must visit thee again,
For evil or for good.”
And be it understood
That I must visit thee again,
For evil or for good.”
Then the bonnie May she rode her way
Along the sea-wave green,
And away and away on her palfrey gray,
Like the ocean's comely queen.
Along the sea-wave green,
And away and away on her palfrey gray,
Like the ocean's comely queen.
As she fared up the Firth of Forth
The fishes fled all before,
And a thousand cods and haddocks brave
Ran swattering right ashore.
The fishes fled all before,
And a thousand cods and haddocks brave
Ran swattering right ashore.
A hundred-and-thretty buirdly whales
Went snoring up the tide,
And wide on Alloa's fertile holms
They gallop'd ashore and died.
Went snoring up the tide,
And wide on Alloa's fertile holms
They gallop'd ashore and died.
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But it grieveth my heart to tell to you,
What I never have told before,
Of that man so righteous and so good,
So long as he was poor;
What I never have told before,
Of that man so righteous and so good,
So long as he was poor;
But, whenever he got more store of gold
Than ever his wits could tell,
He never would give a mite for good,
Neither for heaven nor hell.
Than ever his wits could tell,
He never would give a mite for good,
Neither for heaven nor hell.
But he brooded o'er that mighty store
With sordid heart of sin,
And the houseless wight, or the poor by night,
His gate wan never within.
With sordid heart of sin,
And the houseless wight, or the poor by night,
His gate wan never within.
And the last accounts I had of him
Are very strange to tell—
He was seen with the May and the palfrey gray
Riding fiercely out through hell.
Are very strange to tell—
He was seen with the May and the palfrey gray
Riding fiercely out through hell.
And aye she cried, “Hurrah, hurrah!
Make room for me and mine!
I bring you the man of Alloa
To his punishment condign!
Make room for me and mine!
I bring you the man of Alloa
To his punishment condign!
“His Maker tried him in the fire,
To make his heart contrite;
But, when he gat his heart's desire,
He proved a hypocrite.”
To make his heart contrite;
But, when he gat his heart's desire,
He proved a hypocrite.”
Then all you poor and contrite ones,
In deep afflictions hurl'd,
Oh, never grieve or vex your hearts
For the riches of this world;
In deep afflictions hurl'd,
Oh, never grieve or vex your hearts
For the riches of this world;
For they bring neither health nor peace
Unto thy spirit's frame;
And there is a treasure better far,
Which minstrel dares not name.
Unto thy spirit's frame;
And there is a treasure better far,
Which minstrel dares not name.
Hast thou not heard an olden say,
By one who could not lee?—
It is something of a great big beast
Going through a needle's e'e.
By one who could not lee?—
It is something of a great big beast
Going through a needle's e'e.
Then think of that, and be content;
For life is but a day,
And the night of death is gathering fast
To close upon your way.
For life is but a day,
And the night of death is gathering fast
To close upon your way.
As this is likely to be the only part of my truthful ballad the veracity of which may be disputed, I assure the reader that it is a literal fact; and that, with a single tide, in the month of March, a few years ago, not less than 130 whales were left ashore in the vicinity of Alloa. The men of Alloa called them young ones; but to me it appeared that they had been immense fishes. Their skeletons at a distance were like those of large horses. Two old ones ran up as far as the milldam of Cambus, on the Devon, where they were left by the retreating tide, and where, after a day's severe exercise and excellent sport to a great multitude, they were both slain, along with a young one, which one of the old whales used every effort to defend, bellowing most fearfully when she saw it attacked. On testifying my wonder to the men of Cambus why the whales should all have betaken them to the dry land. I was answered by a sly fellow, that “A mermaid had been seen driving them up the firth, which had frightened them so much, it had put them all out of their judgments!”
Elen of Reigh.
Have you never heard of Elen of Reigh,
The fairest flower of the north countrie?
The maid that left all maidens behind,
In all that was lovely, sweet, and kind:
As sweet as the breeze o'er beds of balm,
As happy and gay as the gamesome lamb,
As light as the feather that dances on high,
As blithe as the lark in the breast of the sky,
As modest as young rose that blossoms too soon,
As mild as the breeze on a morning of June;
Her voice was the music's softest key,
And her form the comeliest symmetry.
The fairest flower of the north countrie?
The maid that left all maidens behind,
In all that was lovely, sweet, and kind:
As sweet as the breeze o'er beds of balm,
As happy and gay as the gamesome lamb,
As light as the feather that dances on high,
As blithe as the lark in the breast of the sky,
As modest as young rose that blossoms too soon,
As mild as the breeze on a morning of June;
Her voice was the music's softest key,
And her form the comeliest symmetry.
But let bard describe her smile who can,
For that is beyond the power of man;
There never was pen that hand could frame,
Nor tongue that falter'd at maiden's name,
Could once a distant tint convey
Of its lovely and benignant ray.
You have seen the morning's folding vest
Hang dense and pale upon the east,
As if an angel's hand had strewn
The dawning's couch with the eider down,
And shrouded with a curtain gray
The cradle of the infant day?
And 'mid this orient dense and pale,
Through one small window of the vale,
You have seen the sun's first radiant hue
Lightening the dells and vales of dew,
With smile that seem'd through glory's rim
From dwellings of the cherubim;
And you have thought, with holy awe,
A lovelier sight you never saw,
Scorning the heart who dared to doubt it?
Alas! you little knew about it!
At beauty's shrine you ne'er have knelt,
Nor felt the flame that I have felt;
Nor chanced the virgin smile to see
Of beauty's model, Elen of Reigh!
For that is beyond the power of man;
There never was pen that hand could frame,
Nor tongue that falter'd at maiden's name,
Could once a distant tint convey
Of its lovely and benignant ray.
You have seen the morning's folding vest
Hang dense and pale upon the east,
As if an angel's hand had strewn
The dawning's couch with the eider down,
And shrouded with a curtain gray
The cradle of the infant day?
And 'mid this orient dense and pale,
Through one small window of the vale,
You have seen the sun's first radiant hue
Lightening the dells and vales of dew,
With smile that seem'd through glory's rim
From dwellings of the cherubim;
And you have thought, with holy awe,
A lovelier sight you never saw,
Scorning the heart who dared to doubt it?
Alas! you little knew about it!
At beauty's shrine you ne'er have knelt,
Nor felt the flame that I have felt;
Nor chanced the virgin smile to see
Of beauty's model, Elen of Reigh!
When sunbeams on the river blaze,
You on its glory scarce can gaze;
But when the moon's delirious beam,
In giddy splendour wooes the stream,
Its mellow'd light is so refined,
'Tis like a gleam of soul and mind;
Its gentle ripple glittering by,
Like twinkle of a maiden's eye;
While, all amazed at heaven's steepness,
You gaze into its liquid deepness,
And see some beauties that excel—
Visions “to dream of, not to tell”—
A downward soul of living hue,
So mild, so modest, and so blue!
You on its glory scarce can gaze;
But when the moon's delirious beam,
In giddy splendour wooes the stream,
Its mellow'd light is so refined,
'Tis like a gleam of soul and mind;
Its gentle ripple glittering by,
Like twinkle of a maiden's eye;
While, all amazed at heaven's steepness,
You gaze into its liquid deepness,
And see some beauties that excel—
Visions “to dream of, not to tell”—
A downward soul of living hue,
So mild, so modest, and so blue!
What am I raving of just now?
Forsooth, I scarce can say to you—
A moonlight river beaming by,
Or holy depth of virgin's eye!
Unconscious bard! what perilous dreaming!
Is nought on earth to thee beseeming?
Will nothing serve, but beauteous women?—
No, nothing else. But 'tis strange to me,
If you never heard aught of Elen of Reigh.
Forsooth, I scarce can say to you—
A moonlight river beaming by,
Or holy depth of virgin's eye!
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Is nought on earth to thee beseeming?
Will nothing serve, but beauteous women?—
No, nothing else. But 'tis strange to me,
If you never heard aught of Elen of Reigh.
But whenever you breathe the breeze of balm,
Or smile at the frolics of the lamb,
Or watch the stream by the light of the moon,
Or weep for the rosebud that opes too soon,
Or when any beauty of this creation
Moves your delight or admiration,
You then may try, whatever it be,
That to compare with Elen of Reigh:
But never presume that lovely creature
Once to compare with aught in nature;
For earth has neither form nor face
Which heart can ween or eye can trace,
That once comparison can stand
With Elen, the flower of fair Scotland.
Or smile at the frolics of the lamb,
Or watch the stream by the light of the moon,
Or weep for the rosebud that opes too soon,
Or when any beauty of this creation
Moves your delight or admiration,
You then may try, whatever it be,
That to compare with Elen of Reigh:
But never presume that lovely creature
Once to compare with aught in nature;
For earth has neither form nor face
Which heart can ween or eye can trace,
That once comparison can stand
With Elen, the flower of fair Scotland.
'Tis said that angels are passing fair
And lovely beings: I hope they are:
But for all their beauty of form and wing,
If lovelier than the maid I sing,
They needs must be—I cannot tell—
Something beyond all parallel;
Something admitted, not believed,
Which heart of man had ne'er conceived;
But these are beings of mental bliss,
Not things to love, and soothe, and kiss.—
There is something dear, say as we will,
In winsome human nature still.
And lovely beings: I hope they are:
But for all their beauty of form and wing,
If lovelier than the maid I sing,
They needs must be—I cannot tell—
Something beyond all parallel;
Something admitted, not believed,
Which heart of man had ne'er conceived;
But these are beings of mental bliss,
Not things to love, and soothe, and kiss.—
There is something dear, say as we will,
In winsome human nature still.
Elen of Reigh was the flower of our wild,
Elen of Reigh was an only child,
A motherless lamb, in childhood thrown
On bounteous Nature, and her alone;
But who can mould like that mighty dame
The mind of fervour and mounting flame,
The mind that beams with a glow intense
For fair and virtuous excellence?
Not one! though many a mighty name,
High margin'd on the lists of fame,
Has blazon'd her ripe tuition high,—
The world has own'd it, and well may I!
But most of all that right had she,
The flower of our mountains, fair Elen of Reigh.
Elen of Reigh was an only child,
A motherless lamb, in childhood thrown
On bounteous Nature, and her alone;
But who can mould like that mighty dame
The mind of fervour and mounting flame,
The mind that beams with a glow intense
For fair and virtuous excellence?
Not one! though many a mighty name,
High margin'd on the lists of fame,
Has blazon'd her ripe tuition high,—
The world has own'd it, and well may I!
But most of all that right had she,
The flower of our mountains, fair Elen of Reigh.
But human life is like a river—
Its brightness lasts not on for ever—
That dances from its native braes,
As pure as maidhood's early days;
But soon, with dark and sullen motion,
It rolls into its funeral ocean,
And those whose currents are the slightest,
And shortest run, are aye the brightest:
So is our life—its latest wave
Rolls dark and solemn to the grave;
And soon o'ercast was Elen's day,
And changed, as must my sportive lay.
Its brightness lasts not on for ever—
That dances from its native braes,
As pure as maidhood's early days;
But soon, with dark and sullen motion,
It rolls into its funeral ocean,
And those whose currents are the slightest,
And shortest run, are aye the brightest:
So is our life—its latest wave
Rolls dark and solemn to the grave;
And soon o'ercast was Elen's day,
And changed, as must my sportive lay.
When beauty is in its rosy prime,
There is something sacred and sublime,
To see all living worth combined
In such a lovely being's mind;
Each thing for which we would wish to live,
Each grace, each virtue Heaven can give.
Such being was Elen, if such can be;
A faith unstained, a conscience free,
Pure Christian love and charity—
All breath'd in such a holy strain,
The hearts of men could not refrain
From wonder at what they heard and saw;
Even greatest sinners stood in awe,
At seeing a form and soul unshadow'd—
A model for the walks of maidhood.
There is something sacred and sublime,
To see all living worth combined
In such a lovely being's mind;
Each thing for which we would wish to live,
Each grace, each virtue Heaven can give.
Such being was Elen, if such can be;
A faith unstained, a conscience free,
Pure Christian love and charity—
All breath'd in such a holy strain,
The hearts of men could not refrain
From wonder at what they heard and saw;
Even greatest sinners stood in awe,
At seeing a form and soul unshadow'd—
A model for the walks of maidhood.
You will feel a trembling wish to know,
If such a being could e'er forego
Her onward path of heavenly aim,
To love a thing of mortal frame.
Ah! never did heart in bosom dwell,
That loved so warmly and so well,
Or with such ligaments profound
Was twined another's heart around!
But blush not—dread not, I intreat,
Nor tremble for a thing so sweet.
If such a being could e'er forego
Her onward path of heavenly aim,
To love a thing of mortal frame.
Ah! never did heart in bosom dwell,
That loved so warmly and so well,
Or with such ligaments profound
Was twined another's heart around!
But blush not—dread not, I intreat,
Nor tremble for a thing so sweet.
Not comely youth, with downy chin,
Nor manhood's goodlier form, could win
One wistful look, or dewdrop sheen,
From eye so heavenly and serene.
Her love that with her life began
Was set on thing more pure than man—
'Twas on a virgin, of like mind,
As pure, as gentle, as refined;
They in one cradle slept when young,
Were taught by the same blessed tongue,
Aye smiled each other's face to see,
Were nursed upon the self-same knee,
And the first word each tongue could frame,
Was a loved playmate's cheering name.
Nor manhood's goodlier form, could win
One wistful look, or dewdrop sheen,
From eye so heavenly and serene.
Her love that with her life began
Was set on thing more pure than man—
'Twas on a virgin, of like mind,
As pure, as gentle, as refined;
They in one cradle slept when young,
Were taught by the same blessed tongue,
Aye smiled each other's face to see,
Were nursed upon the self-same knee,
And the first word each tongue could frame,
Was a loved playmate's cheering name.
Like two young poplars of the vale,
Like two young twin roes of the dale,
They grew; and life had no alloy—
Their fairy path was all of joy.
They danced, they sung, they play'd, they roved,
And oh, how dearly as they loved!
While in that love, with reverence due,
Their God and their Redeemer too
Were twined—which made it the sincerer,
And still the holier and the dearer.
Like two young twin roes of the dale,
They grew; and life had no alloy—
Their fairy path was all of joy.
They danced, they sung, they play'd, they roved,
And oh, how dearly as they loved!
While in that love, with reverence due,
Their God and their Redeemer too
Were twined—which made it the sincerer,
And still the holier and the dearer.
Each morning when they woke from sleep,
They kneel'd and prayed with reverence deep;
Then raised their sightly forms so trim,
And sung their little morning hymn.
They kneel'd and prayed with reverence deep;
Then raised their sightly forms so trim,
And sung their little morning hymn.
Then tripping joyfully and bland,
They to the school went hand in hand;
Came home as blithsome and as bright,
And slept in other's arms each night.
They to the school went hand in hand;
Came home as blithsome and as bright,
And slept in other's arms each night.
314
Sure in such sacred bonds to live,
Nature has nothing more to give.
So loved they on, and still more dear,
From day to day, from year to year;
And when their flexile forms began
To take the mould so loved by man,
They blush'd—embraced each other less,
And wept at their own loveliness,
As if their bliss were overcast,
And days of feelings pure were past.
Nature has nothing more to give.
So loved they on, and still more dear,
From day to day, from year to year;
And when their flexile forms began
To take the mould so loved by man,
They blush'd—embraced each other less,
And wept at their own loveliness,
As if their bliss were overcast,
And days of feelings pure were past.
But who can fathom or reprove
The counsels of the God of love,
Or stay the mighty hand of Him
Who dwells between the cherubim?
No man nor angel: all must be
Submiss to his supreme decree.
And so it happ'd that this fair maid,
In all her virgin charms array'd,
Just when upon the verge she stood
Of bright and seemly womanhood,
From this fair world was call'd away,
In mildest and in gentlest way,—
Fair world indeed; but still akin
To much of sorrow and of sin.
The counsels of the God of love,
Or stay the mighty hand of Him
Who dwells between the cherubim?
No man nor angel: all must be
Submiss to his supreme decree.
And so it happ'd that this fair maid,
In all her virgin charms array'd,
Just when upon the verge she stood
Of bright and seemly womanhood,
From this fair world was call'd away,
In mildest and in gentlest way,—
Fair world indeed; but still akin
To much of sorrow and of sin.
Poor Elen watch'd the parting strife
Of her she loved far more than life;
The placid smile that strove to tell
To her beloved that all was well.
Oh! many a holy thing they said,
And many a prayer together pray'd,
And many a hymn, both morn and even,
Was breathed upon the breeze of heaven,
Which Hope, on wings of sacred love,
Presented at the gates above.
Of her she loved far more than life;
The placid smile that strove to tell
To her beloved that all was well.
Oh! many a holy thing they said,
And many a prayer together pray'd,
And many a hymn, both morn and even,
Was breathed upon the breeze of heaven,
Which Hope, on wings of sacred love,
Presented at the gates above.
The last words into ether melt,
The last squeeze of the hand is felt;
And the last breathings, long apart,
Like aspirations of the heart,
Told Elen that she now was left,
A thing of love and joy bereft—
A sapling from its parent torn,
A rose upon a widow'd thorn,
A twin roe, or bewilder'd lamb,
Reft both of sister and of dam—
How could she weather out the strife
And sorrows of this mortal life!
The last squeeze of the hand is felt;
And the last breathings, long apart,
Like aspirations of the heart,
Told Elen that she now was left,
A thing of love and joy bereft—
A sapling from its parent torn,
A rose upon a widow'd thorn,
A twin roe, or bewilder'd lamb,
Reft both of sister and of dam—
How could she weather out the strife
And sorrows of this mortal life!
The last rites of funereal gloom—
The pageant heralds of the tomb,
That more in form than feeling tell
The sorrows of the last farewell—
Are all observed with decent care,
And but one soul of grief was there.
The virgin mould, so mild and meet,
Is roll'd up in its winding sheet;
Affection's yearnings form'd the rest,
The dead rose rustles on the breast,
The wrists are bound with bracelet bands,
The pallid gloves are on the hands,
And all the flowers the maid held dear
Are strew'd within her gilded bier;
A hundred sleeves with lawn are pale,
A hundred crapes wave in the gale,
And, in a motley, mix'd array
The funeral train winds down Glen-Reigh.
Alack! how shortly thoughts were lasting
Of the grave to which they all were hasting!
The pageant heralds of the tomb,
That more in form than feeling tell
The sorrows of the last farewell—
Are all observed with decent care,
And but one soul of grief was there.
The virgin mould, so mild and meet,
Is roll'd up in its winding sheet;
Affection's yearnings form'd the rest,
The dead rose rustles on the breast,
The wrists are bound with bracelet bands,
The pallid gloves are on the hands,
And all the flowers the maid held dear
Are strew'd within her gilded bier;
A hundred sleeves with lawn are pale,
A hundred crapes wave in the gale,
And, in a motley, mix'd array
The funeral train winds down Glen-Reigh.
Alack! how shortly thoughts were lasting
Of the grave to which they all were hasting!
The grave is open; the mourners gaze
On bones and skulls of former days;
The pall's withdrawn—in letters sheen,
“Maria Gray—aged eighteen,”
Is read by all with heaving sighs
And ready hands to moisten'd eyes.
Solemn and slow, the bier is laid
Into its deep and narrow bed,
And the mould rattles o'er the dead!
On bones and skulls of former days;
The pall's withdrawn—in letters sheen,
“Maria Gray—aged eighteen,”
Is read by all with heaving sighs
And ready hands to moisten'd eyes.
Solemn and slow, the bier is laid
Into its deep and narrow bed,
And the mould rattles o'er the dead!
What sound like that can be conceived?
That thunder to a soul bereaved,
When crumbling bones grate on the bier
Of all the bosom's core held dear!
'Tis like a growl of hideous wrath—
The last derisive laugh of Death
Over his victim that lies under;
The heart's last bands then rent asunder,
And no communion more to be
Till time melt in eternity!
That thunder to a soul bereaved,
When crumbling bones grate on the bier
Of all the bosom's core held dear!
'Tis like a growl of hideous wrath—
The last derisive laugh of Death
Over his victim that lies under;
The heart's last bands then rent asunder,
And no communion more to be
Till time melt in eternity!
From that dread moment Elen's soul
Seem'd to outfly its earthly goal;
And her refined and subtile frame,
Uplifted by unearthly flame,
Seem'd soul alone—in likelihood,
A spirit made of flesh and blood—
A thing whose being and whose bliss
Were bound to better world than this.
Seem'd to outfly its earthly goal;
And her refined and subtile frame,
Uplifted by unearthly flame,
Seem'd soul alone—in likelihood,
A spirit made of flesh and blood—
A thing whose being and whose bliss
Were bound to better world than this.
Her face, that with new lustre beam'd,
Like features of a seraph seem'd;
A meekness, mix'd with a degree
Of fervid, wild sublimity,
Mark'd all her actions and her moods.
She sought the loneliest solitudes,
By the dingly dell or the silver spring,
Her holy hymns of the dead to sing;
For all her songs and language bland
Were of a loved and heavenly land—
A land of saints and angels fair,
And of a late dear dweller there;
But, watch'd full often, ears profane
Once heard the following solemn strain:—
Like features of a seraph seem'd;
A meekness, mix'd with a degree
Of fervid, wild sublimity,
Mark'd all her actions and her moods.
She sought the loneliest solitudes,
By the dingly dell or the silver spring,
Her holy hymns of the dead to sing;
For all her songs and language bland
Were of a loved and heavenly land—
A land of saints and angels fair,
And of a late dear dweller there;
But, watch'd full often, ears profane
Once heard the following solemn strain:—
Maria Gray.
A Song.
Who says that Maria Gray is dead,
And that I in this world can see her never?
Who says she is laid in her cold death-bed,
The prey of the grave and of death for ever!
Ah! they know little of my dear maid,
Or kindness of her spirit's giver;
For every night she is by my side,
By the morning bower, or the moonlight river.
And that I in this world can see her never?
Who says she is laid in her cold death-bed,
The prey of the grave and of death for ever!
Ah! they know little of my dear maid,
Or kindness of her spirit's giver;
315
By the morning bower, or the moonlight river.
Maria was bonnie, when she was here,
When flesh and blood was her mortal dwelling;
Her smile was sweet, and her mind was clear,
And her form all human forms excelling.
But oh! if they saw Maria now,
With her looks of pathos and of feeling,
They would see a cherub's radiant brow,
To ravish'd mortal eyes unveiling!
When flesh and blood was her mortal dwelling;
Her smile was sweet, and her mind was clear,
And her form all human forms excelling.
But oh! if they saw Maria now,
With her looks of pathos and of feeling,
They would see a cherub's radiant brow,
To ravish'd mortal eyes unveiling!
The rose is the fairest of earthly flowers—
It is all of beauty and of sweetness—
So my dear maid, in the heavenly bowers,
Excels in beauty and in meetness.
She has kiss'd my cheek, she has kemb'd my hair,
And made a breast of heaven my pillow,
And promised her God to take me there,
Before the leaf falls from the willow.
It is all of beauty and of sweetness—
So my dear maid, in the heavenly bowers,
Excels in beauty and in meetness.
She has kiss'd my cheek, she has kemb'd my hair,
And made a breast of heaven my pillow,
And promised her God to take me there,
Before the leaf falls from the willow.
Farewell, ye homes of living men!
I have no relish for your pleasures—
In the human face I nothing ken
That with my spirit's yearning measures:
I long for onward bliss to be,
A day of joy, a brighter morrow;
And from this bondage to be free.
Farewell, thou world of sin and sorrow!
I have no relish for your pleasures—
In the human face I nothing ken
That with my spirit's yearning measures:
I long for onward bliss to be,
A day of joy, a brighter morrow;
And from this bondage to be free.
Farewell, thou world of sin and sorrow!
Oh great was the wonder, and great was the dread,
Of the friends of the living, and friends of the dead;
For every evening and morning were seen
Two maidens, where only one should have been!
Still hand in hand they moved, and sung
Their hymns, on the walks they trode when young;
And one night, some of the watcher train
Were said to have heard this holy strain
Wafted upon the trembling air:
It was sung by one, although two were there:—
Of the friends of the living, and friends of the dead;
For every evening and morning were seen
Two maidens, where only one should have been!
Still hand in hand they moved, and sung
Their hymns, on the walks they trode when young;
And one night, some of the watcher train
Were said to have heard this holy strain
Wafted upon the trembling air:
It was sung by one, although two were there:—
Hymn over a Dying Virgin.
“O thou whom once thy redeeming love
Brought'st down to earth from the throne above,
Stretch forth thy cup of salvation free
To a thirsty soul, that longs for thee!
O thou who left'st the realms of day,
Whose blessed head in a manger lay,
See her here prostrate before thy throne,
Who trusts in thee, and in thee alone!
Brought'st down to earth from the throne above,
Stretch forth thy cup of salvation free
To a thirsty soul, that longs for thee!
O thou who left'st the realms of day,
Whose blessed head in a manger lay,
See her here prostrate before thy throne,
Who trusts in thee, and in thee alone!
“O thou, who once, as thy earthly rest,
Wert cradled on a virgin's breast,
For the sake of one who held thee dear,
Extend thy love to this virgin here!
Thou Holy One, whose blood was spilt
Upon the cross, for human guilt,
This humbled virgin's longings see,
And take her soul in peace to thee!”
Wert cradled on a virgin's breast,
For the sake of one who held thee dear,
Extend thy love to this virgin here!
Thou Holy One, whose blood was spilt
Upon the cross, for human guilt,
This humbled virgin's longings see,
And take her soul in peace to thee!”
That very night the mysterious dame
Not home to her father's dwelling came,
Though her maidens sat in chill dismay,
And watch'd and call'd, till the break of day.
But in the dawning, with fond regard,
They sought the bower where the song was heard,
And found her form stretch'd on the green,
The loveliest corpse that ever was seen.
She lay as in balmy sleep reposed,
While her lips and eyes were sweetly closed,
As if about to awake and speak;
For a dimpling smile was on her cheek,
And the pale rose there had a gentle glow,
Like the morning's tint on a wreath of snow.
Not home to her father's dwelling came,
Though her maidens sat in chill dismay,
And watch'd and call'd, till the break of day.
But in the dawning, with fond regard,
They sought the bower where the song was heard,
And found her form stretch'd on the green,
The loveliest corpse that ever was seen.
She lay as in balmy sleep reposed,
While her lips and eyes were sweetly closed,
As if about to awake and speak;
For a dimpling smile was on her cheek,
And the pale rose there had a gentle glow,
Like the morning's tint on a wreath of snow.
All was so seemly and serene
As she lay composed upon the green,
It was plain to all that no human aid,
But an angel's hand, had the body laid;
For from her form there seem'd to rise,
The sweetest odours of paradise.
Around her temples and brow so fair,
White roses were twined in her auburn hair,
All bound with a birch and holly band,
And the Book of God was in her right hand.
As she lay composed upon the green,
It was plain to all that no human aid,
But an angel's hand, had the body laid;
For from her form there seem'd to rise,
The sweetest odours of paradise.
Around her temples and brow so fair,
White roses were twined in her auburn hair,
All bound with a birch and holly band,
And the Book of God was in her right hand.
Farewell, ye flowerets of sainted fame,
Ye sweetest maidens of mortal frame;
A sacred love o'er your lives presided,
And in your deaths you were not divided!
Oh, blessed are they who bid adieu
To this erring nature as pure as you!
Ye sweetest maidens of mortal frame;
A sacred love o'er your lives presided,
And in your deaths you were not divided!
Oh, blessed are they who bid adieu
To this erring nature as pure as you!
The Powris of Moseke.
Blynde Robene sat on Bowman Lawe,
And houlit upon his horne;
And aye he bummit, and he strummit,
Quhille patience wals foreworne;
And houlit upon his horne;
And aye he bummit, and he strummit,
Quhille patience wals foreworne;
And the verye hillis in travail seemit,
Thoche noe yung hillis were borne!
For they yellit and youtit soe yirlischly
Als their bouellis hald bene torne.
Thoche noe yung hillis were borne!
For they yellit and youtit soe yirlischly
Als their bouellis hald bene torne.
And by him sat ane byzenit boi,
Ane brat of brukit breide;
His moder wals ane weirdlye witche,
Of Queen's foreste the dreide;
Ane brat of brukit breide;
His moder wals ane weirdlye witche,
Of Queen's foreste the dreide;
But whether the deuill did him bygette,
Or ane droiche of Elfinlande,
Or ane water-kelpie horrible,
I colde not understande.
Or ane droiche of Elfinlande,
Or ane water-kelpie horrible,
I colde not understande.
But he hald not tastit broz that dai,
Nor kirne-mylke, wheye, nor brede;
So hunger raif at his yung herte,
And wals like to be his dede.
Nor kirne-mylke, wheye, nor brede;
So hunger raif at his yung herte,
And wals like to be his dede.
And aye he said, “Dere maistere mine,
What spring is that you playe?
For there are listeniris gadderyng rounde,
And I wish we were awaye.”
What spring is that you playe?
For there are listeniris gadderyng rounde,
And I wish we were awaye.”
316
“Quhat doste thou se, my bonnie boi,
I pray thee tell to mee?
I won these notis frae the fairye folke
Beneth the grene wode tre;
I pray thee tell to mee?
I won these notis frae the fairye folke
Beneth the grene wode tre;
“And I weenit it wals ane charmed spring,
By its wilde melodye:
Och wo is mee that I am blynde!
Littil boi, quhat dost thou se?”
By its wilde melodye:
Och wo is mee that I am blynde!
Littil boi, quhat dost thou se?”
“I se the hartis but and the hyndis,
Stand quaking to the morne,
And wildlye snouke the westlyn wyndis,
And shaike the braken horne:
Stand quaking to the morne,
And wildlye snouke the westlyn wyndis,
And shaike the braken horne:
“And the littil wee raeis they cour betwene,
With their backis of dapplit greye;
And the gaitis they are waggyng their aulde greye berdis—
Lorde, gin we were awaye!”
With their backis of dapplit greye;
And the gaitis they are waggyng their aulde greye berdis—
Lorde, gin we were awaye!”
“Sit still, sit still, my bonnie boi;
I haif shawit you, with gode wille,
Ane littil of the Powris of Grande Moseke,
I will shaw you greater stille.
I haif shawit you, with gode wille,
Ane littil of the Powris of Grande Moseke,
I will shaw you greater stille.
“Lend me thine eire, and thou shalt heire
Some thrillyng fallis I wis,
By minstrelis maide, and eithlye playit
In oder worldis than this.”
Some thrillyng fallis I wis,
By minstrelis maide, and eithlye playit
In oder worldis than this.”
Blynde Robene liftit his stokel horne,
And brushit it all full cleine;
It wals laide with the eevorye and the goude,
And glancit with the sylver sheine;
And brushit it all full cleine;
It wals laide with the eevorye and the goude,
And glancit with the sylver sheine;
He heezit the horne intil his muthe,
And soundit the airel hole,
And the melodye that that horne spake
His herte it colde not thole;
And soundit the airel hole,
And the melodye that that horne spake
His herte it colde not thole;
For the soundis went hie and the soundis went lowe,
Sae laigh and sae hie did they spryng,
That the laigh anes bummit in the world belowe,
And the hie maide the heavinis ryng.
Sae laigh and sae hie did they spryng,
That the laigh anes bummit in the world belowe,
And the hie maide the heavinis ryng.
“Och holde thine hande, mine deire maistere!
Thou maikest mine herte to blede;
And holde that heavinly braith of thine,
Or the soundis will be mine dede.”
Thou maikest mine herte to blede;
And holde that heavinly braith of thine,
Or the soundis will be mine dede.”
“Ha! sayest thou soe, mine bonnie boi?
To me thou art still more deire!
I trowit not of thy taiste before,
Nor of thine blessit eire.
To me thou art still more deire!
I trowit not of thy taiste before,
Nor of thine blessit eire.
“But looke thee rounde, my bonnie boi,
And looke to holme and heathe,
And caste thine eyne to heavin above,
And to the yird benethe;
And looke to holme and heathe,
And caste thine eyne to heavin above,
And to the yird benethe;
“And note the shadowis and the shapis
That hover on hille and gaire;
And tell me trowlye, my bonnie boi,
Of all thou seest there.”
That hover on hille and gaire;
And tell me trowlye, my bonnie boi,
Of all thou seest there.”
The elfin stoode up on his feite,
And Robenis breiste he saynit;
And aye he chatterit with his tethe,
And grefously he grainit:
And Robenis breiste he saynit;
And aye he chatterit with his tethe,
And grefously he grainit:
And the sobbis that rase fra his stamocke
Wolde birste ane herte of claye;
But neuir ane worde he saide but this—
“Lorde, gin we were awaye!”
Wolde birste ane herte of claye;
But neuir ane worde he saide but this—
“Lorde, gin we were awaye!”
Blynde Robene stymit him rounde about,
And he gapit gastrouslye—
“Och, tell me, tell me, littil boi,
Of all that thou doste se.”
And he gapit gastrouslye—
“Och, tell me, tell me, littil boi,
Of all that thou doste se.”
“I se the cloudis creipe up the hille,
And down the hille like wise;
And there are spyritis gadderyng rounde
Fra baith the yird and skyis:
And down the hille like wise;
And there are spyritis gadderyng rounde
Fra baith the yird and skyis:
“The ghastis are glyming with their dede eyne
Lapperit with mist and claye,
And they are fauldyng out their windyng shetis,
And their flesche is faidyng awaye.”
Lapperit with mist and claye,
And they are fauldyng out their windyng shetis,
And their flesche is faidyng awaye.”
“If that be true, my bonnie boi,
Strainge visiteris are rife!
Well, we moste gif them ane oder spring
To sweiten their waesome life.
Strainge visiteris are rife!
Well, we moste gif them ane oder spring
To sweiten their waesome life.
“I never kennit, soe helpe me Heavin,
The ghastis had had soche skille,
Or knewe soe well ane maisteris hande,
Sothe they moste haif their fille;
The ghastis had had soche skille,
Or knewe soe well ane maisteris hande,
Sothe they moste haif their fille;
“For come they up, or come they downe,
The ghaste or the elfin greye,
Till the fairyis come and heire their spring
I cannot goe away.”
The ghaste or the elfin greye,
Till the fairyis come and heire their spring
I cannot goe away.”
“Och deire! och deire!” thochtis the littil boi,
The teire blindyng his e'e,
“We are far fra ony meite or drynk,
Quhat will become of me?
The teire blindyng his e'e,
“We are far fra ony meite or drynk,
Quhat will become of me?
“Och, holde thine hand, deire maistere mine,
For pitye's saike now stay,
Or helle will sone be about our luggis,
And deirlye we shall paye:
For pitye's saike now stay,
Or helle will sone be about our luggis,
And deirlye we shall paye:
“The bullis are booyng in the wode,
The deiris stande all abreiste;
You haif wakenit the dede out of their graifs—
Lorde! quhat shall you do neiste?”
The deiris stande all abreiste;
You haif wakenit the dede out of their graifs—
Lorde! quhat shall you do neiste?”
“Taik thou noe caris, my littil boi,
Quhateuir thou mayest vewe,
For sholde ane elf or fairye rise
From every belle of dewe,—
Quhateuir thou mayest vewe,
For sholde ane elf or fairye rise
From every belle of dewe,—
“Sholde all the fiendis that euir gowlit
Downe in the deipis for paine,
Spiele up, and stande in thousandis rounde,
I wolde playe them downe again.”
Downe in the deipis for paine,
Spiele up, and stande in thousandis rounde,
I wolde playe them downe again.”
317
“Faithe, that is strainge!” then thochtis the boi,
But yet he said no thing:
“Och, Moseke is grande, my bonnie boi,
We'll haif ane oder spring.”
But yet he said no thing:
“Och, Moseke is grande, my bonnie boi,
We'll haif ane oder spring.”
The boyis lip curlit to his noz
Als bende als ony bowe,
And syne his muthe begoude to thrawe—
Quhat colde the hurcheon doo?
Als bende als ony bowe,
And syne his muthe begoude to thrawe—
Quhat colde the hurcheon doo?
His fastyng spittol he swallowit downe,
With rattlyng, rhattyng dynne;
But hit hardlye wet the gyzenit throte,
For all wals toome withynne.
With rattlyng, rhattyng dynne;
But hit hardlye wet the gyzenit throte,
For all wals toome withynne.
Blynde Robene set his horne to his muthe,
And wet his airel hole;
“Tout-tout! tout-tout!” quod blynde Robene,
Quhille the very rockis did yolle.
And wet his airel hole;
“Tout-tout! tout-tout!” quod blynde Robene,
Quhille the very rockis did yolle.
But the boi he said unto himself,
Als bitterlye als colde be,
“Gin I hald but my mornyng broz,
Deuill fetche the spring and thee!”
Als bitterlye als colde be,
“Gin I hald but my mornyng broz,
Deuill fetche the spring and thee!”
He lookit to hille, he lookit to daille,
Then rose with joyous speide—
“The fairyis moste come there is noe doubte,
Or death is all my meide;
Then rose with joyous speide—
“The fairyis moste come there is noe doubte,
Or death is all my meide;
“Now holde thine hande, deire maistere mine,
And fly rychte speidilye;
There are seventy-seven belted knychtes
Comyng rankyng downe the le;
And fly rychte speidilye;
There are seventy-seven belted knychtes
Comyng rankyng downe the le;
“There are fire and furye in their lookis
Als they tredde on the wynde;
And there are seventy-seven bonnie damis
All dauncyng them behynde.
Als they tredde on the wynde;
And there are seventy-seven bonnie damis
All dauncyng them behynde.
“The fairye knychtis haif sordis and sheldis,
Like chrystal spleetis to se;
And the damis are cledde in grass-grene sylke,
And kyltit abone the kne.”
Like chrystal spleetis to se;
And the damis are cledde in grass-grene sylke,
And kyltit abone the kne.”
“Quhat's that you say, mine bonnie boi?”—
Och Robenis muthe grew wyde!
And he poukit the hurcheon with his hande,
And helde his lug asyde:
Och Robenis muthe grew wyde!
And he poukit the hurcheon with his hande,
And helde his lug asyde:
And aye he glymit him rounde about,
And strainit his dim quhyte eyne;
For he grenit to see the dapper limbis
All quidderyng on the grene.
And strainit his dim quhyte eyne;
For he grenit to see the dapper limbis
All quidderyng on the grene.
“Ochon! ochon!” quod blynde Robene,
“My blyndnesse I may rewe;
But quhat it wals to want mine sychte
Till now I neuir knewe!
“My blyndnesse I may rewe;
But quhat it wals to want mine sychte
Till now I neuir knewe!
“For ae glance of the bonnie damis
Dauncyng soe blythe on le,
Each with her sailyng grene seymar
Soe far abone the kne”—
Dauncyng soe blythe on le,
Each with her sailyng grene seymar
Soe far abone the kne”—
“Och, not soe far, mine deire maistere,
It is modeste all and meite;
And like the wynde on sunnye hillis
Shimmer their lovelye feite.
It is modeste all and meite;
And like the wynde on sunnye hillis
Shimmer their lovelye feite.
“But the knychtis are in ane awsum raige,
Raumpaugyng on the le;
For lofe of lyfe, now blynde Robene,
Come let us rise and fle.”
Raumpaugyng on the le;
For lofe of lyfe, now blynde Robene,
Come let us rise and fle.”
“And can I leife the winsum damis,
All fryskyng on the grene?
Och noe! och noe! mine littil boi,
More manneris I haif sene.
All fryskyng on the grene?
Och noe! och noe! mine littil boi,
More manneris I haif sene.
“I will gyf them ane spring will gar them skyppe,
And rise with mychte and maine,
Quhille they dyng their hedis agynst the sternis,
And bob on the yird againe.
And rise with mychte and maine,
Quhille they dyng their hedis agynst the sternis,
And bob on the yird againe.
“I will gar them jompe sae merrilye hie,
The blythsum seventy-seven;
Quhille they coole their littil bonnie brestis
Amid the cloudis of heavin.
The blythsum seventy-seven;
Quhille they coole their littil bonnie brestis
Amid the cloudis of heavin.
“Liloo—liloo”—quod blynde Robene,
(Heavinis mercye als he blewe!)
“Now I shall gar the fairye folkis
The Powris of Moseke vewe.”
(Heavinis mercye als he blewe!)
“Now I shall gar the fairye folkis
The Powris of Moseke vewe.”
But the boi he weepit rychte piteouslye,
And down ward sore did bowe,
And helde his middis with both his handis,
For feire he sholde fall through.
And down ward sore did bowe,
And helde his middis with both his handis,
For feire he sholde fall through.
Saint Bothan! als blynde Robene blewe,
Sae yirlisch and sae cleire!
And aye he turnit his stokel horne,
That fairyis all mochte heire.
Sae yirlisch and sae cleire!
And aye he turnit his stokel horne,
That fairyis all mochte heire.
And aye he glymit with his quhyte eyne,
Thoche sore the horne colde jar,
For he longit to see the lily limbe
And kyltit grene seymar.
Thoche sore the horne colde jar,
For he longit to see the lily limbe
And kyltit grene seymar.
“Looke yet againe, my bonnie boi,
At the fairye damis anewe,
And tell me how their robis appeire
In texture and in hewe!”
At the fairye damis anewe,
And tell me how their robis appeire
In texture and in hewe!”
“Och, they are lychtlye cledde, maistere,
Soe lychte I dare not showe,
For I se their lovelye tiny formis,
Als pure as mountaine snowe.
Soe lychte I dare not showe,
For I se their lovelye tiny formis,
Als pure as mountaine snowe.
“Their robis are made of the gossamere,
Wove of the misty sheine,
And dyit in the rainbowis gaudy gaire
Sae glauncyng and sae grene.”
Wove of the misty sheine,
And dyit in the rainbowis gaudy gaire
Sae glauncyng and sae grene.”
Blynde Robene clewe his tufted heide,
And raif his auld greye hayre,
And the teiris wolde haif fallen from his eyne,
Had anie eyne bene there;
And raif his auld greye hayre,
And the teiris wolde haif fallen from his eyne,
Had anie eyne bene there;
318
He turnit up his cleire face for braith,
And to eisse his crouchand backe;
And then he toutit and he blewe
Quhille bethe his luggis did cracke.
And to eisse his crouchand backe;
And then he toutit and he blewe
Quhille bethe his luggis did cracke.
“Och, holde your hande, deire maistere mine!”
Cryit the boi with yirlisch screime,
“For there is the deuill comyng on
With his eyne like fiery gleime;
Cryit the boi with yirlisch screime,
“For there is the deuill comyng on
With his eyne like fiery gleime;
“His fingeris are like lobster taeis,
And long als barrowe tramis;
His tethe are reide-hot tedderstakis,
And barkit are his hammis:
And long als barrowe tramis;
His tethe are reide-hot tedderstakis,
And barkit are his hammis:
“His tayle it is ane fierye snaike
Aye wrything far behynde,
Its fangis are two clothe yardis in length,
And it is coolyng them in the wynde.”
Aye wrything far behynde,
Its fangis are two clothe yardis in length,
And it is coolyng them in the wynde.”
Blynde Robenis face grewe lang and blanke,
And his lyppe begoude to fall;—
“That is ane gueste, my littil boi,
I like the worst of all!
And his lyppe begoude to fall;—
“That is ane gueste, my littil boi,
I like the worst of all!
“The fairyis are mine own deire folkis;
The ghastis are glydyng geire;
But the deuill is ane oder chappe!
Lorde! quhat's he sekyng here?”
The ghastis are glydyng geire;
But the deuill is ane oder chappe!
Lorde! quhat's he sekyng here?”
Blynde Robene maide als he wolde rise,
To flye als he were faine;
But the fairye damis came in his mynde,
And he crouched him downe againe.
To flye als he were faine;
But the fairye damis came in his mynde,
And he crouched him downe againe.
“Come well, come woe, I shall not goe,”
Said Robene manfullye;
“I will play to my welcome fairye folkis,
And the deuill may rayre for me!”
Said Robene manfullye;
“I will play to my welcome fairye folkis,
And the deuill may rayre for me!”
Againe the notis knellit through the ayre
Sae mychtye and sae deivin,
For ilkane burel hole wals loosit—
Ane hole wals blawn in heavin:
Sae mychtye and sae deivin,
For ilkane burel hole wals loosit—
Ane hole wals blawn in heavin:
And the soundis went in, and the soundis went ben,
Quhille the folkis abone the skie
And the angelis caperit ane braif corante
Als they went stroamyng bye.
Quhille the folkis abone the skie
And the angelis caperit ane braif corante
Als they went stroamyng bye.
The Powris of Moseke wals sae greate,
Sae mychtye and devyne,
That Robene ravit for very joi
Quhille his quhyte eyne did shyne;
Sae mychtye and devyne,
That Robene ravit for very joi
Quhille his quhyte eyne did shyne;
And his cleire countenance wals blente
With a joi and a pryde sublyme—
“There is no hope,” quod the littil boi,
“He will playe quhille the end of tyme!”
With a joi and a pryde sublyme—
“There is no hope,” quod the littil boi,
“He will playe quhille the end of tyme!”
But in the grenewode ower the hill,
There graissit ane herde of kyne,
Waidyng in grene gerse to the knes,
And grofellyng lyke to swyne;
There graissit ane herde of kyne,
Waidyng in grene gerse to the knes,
And grofellyng lyke to swyne;
For they snappit it with their muckil mouis,
Quhille sullenlye they lowit,
And aye they noddit their lang quhite hornis,
And they chumpit and they chowit.
Quhille sullenlye they lowit,
And aye they noddit their lang quhite hornis,
And they chumpit and they chowit.
Och, they were fierce! and nefer fedde
At mainger nor at stalle;
But among them there wals ane curlye bulle,
The fierceste of them all.
At mainger nor at stalle;
But among them there wals ane curlye bulle,
The fierceste of them all.
His hornis were quhyte als driven snowe,
And sharpe als poyntit pole;
But his herte wals blacker than his hyde,
Thoche that wals lyke ane cole.
And sharpe als poyntit pole;
But his herte wals blacker than his hyde,
Thoche that wals lyke ane cole.
This bulle he heirit blynde Robenis notis
Passe ower his heide abofe,
And he thochte it wals ane kindlye cowe
Rowtyng for gentil lofe.
Passe ower his heide abofe,
And he thochte it wals ane kindlye cowe
Rowtyng for gentil lofe.
And this bulle he thochtis into himselle,
How this braife courteous cowe
Might haif passit far for lofe that dai,
And travellit faustyng too:
“I will goe and meite her,” thochtis the bulle,
“Als gallante brote sholde doo.”
How this braife courteous cowe
Might haif passit far for lofe that dai,
And travellit faustyng too:
“I will goe and meite her,” thochtis the bulle,
“Als gallante brote sholde doo.”
And this bulle he thochtis into himselle,
“This dame rowtis mychtye loude!
I will sende furth ane voyce shall maike her quaile,
And she shall not be soe proude!”
“This dame rowtis mychtye loude!
I will sende furth ane voyce shall maike her quaile,
And she shall not be soe proude!”
And ower the hille and downe the hille,
The bulle came roaryng furth,
And with his hofe but and his horne
He ture the shaikyng yirth;
The bulle came roaryng furth,
And with his hofe but and his horne
He ture the shaikyng yirth;
And aye he brullyit and he bruffit,
Quhille his braith it singit the grasse;
And then he raisit his noz and squeelit
Rychte lyke ane coddye asse.
Quhille his braith it singit the grasse;
And then he raisit his noz and squeelit
Rychte lyke ane coddye asse.
But the woefulle boi he laye acrosse
And grofellit on the grounde,
And with the blare of Robenis horne
He nefer heirde the sounde:
And grofellit on the grounde,
And with the blare of Robenis horne
He nefer heirde the sounde:
But the soundis they percit blynde Robenis eire,
For ane sherpe eire had hee:
“Is that the deuill, my littil boi,
That rayris soe boysterouslye?”
For ane sherpe eire had hee:
“Is that the deuill, my littil boi,
That rayris soe boysterouslye?”
“Och, maistere, it is ane great black bulle
Comyng foamyng madlye here;
He has fleyit awaye the fairye folkis,
And the deuill has fledde for feire.
Comyng foamyng madlye here;
He has fleyit awaye the fairye folkis,
And the deuill has fledde for feire.
“With his hornis sherper than ane speire
The hillis grene breste is rift,
And his tayle is curlyng up the cloudis,
And swooping on the lyfte.
The hillis grene breste is rift,
And his tayle is curlyng up the cloudis,
And swooping on the lyfte.
“His eyne are two reide colis of fire,
You heire his horryde crie;
The mountaine is quakyng like ane deire,
Quhen the houndis are yowting bye.”
You heire his horryde crie;
The mountaine is quakyng like ane deire,
Quhen the houndis are yowting bye.”
319
Blynde Robene raisit his face and smylit,
And shoke his lockis of snow;
“Och! great is the Powir of Moseke, boi—
Greater nor ouchtis belowe!
And shoke his lockis of snow;
“Och! great is the Powir of Moseke, boi—
Greater nor ouchtis belowe!
“I haif playit the spyritis fra the deipe,
And playit them downe againe;
And that is the Bulle of Norrowaye
I haif brochte outower the maine.
And playit them downe againe;
And that is the Bulle of Norrowaye
I haif brochte outower the maine.
“He is something, I haif heirde them saye,
Betwene ane gode and beiste;
But sit thou still, my bonnie boi,
I will charme him to the eiste.”
Betwene ane gode and beiste;
But sit thou still, my bonnie boi,
I will charme him to the eiste.”
The bulle now lookit eiste and weste,
And he lookit unto the northe;
But he colde not se the kyndlye dame
For quham he hald comit furth.
And he lookit unto the northe;
But he colde not se the kyndlye dame
For quham he hald comit furth.
“Too—too! tee—too!” quod blynde Robene,
Quhille hee raif the herkenyng ayre;
Then the bulle he gallopit lyke ane fiende,
For he thochte his cowe wals there.
Quhille hee raif the herkenyng ayre;
Then the bulle he gallopit lyke ane fiende,
For he thochte his cowe wals there.
But quhan he came nere to the plaisse,
Thochtyng his lofe to fynde,
And saw nochtis but ane auld mynstrelle,
He wals nouther to houlde nor bynde!
Thochtyng his lofe to fynde,
And saw nochtis but ane auld mynstrelle,
He wals nouther to houlde nor bynde!
He ryppit the grounde with hofe and horne,
And maide the rockis to yelle;
For every rore that the black bulle gae
Wals lyke ane burst of helle.
And maide the rockis to yelle;
For every rore that the black bulle gae
Wals lyke ane burst of helle.
Blynde Robenis braith begoude to cut,
His notis begoude to shaike;
These burstis of raige he colde not stande,
They maide his herte to aike.
His notis begoude to shaike;
These burstis of raige he colde not stande,
They maide his herte to aike.
“Och, maistere, maistere!” cryit the boi,
Squeikyng with yirlisch dynne,
“It is but ane bowshote to the wode
That overhingis the lynne.
Squeikyng with yirlisch dynne,
“It is but ane bowshote to the wode
That overhingis the lynne.
“Let us haiste and won the Bowman Lynne,
And hyde in boshe or tre;
Or, by Saint Fillanis sholder-bone,
Charme als you lyke for me!”
And hyde in boshe or tre;
Or, by Saint Fillanis sholder-bone,
Charme als you lyke for me!”
Blynde Robene bangit him to his feite,
Alane he dorste not staye,
For he thochte als well als the littil boi,
It wals tyme he were awaye.
Alane he dorste not staye,
For he thochte als well als the littil boi,
It wals tyme he were awaye.
He helde out his lang necke and ranne,
Quhille low his back did bowe;
And he turnit up his cleire quhyte face,
Als blynde men wonte to doo.
Quhille low his back did bowe;
And he turnit up his cleire quhyte face,
Als blynde men wonte to doo.
And ower rocke, and ower rone,
He lyftit his feite full hie;
And ower stocke, and ower stone,
Blynde Robene he did flie!
He lyftit his feite full hie;
And ower stocke, and ower stone,
Blynde Robene he did flie!
But Robenis braith is all forespente,
He gaspit sore anone;
The bulle is thonderyng at his backe;
Blynde Robene he is gone!
He gaspit sore anone;
The bulle is thonderyng at his backe;
Blynde Robene he is gone!
For his haiste grewe greatir than his speide,
His bodie it pressit on
Faster than feite colde followe up,
And on the grounde he is prone!
His bodie it pressit on
Faster than feite colde followe up,
And on the grounde he is prone!
But yet to profe blynde Robenis speide
Quhen he felle on his face before,
He plowit ane furrowe with his noz
For two clothe yardis and more.
Quhen he felle on his face before,
He plowit ane furrowe with his noz
For two clothe yardis and more.
Ah! laik-a-day! now, blynde Robene,
Thy moseke moste depairte;
That cursit Bulle of Norrowaye
Is fomyng ower thine herte.
Thy moseke moste depairte;
That cursit Bulle of Norrowaye
Is fomyng ower thine herte.
Och, woe betyde that wicked boi
Als he sat up on hychte!
I wat he leuch quhille neirlye dede,
To se blynde Robenis plychte.
Als he sat up on hychte!
I wat he leuch quhille neirlye dede,
To se blynde Robenis plychte.
For the bulle gaed rounde, and the bulle gaed rounde
Blynde Robene with horryde dynne;
He hald neuir bene usit to stycke ane man,
And he knowit not how to begynne.
Blynde Robene with horryde dynne;
He hald neuir bene usit to stycke ane man,
And he knowit not how to begynne.
And he scraipit ane graif with his fore fute,
With many ane rowte and rayre;
And he borit the truff a thousand tymis
Arounde blynde Robenis layre.
With many ane rowte and rayre;
And he borit the truff a thousand tymis
Arounde blynde Robenis layre.
Poor Robene hald but ane remeide,
Ane trembilyng houpe hald he;
He set his stokel horne to his muthe
And blewe yblastis thre.
“Quhat worme is this,” then thochtis the bulle,
“That mockis my lofe and me?”
Ane trembilyng houpe hald he;
He set his stokel horne to his muthe
And blewe yblastis thre.
“Quhat worme is this,” then thochtis the bulle,
“That mockis my lofe and me?”
He shoke his heide, and he gaif ane prodde,
Quhille his hornis ranne to the brymme,
“I shall bore your bodie,” thochtis the bulle,
“Throu the life-bloode and the limbe.”
Quhille his hornis ranne to the brymme,
“I shall bore your bodie,” thochtis the bulle,
“Throu the life-bloode and the limbe.”
And out-throu, and out-throu blynde Robene
He hes maide his quhite hornis gae;
But they nouther touchit his skynne nor his bone,
But his coate and mantil greye.
He hes maide his quhite hornis gae;
But they nouther touchit his skynne nor his bone,
But his coate and mantil greye.
And he has heivit up blynde Robene,
And tossit him lyke ane reide;
And aye he shoke his curlye powe,
To drive him from his heide.
And tossit him lyke ane reide;
And aye he shoke his curlye powe,
To drive him from his heide.
And he wals in ane grefous frychte,
Yet wist not quhat to feire;
But he laye acrosse lyke ane ousen yoke,
Mervillyng quhat wals asteer.
Yet wist not quhat to feire;
But he laye acrosse lyke ane ousen yoke,
Mervillyng quhat wals asteer.
But hald you sene the devilisch boi;
Ane ill deide mot he de!
He leuch until he tint all powris
Als he sat on his tre.
Ane ill deide mot he de!
He leuch until he tint all powris
Als he sat on his tre.
320
Then the bulle he gaif Robene ane toss
By some unchancie fling;
And ower the verge of the Bowman Lynne
He made the auld man to swing.
By some unchancie fling;
And ower the verge of the Bowman Lynne
He made the auld man to swing.
At firste he flew across the voyde,
Then downward sank lyke lede,
Till he fell into ane hazil boshe
Saft als ane fedder bedde.
Then downward sank lyke lede,
Till he fell into ane hazil boshe
Saft als ane fedder bedde.
And there he laye, and there he swung,
Als lychte als lefe on tre;
He knewe nochtis of his great daingere,
Nor yet of his safetye.
Als lychte als lefe on tre;
He knewe nochtis of his great daingere,
Nor yet of his safetye.
And the bulle he brullyit and he brooit,
Outower the Bowman Lynne,
And sore he yernit for life-bloode,
But dorste not venter in.
Outower the Bowman Lynne,
And sore he yernit for life-bloode,
But dorste not venter in.
Poor Robene heirde the defenyng noisse,
And laye full sore aghast;
At length he raisit his forlorne houpe,
To charme him with ane blaste.
And laye full sore aghast;
At length he raisit his forlorne houpe,
To charme him with ane blaste.
Quheneuir the bulle he heirde the soundis,
His aunger byrnit lyke helle,
And rounde the rock he raschit in raige,
But missit his fute and felle.
His aunger byrnit lyke helle,
And rounde the rock he raschit in raige,
But missit his fute and felle.
And downe the bank and downe the brae
He bumpit and he blewe;
And aye he stoattit fra the stonis,
And flapperit as he flewe.
He bumpit and he blewe;
And aye he stoattit fra the stonis,
And flapperit as he flewe.
He wals lyke ane mychtie terre barelle
Gawn bombyng down the steipe,
Quhille he plungit in the howe of the Bowman Lynne,
Full fiftie faddom deipe.
Gawn bombyng down the steipe,
Quhille he plungit in the howe of the Bowman Lynne,
Full fiftie faddom deipe.
And the ekois claumb fra rocke to rocke,
Roryng the dark wode under,
And yollerit, yollerit, fra the hillis,
Lyke ane ryvyng clappe of thunder.
Roryng the dark wode under,
And yollerit, yollerit, fra the hillis,
Lyke ane ryvyng clappe of thunder.
“Holloa! quhat's that?” cryit blynde Robene,
“Is there anie here to telle?”
“It is the bulle,” the littil boi,
“You haif charmit him down to helle.
“Is there anie here to telle?”
“It is the bulle,” the littil boi,
“You haif charmit him down to helle.
The mychtie featis that you haif done,
This beatis them all to-daye!
Rise up, rise up, deire maistere mine,
I will guide you on your waye.”
This beatis them all to-daye!
Rise up, rise up, deire maistere mine,
I will guide you on your waye.”
“Och Robene wals ane braife proude man
That day on Bowman brae,
And he braggit of that mornyngis featis
Until his dying dai.
That day on Bowman brae,
And he braggit of that mornyngis featis
Until his dying dai.
And aye his quhite face glowit sublyme,
And aye his brente browe shone;
And thoche he tould ane store of les,
To helpe it there wals none.
And aye his brente browe shone;
And thoche he tould ane store of les,
To helpe it there wals none.
He saide that he drewe the dapplit raeis
Fra out the dingillye delle,
The nut-browne hart, but and the hynde,
Downe fra the hedder belle;
Fra out the dingillye delle,
The nut-browne hart, but and the hynde,
Downe fra the hedder belle;
And brochte the gaitis with their greye berdis,
Far fra the rockie glenne,
And the fairyis fra some plesaunt lande
That Robene did not kenne:
Far fra the rockie glenne,
And the fairyis fra some plesaunt lande
That Robene did not kenne:
And then he tauld how he raisit the dede,
In their windyng shetis soe quhite,
And how the deuill came from his denne,
And lystenit with delyte:
In their windyng shetis soe quhite,
And how the deuill came from his denne,
And lystenit with delyte:
How he brochte the Bulle of Norrowaye
Out-ower the sea-waife grene,
And charmit him downe to the pytte of helle,
Quhare he nefer more wals sene.
Out-ower the sea-waife grene,
And charmit him downe to the pytte of helle,
Quhare he nefer more wals sene.
But then the false and wicked boi,
He nefer wolde allowe
That he charmit ouchtis but ane wicked bulle,
Quha tooke him for ane cowe.
He nefer wolde allowe
That he charmit ouchtis but ane wicked bulle,
Quha tooke him for ane cowe.
Maye nefer poore mynstrelle wante the worde
That drawis the graitefulle teire,
Nor ane waywarde brat his morning broz,
For both are harde to beire.
That drawis the graitefulle teire,
Nor ane waywarde brat his morning broz,
For both are harde to beire.
Moralitas.
Och, nefer bydde ane bad mynstrelle playe,
Nor seye his mynstrelsye,
Onlesse your wyne be in your hande,
And your ladye in your e'e.
Nor seye his mynstrelsye,
Onlesse your wyne be in your hande,
And your ladye in your e'e.
Ane singil say will set him on,
And simpil is the spelle;
But he nefer will gif ofer againe,
Not for the deuill himselle.
And simpil is the spelle;
But he nefer will gif ofer againe,
Not for the deuill himselle.
A Lay of the Martyrs.
“Oh where have you been, bonnie Marley Reid?
For mony a long night and day
I have miss'd ye sair, at the Wanlock-head,
And the cave o' the Louther brae.
For mony a long night and day
I have miss'd ye sair, at the Wanlock-head,
And the cave o' the Louther brae.
“Our friends are waning fast away,
Baith frae the cliff and the wood;
They are tearing them frae us ilka day;
For there's naething will please but blood.
Baith frae the cliff and the wood;
They are tearing them frae us ilka day;
For there's naething will please but blood.
“And, O bonnie Marley, I maun now
Gie your heart muckle pain,
For your bridegroom is a-missing too,
And 'tis fear'd that he is ta'en.
Gie your heart muckle pain,
For your bridegroom is a-missing too,
And 'tis fear'd that he is ta'en.
“We have sought the caves o' the Enterkin.
And the dens o' the Ballybough,
And a' the howes o' the Ganna linn;
And we wot not what to do.”
And the dens o' the Ballybough,
And a' the howes o' the Ganna linn;
And we wot not what to do.”
321
“Dispel your fears, good Marjory Laing,
And hope all for the best,
For the servants of God will find a place,
Their weary heads to rest.
And hope all for the best,
For the servants of God will find a place,
Their weary heads to rest.
“There are better places, that we ken o',
And seemlier to be in,
Than all the dens of the Ballybough,
Or howes o' the Ganna linn.
And seemlier to be in,
Than all the dens of the Ballybough,
Or howes o' the Ganna linn.
“But sit thee down, good Marjory Laing,
And listen awhile to me,
For I have a tale to tell to you,
That will bring you to your knee.
And listen awhile to me,
For I have a tale to tell to you,
That will bring you to your knee.
“I went to seek my own dear James
In the cave o' the Louther brae,
For I had some things that of a' the world
He best deserved to hae.
In the cave o' the Louther brae,
For I had some things that of a' the world
He best deserved to hae.
“I had a kebbuck in my lap,
And a fadge o' the flour sae sma',
And a sark I had made for his buirdly back,
As white as the new-dri'en snaw.
And a fadge o' the flour sae sma',
And a sark I had made for his buirdly back,
As white as the new-dri'en snaw.
“I sought him over hill and dale,
Shouting by cave and tree;
But only the dell with its eiry yell,
An answer return'd to me.
Shouting by cave and tree;
But only the dell with its eiry yell,
An answer return'd to me.
“I sought him up, and I sought him down,
And echoes return'd his name,
Till the gloffs o' dread shot to my heart,
And dirled through a' my frame.
And echoes return'd his name,
Till the gloffs o' dread shot to my heart,
And dirled through a' my frame.
“I sat me down by the Enterkin,
And saw, in a fearful line,
The red dragoons come up the path,
Wi' prisoners eight or nine:
And saw, in a fearful line,
The red dragoons come up the path,
Wi' prisoners eight or nine:
“And one of them was my dear, dear James,
The flower of a' his kin;
He was wounded behind, and wounded before,
And the blood ran frae his chin.
The flower of a' his kin;
He was wounded behind, and wounded before,
And the blood ran frae his chin.
“He was bound upon a weary hack,
Lash'd both by hough and heel,
And his hands were bound behind his back,
Wi' the thumbikins of steel.
Lash'd both by hough and heel,
And his hands were bound behind his back,
Wi' the thumbikins of steel.
“I kneel'd before that Popish band,
In the fervour of inward strife,
And I raised to heaven my trembling hand,
And begg'd my husband's life.
In the fervour of inward strife,
And I raised to heaven my trembling hand,
And begg'd my husband's life.
“But all the troop laugh'd me to scorn,
Making my grief their game;
And the captain said some words to me,
Which I cannot tell you for shame.
Making my grief their game;
And the captain said some words to me,
Which I cannot tell you for shame.
“And then he cursed our Whiggish race
With a proud and a scornful brow,
And bade me look at my husband's face,
And say how I liked him now.
With a proud and a scornful brow,
And bade me look at my husband's face,
And say how I liked him now.
“‘Oh, I like him weel, thou proud captain,
Though the blood runs to his knee,
And all the better for the grievous wrongs
He has suffer'd this day frae thee.
Though the blood runs to his knee,
And all the better for the grievous wrongs
He has suffer'd this day frae thee.
“‘But can you feel within your heart
That comely youth to slay?
For the hope you have in Heaven, captain,
Let him gang wi' me away!’
That comely youth to slay?
For the hope you have in Heaven, captain,
Let him gang wi' me away!’
“Then the captain swore a fearfu' oath,
With loathsome jest and mock,
That he thought no more of a Whigamore's life
Than the life of a noisome brock.
With loathsome jest and mock,
That he thought no more of a Whigamore's life
Than the life of a noisome brock.
“Then my poor James to the captain call'd,
And he begg'd baith hard and sair,
To have one kiss of his bonnie bride,
Ere we parted for evermair.
And he begg'd baith hard and sair,
To have one kiss of his bonnie bride,
Ere we parted for evermair.
“‘I'll do that for you,’ said the proud captain,
‘And save you the toil to-day,
And moreover, I'll take her little store,
To support you by the way.’
‘And save you the toil to-day,
And moreover, I'll take her little store,
To support you by the way.’
“He took my bountith from my lap,
And I saw, with sorrow dumb,
That he parted it all among his men,
And gave not my love one crumb.
And I saw, with sorrow dumb,
That he parted it all among his men,
And gave not my love one crumb.
“‘Now, fare you well, my very bonnie bride,’
Cried the captain with disdain;
‘When I come back to the banks of Nith,
I shall kiss you sweetly then.
Cried the captain with disdain;
‘When I come back to the banks of Nith,
I shall kiss you sweetly then.
“‘Your heartiest thanks must sure be given,
For what I have done to-day—
I am taking him straight on the road to heaven:
And short will be the way!’
For what I have done to-day—
I am taking him straight on the road to heaven:
And short will be the way!’
“My love he gave me a parting look,
And bless'd me ferventlye,
And the tears they mix'd wi' his purple blood,
And ran down to his knee.”
And bless'd me ferventlye,
And the tears they mix'd wi' his purple blood,
And ran down to his knee.”
“What's this I hear, bonnie Marley Reid?
How could these woes betide?
For blither you could not look this day,
Were your husband by your side.
How could these woes betide?
For blither you could not look this day,
Were your husband by your side.
“One of two things alone is left,
And dreadful the one to me;
For either your fair wits are reft,
Or else your husband's free.”
And dreadful the one to me;
For either your fair wits are reft,
Or else your husband's free.”
“Allay your fears, good Marjory Laing,
And hear me out the rest;
You little ken what a bride will do,
For the youth she likes the best!
And hear me out the rest;
You little ken what a bride will do,
For the youth she likes the best!
“I hied me home to my father's ha',
And through a' my friends I ran,
And I gather'd me up a purse o' gowd,
To redeem my young goodman:
And through a' my friends I ran,
And I gather'd me up a purse o' gowd,
To redeem my young goodman:
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“For I kenn'd the Papish lowns would weel
My fair intent approve;
For they'll do far mair for the good red gowd,
Than they'll do for heaven above.
My fair intent approve;
For they'll do far mair for the good red gowd,
Than they'll do for heaven above.
“And away I ran to Edinburgh town,
Of my shining treasure vain,
To buy my James from the prison strong,
Or there with him remain.
Of my shining treasure vain,
To buy my James from the prison strong,
Or there with him remain.
“I sought through a' the city jails,
I sought baith lang and sair;
But the guardsmen turn'd me frae their doors,
And swore that he was not there.
I sought baith lang and sair;
But the guardsmen turn'd me frae their doors,
And swore that he was not there.
“I went away to the Popish duke,
Who was my love's judge to be,
And I proffer'd him a' my yellow store,
If he'd grant his life to me.
Who was my love's judge to be,
And I proffer'd him a' my yellow store,
If he'd grant his life to me.
“He counted the red gowd slowly o'er,
By twenties and by tens,
And said I had taken the only means
To attain my hopeful ends.
By twenties and by tens,
And said I had taken the only means
To attain my hopeful ends.
“‘And now,’ said he, ‘your husband's safe;
You may take this pledge of me:
And I'll tell you, fair one, where you'll go,
To gain this certaintye,—
You may take this pledge of me:
And I'll tell you, fair one, where you'll go,
To gain this certaintye,—
“‘Gang west the street, and down the Bow,
And through the market place,
And there you will meet with a gentleman,
Of a tall and courteous grace;
And through the market place,
And there you will meet with a gentleman,
Of a tall and courteous grace;
“‘He is clad in a livery of the green,
With a plume aboon his bree,
And arm'd with a halbert, glittering sheen:
Your love he will let you see.’
With a plume aboon his bree,
And arm'd with a halbert, glittering sheen:
Your love he will let you see.’
“O Marjory, never flew blithsome bird,
So light out through the sky,
As I flew up that stately street,
Weeping for very joy.
So light out through the sky,
As I flew up that stately street,
Weeping for very joy.
“Oh never flew lamb out-o'er the lea,
When the sun gangs o'er the hill,
Wi' lighter, blither steps than me,
Or skipp'd wi' sic good will!
When the sun gangs o'er the hill,
Wi' lighter, blither steps than me,
Or skipp'd wi' sic good will!
“And aye I bless'd the precious ore,
My husband's life that wan;
And I even bless'd the Popish duke,
For a kind, good-hearted man.
My husband's life that wan;
And I even bless'd the Popish duke,
For a kind, good-hearted man.
“The officer I soon found out,—
For he could not be mistook;
But in all my life I never beheld
Sic a grim and a gruesome look.
For he could not be mistook;
But in all my life I never beheld
Sic a grim and a gruesome look.
“I ask'd him for my dear, dear James,
With throbs of wild delight,
And begg'd him in his master's name,
To take me to his sight.
With throbs of wild delight,
And begg'd him in his master's name,
To take me to his sight.
“He ask'd me for his true address,
With a voice at which I shook;
For I saw that he was a Popish knave,
By the terror of his look.
With a voice at which I shook;
For I saw that he was a Popish knave,
By the terror of his look.
“I named the name with a buoyant voice,
That trembled with ecstasye;
But the savage bray'd a hideous laugh,
Then turn'd and grinn'd at me.
That trembled with ecstasye;
But the savage bray'd a hideous laugh,
Then turn'd and grinn'd at me.
“He pointed up to the city wall:
One look benumb'd my soul;
For there I saw my husband's head,
Fix'd high upon a pole!
One look benumb'd my soul;
For there I saw my husband's head,
Fix'd high upon a pole!
“His yellow hair waved in the wind,
And far behind did flee,
And his right hand hang beside his cheek—
A waesome sight to see.
And far behind did flee,
And his right hand hang beside his cheek—
A waesome sight to see.
“His chin hang down on open space,
Yet comely was his brow,
And his eyne were open to the breeze—
There was nane to close them now!
Yet comely was his brow,
And his eyne were open to the breeze—
There was nane to close them now!
“‘What think you of your true love now?’
The hideous porter said;
‘Is not that a comely sight to see,
And sweet to a Whiggish maid!’
The hideous porter said;
‘Is not that a comely sight to see,
And sweet to a Whiggish maid!’
“‘Oh, haud your tongue, ye Popish slave,
For I downa answer you;
He was dear, dear to my heart before,
But never sae dear as now!
For I downa answer you;
He was dear, dear to my heart before,
But never sae dear as now!
“‘I see a sight you cannot see,
Which man cannot efface;
I see a ray of heavenly love
Beaming on that dear face.
Which man cannot efface;
I see a ray of heavenly love
Beaming on that dear face.
“‘And weel I ken yon bonnie brent brow,
Will smile in the walks on high,
And yon yellow hair, all blood-stain'd now,
Maun wave aboon the sky.’
Will smile in the walks on high,
And yon yellow hair, all blood-stain'd now,
Maun wave aboon the sky.’
“But can ye trow me, Marjory dear?
In the might of heavenly grace,
There was never a sigh burst frae my heart,
Nor a tear ran o'er my face.
In the might of heavenly grace,
There was never a sigh burst frae my heart,
Nor a tear ran o'er my face.
“But I bless'd my God, who had thus seen meet
To take him from my side,
To call him home to the courts above,
And leave me a virgin bride.”
To take him from my side,
To call him home to the courts above,
And leave me a virgin bride.”
“Alack, alack, bonnie Marley Reid,
That sic days we hae lived to see!
For siccan a cruel and waefu' tale
Was never yet heard by me.
That sic days we hae lived to see!
For siccan a cruel and waefu' tale
Was never yet heard by me.
“And all this time, I have trembling, ween'd,
That your dear wits were gone;
For there is a joy in your countenance,
Which I never saw beam thereon.
That your dear wits were gone;
For there is a joy in your countenance,
Which I never saw beam thereon.
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“Then let us kneel with humble hearts,
To the God whom we revere,
Who never yet laid that burden on,
Which he gave not strength to bear.”
To the God whom we revere,
Who never yet laid that burden on,
Which he gave not strength to bear.”
The Origin of the Fairies.
I have heard a wondrous old relation,
How the Fairies first came to our nation;
A tale of glamour, and yet of glee,
Of fervour, of love, and of mysterye.
I do not vouch for its certain truth,
But I know I believed it in my youth;
And envied much the enchanted knight,
Who enjoy'd such beauty and pure delight.
I will tell it now, and interlard it
With thoughts with which I still regard it,
And feelings with which first I heard it.
How the Fairies first came to our nation;
A tale of glamour, and yet of glee,
Of fervour, of love, and of mysterye.
I do not vouch for its certain truth,
But I know I believed it in my youth;
And envied much the enchanted knight,
Who enjoy'd such beauty and pure delight.
I will tell it now, and interlard it
With thoughts with which I still regard it,
And feelings with which first I heard it.
The Knight of Dumblane is a hunting gone,
With his hey! and his ho! and hallo!
And he met a merry maid alone,
In the light green and the yellow.
That maiden's eyes were the pearls of dew,
And her cheek the moss-rose opening new;
Her smile was the sun blink on the brae,
When the shower is past and the cloud away.
And then her form was so light and fair,
That it seem'd to lean on the ambient air;
So very blithesome and so boon,
That the knight was afraid it would fade too soon;
Mount on the ether from human ken,
Or melt away in the breeze of the glen.
With his hey! and his ho! and hallo!
And he met a merry maid alone,
In the light green and the yellow.
That maiden's eyes were the pearls of dew,
And her cheek the moss-rose opening new;
Her smile was the sun blink on the brae,
When the shower is past and the cloud away.
And then her form was so light and fair,
That it seem'd to lean on the ambient air;
So very blithesome and so boon,
That the knight was afraid it would fade too soon;
Mount on the ether from human ken,
Or melt away in the breeze of the glen.
His frame thrill'd to the very core
When he saw that beauty stand him before,
With the gleam of joy on her brow so meek,
And the dimple on her damask cheek;
And then so ripe was her honey lip,
That the wild bee, lingering, long'd to sip;
And the merle came by with an eye of guile,
For he hover'd and lighted down a while
On the snowy veil in which she was dress'd,
To pick the strawberries from her breast.
Oh was there aught below the heaven
I would not have done, or would not have given,
To have been the Knight of Dumblane that day!—
But 'twas better for me that I was away.
When he saw that beauty stand him before,
With the gleam of joy on her brow so meek,
And the dimple on her damask cheek;
And then so ripe was her honey lip,
That the wild bee, lingering, long'd to sip;
And the merle came by with an eye of guile,
For he hover'd and lighted down a while
On the snowy veil in which she was dress'd,
To pick the strawberries from her breast.
Oh was there aught below the heaven
I would not have done, or would not have given,
To have been the Knight of Dumblane that day!—
But 'twas better for me that I was away.
The knight came nigh, and essay'd to speak,
But the glamour of love was on his cheek;
And a single word he could not say,
For his tongue in thirsty silence lay.
But he doff'd his cap from his manly brow,
And he bow'd as low as a knight could bow,
Then stood with his velvet cap in hand,
As waiting for the maiden's command.
But the glamour of love was on his cheek;
And a single word he could not say,
For his tongue in thirsty silence lay.
But he doff'd his cap from his manly brow,
And he bow'd as low as a knight could bow,
Then stood with his velvet cap in hand,
As waiting for the maiden's command.
Sure this was witless as could have been;
I cannot conceive what the knight could mean;
For, had I been there, in right or wrong,
As sure as I sing you this song,
I would, as the most due respect,
Have twined my arms around her neck;
And, sure as man e'er woo'd a maid,
Have row'd her in my shepherd plaid,
And, in token of my high regard,
Have set her down on the flowery sward
And if some discourse had not begun,
Either in quarrel or in fun,
Take never a shepherd's word again,
And count my skill in wooing vain;
All this I would have done with speed—
But for ever would have rued the deed!
I cannot conceive what the knight could mean;
For, had I been there, in right or wrong,
As sure as I sing you this song,
I would, as the most due respect,
Have twined my arms around her neck;
And, sure as man e'er woo'd a maid,
Have row'd her in my shepherd plaid,
And, in token of my high regard,
Have set her down on the flowery sward
And if some discourse had not begun,
Either in quarrel or in fun,
Take never a shepherd's word again,
And count my skill in wooing vain;
All this I would have done with speed—
But for ever would have rued the deed!
Oh, never was knight so far o'ercome,
As he who now stood blushing and dumb
Before this maid of the moorland brake,
With the cherub eye and the angel make.
At first no higher his glance was thrown
Than the flowery heath that her foot stood on;
When by degrees it embraced her toe,
But over the ankle durst not go;
Till at length he stammer'd out modestly,
“Pray—madam—have you—any commands for me?”
As he who now stood blushing and dumb
Before this maid of the moorland brake,
With the cherub eye and the angel make.
At first no higher his glance was thrown
Than the flowery heath that her foot stood on;
When by degrees it embraced her toe,
But over the ankle durst not go;
Till at length he stammer'd out modestly,
“Pray—madam—have you—any commands for me?”
Shame fa' the knight! I do declare
I have no patience with him to bear;
For I would have look'd, as a man should do,
From the shoe tie to the glancing brow;
Nay, from the toe's bewitching station
Even to the organ of veneration.
For what avails the loveliest face,
Or form of the most bewitching grace,
Which on earth are made for man alone,
If they are not to be look'd upon?
Yes, I would have looked till my sight had rack'd,
And the very organs of vision crack'd;
And I would have sworn, as a man should swear,
That I never saw virgin half so fair:
This I had done, despite all pain,
But ah! I never had done it again!
I have no patience with him to bear;
For I would have look'd, as a man should do,
From the shoe tie to the glancing brow;
Nay, from the toe's bewitching station
Even to the organ of veneration.
For what avails the loveliest face,
Or form of the most bewitching grace,
Which on earth are made for man alone,
If they are not to be look'd upon?
Yes, I would have looked till my sight had rack'd,
And the very organs of vision crack'd;
And I would have sworn, as a man should swear,
That I never saw virgin half so fair:
This I had done, despite all pain,
But ah! I never had done it again!
But the maid was delighted beyond expression,
To mark the young knight's prepossession;
And with a smile that might have given
Some pangs even to a thing of heaven,
She took so moving a position
That set his soul in full ignition:
One limb alone scarce press'd the ground,
The other twined her ankle round;
Her lovely face was upward cast,
Her sunny locks waved in the blast;
And really she appear'd to be
A being divine—about to flee
Away from this world of self and sin,
A lovelier, holier clime to win.
No posture with that can ever compare—
What a mercy that I was not there!
To mark the young knight's prepossession;
And with a smile that might have given
Some pangs even to a thing of heaven,
She took so moving a position
That set his soul in full ignition:
One limb alone scarce press'd the ground,
The other twined her ankle round;
Her lovely face was upward cast,
Her sunny locks waved in the blast;
And really she appear'd to be
A being divine—about to flee
Away from this world of self and sin,
A lovelier, holier clime to win.
No posture with that can ever compare—
What a mercy that I was not there!
But he raised his eyes as her's withdrew,
And of her form got one full view;
The taper limb, and the slender waist,
The modest mould of her virgin breast,
The lips just opening with a smile,
And the eye upraised to heaven the while;
The purple tides were seen to entwine
In a thousand veins all crystalline.
Enough! The sequence is too true:
For though the knight got but one view,
One full, intoxicating look,
It was more than his fond heart could brook;
For on the ground he fell, as dead
As he had been shot out through the head.
And of her form got one full view;
324
The modest mould of her virgin breast,
The lips just opening with a smile,
And the eye upraised to heaven the while;
The purple tides were seen to entwine
In a thousand veins all crystalline.
Enough! The sequence is too true:
For though the knight got but one view,
One full, intoxicating look,
It was more than his fond heart could brook;
For on the ground he fell, as dead
As he had been shot out through the head.
Now this was rather a sad o'erthrow:
I don't think I would have fallen so;
For though a lovely virgin face
Has sometimes put me in piteous case,
Has made me shed salt tears outright,
And sob like the wind on a winter night,
Nay, thrown me into a burning fever,
Yet I never just went off altogether;
But I have reason without a flam
Thankful to be—and so I am—
That I was spared the illusive sight
That was seen by that enchanted knight.
I don't think I would have fallen so;
For though a lovely virgin face
Has sometimes put me in piteous case,
Has made me shed salt tears outright,
And sob like the wind on a winter night,
Nay, thrown me into a burning fever,
Yet I never just went off altogether;
But I have reason without a flam
Thankful to be—and so I am—
That I was spared the illusive sight
That was seen by that enchanted knight.
Now it seems that the maiden to fear began
For the life of that young and comely man,
And every art essay'd, to try
To make him uplift his amorous eye;
But in reality, or in mine,
The swoon continued a weary time.
And better had it been if he had never
Re-open'd his eyes, but slept for ever;
For when next they awoke on the light of day,
His cheek on the maiden's bosom lay.
He felt its warmth new life impart,
And the gentle throbs of her beating heart;
He felt, beneath his aching head,
The enchanting mould that had laid him dead;
He felt her hand his temples chafing,
And every tenderness vouchsafing.
He lifted his head—he hid his face—
And stole his cheek from that witching place;
Yet still he cast, though disinclined,
A longing, lingering glance behind,
Where he saw—but I dare not describe the view,
For, if you are a man, it will kill you too;
If you are a woman, and lovely beside,
You will turn up your nose in disdain and pride.
If you are not, without a frown,
You will laugh at the knight till you fall down;
For true it is, when the knight had seen
The beauteous bed where his cheek had been,
The blush and the smile, and the lucid vein,
He gave one shriek, with might and main,
Then shiver'd a space, and died again!
For the life of that young and comely man,
And every art essay'd, to try
To make him uplift his amorous eye;
But in reality, or in mine,
The swoon continued a weary time.
And better had it been if he had never
Re-open'd his eyes, but slept for ever;
For when next they awoke on the light of day,
His cheek on the maiden's bosom lay.
He felt its warmth new life impart,
And the gentle throbs of her beating heart;
He felt, beneath his aching head,
The enchanting mould that had laid him dead;
He felt her hand his temples chafing,
And every tenderness vouchsafing.
He lifted his head—he hid his face—
And stole his cheek from that witching place;
Yet still he cast, though disinclined,
A longing, lingering glance behind,
Where he saw—but I dare not describe the view,
For, if you are a man, it will kill you too;
If you are a woman, and lovely beside,
You will turn up your nose in disdain and pride.
If you are not, without a frown,
You will laugh at the knight till you fall down;
For true it is, when the knight had seen
The beauteous bed where his cheek had been,
The blush and the smile, and the lucid vein,
He gave one shriek, with might and main,
Then shiver'd a space, and died again!
From that time forth, if I durst tell,
Unto that knight such hap befell
As never was own'd by mortal man,
And never was told since tales began.
He got his wish—it proved a dear one:
It is an old story, and a queer one:
But free of fear, and free of fetter,
I'll tell it out even to the letter—
The wilder 'tis I love it the better.
Unto that knight such hap befell
As never was own'd by mortal man,
And never was told since tales began.
He got his wish—it proved a dear one:
It is an old story, and a queer one:
But free of fear, and free of fetter,
I'll tell it out even to the letter—
The wilder 'tis I love it the better.
We all have heard the maxim old,
That a tale of truth should aye be told;
For nothing in nature happen can
That may not a lesson prove to man:
Now this is true: yet things we ken,
Oft happen between the women and men,
So wild, romantic, and precarious,
So complicated and contrarious,
So full of passion and of pain,
They scarcely can bear to be told again.
Then think of love 'twixt a mortal creature,
And a being of another nature!
That a tale of truth should aye be told;
For nothing in nature happen can
That may not a lesson prove to man:
Now this is true: yet things we ken,
Oft happen between the women and men,
So wild, romantic, and precarious,
So complicated and contrarious,
So full of passion and of pain,
They scarcely can bear to be told again.
Then think of love 'twixt a mortal creature,
And a being of another nature!
The knight was lost—that very morn
Rung the last peal of his hunting horn;
His comrades range the mountain reign,
And call his name, but call in vain;
From his hawks and his hounds he is borne away,
And lost for a twelvemonth and a day;
And, all that time, he lived but to prove
The new delights and the joys of love—
His mistress, a pattern of sweetness and duty,
And her home a palace of splendour and beauty.
But whether it was in the sinful clime
That bounds Mortality and Time,
In a land below or a land above,
In a bower of the moon or the star of love,
He never could fathom or invent,
Or the way that he came, or the way that he went;
But he ween'd, from his love's aërial nature,
That she barely could be a mortal creature.
Rung the last peal of his hunting horn;
His comrades range the mountain reign,
And call his name, but call in vain;
From his hawks and his hounds he is borne away,
And lost for a twelvemonth and a day;
And, all that time, he lived but to prove
The new delights and the joys of love—
His mistress, a pattern of sweetness and duty,
And her home a palace of splendour and beauty.
But whether it was in the sinful clime
That bounds Mortality and Time,
In a land below or a land above,
In a bower of the moon or the star of love,
He never could fathom or invent,
Or the way that he came, or the way that he went;
But he ween'd, from his love's aërial nature,
That she barely could be a mortal creature.
And every night in his ears there rung
The accents sweet of the female tongue;
Light sounds of joy through the dome were ringing—
There was laughing, dancing, harping, singing:
But foot of man in the halls was none,
Nor sound of voice but his own alone:
While every night his beloved dame
In new array to his chamber came;
And, save herself, by day or night,
No other form ever met his sight.
So ween'd the knight; but his mind was shaken,
And, alas! how far he was mistaken!
For love's full overwhelming tide
O'er the mind of man is hard to bide.
Yet this full fraught of delirious joy,
Without reverse and without alloy,
I would once have liked to have essay'd
But at last—how I had been dismay'd!
The accents sweet of the female tongue;
Light sounds of joy through the dome were ringing—
There was laughing, dancing, harping, singing:
But foot of man in the halls was none,
Nor sound of voice but his own alone:
While every night his beloved dame
In new array to his chamber came;
And, save herself, by day or night,
No other form ever met his sight.
So ween'd the knight; but his mind was shaken,
And, alas! how far he was mistaken!
For love's full overwhelming tide
O'er the mind of man is hard to bide.
Yet this full fraught of delirious joy,
Without reverse and without alloy,
I would once have liked to have essay'd
But at last—how I had been dismay'd!
The times soon changed; for, by slow decay,
The sounds of joy were melted away
To a tremulous strain of tender wailing
Of sufferings for a former failing;
While something was sung, in a plaintive key,
Of a most mysterious tendencye,
Of beings, who were not of the earth,
To human creatures giving birth;
Of seven pure beings of purity shorn;
Of seven babies that might be born,
The nurslings of another clime,
By creatures of immortal prime;
Of the mother's thrilling fears, and more
Of the dark uncertainty before!
The knight then dreaded—as well might he!—
That things were not as things should be;
And a hearty wish rose in his mind
That he were at the home he left behind.
To wish, and to have, in the charmed ring
Of that sweet dome, was the self-same thing;
For the knight awaken'd, as from a dream,
And he stood by the wild and mossy stream,
Where first he felt the bewitching power
Of the beauteous maid at the morning hour;
Where he fell a victim to beauty's charms,
And died of love in a virgin's arms!
The sounds of joy were melted away
325
Of sufferings for a former failing;
While something was sung, in a plaintive key,
Of a most mysterious tendencye,
Of beings, who were not of the earth,
To human creatures giving birth;
Of seven pure beings of purity shorn;
Of seven babies that might be born,
The nurslings of another clime,
By creatures of immortal prime;
Of the mother's thrilling fears, and more
Of the dark uncertainty before!
The knight then dreaded—as well might he!—
That things were not as things should be;
And a hearty wish rose in his mind
That he were at the home he left behind.
To wish, and to have, in the charmed ring
Of that sweet dome, was the self-same thing;
For the knight awaken'd, as from a dream,
And he stood by the wild and mossy stream,
Where first he felt the bewitching power
Of the beauteous maid at the morning hour;
Where he fell a victim to beauty's charms,
And died of love in a virgin's arms!
He sought his halls and his stately bower;
But a solemn stillness seem'd to lower
Around his towers and turrets high;
His favourite hound would not come nigh,
But kept aloof, with a murmuring growl,
And a terror his heart could not control;
For he prick'd up his ears, and snuff'd the wind,
Though he heard his master's voice behind,
Then fled with his bristles of dread unfurl'd,
As from a thing of another world.
And every maiden, and every man,
Away from their master in terror ran;
While his aged mother, in weeds of woe,
Conjured him solemnly to go
Back to his grave, and his place of rest!
For her mind with terror was sore oppress'd.
But there he remain'd, and once again
Was hail'd as the true Knight of Dumblane.
But a solemn stillness seem'd to lower
Around his towers and turrets high;
His favourite hound would not come nigh,
But kept aloof, with a murmuring growl,
And a terror his heart could not control;
For he prick'd up his ears, and snuff'd the wind,
Though he heard his master's voice behind,
Then fled with his bristles of dread unfurl'd,
As from a thing of another world.
And every maiden, and every man,
Away from their master in terror ran;
While his aged mother, in weeds of woe,
Conjured him solemnly to go
Back to his grave, and his place of rest!
For her mind with terror was sore oppress'd.
But there he remain'd, and once again
Was hail'd as the true Knight of Dumblane.
But, oh! how changed in every feature,
And all the vehemencies of his nature,
As if an eagle from cliffs above
Had been changed into a plaintive dove;
From a knight of courage and of glee,
He was grown a thing of perplexitye,
Absent and moping, puling, panting,
A vacant gaze, and the heart awanting:
Earth had no pleasures for his eye,
When he thought of the joys that were gone by.
This to some natures may be genial,
Or, as a failing, counted venial;
For me, I judge the prudent way,
Let past time have been what it may,
Is to make the most, with thankful mind,
Of that which still remains behind.
And all the vehemencies of his nature,
As if an eagle from cliffs above
Had been changed into a plaintive dove;
From a knight of courage and of glee,
He was grown a thing of perplexitye,
Absent and moping, puling, panting,
A vacant gaze, and the heart awanting:
Earth had no pleasures for his eye,
When he thought of the joys that were gone by.
This to some natures may be genial,
Or, as a failing, counted venial;
For me, I judge the prudent way,
Let past time have been what it may,
Is to make the most, with thankful mind,
Of that which still remains behind.
The knight lived on as scarce aware,
How long I neither know nor care,
Till at the last, one lovely morn,
The fairest lady that ever was born
Came into his bower, with courtesy bland;
And a lovely boy was in either hand—
Two tiny elves, alike not less
Than twin flowers of the wilderness.
How long I neither know nor care,
Till at the last, one lovely morn,
The fairest lady that ever was born
Came into his bower, with courtesy bland;
And a lovely boy was in either hand—
Two tiny elves, alike not less
Than twin flowers of the wilderness.
“Thou art my lord, my own true knight,
Whose love was once my sole delight.
Oh, I recall—how can I not?—
That morning, never to be forgot,
When I met thee first, with horn and hound,
Upon the moor, to the hunting bound,
When thy steed like lightning fled away,
And thy staghound howl'd and would not stay;
Thou stolest the heart that never had birth,
The heart of a being not of this earth:
And what is more, that heart to wring,
The virtue of an immortal thing.
Dost thou own these babes in the gold and green,
The loveliest twins that the world has seen;
Wilt thou here acknowledge us as thine own,
Or bear the brunt of our malison?”
Whose love was once my sole delight.
Oh, I recall—how can I not?—
That morning, never to be forgot,
When I met thee first, with horn and hound,
Upon the moor, to the hunting bound,
When thy steed like lightning fled away,
And thy staghound howl'd and would not stay;
Thou stolest the heart that never had birth,
The heart of a being not of this earth:
And what is more, that heart to wring,
The virtue of an immortal thing.
Dost thou own these babes in the gold and green,
The loveliest twins that the world has seen;
Wilt thou here acknowledge us as thine own,
Or bear the brunt of our malison?”
Then the knight shed tears of joy apace
At seeing again that lovely face;
And his heart with love was sore oppress'd
As he folded the fair dame to his breast:
“Thou art my lady love,” said he,
“And I never loved another but thee!”
At seeing again that lovely face;
And his heart with love was sore oppress'd
As he folded the fair dame to his breast:
“Thou art my lady love,” said he,
“And I never loved another but thee!”
“Alas, how blind are earthly eyes
To those that are lighted by other skies,
By other breezes, untainted by sin,
And by other spirits that dwell within!
Well might thy raptures of pleasures be
Sublimed by creatures such as we;”
The lady said, with an eye of shame,
When enter'd another most comely dame,
As like to the first as she could be,
As like as cherries on the same tree;
While hanging on either hand were seen
Two lovely babies in gold and green.
To those that are lighted by other skies,
By other breezes, untainted by sin,
And by other spirits that dwell within!
Well might thy raptures of pleasures be
Sublimed by creatures such as we;”
The lady said, with an eye of shame,
When enter'd another most comely dame,
As like to the first as she could be,
As like as cherries on the same tree;
While hanging on either hand were seen
Two lovely babies in gold and green.
“Thou art my own true lord and love,”
The second said, “and thou wilt approve
This dear love-token I changed with thee,
When sitting in the bower upon thy knee.”
The knight acknowledged the token rare,
And flew to embrace his lady fair;
But remembrance came with a thrilling pain
That, instead of one lady, he now had twain;
And instead of two babies of beauty and grace,
There were four all looking him in the face.
He stood like a statue, of sense bereft—
He look'd to the right and then to the left,
But one from the other he could not know;
They were both the same, and yet there were two.
While thus he stood prepared for shrift,
In came a third—a fourth—a fifth—
A sixth—a seventh! All round they stand,
And each had a baby in either hand—
And each had her love-tokens to display,
Which the knight acknowledged without delay.
But how that maid he met on the hill,
And loved so dearly, and loved her still,
Had thus the powers of nature outdone,
And multiplied into twenty and one—
Why, that was more than he could believe,
Than his head could frame, or his heart conceive;
And still he cast his eye to the door,
Distrustful that there were not more.
The second said, “and thou wilt approve
This dear love-token I changed with thee,
When sitting in the bower upon thy knee.”
The knight acknowledged the token rare,
And flew to embrace his lady fair;
But remembrance came with a thrilling pain
That, instead of one lady, he now had twain;
And instead of two babies of beauty and grace,
There were four all looking him in the face.
He stood like a statue, of sense bereft—
He look'd to the right and then to the left,
But one from the other he could not know;
They were both the same, and yet there were two.
While thus he stood prepared for shrift,
In came a third—a fourth—a fifth—
326
And each had a baby in either hand—
And each had her love-tokens to display,
Which the knight acknowledged without delay.
But how that maid he met on the hill,
And loved so dearly, and loved her still,
Had thus the powers of nature outdone,
And multiplied into twenty and one—
Why, that was more than he could believe,
Than his head could frame, or his heart conceive;
And still he cast his eye to the door,
Distrustful that there were not more.
His lady mother at length attended,
And her courtesies were with wonder blended,
To see such beauty in such array,
Seven dames all lovely as morns of May,
With fourteen babies in a ring,
And all like the children of a king;
And she laid on her son her quick behests,
To tell her the quality of their guests.
And her courtesies were with wonder blended,
To see such beauty in such array,
Seven dames all lovely as morns of May,
With fourteen babies in a ring,
And all like the children of a king;
And she laid on her son her quick behests,
To tell her the quality of their guests.
“Why, mother, 'tis strange as strange can be,
And yet it is truth I tell to thee,
That all these dames of beauty so bright,
Claim me for their own true lord and knight:
Nay, and I may not deny it neither,
And all these children call me father!
But I swear by my vows of morn and even,
And I swear before the throne of heaven,
That I never knew of daughter nor son,
Nor of a love, save only one.
There is glamour abroad in moor and glen,
And enchantment in all the walks of men.”
And yet it is truth I tell to thee,
That all these dames of beauty so bright,
Claim me for their own true lord and knight:
Nay, and I may not deny it neither,
And all these children call me father!
But I swear by my vows of morn and even,
And I swear before the throne of heaven,
That I never knew of daughter nor son,
Nor of a love, save only one.
There is glamour abroad in moor and glen,
And enchantment in all the walks of men.”
“Why, son, it has often been told to me,
That you never could learn to multiplye!
Your bold advancement now I greet;
It is practice that makes the man complete!”
This said, the dame, with a sullen smile,
And a gloom upon her brow the while;
For she soon perceived, by dint of lore,
That the Seven Weird Sisters stood her before,
Who had dwelt in enchanted bower sublime
From the ages of an early time;
Condemn'd for an unhallow'd love
Endless virginity to prove,
And endless longings for bliss to be,
In their palace of painful luxurye,
Unless a mortal knight should fall
In their love-snares, and wed them all.
And for all this numerous comely birth,
She knew that her son was lost to earth,
And perchance would be caught in enchantment's thrall,
And lost to heaven—the worst of all.
That you never could learn to multiplye!
Your bold advancement now I greet;
It is practice that makes the man complete!”
This said, the dame, with a sullen smile,
And a gloom upon her brow the while;
For she soon perceived, by dint of lore,
That the Seven Weird Sisters stood her before,
Who had dwelt in enchanted bower sublime
From the ages of an early time;
Condemn'd for an unhallow'd love
Endless virginity to prove,
And endless longings for bliss to be,
In their palace of painful luxurye,
Unless a mortal knight should fall
In their love-snares, and wed them all.
And for all this numerous comely birth,
She knew that her son was lost to earth,
And perchance would be caught in enchantment's thrall,
And lost to heaven—the worst of all.
“My son,” she said, “since so it be,
That all this comely progenye
Are here acknowledged to be thine—
Before they can be received as mine,
I have lock'd the doors, the gates, and all,
And here, within this stately hall,
They shall kneel before a sacred sign,
And be christen'd by a name divine.”
That all this comely progenye
Are here acknowledged to be thine—
Before they can be received as mine,
I have lock'd the doors, the gates, and all,
And here, within this stately hall,
They shall kneel before a sacred sign,
And be christen'd by a name divine.”
Then a shriek arose from the lovely train—
Was never heard such a yell of pain—
Till the gorgeous ceiling that glow'd o'erhead
Was shiver'd like an autumn reed,
And the images all prostrate lay,
And the casements of the tower gave way,
And the lovely train, all three by three,
Walk'd forth in beauty and in glee;
While many a glance they cast behind,
As they trode the billows of the wind;
For they danced as lightly through the air
As if heaved on the gilded gossamer,
That play'd, with a soft and silent motion,
Like the gentlest swell that wooes the ocean;
And many an eye beheld them fly,
And heard this plaintive melody:
Was never heard such a yell of pain—
Till the gorgeous ceiling that glow'd o'erhead
Was shiver'd like an autumn reed,
And the images all prostrate lay,
And the casements of the tower gave way,
And the lovely train, all three by three,
Walk'd forth in beauty and in glee;
While many a glance they cast behind,
As they trode the billows of the wind;
For they danced as lightly through the air
As if heaved on the gilded gossamer,
That play'd, with a soft and silent motion,
Like the gentlest swell that wooes the ocean;
And many an eye beheld them fly,
And heard this plaintive melody:
“Now we are free,
Now we are free,
We Seven Sisters now are free,
To fly where we long have wished to be!
And here we leave these babies of ours,
To dwell within our shady bowers,
And play their pranks in the moonlight dell,
With the human beings they love so well.
For oh, they are babies of marvellous birth,
They are neither of heaven nor yet of earth;
And whether they will live till time be done,
Or fade away in a beam of the sun,
Or mount on the polar heights sublime,
And to worlds of unknown splendour climb,
Is a mystery which no eye can pierce,
But His, the Lord of the universe:
But this we know,
That above or below,
By the doors of death they shall never go.
Now we are free,
We Seven Sisters now are free,
To fly where we long have wished to be!
And here we leave these babies of ours,
To dwell within our shady bowers,
And play their pranks in the moonlight dell,
With the human beings they love so well.
For oh, they are babies of marvellous birth,
They are neither of heaven nor yet of earth;
And whether they will live till time be done,
Or fade away in a beam of the sun,
Or mount on the polar heights sublime,
And to worlds of unknown splendour climb,
Is a mystery which no eye can pierce,
But His, the Lord of the universe:
But this we know,
That above or below,
By the doors of death they shall never go.
“Adieu, our sweet little babies, for ever!
Blithe be your lives, and sinful never;
You may play your pranks on the wicked and wild,
But wrong not Virtue's sacred child—
So shall your frolics be lightsome and boon,
On the bridge of the rainbow or beam of the moon;
And so shall your loves in the bridal bowers
Be sweeter still than your father's and ours;
And the breezes shall rock you to soft repose,
In the lap of the lily or breast of the rose;
And your beauty every eve renew,
As you bathe your forms in the fragrant dew
That stands a heavenly crystal bell
In the little dew-cup's lovely well.
Your drink be the haze on the moonlight rill,
And your food the odour which flowers distil,
And never let robes your forms adorn
That are not from the web of the rainbow shorn,
Or the purple and green that shines afar
In the breast of the eastern harvest star.
And then shall you ride
O'er land and o'er tide,
O'er cloud, and o'er foam of the firmament wide,
O'er tree and o'er torrent, o'er flood and o'er flame,
And The Fairies shall be your earthly name.
In joy and in glee
Your revels shall be,
Till a day shall arrive that we darkly foresee;
But note you well when these times commence,
And prepare for your departure hence.
Blithe be your lives, and sinful never;
You may play your pranks on the wicked and wild,
But wrong not Virtue's sacred child—
So shall your frolics be lightsome and boon,
On the bridge of the rainbow or beam of the moon;
And so shall your loves in the bridal bowers
Be sweeter still than your father's and ours;
And the breezes shall rock you to soft repose,
In the lap of the lily or breast of the rose;
And your beauty every eve renew,
As you bathe your forms in the fragrant dew
That stands a heavenly crystal bell
In the little dew-cup's lovely well.
Your drink be the haze on the moonlight rill,
And your food the odour which flowers distil,
And never let robes your forms adorn
That are not from the web of the rainbow shorn,
327
In the breast of the eastern harvest star.
And then shall you ride
O'er land and o'er tide,
O'er cloud, and o'er foam of the firmament wide,
O'er tree and o'er torrent, o'er flood and o'er flame,
And The Fairies shall be your earthly name.
In joy and in glee
Your revels shall be,
Till a day shall arrive that we darkly foresee;
But note you well when these times commence,
And prepare for your departure hence.
“When the psalms and the prayers are nightly heard
From the mossy cave or the lonely sward;
When the hunters of men rise with the sun,
And pursue their game till the day be done;
And the mountain burns have a purple stain
With the blood of men in the moorland slain;
And the raven croaks in the darksome cloud,
And the eagle yells in the heavens aloud,
We you command,
With heart and hand,
To leave the links of fair Scotland:
Away! dismiss!
And seek for bliss
In a happier, holier sphere than this!
From the mossy cave or the lonely sward;
When the hunters of men rise with the sun,
And pursue their game till the day be done;
And the mountain burns have a purple stain
With the blood of men in the moorland slain;
And the raven croaks in the darksome cloud,
And the eagle yells in the heavens aloud,
We you command,
With heart and hand,
To leave the links of fair Scotland:
Away! dismiss!
And seek for bliss
In a happier, holier sphere than this!
“Sweet babies, adieu!
And may you never rue
The mingled existence we leave to you!
There is part of virtue and part of blame,
Part of spirit and part of flame,
Part of body and passion fell,
Part of heaven and part of hell.
You are babies of beauty and babies of wonder;
But fly from the cloud of the lightning and thunder,
And keep by the moonbeam or twilight gray,
For you never were made for the light of day.
Long may you amid your offspring dwell—
Babies of beauty, kiss and farewell!”
And may you never rue
The mingled existence we leave to you!
There is part of virtue and part of blame,
Part of spirit and part of flame,
Part of body and passion fell,
Part of heaven and part of hell.
You are babies of beauty and babies of wonder;
But fly from the cloud of the lightning and thunder,
And keep by the moonbeam or twilight gray,
For you never were made for the light of day.
Long may you amid your offspring dwell—
Babies of beauty, kiss and farewell!”
The Knight of Dumblane, from that day forth,
Never utter'd word upon the earth;
But moved about like a spirit in pain
For certain days, then vanish'd again;
And was chosen, as my old legend says,
The patriarch King of the Scottish Fays,
With full command o'er these beings strange;
But his human nature never would change,
Till, at the end of a thousand moons,
All deck'd with garlands and gay festoons,
He was borne away, with lament and yell,
And paid as kane to the Prince of Hell!
From such unhallow'd love as this,
Never utter'd word upon the earth;
But moved about like a spirit in pain
For certain days, then vanish'd again;
And was chosen, as my old legend says,
The patriarch King of the Scottish Fays,
With full command o'er these beings strange;
But his human nature never would change,
Till, at the end of a thousand moons,
All deck'd with garlands and gay festoons,
He was borne away, with lament and yell,
And paid as kane to the Prince of Hell!
With all its splendour and all its bliss,
Its end of terror and its bane,
May Heaven preserve us all!—Amen.
The P and the Q;
OR THE ADVENTURES OF JOCK M'PHERSON.
“There was an auld man, and he had an auld wife,
And they had a son was the plague of their life;”
For even frae the time when a bairn on the knee,
He was as contrary as callant could be.
He gloom'd and he skirl'd, and, when in hard case,
He whiles gae his mother a yerk on the face;
And nought sae weel pleased him, when he could win at her,
As to gar her mild gray een stand in back-water.
They scolded, they drubb'd him, they ruggit his hair,
They stripp'd off his claes, and they skelpit him bare—
But he took every chance baith to scart and to spar,
And instead o' growing better, he rather grew waur.
And they had a son was the plague of their life;”
For even frae the time when a bairn on the knee,
He was as contrary as callant could be.
He gloom'd and he skirl'd, and, when in hard case,
He whiles gae his mother a yerk on the face;
And nought sae weel pleased him, when he could win at her,
As to gar her mild gray een stand in back-water.
They scolded, they drubb'd him, they ruggit his hair,
They stripp'd off his claes, and they skelpit him bare—
But he took every chance baith to scart and to spar,
And instead o' growing better, he rather grew waur.
This old crabbed carle it is hard to make verse on:
His trade was a miller, his name was M'Pherson—
And this wicked callant, the plague o' his stock,
I ne'er heard his name, but I'm sure it was Jock—
For I never yet heard of a stripling of game,
The son of an auld pair, but Jock was his name.
I am sure that my mother had thirty old stories,
And every one of them began as before is;
Or, “there was a man and wife like other folk,
An' they had a son, an' they ca'd him Jock;”
And so it went on: now this that you're hearing
Was one of these stories—you'll find it a queer ane.
His trade was a miller, his name was M'Pherson—
And this wicked callant, the plague o' his stock,
I ne'er heard his name, but I'm sure it was Jock—
For I never yet heard of a stripling of game,
The son of an auld pair, but Jock was his name.
I am sure that my mother had thirty old stories,
And every one of them began as before is;
Or, “there was a man and wife like other folk,
An' they had a son, an' they ca'd him Jock;”
And so it went on: now this that you're hearing
Was one of these stories—you'll find it a queer ane.
Jock went to the school—but there rose sic a rumpus!—
The scholars were maul'd, and their noddles grew bumpous;
The pretty wee girls were weel towzled and kiss'd,
In spite of their teeth, ay, and oft ere they wist;
But yet for as ill as the creatures were guided,
In Jock's fiery trials wi' him still they sided.
Good sauf's how they squeel'd in their feckless resistance!
Good sauf's, how the master ran to their assistance!
He ca'd Jock a heathen, a Turk, and a Nero,
Grinn'd, clench'd his auld teeth, and laid on like a hero;
But no mends could he get—for, despite of his sway,
Jock fought him again twenty times in a day.
The scholars were maul'd, and their noddles grew bumpous;
The pretty wee girls were weel towzled and kiss'd,
In spite of their teeth, ay, and oft ere they wist;
But yet for as ill as the creatures were guided,
In Jock's fiery trials wi' him still they sided.
Good sauf's how they squeel'd in their feckless resistance!
Good sauf's, how the master ran to their assistance!
He ca'd Jock a heathen, a Turk, and a Nero,
Grinn'd, clench'd his auld teeth, and laid on like a hero;
But no mends could he get—for, despite of his sway,
Jock fought him again twenty times in a day.
Of course Jock's advancement in learning was slow,
He got with perplexity as far as O;
But the P and the Q, that sister and brother,
He wish'd at the deil, and he never wan further.
He got with perplexity as far as O;
But the P and the Q, that sister and brother,
He wish'd at the deil, and he never wan further.
He hated the dominie's teasing and tattles—
He hated the school except for the battles—
But he liked the sweet wenches, and kindly caress'd them,
Yet when they would not let him kiss them, he thrash'd them.
He hated the school except for the battles—
But he liked the sweet wenches, and kindly caress'd them,
Yet when they would not let him kiss them, he thrash'd them.
328
There was ae bit shy lassie, ca'd Phemie Carruthers,
Whom he either lo'ed waur, or lo'ed better than others;
From morning to e'en you'd have heard or have seen them,
For peace there was never a moment between them;
She couldna bide frae him, he seem'd to bewitch her,
Yet neither wad she let him kiss her or touch her,
But squeel'd like a rabbit, and giggled and ran,
Till Jock ran her down, wi' a curse or a ban.
Then many a sair drubbing he gat frae her brothers;
Oh dear was his flirting wi' Phemie Carruthers!
Whom he either lo'ed waur, or lo'ed better than others;
From morning to e'en you'd have heard or have seen them,
For peace there was never a moment between them;
She couldna bide frae him, he seem'd to bewitch her,
Yet neither wad she let him kiss her or touch her,
But squeel'd like a rabbit, and giggled and ran,
Till Jock ran her down, wi' a curse or a ban.
Then many a sair drubbing he gat frae her brothers;
Oh dear was his flirting wi' Phemie Carruthers!
The auld miller ken'dna what way to bestow him,
Or what in the world's wide range to make o' him;
For when at the mill, at the meadow, or mart,
He fought wi' the horses and coupit the cart;
He couldna even gang wi' the horse to the water,
But there was a battle, and gallop full blatter.
To a smith he was enter'd, to yirk at the stiddy,
But he lamed the auld smith, and he fired the smiddy.
Then went to a tailor of high estimation,
To learn to make trousers and breeks in the fashion;
But a' that the tailor could threaten or wheedle,
At every steek Jock gae'm the length o' the needle.
Ten times in a day he provoked him or trick'd him,
Then ance for amusement he fought and he lick'd him;
So Snib turn'd him off, and accepted another,
And Jock went once more to his father and mother.
Or what in the world's wide range to make o' him;
For when at the mill, at the meadow, or mart,
He fought wi' the horses and coupit the cart;
He couldna even gang wi' the horse to the water,
But there was a battle, and gallop full blatter.
To a smith he was enter'd, to yirk at the stiddy,
But he lamed the auld smith, and he fired the smiddy.
Then went to a tailor of high estimation,
To learn to make trousers and breeks in the fashion;
But a' that the tailor could threaten or wheedle,
At every steek Jock gae'm the length o' the needle.
Ten times in a day he provoked him or trick'd him,
Then ance for amusement he fought and he lick'd him;
So Snib turn'd him off, and accepted another,
And Jock went once more to his father and mother.
Then they sent him to sea, to efface his reproach,
In fighting the Spaniards, the French, and the Dutch:
Jock fought with them all, for he happen'd to hate them;
Whenever he met them, he fought, and he beat them;
He fought from his childhood, and never thought ill o't,
But then he acknowledged he whiles got his fill o't:
Of all naval heroes, our country had never,
Than this Jock M'Pherson, a truer or braver.
He fought thirty battles, and never retreated,
Round a' the hale world that God has created,
And for twenty long years, for ill or for well o't,
He never saw Britain, and seldom heard tell o't;
Yet never in life such resistance he knew,
Nor retreated, except from the P and the Q!
In fighting the Spaniards, the French, and the Dutch:
Jock fought with them all, for he happen'd to hate them;
Whenever he met them, he fought, and he beat them;
He fought from his childhood, and never thought ill o't,
But then he acknowledged he whiles got his fill o't:
Of all naval heroes, our country had never,
Than this Jock M'Pherson, a truer or braver.
He fought thirty battles, and never retreated,
Round a' the hale world that God has created,
And for twenty long years, for ill or for well o't,
He never saw Britain, and seldom heard tell o't;
Yet never in life such resistance he knew,
Nor retreated, except from the P and the Q!
But the sights that Jock saw—oh, no man can conceive them!
They're really so grand, folks will hardly believe them.
He cross'd both the circles, which we're rather dark about,
He saw both the poles, which folk make sic a wark about;
And by a most rigid and laboursome scanning,
Not only the poles, but the sockets they ran in;
And also the giants, austere and outlandish,
That wheel'd the earth round, like a kirn on its standish:
They were cover'd with ice, and had faces most grievous,
And their forms were mis-shapen and huge as Ben-Nevis;
Yet they stood to their business, though fretting and gnarl'd,
With their cans of bear's grease for the poles of the world.
Let Barrow, and Parry, and Franklin commence
From this as example, and learn to speak sense.
They're really so grand, folks will hardly believe them.
He cross'd both the circles, which we're rather dark about,
He saw both the poles, which folk make sic a wark about;
And by a most rigid and laboursome scanning,
Not only the poles, but the sockets they ran in;
And also the giants, austere and outlandish,
That wheel'd the earth round, like a kirn on its standish:
They were cover'd with ice, and had faces most grievous,
And their forms were mis-shapen and huge as Ben-Nevis;
Yet they stood to their business, though fretting and gnarl'd,
With their cans of bear's grease for the poles of the world.
Let Barrow, and Parry, and Franklin commence
From this as example, and learn to speak sense.
Jock sailed where no Christian ever had been afore,
And found out some countries that never were seen afore;
He came to a land where the language they spoke
Had exactly the sound of the Scottish moor-cock,
With a ick-ick-ick, uck-uck-uck—ne'er was such din heard!
And instead of coming outward, their voices went inward.
He came to another, where young women wore
Their faces behind and their bottoms before;
Jock tried to embrace these maids once and again,
But the girls were confounded, and giggled amain—
For forward they fled in a moment, and smack
Jock came to the ground on the broad of his back;
Which makes me suspect—though I hate to asperse—
That their forms were like ours, but their clothes the reverse.
Pooh! Franklin's, and Hall's, and the whole are a mock,
Compar'd with the voyages and travels of Jock!
Jock sail'd up a branch of the Plate through the Andes;
He visited Lima, and Juan Fernandez;
Then spread all his canvas, and westward he ran,
Till he came to the shores of the famous Japan,
And an island beyond it, which Britons ne'er knew,
But Jock thought the natives pronounced it Cookoo:
The half of its wonders no history relates,
For its slates are all gold, and its money is slates!
[OMITTED]
And found out some countries that never were seen afore;
He came to a land where the language they spoke
Had exactly the sound of the Scottish moor-cock,
With a ick-ick-ick, uck-uck-uck—ne'er was such din heard!
And instead of coming outward, their voices went inward.
He came to another, where young women wore
Their faces behind and their bottoms before;
Jock tried to embrace these maids once and again,
But the girls were confounded, and giggled amain—
For forward they fled in a moment, and smack
Jock came to the ground on the broad of his back;
Which makes me suspect—though I hate to asperse—
That their forms were like ours, but their clothes the reverse.
Pooh! Franklin's, and Hall's, and the whole are a mock,
Compar'd with the voyages and travels of Jock!
Jock sail'd up a branch of the Plate through the Andes;
He visited Lima, and Juan Fernandez;
Then spread all his canvas, and westward he ran,
Till he came to the shores of the famous Japan,
And an island beyond it, which Britons ne'er knew,
But Jock thought the natives pronounced it Cookoo:
The half of its wonders no history relates,
For its slates are all gold, and its money is slates!
Jock rose from a midshipman up to an admiral,
And now to that island for ever he bade farewell,
And sailed by a coast that had skies very novel;
The sun was an oblong, the moon was an oval,
And from the horizon midway up the skies,
The stars danced outrageously reels and strathspeys.
But none of the stars he remember'd were there,
He missed his old friends of the Serpent and Bear;
But those that they had were of brilliant adorning,
All bright as Dame Venus, the star of the morning;
At midnight there glowed out a radiance within them,
As the essence of light and its spirit were in them,
Till even the rude sailors with awe looked upon them,
As if a light sacred and heavenly shone on them.
And now to that island for ever he bade farewell,
And sailed by a coast that had skies very novel;
The sun was an oblong, the moon was an oval,
And from the horizon midway up the skies,
The stars danced outrageously reels and strathspeys.
But none of the stars he remember'd were there,
He missed his old friends of the Serpent and Bear;
But those that they had were of brilliant adorning,
All bright as Dame Venus, the star of the morning;
At midnight there glowed out a radiance within them,
As the essence of light and its spirit were in them,
Till even the rude sailors with awe looked upon them,
As if a light sacred and heavenly shone on them.
329
One ship and one crew (a bold and uncanny ane)
At first sailed with Jock from the Mediterranean;
But now everything was with him sesquialter,
As proudly he passed by the bay of Gibraltar.
He returned a commander, accomplished and nautical;
It is true, some suspected his conduct piratical;
But Jock from such chances and charges got well off,
For they happened so distant they ne'er were heard tell of.
He had as much good money—gold, silver, and copper—
As filled to the brim his old father's mill-hopper;
Two ships and a frigate, all trim and untented—
Such feats and such fortune are unprecedented!
At first sailed with Jock from the Mediterranean;
But now everything was with him sesquialter,
As proudly he passed by the bay of Gibraltar.
He returned a commander, accomplished and nautical;
It is true, some suspected his conduct piratical;
But Jock from such chances and charges got well off,
For they happened so distant they ne'er were heard tell of.
He had as much good money—gold, silver, and copper—
As filled to the brim his old father's mill-hopper;
Two ships and a frigate, all trim and untented—
Such feats and such fortune are unprecedented!
Jock bought his old father the lands of Glen-Wharden,
The old wicked dominie a house and a garden;
And all his school-fellows that thrashed him a-going it,
He gave them large presents, and blessed them for doing it;
Then took for his lady, in preference to others,
The wild little skelpie called Phemie Carruthers.
But he swore that through life he had never been stopp'd
By Christian or Pagan with whome'er he coped;
By all the wild elements roused to commotion,
The roarings of storm, and the rollings of ocean;
Wild currents and mountains of icicles blue,
Except the two bouncers, the P and the Q!!
“And blast my two eyes!” Jack would swear and would say,
“If I do not believe to this here blessed day,
That the trimmers were nothing for all the kick-up just,
Than a B and a D with their bottoms turn'd upmost!”
The old wicked dominie a house and a garden;
And all his school-fellows that thrashed him a-going it,
He gave them large presents, and blessed them for doing it;
Then took for his lady, in preference to others,
The wild little skelpie called Phemie Carruthers.
But he swore that through life he had never been stopp'd
By Christian or Pagan with whome'er he coped;
By all the wild elements roused to commotion,
The roarings of storm, and the rollings of ocean;
Wild currents and mountains of icicles blue,
Except the two bouncers, the P and the Q!!
“And blast my two eyes!” Jack would swear and would say,
“If I do not believe to this here blessed day,
That the trimmers were nothing for all the kick-up just,
Than a B and a D with their bottoms turn'd upmost!”
The Spirit of the Glen.
“O dearest Marjory, stay at home,
For dark's the gate you have to go;
And there's a maike adown the glen,
Hath frighten'd me an' many moe.
For dark's the gate you have to go;
And there's a maike adown the glen,
Hath frighten'd me an' many moe.
“His legs are like to pillars tall,
And still and stalwart is his stride;
His face is rounder nor the moon,
And och, his mouth is awesome wide!
And still and stalwart is his stride;
His face is rounder nor the moon,
And och, his mouth is awesome wide!
“I saw him stand the other night,
Yclothed in his grizly shroud;
With one foot on a shadow placed,
The other on a misty cloud.
Yclothed in his grizly shroud;
With one foot on a shadow placed,
The other on a misty cloud.
“As far asunder were his limbs,
On the first storey of the air,
A ship could have sail'd through between,
With all her colours flying fair.
On the first storey of the air,
A ship could have sail'd through between,
With all her colours flying fair.
“He nodded his head against the heaven,
As if in reverend mockerye;
Then fauldit his arms upon his breast,
And aye he shook his beard at me.
As if in reverend mockerye;
Then fauldit his arms upon his breast,
And aye he shook his beard at me.
“And he pointed to my Marjory's cot,
And by his motions seem'd to say,
‘In yon sweet home go seek thy lot,
For there thine earthly lot I lay.’
And by his motions seem'd to say,
‘In yon sweet home go seek thy lot,
For there thine earthly lot I lay.’
“My very heart it quaked for dread,
And turn'd as cold as beryl stone;
And the moudies cheipit below the swaird,
For fear their little souls were gone.
And turn'd as cold as beryl stone;
And the moudies cheipit below the swaird,
For fear their little souls were gone.
“The cushat and the corbie craw
Fled to the highest mountain height;
And the little birdies tried the same,
But fell down on the earth with fright.
Fled to the highest mountain height;
And the little birdies tried the same,
But fell down on the earth with fright.
“But there was ane shameful heronshew
Was sitting by the plashy shore,
With meagre eyne watching powheads,
And other fishes, less or more;
Was sitting by the plashy shore,
With meagre eyne watching powheads,
And other fishes, less or more;
“But when she saw that grizly sight
Stand on the billow of the wind;
Grace!—as she flapper'd and she flew,
And left a streamoury track behind!
Stand on the billow of the wind;
Grace!—as she flapper'd and she flew,
And left a streamoury track behind!
“And aye she rair'd as she were wud,
For utter terror and dismay;
And left a skelloch on the clud—
I took it for the milky way.
For utter terror and dismay;
And left a skelloch on the clud—
I took it for the milky way.
“Had I not seen that hideous sight,
What I had done I could not say;
But at that heron's horrid fright,
I'll laugh until my dying day.
What I had done I could not say;
But at that heron's horrid fright,
I'll laugh until my dying day.
“Then, dearest Marjory, stay at home,
And rather court a blink with me;
For gin you see that awesome sight,
Yourself again you will never be.”
And rather court a blink with me;
For gin you see that awesome sight,
Yourself again you will never be.”
“But I have made a tryst this night,
I may not break, if take my life;
So I will run my risk and go;
With maiden, spirits have no strife.
I may not break, if take my life;
So I will run my risk and go;
With maiden, spirits have no strife.
“Have you not heard, Sir Dominie,
That face of virgin bears a charm,
And neither ghaist, nor man, nor beast,
Have any power to do her harm?”
That face of virgin bears a charm,
And neither ghaist, nor man, nor beast,
Have any power to do her harm?”
“Yes, there is One, sweet Marjorye,
Will stand thy friend in darksome even;
For virgin beauty is on earth
The brightest type we have of heaven.
Will stand thy friend in darksome even;
For virgin beauty is on earth
The brightest type we have of heaven.
“The collie cowers upon the swaird,
To kiss her foot with kindly eye;
The maskis will not move his tongue,
But wag his tail, if she pass by;
To kiss her foot with kindly eye;
The maskis will not move his tongue,
But wag his tail, if she pass by;
330
“The adder hath not power to stang;
The slow-worm's harmless as an eel;
The burly toad, the ask, and snake,
Cannot so much as wound her heel.
The slow-worm's harmless as an eel;
The burly toad, the ask, and snake,
Cannot so much as wound her heel.
“The angels love to see her good,
And watch her ways in bower and hall;
The devils pay her some respect,
And God loves her—that's best of all.”
And watch her ways in bower and hall;
The devils pay her some respect,
And God loves her—that's best of all.”
“Then, sooth, I'll take my chance, and wend
To keep my tryst, whate'er may be;
Why should a virtuous maiden dread,
The tale of a crazy dominie?”
To keep my tryst, whate'er may be;
Why should a virtuous maiden dread,
The tale of a crazy dominie?”
“Ochon, ochon, dear Marjorye,
But of your virtue you are vain!
Yet you are in a wondrous haste,
In running into toil and pain.
But of your virtue you are vain!
Yet you are in a wondrous haste,
In running into toil and pain.
“For maiden's virtue, at the best,
(May He that made her kind forgive her!)
Is like the blue-bell of the waste,
Sweet, sweet a while, and gone for ever!—
(May He that made her kind forgive her!)
Is like the blue-bell of the waste,
Sweet, sweet a while, and gone for ever!—
“It is like what maiden much admires—
A bruckle set of china store;
But one false stumble, start, or step,
And down it falls for evermore!
A bruckle set of china store;
But one false stumble, start, or step,
And down it falls for evermore!
“It is like the florid Eden rose,
That perisheth without recalling;
And aye the lovelier that it grows,
It wears the nearer to the falling.
That perisheth without recalling;
And aye the lovelier that it grows,
It wears the nearer to the falling.
“It is like the flaunting morning sky,
That spreads its blushes far before;
But plash, there comes a storm of rain,
And all its glory then is o'er.
That spreads its blushes far before;
But plash, there comes a storm of rain,
And all its glory then is o'er.
“Then be not proud, sweet Marjorye,
Of that which hath no sure abode;
Man little knows what lurks within;
The heart is only known to God.”
Of that which hath no sure abode;
Man little knows what lurks within;
The heart is only known to God.”
But Marjory smiled a willsome smile,
And drew her frock up to her knee;
And lightly down the glen she flew,
Though the tear stood in the dominie's e'e.
And drew her frock up to her knee;
And lightly down the glen she flew,
Though the tear stood in the dominie's e'e.
She had not gone a mile but ane,
Quhill up there starts a droichel man,
And he lookit ruefully in her face,
And says, “Fair maid, where be you gaun?”
Quhill up there starts a droichel man,
And he lookit ruefully in her face,
And says, “Fair maid, where be you gaun?”
“I am gaun to meet mine own true love,
So, Maister Brownie, say your rede;
I know you have not power to hurt
One single hair of virgin's head.”
So, Maister Brownie, say your rede;
I know you have not power to hurt
One single hair of virgin's head.”
The brownie gave a gousty laugh,
And said, “What wisdom you do lack!
For, if you reach your own true love,
I may have power when you come back!”
And said, “What wisdom you do lack!
For, if you reach your own true love,
I may have power when you come back!”
Then next she met an eldrin dame,
A weirdly witch I wot was she;
For though she wore a human face,
It was a gruesome sight to see.
A weirdly witch I wot was she;
For though she wore a human face,
It was a gruesome sight to see.
“Stay, pretty maid, what is your haste?
Come, speak with me before you go,
For I have news to tell to you
Will make your very heart to glow:
Come, speak with me before you go,
For I have news to tell to you
Will make your very heart to glow:
“You claim that virgins have a charm,
That holds the universe at bay;
Alas! poor fool, to snare and harm
There is none so liable as they.
That holds the universe at bay;
Alas! poor fool, to snare and harm
There is none so liable as they.
“It is love that lifts up woman's soul,
And gives her eyes a heavenly sway;
Then, would you be a blessed thing,
Indulge in love without delay.
And gives her eyes a heavenly sway;
Then, would you be a blessed thing,
Indulge in love without delay.
“You go to meet your own true love,
I know it well as well can be;
But or you pass a bowshot on,
You will meet ane thrice as good as he.
I know it well as well can be;
But or you pass a bowshot on,
You will meet ane thrice as good as he.
“And he will press your lily hand,
And he will kiss your cheek and chin,
And you must go to bower with him,
For he is the youth your love must win.
And he will kiss your cheek and chin,
And you must go to bower with him,
For he is the youth your love must win.
“And you must do what he desires,
And great good fortune you shall find;
But when you reach your own true love,
Keep close your secret in your mind.”
And great good fortune you shall find;
But when you reach your own true love,
Keep close your secret in your mind.”
Away went Marjory, and away
With lighter step and blither smile;
That night to meet her own true love,
She would have gane a thousand mile.
With lighter step and blither smile;
That night to meet her own true love,
She would have gane a thousand mile.
She had not pass'd a bowshot on,
Until a youth, in manly trim,
Came up, and press'd the comely May
To turn into a bower with him.
Until a youth, in manly trim,
Came up, and press'd the comely May
To turn into a bower with him.
He promised her a gown of silk,
A mantle of the cramosye,
And chain of gold about her neck,
For one hour of her companye.
A mantle of the cramosye,
And chain of gold about her neck,
For one hour of her companye.
He took her lily hand in his,
And kiss'd it with such fervencye,
That the poor May began to blush,
And durst not lift her modest e'e.
And kiss'd it with such fervencye,
That the poor May began to blush,
And durst not lift her modest e'e.
Her little heart began to beat,
And flutter most disquietlye;
She lookit east, she lookit west,
And all to see what she could see.
And flutter most disquietlye;
She lookit east, she lookit west,
And all to see what she could see.
She lookit up to heaven aboon,
Though scarcely knowing how or why;
She heaved a sigh—the day was won,
And bright resolve beam'd in her eye.
Though scarcely knowing how or why;
She heaved a sigh—the day was won,
And bright resolve beam'd in her eye.
331
The first stern that she look'd upon,
A tear stood on its brow for shame;
It drappit on the floor of heaven,
And aye its blushes went and came.
A tear stood on its brow for shame;
It drappit on the floor of heaven,
And aye its blushes went and came.
Then Marjory in a moment thought,
That blessed angels might her see;
And often said within her heart,
“Do God's own planets blush for me?
That blessed angels might her see;
And often said within her heart,
“Do God's own planets blush for me?
“That they shall never do again—
Leal virtue still shall be my guide:—
Thou stranger youth, pass on thy way,
With thee I will not turn aside.
Leal virtue still shall be my guide:—
Thou stranger youth, pass on thy way,
With thee I will not turn aside.
“The angel of the glen is wroth,
And where shall maiden find remede?
See what a hideous canopy
He is spreading high above our head!”
And where shall maiden find remede?
See what a hideous canopy
He is spreading high above our head!”
“Take thou no dread, sweet Marjorye;
It is love's own curtain spread on high;
A timeous veil for maiden's blush,
Yon little crumb-cloth of the sky.
It is love's own curtain spread on high;
A timeous veil for maiden's blush,
Yon little crumb-cloth of the sky.
“All the good angels take delight
Sweet woman's happiness to see;
And where could thine be so complete
As in the bower this night with me?”
Sweet woman's happiness to see;
And where could thine be so complete
As in the bower this night with me?”
Poor Marjory durst no answer make,
But stood as meek as captive dove;
Her trust fix'd on her Maker kind—
Her eyes upon the heaven above.
But stood as meek as captive dove;
Her trust fix'd on her Maker kind—
Her eyes upon the heaven above.
That wicked wight (for sure no youth,
But demon of the glen was he)
Had no more power, but sped away,
And left the maiden on her knee.
But demon of the glen was he)
Had no more power, but sped away,
And left the maiden on her knee.
Then all you virgins sweet and young,
When the first whisperings of sin
Begin to hanker on your minds,
Or steal into the soul within,
When the first whisperings of sin
Begin to hanker on your minds,
Or steal into the soul within,
Keep aye the eyes on heaven aboon,
Both of your body and your mind;
For in the strength of God alone,
A woman's weakness strength shall find.
Both of your body and your mind;
For in the strength of God alone,
A woman's weakness strength shall find.
And when you go to bower or dell,
And know no human eye can see,
Think of an eye that never sleeps,
And angels weeping over thee.
And know no human eye can see,
Think of an eye that never sleeps,
And angels weeping over thee.
For man is but a selfish maike,
And little recks of maiden's woe,
And all his pride is to advise
The gate she's far ower apt to go.
And little recks of maiden's woe,
And all his pride is to advise
The gate she's far ower apt to go.
Away went bonnie Marjorye,
With all her blossoms in the blight;
She had not gone a bowshot on,
Before she saw an awesome sight:
With all her blossoms in the blight;
She had not gone a bowshot on,
Before she saw an awesome sight:
It was ane maike of monstrous might,
The terror of the sons of men;
That by Sir Dominie was hight,
The Giant Spirit of the Glen.
The terror of the sons of men;
That by Sir Dominie was hight,
The Giant Spirit of the Glen.
His make was like a moonshine cloud
That filled the glen with human form:
With his gray locks he brush'd the heaven,
And shook them far aboon the storm;
That filled the glen with human form:
With his gray locks he brush'd the heaven,
And shook them far aboon the storm;
And gurly, gurly was his look,
From eyne that seem'd two borels blue;
And shaggy was his silver beard
That down the air in streamers flew.
From eyne that seem'd two borels blue;
And shaggy was his silver beard
That down the air in streamers flew.
Oh, but that maid was hard bested,
And mazed and modderit in dismay!
For both the guests of heaven and hell
Seem'd her fond passage to belay.
And mazed and modderit in dismay!
For both the guests of heaven and hell
Seem'd her fond passage to belay.
When the great spirit saw her dread,
And that she wist not what to say,
His face assumed a milder shade,
Like midnight melting into day.
And that she wist not what to say,
His face assumed a milder shade,
Like midnight melting into day.
“Poor wayward, artless, aimless thing,
Where art thou going, canst thou tell?”
The spirit said—“Is it thy will
To run with open eyne to hell?
Where art thou going, canst thou tell?”
The spirit said—“Is it thy will
To run with open eyne to hell?
“I am the guardian of this glen,
And 'tis my sovereign joy to see
The wicked man run on in sin,
Rank, ruthless, gaunt, and greedilye;
And 'tis my sovereign joy to see
The wicked man run on in sin,
Rank, ruthless, gaunt, and greedilye;
“But still to guard the virtuous heart
From paths of danger and of woe,
Shall be my earnest, dearest part:
Then tell me, dame, where dost thou go?
From paths of danger and of woe,
Shall be my earnest, dearest part:
Then tell me, dame, where dost thou go?
“I go to meet mine ain dear love,
True happiness with him to seek—
The comeliest and kindest youth
That ever kiss'd a maiden's cheek.”
True happiness with him to seek—
The comeliest and kindest youth
That ever kiss'd a maiden's cheek.”
The spirit shook his silver hair,
That stream'd like sunbeam through the rain;
But there was pity in his eyne,
Though mingled with a mild disdain.
That stream'd like sunbeam through the rain;
But there was pity in his eyne,
Though mingled with a mild disdain.
He whipp'd the maid up in his arms
As I would lift a trivial toy:
Quod he, “The upshot thou shalt see
Of this most pure and virtuous joy!”
As I would lift a trivial toy:
Quod he, “The upshot thou shalt see
Of this most pure and virtuous joy!”
He took two strides, he took but two,
Although ane mile it seem'd to be,
And show'd the maid her own true love,
With maiden weeping at his knee;
Although ane mile it seem'd to be,
And show'd the maid her own true love,
With maiden weeping at his knee;
And oh! that maiden's heart was sore,
For still with tears she wet his feet;
But then he mock'd and jeer'd the more,
With threats, and language most unmeet.
For still with tears she wet his feet;
But then he mock'd and jeer'd the more,
With threats, and language most unmeet.
332
She cried, “Oh, dear and cruel youth,
Think of the love you vow'd to me,
And all the joys that we have proved,
Beneath the bield of birken tree!
Think of the love you vow'd to me,
And all the joys that we have proved,
Beneath the bield of birken tree!
“Since never maid hath loved like me,
Leave me not to the world's sharp scorn;
By your dear hand I'll rather die,
Than live forsaken and forlorn!”
Leave me not to the world's sharp scorn;
By your dear hand I'll rather die,
Than live forsaken and forlorn!”
“As thou hast said so shalt thou dree,”
Said this most cursed and cruel hind;
“For I must meet ane May this night,
Whom I love best of womankind;
Said this most cursed and cruel hind;
“For I must meet ane May this night,
Whom I love best of womankind;
“So I'll let forth thy wicked blood,
And neither daunt nor rue the deed,
For thou art lost to grace and good,
And ruin'd beyond all remede.”
And neither daunt nor rue the deed,
For thou art lost to grace and good,
And ruin'd beyond all remede.”
She opened up her snowy breast,
And aye the tear blinded her e'e;
Now take, now take mine harmless life,
All guiltless but for loving thee!”
And aye the tear blinded her e'e;
Now take, now take mine harmless life,
All guiltless but for loving thee!”
Then he took out a deadly blade,
And drew it from its bloody sheath,
Then laid his hand upon her eyne,
To blind them from the stroke of death.
And drew it from its bloody sheath,
Then laid his hand upon her eyne,
To blind them from the stroke of death.
Then, straight to pierce her broken heart,
He raised his ruthless hand on high;
But Marjory utter'd shriek so loud,
It made the monster start and fly.
He raised his ruthless hand on high;
But Marjory utter'd shriek so loud,
It made the monster start and fly.
“Now, maiden,” said the mighty shade,
“Thou see'st what dangers waited thee;
Thou see'st what snares for thee were laid,
All underneath the greenwood tree.
“Thou see'st what dangers waited thee;
Thou see'st what snares for thee were laid,
All underneath the greenwood tree.
“Yet straight on ruin wouldst thou run!
What think'st thou of thy lover meek—
The comeliest and the kindest youth
That ever kiss'd a maiden's cheek?”
What think'st thou of thy lover meek—
The comeliest and the kindest youth
That ever kiss'd a maiden's cheek?”
Then sore, sore did poor Marjory weep,
And cried, “This world's a world of woe,
A place of sin, of snare, and gin;
Alas! what shall poor woman do?”
And cried, “This world's a world of woe,
A place of sin, of snare, and gin;
Alas! what shall poor woman do?”
“Let woman trust in heaven high,
And be all ventures rash abjured;
And never trust herself with man,
Till of his virtue well assured.”
And be all ventures rash abjured;
And never trust herself with man,
Till of his virtue well assured.”
The spirit turned him round about,
And up the glen he strode amain,
Quhill his white hair along the heaven
Stream'd like the comet's fiery train.
And up the glen he strode amain,
Quhill his white hair along the heaven
Stream'd like the comet's fiery train.
High as the eagle's morning flight,
And swift as is his cloudy way,
He bore that maiden through the night,
Enswathed in wonder and dismay;
And swift as is his cloudy way,
He bore that maiden through the night,
Enswathed in wonder and dismay;
And he flang her in the dominie's bed—
Ane good soft bed as bed could be;
And when the dominie he came home,
Ane richt astounded man was he!
Ane good soft bed as bed could be;
And when the dominie he came home,
Ane richt astounded man was he!
Quod he, “My dear sweet Marjorye,
My best beloved and dawted dame,
You are welcome to my bed and board,
And this brave house to be thine hame;
My best beloved and dawted dame,
You are welcome to my bed and board,
And this brave house to be thine hame;
“But not till we in holy church
Be bound, never to loose again;
And then I will love you as my life,
And long as life and breath remain.”
Be bound, never to loose again;
And then I will love you as my life,
And long as life and breath remain.”
Then the dominie took her to holy church,
And wed her with a gowden ring;
And he was that day a joyful man,
And happier nor a crowned king.
And wed her with a gowden ring;
And he was that day a joyful man,
And happier nor a crowned king.
And more unsmirchit happiness
Ne'er to an earthly pair was given;
And all the days they spent on earth,
They spent in thankfulness to Heaven.
Ne'er to an earthly pair was given;
And all the days they spent on earth,
They spent in thankfulness to Heaven.
Now, maidens dear, in greenwood shaw,
Ere you make trystes with flattering men,
Think of the sights poor Marjory saw,
And the Great Spirit of the Glen.
Ere you make trystes with flattering men,
Think of the sights poor Marjory saw,
And the Great Spirit of the Glen.
The Field of Waterloo,
AND DEATH-BED PRAYER OF A SOLDIER.
The eventful day had come and gone,
And the night in majesty drew on;
For just as the twilight shed a ray
On the plains of Belgium west away,
The eastern heaven was all o'erspread
With a veil of high and murky red;
And there was awe in the soldier's eye,
Whenever it met that lurid sky,
For he thought, as he lifted his visage swarth,
There was blood on the heaven, and blood on the earth.
And the night in majesty drew on;
For just as the twilight shed a ray
On the plains of Belgium west away,
The eastern heaven was all o'erspread
With a veil of high and murky red;
And there was awe in the soldier's eye,
Whenever it met that lurid sky,
For he thought, as he lifted his visage swarth,
There was blood on the heaven, and blood on the earth.
The day was past, the fateful day,
The pride of the tyrant prostrate lay;
And the battle-clang, and the trumpet's tone,
Were rolling to the southward on,
When a war-worn soldier far behind
On the verge of a rising height reclined;
A wounded hero, of courage true,
Who of his deadly wound not knew;
For he weened the blood that swathed him so,
The blood of a proud and hateful foe;
And much he marvelled why he lay
Thus faint and weary by the way.
The pride of the tyrant prostrate lay;
And the battle-clang, and the trumpet's tone,
Were rolling to the southward on,
When a war-worn soldier far behind
On the verge of a rising height reclined;
A wounded hero, of courage true,
Who of his deadly wound not knew;
For he weened the blood that swathed him so,
The blood of a proud and hateful foe;
And much he marvelled why he lay
Thus faint and weary by the way.
Though round his form the tartans hung,
Yet his tall mould and Doric tongue
Bespoke his lineage from the scene
Of crystal rill and mountain green;
From that fair land of warlike fame
Where Douglas fought and overcame;
The land of forays, feuds, and plots,
Of Elliots and of valiant Scotts;—
That Border land, so nobly blent
With hill, and dale of green extent,
With camp, and tower, and battlement.
Yet his tall mould and Doric tongue
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Of crystal rill and mountain green;
From that fair land of warlike fame
Where Douglas fought and overcame;
The land of forays, feuds, and plots,
Of Elliots and of valiant Scotts;—
That Border land, so nobly blent
With hill, and dale of green extent,
With camp, and tower, and battlement.
That is a land, full well 'tis known,
Where cottage maid and matron brown,
Where shepherd boy or peasant elf,
Reads, thinks, and judges for himself.
Deep there of Heaven's awards the sense,
And trust in sacred Providence;
The old, the young, deep reverence pay
To God's own blessed and holy day;
'Tis there, by hamlet and by hill,
A day of holy resting still.
Where cottage maid and matron brown,
Where shepherd boy or peasant elf,
Reads, thinks, and judges for himself.
Deep there of Heaven's awards the sense,
And trust in sacred Providence;
The old, the young, deep reverence pay
To God's own blessed and holy day;
'Tis there, by hamlet and by hill,
A day of holy resting still.
There had our soldier spent his youth
In ways of happiness and truth,
Till scorn cast from a maiden's eye
Drove him in distant fields to die.
Now on that height he lay forlorn,
Where Gallia's troops, at break of morn,
Did first with ready wheel combine,
And form the mighty crescent line;
And then he saw, and heard, and felt
The dire effects of human guilt.
Oh, such a day of dole and pain
May human nature ne'er again
Behold, while earth and heaven remain!
In ways of happiness and truth,
Till scorn cast from a maiden's eye
Drove him in distant fields to die.
Now on that height he lay forlorn,
Where Gallia's troops, at break of morn,
Did first with ready wheel combine,
And form the mighty crescent line;
And then he saw, and heard, and felt
The dire effects of human guilt.
Oh, such a day of dole and pain
May human nature ne'er again
Behold, while earth and heaven remain!
Soon as the gloaming drew her screen
Over the red and rueful scene,
Then every moan was heard as near,
And every plaint fell on the ear;
The parting throb, the smothered sigh,
And shriek of sharpest agony:
But every anathema said
By widowed dame and weeping maid,
Or passed in soldier's dying groan,
All cursed one, and one alone.
All tongues and languages were blent,
But all was sorrow and lament—
Or weeping for the valiant dead,
Or curses on a tyrant's head.
Over the red and rueful scene,
Then every moan was heard as near,
And every plaint fell on the ear;
The parting throb, the smothered sigh,
And shriek of sharpest agony:
But every anathema said
By widowed dame and weeping maid,
Or passed in soldier's dying groan,
All cursed one, and one alone.
All tongues and languages were blent,
But all was sorrow and lament—
Or weeping for the valiant dead,
Or curses on a tyrant's head.
Our soldier raised him from the sod,
And lifting up his eyes to God,
He leaned upon his bloody wrist,
And cried aloud, with throbbing breast:
“Oh grant, thou Being all divine,
Such load of guilt be never mine,
As his—that scourge of human life,
Who flies inglorious from the strife;
For since the fields of war were seen,
Such desolation hath not been.
Thou knowest why; thy will be done:
Blessed be thy name, the field is won!”
And lifting up his eyes to God,
He leaned upon his bloody wrist,
And cried aloud, with throbbing breast:
“Oh grant, thou Being all divine,
Such load of guilt be never mine,
As his—that scourge of human life,
Who flies inglorious from the strife;
For since the fields of war were seen,
Such desolation hath not been.
Thou knowest why; thy will be done:
Blessed be thy name, the field is won!”
As thus he said, there by him stood
Two strangers tall, of gentle mood;
Soldiers they were, or late had been,
And many a bloody field had seen:
One was from Prussia's forests wide,
And one from Wolga's stormy side;
Their message done, they paused to view
The havoc done on Waterloo.
Two strangers tall, of gentle mood;
Soldiers they were, or late had been,
And many a bloody field had seen:
One was from Prussia's forests wide,
And one from Wolga's stormy side;
Their message done, they paused to view
The havoc done on Waterloo.
“Soldier,” they said, “why liest thou thus,
As all were peace and quietness?
Such deeds you Scots have ne'er achieved,
Since Wallace fought and Douglas reaved.
Swift flies the foe as flies the wind;
There's fame before, and spoil behind;
O soldier, it befits thee ill
To rest like hind upon the hill.”
As all were peace and quietness?
Such deeds you Scots have ne'er achieved,
Since Wallace fought and Douglas reaved.
Swift flies the foe as flies the wind;
There's fame before, and spoil behind;
O soldier, it befits thee ill
To rest like hind upon the hill.”
“Sore am I grieved, but toil severe,
And drowsy faintness keep me here;
My soul is burning to pursue,
And fain would move from Waterloo;
For such a din my ear assails
Of piteous plaint, and dying wails,
Methinks it would be perfect bliss
To be in any place but this!”
And drowsy faintness keep me here;
My soul is burning to pursue,
And fain would move from Waterloo;
For such a din my ear assails
Of piteous plaint, and dying wails,
Methinks it would be perfect bliss
To be in any place but this!”
“Peace to thy heart, brave soldier:—say
How think'st thou of this wondrous day?”
How think'st thou of this wondrous day?”
“How think I?”—From the dust he reared
His ghastly cheek with blood besmeared:
“How think I? By this heart forlorn,
An oath I ne'er before have sworn,
I think, that first since human guilt
Provoked to war, and blood was spilt
In battle field, beneath the sun
Such doughty deeds were never done,
So boldly fought, so bravely won.
Nay, pardon me; in ardour hot
My darling theme I had forgot,
But sure, of earthly well-fought fields,
To Bannockburn alone it yields.”
His ghastly cheek with blood besmeared:
“How think I? By this heart forlorn,
An oath I ne'er before have sworn,
I think, that first since human guilt
Provoked to war, and blood was spilt
In battle field, beneath the sun
Such doughty deeds were never done,
So boldly fought, so bravely won.
Nay, pardon me; in ardour hot
My darling theme I had forgot,
But sure, of earthly well-fought fields,
To Bannockburn alone it yields.”
The bold Silesian smiled in spite,
He thought of Leipsic's bloody fight;
The Russian cast a glance of flame,
But Borodino scorned to name.
He thought of Leipsic's bloody fight;
The Russian cast a glance of flame,
But Borodino scorned to name.
“Soldier,” they said, “thou sawest the strife;
Say, sooth, in all thy by-past life
Hast thou not seen, nor read, nor heard
Of ought with this to be compared?”
Say, sooth, in all thy by-past life
Hast thou not seen, nor read, nor heard
Of ought with this to be compared?”
“I could compare 't with cloud of morn,
Fleet on the whirlwind's eddies borne,
That, melting denser folds of rain,
Rebounding bursts, and wheels again.
I might compare it with the force
Of mountain river's roaring course,
And one small mound raised in its way,
To bear its whole resistless sway,
Which firmly stemmed the whelming tide,
That foamed, and fled to either side.
I could compare 't to ocean's roar
Against the adamantine shore.
But in all ages that shall spring,
When man shall tell, or poet sing,
Of what he would the most impress
Upon the heart with powerfulness;
Of nature's terrors in the cloud,
The tempest's rage, the roaring flood,
Or lightning bursting on the view,
He'll liken it to Waterloo.
I saw it: but to me it seems
A train of long-past hideous dreams,
Of things half known and half forgot,
I know not whether seen or not.
E'er since I bore the onset's shock,
And was involved in fire and smoke,
I've had no knowledge what hath been,
Nor thought, nor mind—a mere machine.
I only viewed it as my meed,
To stand or fall, as Heaven decreed;
For honour's cause to do my best,
And to the Almighty leave the rest.
Blessed be his hand that swayed the fight
For mankind's and for freedom's right!
Fleet on the whirlwind's eddies borne,
That, melting denser folds of rain,
Rebounding bursts, and wheels again.
I might compare it with the force
Of mountain river's roaring course,
And one small mound raised in its way,
To bear its whole resistless sway,
Which firmly stemmed the whelming tide,
That foamed, and fled to either side.
334
Against the adamantine shore.
But in all ages that shall spring,
When man shall tell, or poet sing,
Of what he would the most impress
Upon the heart with powerfulness;
Of nature's terrors in the cloud,
The tempest's rage, the roaring flood,
Or lightning bursting on the view,
He'll liken it to Waterloo.
I saw it: but to me it seems
A train of long-past hideous dreams,
Of things half known and half forgot,
I know not whether seen or not.
E'er since I bore the onset's shock,
And was involved in fire and smoke,
I've had no knowledge what hath been,
Nor thought, nor mind—a mere machine.
I only viewed it as my meed,
To stand or fall, as Heaven decreed;
For honour's cause to do my best,
And to the Almighty leave the rest.
Blessed be his hand that swayed the fight
For mankind's and for freedom's right!
“Glancing along our Scottish files,
I marked our foemen's powerful wiles,
And scarcely weened that we could stand
Against such odds of spear and brand;
Of harnessed horse, in column deep,
And red artillery's wasting sweep;
Yet only closed fast as we fell,
Without one thought but to repel.
O Scotia, land of old renown,
Thy prowess yet is never known—
I glory that thou art mine own!
I marked our foemen's powerful wiles,
And scarcely weened that we could stand
Against such odds of spear and brand;
Of harnessed horse, in column deep,
And red artillery's wasting sweep;
Yet only closed fast as we fell,
Without one thought but to repel.
O Scotia, land of old renown,
Thy prowess yet is never known—
I glory that thou art mine own!
“Methinks I hear, in after time,
The hamlet song in rustic rhyme,
Wove by some shepherd of the dale
Where first I breathed the mountain gale,
And listed first the magic lore
Which I, alas! shall hear no more;
Telling of deeds that here were wrought,
What heroes fell, what lions fought,
Till all the striplings stare and sigh,
With round tears dropping from the eye,
Begging again to hear the song,
Though homely be the rhyme and long.
The hamlet song in rustic rhyme,
Wove by some shepherd of the dale
Where first I breathed the mountain gale,
And listed first the magic lore
Which I, alas! shall hear no more;
Telling of deeds that here were wrought,
What heroes fell, what lions fought,
Till all the striplings stare and sigh,
With round tears dropping from the eye,
Begging again to hear the song,
Though homely be the rhyme and long.
“Oh might my name but mentioned be
In land of my nativity,
How would my parting spirit joy,
And spring from earth without alloy!
Yes, I will hope that men shall tell
Of all our deeds, and fondly dwell
On every humble soldier's name
That stood on this day's list of fame,
And at the call of morning roll,
Was blotted from the bloody scroll.
In land of my nativity,
How would my parting spirit joy,
And spring from earth without alloy!
Yes, I will hope that men shall tell
Of all our deeds, and fondly dwell
On every humble soldier's name
That stood on this day's list of fame,
And at the call of morning roll,
Was blotted from the bloody scroll.
“Of Wellesley these songs shall tell;
And how the gallant Picton fell;
And how the lancer's steady eye
Aimed to the heart of Ponsonby.
O Ponsonby, the brave, the just,
A soldier sorrows o'er thy dust!
And how the gallant Picton fell;
And how the lancer's steady eye
Aimed to the heart of Ponsonby.
O Ponsonby, the brave, the just,
A soldier sorrows o'er thy dust!
“Ah me! The last time e'er I strayed,
Like hermit in my native glade,
I followed him o'er mountain gray
With Border chief of mighty sway,
The heathfowl from the moor to spring,
And lower the blackcock on the wing:
Then blithe his heart; he little knew
Of such a fate at Waterloo!
Like hermit in my native glade,
I followed him o'er mountain gray
With Border chief of mighty sway,
The heathfowl from the moor to spring,
And lower the blackcock on the wing:
Then blithe his heart; he little knew
Of such a fate at Waterloo!
“Yet sooth he might, for he heard tell
Of prophecy remembered well.
'Twas a weird dame his fate that read,
The shepherd's and the maiden's dread.
What's this? Ah, well may I repine!
For with his death she coupled mine:
And though in wrath she us assailed,
Yet what she says hath never failed.
Of prophecy remembered well.
'Twas a weird dame his fate that read,
The shepherd's and the maiden's dread.
What's this? Ah, well may I repine!
For with his death she coupled mine:
And though in wrath she us assailed,
Yet what she says hath never failed.
“‘Avaunt,’ she cried, ‘thou droich of three!
Thou'rt nought in life; nor thou, nor he,
But passing shadows—a mere blot!
Men trowed it was, but it is not.
But mark me, there is thee before
A hideous flood, a tideless shore,
From which a wolf shall turn and run,
An eagle fall, and a harper won:
Then down shall sink an angel grim,
But falling, you shall fall with him.
On such an eve of such a day
Thou shalt remember what I say!’
Thou'rt nought in life; nor thou, nor he,
But passing shadows—a mere blot!
Men trowed it was, but it is not.
But mark me, there is thee before
A hideous flood, a tideless shore,
From which a wolf shall turn and run,
An eagle fall, and a harper won:
Then down shall sink an angel grim,
But falling, you shall fall with him.
On such an eve of such a day
Thou shalt remember what I say!’
“Ah me! who can his fate control?
That sibyl's words now shake my soul.
That very day, and hour, she knew
Of this day's doom at Waterloo.
Oh, pardon me! I sink aghast
At memory of some visions past.
My doom is sealed, here I must bow
To death's arrest, I know not how.”
That sibyl's words now shake my soul.
That very day, and hour, she knew
Of this day's doom at Waterloo.
Oh, pardon me! I sink aghast
At memory of some visions past.
My doom is sealed, here I must bow
To death's arrest, I know not how.”
“Soldier, take heart, and be advised,
In time to come whene'er thou try'st
Of this day's deeds to take the sum,
Of Leipsic think, and then be dumb!”
In time to come whene'er thou try'st
Of this day's deeds to take the sum,
Of Leipsic think, and then be dumb!”
“Or heard'st thou ne'er of Moscow's flame?
Nor Borodino's chilling name,
Where slaughtered myriads only gave
New ardour to the living brave?
I saw at morn proud Moscow stand
The glory of our northern land,
With gilded spires and turrets blent
That pierced the yielding firmament;
But ere the midnight watch was o'er
The ancient Moscow was no more.
Nor Borodino's chilling name,
Where slaughtered myriads only gave
New ardour to the living brave?
I saw at morn proud Moscow stand
The glory of our northern land,
With gilded spires and turrets blent
That pierced the yielding firmament;
But ere the midnight watch was o'er
The ancient Moscow was no more.
335
“I saw, through weary wastes of snow,
Thousands of hopeless journeyers go,
O'er all the forests wandering wide,
Without a home their heads to hide.
I saw the babe oft hushed to rest
On mother's agonized breast,
But long ere day that breast beloved
The death-bed of its darling proved;
There did they rest, in death laid low,
Their grave the drifted wreath of snow.
Thousands of hopeless journeyers go,
O'er all the forests wandering wide,
Without a home their heads to hide.
I saw the babe oft hushed to rest
On mother's agonized breast,
But long ere day that breast beloved
The death-bed of its darling proved;
There did they rest, in death laid low,
Their grave the drifted wreath of snow.
“I saw the stripling, worn and bent,
Halting and crying as he went,
Straining his eyes o'er flood and field,
Loath his young life so soon to yield:
Weak grew his plaint, his motion slow,
I saw the blood-drops on the snow,
And glad was I, his sufferings o'er,
When down he sunk to rise no more.
Halting and crying as he went,
Straining his eyes o'er flood and field,
Loath his young life so soon to yield:
Weak grew his plaint, his motion slow,
I saw the blood-drops on the snow,
And glad was I, his sufferings o'er,
When down he sunk to rise no more.
“On message sent, I crossed in haste,
Kaluga's northmost dreary waste,
Where many a maiden's youthful form
Had sunk beneath the ruthless storm.
I saw the beauteous taper limb,
That made the winter wreath look dim;
The young, the fair, half-moulded breast,
That icicles even gentlier pressed!
The whole so pure, and stretched so low,
Seemed but some mould of lovelier snow.
Though all was lost that life held dear,
And all was suffered mind could bear,
Yet not a plaint was heard to fall;
Our country and our cause was all:
Now, soldier, has that land of thine
Done half, or suffered half of mine?
Kaluga's northmost dreary waste,
Where many a maiden's youthful form
Had sunk beneath the ruthless storm.
I saw the beauteous taper limb,
That made the winter wreath look dim;
The young, the fair, half-moulded breast,
That icicles even gentlier pressed!
The whole so pure, and stretched so low,
Seemed but some mould of lovelier snow.
Though all was lost that life held dear,
And all was suffered mind could bear,
Yet not a plaint was heard to fall;
Our country and our cause was all:
Now, soldier, has that land of thine
Done half, or suffered half of mine?
“On Borodino not alone
The dying and the dead were strewn;
The tyrant's route was tracked in blood
From Moscow's gate to Niemen's flood;
Far as could reach the roving eye
O'er lands that waste and open lie,
I saw myself, and marked it well,
The snow-flakes redden as they fell.
The drifted wreathes were purpled o'er,
Crusted and gorged with human gore,
While o'er them rose a forest dim
Of horses' hoof and human limb.
The dying and the dead were strewn;
The tyrant's route was tracked in blood
From Moscow's gate to Niemen's flood;
Far as could reach the roving eye
O'er lands that waste and open lie,
I saw myself, and marked it well,
The snow-flakes redden as they fell.
The drifted wreathes were purpled o'er,
Crusted and gorged with human gore,
While o'er them rose a forest dim
Of horses' hoof and human limb.
“Soldier, I tell thee, though I love
Thy ardour, and thy zeal approve,
If thou hast seen no field like this,
Thou know'st not yet what warfare is.
Thy ardour, and thy zeal approve,
If thou hast seen no field like this,
Thou know'st not yet what warfare is.
“Say of my country what you will,
And call us rude and savage still;
I'll say't to Europe and to thee,
Though left alone, we dared be free,
And stood for death or liberty.
And call us rude and savage still;
I'll say't to Europe and to thee,
Though left alone, we dared be free,
And stood for death or liberty.
“Yes, Europe cringed to tyrant's might;
'Twas we who turned the scale of right;
'Twas we who bruised the monster's head;
The Germans joined to make him bleed.
What have you Britons done t'avail,
By this defence and bold assail,
But only crushed the severed tail?”
'Twas we who turned the scale of right;
'Twas we who bruised the monster's head;
The Germans joined to make him bleed.
What have you Britons done t'avail,
By this defence and bold assail,
But only crushed the severed tail?”
“And might I judge from what I saw,
I would this simple inference draw—
Had it not been our brave Bulow,
This had to them been day of woe,
And ended in their overthrow.”
I would this simple inference draw—
Had it not been our brave Bulow,
This had to them been day of woe,
And ended in their overthrow.”
“What! Veteran Britons overthrown
Led on by warlike Wellington?—
No! Who can brow the heaven with me
So proud a claim to verify?
They never were. If one knows when,
Let him talk of it—not till then.
Led on by warlike Wellington?—
No! Who can brow the heaven with me
So proud a claim to verify?
They never were. If one knows when,
Let him talk of it—not till then.
“But cease, my friends, this poignant strain,
For friends we are, and must remain.
I too might say, in scorn and pride,
With fair pretext upon my side,
That during Russia's vaunted plea,
She only fought to turn and flee;
And feebly still the strife renewed,
Till Heaven fought, then she pursued.
For friends we are, and must remain.
I too might say, in scorn and pride,
With fair pretext upon my side,
That during Russia's vaunted plea,
She only fought to turn and flee;
And feebly still the strife renewed,
Till Heaven fought, then she pursued.
“And I might say of Prussia's boast,
'Tis right equivocal at most;
Her head she raised with martial show,
But stooped the lowest of the low;
Dragged on her chain of galling steel,
And followed at the tyrant's heel;
But when the royal beast grew lame,
Then turned the ass, his bulk to maim.
This I might say with courtesy,
For such the taunts you cast on me;
But hard it sounds from friendship's mouth,
To those who list to learn the truth.
'Tis right equivocal at most;
Her head she raised with martial show,
But stooped the lowest of the low;
Dragged on her chain of galling steel,
And followed at the tyrant's heel;
But when the royal beast grew lame,
Then turned the ass, his bulk to maim.
This I might say with courtesy,
For such the taunts you cast on me;
But hard it sounds from friendship's mouth,
To those who list to learn the truth.
“In that sweet dale where I was born,
Where green Mount Benger greets the morn,
It is our wont, on either side
Reason to hear, and then decide;
So let us now. For I will stand
By the honour of my native land,
While I have tongue t'assert her right,
Or foot to move, or hand to fight.
Where green Mount Benger greets the morn,
It is our wont, on either side
Reason to hear, and then decide;
So let us now. For I will stand
By the honour of my native land,
While I have tongue t'assert her right,
Or foot to move, or hand to fight.
“I then allow of what befell,
You fought the foe, and fought him well;
You fought for home, you fought for life,
For monarch, kinsmen, children, wife;
For very name and being's sake:
Say was not then your all at stake?”
You fought the foe, and fought him well;
You fought for home, you fought for life,
For monarch, kinsmen, children, wife;
For very name and being's sake:
Say was not then your all at stake?”
“All was at stake; religion, fame,
Nay, more than human tongue can name.”
Nay, more than human tongue can name.”
“The less your merit and your meed,
'Twas desperation did the deed;
And where's the creature forced to strife
That will not fight for breath and life?
The hunted deer can hold at bay
The gallant hound—yet who will say
The deer is brave, or yeaning ewe
That drives the fox along the dew?
There is no beast of hill or wood
That will not fight to save its brood;
So that the man who shuns such strife,
Is less than ought in brutal life:
Such is the model of your fame,
And such the honours you can claim.
'Twas desperation did the deed;
And where's the creature forced to strife
That will not fight for breath and life?
336
The gallant hound—yet who will say
The deer is brave, or yeaning ewe
That drives the fox along the dew?
There is no beast of hill or wood
That will not fight to save its brood;
So that the man who shuns such strife,
Is less than ought in brutal life:
Such is the model of your fame,
And such the honours you can claim.
“But Britain lay secure and free,
Encircled by her guardian sea,
Her flag of sovereignty unfurled
In every bay that cleaves the world:
One cause alone had she to fight—
The glorious cause of human right,
And for that prize to her endeared,
The cause of freedom, long revered,
Where is the foe, say if you can,
That e'er has braved us man to man?
And be the leader's name revealed,
That e'er has driven us from the field.
Encircled by her guardian sea,
Her flag of sovereignty unfurled
In every bay that cleaves the world:
One cause alone had she to fight—
The glorious cause of human right,
And for that prize to her endeared,
The cause of freedom, long revered,
Where is the foe, say if you can,
That e'er has braved us man to man?
And be the leader's name revealed,
That e'er has driven us from the field.
“High be your deeds to your own thought;
To fight for life I count it nought.
But he who, seeing friend o'erthrown
By sordid guile, and trodden down,
Flies to his aid, and ventures all
At friendship's and at honour's call;
And, by his blood and jeopardy,
Succeeds, and sets the injured free—
This, this, I say, is bravery!”
To fight for life I count it nought.
But he who, seeing friend o'erthrown
By sordid guile, and trodden down,
Flies to his aid, and ventures all
At friendship's and at honour's call;
And, by his blood and jeopardy,
Succeeds, and sets the injured free—
This, this, I say, is bravery!”
The Russian turned his sullen eye,
His silent comrade's mood to spy,
And saw him bent in thought profound,
Moulding wide figures on the ground:
“By heaven!” he cried, as up he threw
His manly eyes of azure blue,
“What the Scots soldier says is true!”
His silent comrade's mood to spy,
And saw him bent in thought profound,
Moulding wide figures on the ground:
“By heaven!” he cried, as up he threw
His manly eyes of azure blue,
“What the Scots soldier says is true!”
When this assent our soldier heard,
He moaned and stretched him on the sward;
He felt the sand of life near run,
And deemed the day now doubly won.
The strangers friendly aid impart,
Give him to drink, and cheer his heart,
Then down they sat, on converse keen,
Beneath the heaven's own starry sheen.
He moaned and stretched him on the sward;
He felt the sand of life near run,
And deemed the day now doubly won.
The strangers friendly aid impart,
Give him to drink, and cheer his heart,
Then down they sat, on converse keen,
Beneath the heaven's own starry sheen.
The Prussian was a stoic cool,
Of Voltaire's and of Frederick's school;
And much he said in earnest way,
Of things unfitting poet's lay;
Of needful waste of human kind;
Of mankind's late enlightened mind;
How nations first bowed to the yoke;
How furiously the bonds they broke;
And how the soul arose in might,
Grasping its own eternal right.
“The time,” said he, “is ever gone
That Europe dreads tyrannic sway;
No more we'll toil in error on,
Groping at noon to find our way.
It was the love of freedom, given
To man as his prerogative—
That sacred thing conferred by heaven,
The noblest gift that it could give—
'Twas that which made the tyrant rise,
Made kings and kingdoms to divide;
He came with words of specious guise,
The hearts of men were on his side.
Oh, he might conquer idiot kings,
These bars in nature's onward plan!
But fool is he the yoke that flings
O'er the unshackled soul of man!
'Tis like a cobweb o'er the breast,
That binds the giant while asleep;
Or curtain hung upon the east,
The day-light from the world to keep:
The giant wakes in all his might;
The light of heaven is unconfined;
And man asserts his primal right—
Thanks to the unconquerable mind!”
Of Voltaire's and of Frederick's school;
And much he said in earnest way,
Of things unfitting poet's lay;
Of needful waste of human kind;
Of mankind's late enlightened mind;
How nations first bowed to the yoke;
How furiously the bonds they broke;
And how the soul arose in might,
Grasping its own eternal right.
“The time,” said he, “is ever gone
That Europe dreads tyrannic sway;
No more we'll toil in error on,
Groping at noon to find our way.
It was the love of freedom, given
To man as his prerogative—
That sacred thing conferred by heaven,
The noblest gift that it could give—
'Twas that which made the tyrant rise,
Made kings and kingdoms to divide;
He came with words of specious guise,
The hearts of men were on his side.
Oh, he might conquer idiot kings,
These bars in nature's onward plan!
But fool is he the yoke that flings
O'er the unshackled soul of man!
'Tis like a cobweb o'er the breast,
That binds the giant while asleep;
Or curtain hung upon the east,
The day-light from the world to keep:
The giant wakes in all his might;
The light of heaven is unconfined;
And man asserts his primal right—
Thanks to the unconquerable mind!”
The Russian said, it was not so;
What mind could do he did not know;
'Twas God, the Russian's guard and guide,
And Alexander, turned the tide.
If these were part of mind or soul,
Then that might rule and rein the whole.
What mind could do he did not know;
'Twas God, the Russian's guard and guide,
And Alexander, turned the tide.
If these were part of mind or soul,
Then that might rule and rein the whole.
The Scottish soldier raised his eye
As if about to make reply,
But faint from weariness and pain,
He moaned, and laid him down again.
The strangers raised him from the ground;
They searched, and found a mortal wound:
“Alas!” they said, “thou gallant youth;
Thou friend to loyalty and truth,
What shall be done some help to give!
For short the date thou hast to live.”
As if about to make reply,
But faint from weariness and pain,
He moaned, and laid him down again.
The strangers raised him from the ground;
They searched, and found a mortal wound:
“Alas!” they said, “thou gallant youth;
Thou friend to loyalty and truth,
What shall be done some help to give!
For short the date thou hast to live.”
“And is it so?” said he, “I knew
The sibyl's saying would prove true.
Heaven's will be done! Take ye no heed;
I meet without dismay or dread
Man's last great foe—a welcome guest;
I know him conquered like the rest.
One last request I have to make—
For my departing spirit's sake,
Kneel here, before the eye divine,
A dying soldier's prayer to join.”
The sibyl's saying would prove true.
Heaven's will be done! Take ye no heed;
I meet without dismay or dread
Man's last great foe—a welcome guest;
I know him conquered like the rest.
One last request I have to make—
For my departing spirit's sake,
Kneel here, before the eye divine,
A dying soldier's prayer to join.”
The strangers readily agreed,
Saying, they wished no higher meed;
For though from far and foreign parts,
Yet they were men of gentle hearts.
They kneeled amid the ensanguined scene,
Beneath the midnight heaven serene,
While the young gallant soldier lay
Prostrate along the bloody clay;
And as a taper's wasting light
In its last glimmer shines more bright,
So was his soul aroused to share,
High energies in his last prayer.
Saying, they wished no higher meed;
For though from far and foreign parts,
Yet they were men of gentle hearts.
They kneeled amid the ensanguined scene,
Beneath the midnight heaven serene,
While the young gallant soldier lay
Prostrate along the bloody clay;
337
In its last glimmer shines more bright,
So was his soul aroused to share,
High energies in his last prayer.
“O thou of existence the fountain and head,
The God of the living, and God of the dead;
This world is thine, and the starry frame—
The Lord Jehovah is thy name.
How shall I come my vows to pay?
What offering on thine altar lay?
Alas, my God! if e'er thine eyes
Accepted earthly sacrifice,
I bring the last that man can bring;
I am myself that offering;
And here I cry from the altar of death,
From the tabernacle of thy wrath,
'Mid the cries and the groans of the human race:
Oh hear in heaven thy dwelling-place!
The God of the living, and God of the dead;
This world is thine, and the starry frame—
The Lord Jehovah is thy name.
How shall I come my vows to pay?
What offering on thine altar lay?
Alas, my God! if e'er thine eyes
Accepted earthly sacrifice,
I bring the last that man can bring;
I am myself that offering;
And here I cry from the altar of death,
From the tabernacle of thy wrath,
'Mid the cries and the groans of the human race:
Oh hear in heaven thy dwelling-place!
“Though, hid in mystery, none can pierce
Thy reign of the ample universe;
Yet he who owns not thy hand alone,
In the high events that have come and gone,
Deserves not to possess of thee
The power of the reasoning faculty.
Thy reign of the ample universe;
Yet he who owns not thy hand alone,
In the high events that have come and gone,
Deserves not to possess of thee
The power of the reasoning faculty.
“When the destroyer left his throne,
To brave the eye of the frigid zone,
Was there a human head could guess
Or count on probable success?
Or was there a way in nature's course
So to o'erwhelm that cumbrous force,
Which strove the nations to enchain,
Or rouse them from their torpor again?
Thy bolts of wrath thou might'st have driven,
Or loosed the artillery of heaven;
Or, as just guerdon of offence,
Sent forth the wasteful pestilence:
But not in nature's wide command,
(And nature ever is thy hand),
Was other way so to destroy
That armed horde, the world's annoy.
To brave the eye of the frigid zone,
Was there a human head could guess
Or count on probable success?
Or was there a way in nature's course
So to o'erwhelm that cumbrous force,
Which strove the nations to enchain,
Or rouse them from their torpor again?
Thy bolts of wrath thou might'st have driven,
Or loosed the artillery of heaven;
Or, as just guerdon of offence,
Sent forth the wasteful pestilence:
But not in nature's wide command,
(And nature ever is thy hand),
Was other way so to destroy
That armed horde, the world's annoy.
“Yes, still as the northern patriot bled,
When the Russian eagles turned and fled,
Thy arm was seen in the foemen's wrath
That hurried them on to the bourn of death.
When first Iberia spurned the yoke
The judgment was set, and the seals were broke;
But when the city of sacred fame
Enwrapt the northern heaven in flame,
Their sentence thou passed'st ne'er to annul,
For the cup of the Amorite then was full!
When the Russian eagles turned and fled,
Thy arm was seen in the foemen's wrath
That hurried them on to the bourn of death.
When first Iberia spurned the yoke
The judgment was set, and the seals were broke;
But when the city of sacred fame
Enwrapt the northern heaven in flame,
Their sentence thou passed'st ne'er to annul,
For the cup of the Amorite then was full!
“The spirit of man awoke at thy nod,
The elements rose and owned their God;
The sun, and the moon, and the floods below,
And the stars in their courses fought thy foe;
The very heavens and earth seemed blent
In the lowering toiling firmament.
The clouds poured swiftly along the sky,
They thickened, they frowned, but they past not by!
The ravens called with boding sound,
The dogs of Moscow howled around;
And the shades of men and of maidens fair,
Were seen on the dull and cumbered air.
The storm descended, the tempest blew,
Thy vengeance poured on the ruthless crew.
O God! thy vengeance was never so due!
The elements rose and owned their God;
The sun, and the moon, and the floods below,
And the stars in their courses fought thy foe;
The very heavens and earth seemed blent
In the lowering toiling firmament.
The clouds poured swiftly along the sky,
They thickened, they frowned, but they past not by!
The ravens called with boding sound,
The dogs of Moscow howled around;
And the shades of men and of maidens fair,
Were seen on the dull and cumbered air.
The storm descended, the tempest blew,
Thy vengeance poured on the ruthless crew.
O God! thy vengeance was never so due!
“I saw thy hand in the coil of the war;
I heard thy voice in the thunder afar,
When the Elbe waved slow with the blood of man,
And the Saale scarce gurgled as it ran.
O Father! forgive the insensate heart
That ascribes such wonders to human part.
'Twas thou madest the hearts of the nations combine:
Yes, thine is the work, and the glory be thine.
I heard thy voice in the thunder afar,
When the Elbe waved slow with the blood of man,
And the Saale scarce gurgled as it ran.
O Father! forgive the insensate heart
That ascribes such wonders to human part.
'Twas thou madest the hearts of the nations combine:
Yes, thine is the work, and the glory be thine.
“But chiefly when he, the scourge of the earth,
Was proffered the friendship and hands of the north,
And thus, in that empire, the bane of the day,
His dynasty might have been 'stablished for aye;
What counsel of man could the proffer have scorned!
Nor reason, nor madness, could that have suborned.
But the hearts of men are thine own alone,
As the streams of water thou windest them on;
And save when thou parted'st Jordan's tide,
And the gates of the Red Sea opened'st wide,
Oh never so well since time hath been,
Was the governing arm of thy providence seen.
Was proffered the friendship and hands of the north,
And thus, in that empire, the bane of the day,
His dynasty might have been 'stablished for aye;
What counsel of man could the proffer have scorned!
Nor reason, nor madness, could that have suborned.
But the hearts of men are thine own alone,
As the streams of water thou windest them on;
And save when thou parted'st Jordan's tide,
And the gates of the Red Sea opened'st wide,
Oh never so well since time hath been,
Was the governing arm of thy providence seen.
“But the injured still were unavenged,
And the men of crimes remained unchanged,
Till thou roused'st them again in triple wrath,
And brought them like beasts to the house of death.
With other kings and armies leagued,
They might have contended or intrigued,
But the judgment was passed which they could not shun;
Thou brought'st them here, and the work was done!
The victory is thine, we nothing abate,
But thou gavest it the good as well as the great;
And their names are registered with thee
Who have bled for the cause of liberty.
And the men of crimes remained unchanged,
Till thou roused'st them again in triple wrath,
And brought them like beasts to the house of death.
With other kings and armies leagued,
They might have contended or intrigued,
But the judgment was passed which they could not shun;
Thou brought'st them here, and the work was done!
The victory is thine, we nothing abate,
But thou gavest it the good as well as the great;
And their names are registered with thee
Who have bled for the cause of liberty.
“This morn I bowed above my blade,
I bowed to thee, and for victory prayed;
I prayed that my countrymen might gain,
Though my heart's blood should steep the plain.
Thou hast heard my prayer, and answered me,
And with joy I yield my spirit to thee.
I bowed to thee, and for victory prayed;
I prayed that my countrymen might gain,
Though my heart's blood should steep the plain.
Thou hast heard my prayer, and answered me,
And with joy I yield my spirit to thee.
“And now, O God! the time is near
When I may no more address thine ear;
Few moments, and human scrutiny,
Tell me not what I then shall be:
An igneous lamp in the fields below;
A dye of heaven's aërial bow;
A stilly vapour on space reclined,
Or a breath of discoloured wandering wind:—
But oh, while I have speech to say
The thing that I would, I humbly pray
That I for a space may wander free,
To visit the scenes of my infancy:
The tiny green, where the schoolboys play;
The level pool, with its bridge so gray;
And oh, there's a cot by the lonely flood,
With its verdant steep, and its ancient wood,
Its willow ring, and its sounding stream,
So like the scene of a fairy dream;—
Oh might I there a while reside,
To rest with the lamb on the mountain's side,
Or stand by the heath-cock's ruby eye,
And wonder he cannot my form espy.
When I may no more address thine ear;
Few moments, and human scrutiny,
Tell me not what I then shall be:
An igneous lamp in the fields below;
A dye of heaven's aërial bow;
A stilly vapour on space reclined,
Or a breath of discoloured wandering wind:—
But oh, while I have speech to say
The thing that I would, I humbly pray
338
To visit the scenes of my infancy:
The tiny green, where the schoolboys play;
The level pool, with its bridge so gray;
And oh, there's a cot by the lonely flood,
With its verdant steep, and its ancient wood,
Its willow ring, and its sounding stream,
So like the scene of a fairy dream;—
Oh might I there a while reside,
To rest with the lamb on the mountain's side,
Or stand by the heath-cock's ruby eye,
And wonder he cannot my form espy.
“And in that cot there is a dame,
I cannot, dare not say her name!
Oh, how I long to listen there,
To hear that loved one's evening prayer;
And in that cot a cradle moves,
Where sleeps the infant that she loves:
Oh I would like to hover by,
When none but she and that child are nigh,
When her arms stretch to the dear embrace,
And the baby smiles her in the face;
Or when she presses him to her heart,
To watch when the holy tear shall start,
And list no other ear to hear,
If she named a name she once held dear.
I cannot, dare not say her name!
Oh, how I long to listen there,
To hear that loved one's evening prayer;
And in that cot a cradle moves,
Where sleeps the infant that she loves:
Oh I would like to hover by,
When none but she and that child are nigh,
When her arms stretch to the dear embrace,
And the baby smiles her in the face;
Or when she presses him to her heart,
To watch when the holy tear shall start,
And list no other ear to hear,
If she named a name she once held dear.
“O God, if such a thing might be
That a guardian spirit, empowered by thee,
Still round that dwelling linger must,
Oh may I beg the sacred trust?
I'll do, all evil to cause them shun,
More than a spirit before has done;
Against each danger I'll forecast,
And bring them to thyself at last.
That a guardian spirit, empowered by thee,
Still round that dwelling linger must,
Oh may I beg the sacred trust?
I'll do, all evil to cause them shun,
More than a spirit before has done;
Against each danger I'll forecast,
And bring them to thyself at last.
“But wherever my future lot may be,
I have no dread of wrath from thee;
For I know thee merciful and good,
Beyond the fathom of flesh and blood:
And there is a bond 'twixt man and thee,
'Twas sealed and finished on the tree;
Of that, too mystic to unfold,
I will not, cannot quit my hold.
Accept me, Lord, that I may bless
Thy name in better world than this.
I have no dread of wrath from thee;
For I know thee merciful and good,
Beyond the fathom of flesh and blood:
And there is a bond 'twixt man and thee,
'Twas sealed and finished on the tree;
Of that, too mystic to unfold,
I will not, cannot quit my hold.
Accept me, Lord, that I may bless
Thy name in better world than this.
“I have but one remembrance left,
Before my tongue of speech is reft.
My widowed parent oh regard,
And all her love to me reward.
Fondly she nursed my tender years,
With buoyant hopes, and yearning fears;
She weened not, in these hours of bliss,
That she reared her child to an end like this.
To save her declining age from woe,
Her darling's fate may she never know;
But still look down the mountain burn
To see her wandering son return,
Her parting blessing to receive,
And lay her head in an honoured grave:
That hope may still support her heart,
Till we meet again no more to part.”
Before my tongue of speech is reft.
My widowed parent oh regard,
And all her love to me reward.
Fondly she nursed my tender years,
With buoyant hopes, and yearning fears;
She weened not, in these hours of bliss,
That she reared her child to an end like this.
To save her declining age from woe,
Her darling's fate may she never know;
But still look down the mountain burn
To see her wandering son return,
Her parting blessing to receive,
And lay her head in an honoured grave:
That hope may still support her heart,
Till we meet again no more to part.”
The light of life blazed not again;
He could not say the word Amen;
But he turned his eye, and spread his hand
To the star above his native land;
Serenely in that posture lay,
And breathed his generous soul away.
He could not say the word Amen;
But he turned his eye, and spread his hand
To the star above his native land;
Serenely in that posture lay,
And breathed his generous soul away.
The Russian heaved a sigh profound,
And gazed insensate on the ground,
The burning tear struck from his eye,
And flung it on the breeze to dry.
The stoic Prussian, in his pride,
Unstaidly looked from side to side,
Then fixed on heaven a solemn scowl,
Impelled by his unfathomed soul,
That felt deep yearnings unconfest
For some eternal home of rest.
“What's this?” said he, “who can conceive?
I cannot fathom, nor believe
The substance of this Christian faith;
But 'tis a steadfast hold in death!
I never saw its hideous door
Entered with such a mien before!”
And gazed insensate on the ground,
The burning tear struck from his eye,
And flung it on the breeze to dry.
The stoic Prussian, in his pride,
Unstaidly looked from side to side,
Then fixed on heaven a solemn scowl,
Impelled by his unfathomed soul,
That felt deep yearnings unconfest
For some eternal home of rest.
“What's this?” said he, “who can conceive?
I cannot fathom, nor believe
The substance of this Christian faith;
But 'tis a steadfast hold in death!
I never saw its hideous door
Entered with such a mien before!”
Onward they passed in moody plight,
Leaving the pale corse on the height,
And said before to British lords
This soldier's prayer and dying words,
Who well can vouch this tale is true
Of converse held on Waterloo.
Leaving the pale corse on the height,
And said before to British lords
This soldier's prayer and dying words,
Who well can vouch this tale is true
Of converse held on Waterloo.
We learned our comrade was no more,
And many an eye for him ran o'er,
In friendship's little circle kind,
For who not leaves some friends behind?
But yet his prayer was heard in part,
For no one had the cruel heart
His parent of his fate to tell;—
She died believing he was well.
And many an eye for him ran o'er,
In friendship's little circle kind,
For who not leaves some friends behind?
But yet his prayer was heard in part,
For no one had the cruel heart
His parent of his fate to tell;—
She died believing he was well.
Ofttimes I visit for his sake
The cottage by the lonely lake,
And I have heard its beauteous dame
With tears pronounce her lover's name:
And once I saw her comely child;
It bent its eyes on air and smiled,
Stretching its arms with fervent mien,
As if to reach to something seen.
I've seen the wild-fowl watch and quake,
And cower in terror 'mid the brake,
And the mild lamb with steady eye
Gazing intent, I knew not why;
Then chilling thoughts have on me pressed
Of an unbodied heavenly guest,
Sent there to roam the lonely wild,
To guard the mother and the child;
For to the death-bed prayer is given
Free passage to the throne of heaven!
The cottage by the lonely lake,
And I have heard its beauteous dame
With tears pronounce her lover's name:
And once I saw her comely child;
It bent its eyes on air and smiled,
Stretching its arms with fervent mien,
As if to reach to something seen.
I've seen the wild-fowl watch and quake,
And cower in terror 'mid the brake,
And the mild lamb with steady eye
Gazing intent, I knew not why;
Then chilling thoughts have on me pressed
Of an unbodied heavenly guest,
Sent there to roam the lonely wild,
To guard the mother and the child;
For to the death-bed prayer is given
Free passage to the throne of heaven!
339
Allan of Dale.
At the dawning of morn, on a sweet summer day,
Young Mary of Moy went out to pray,—
To pray, as her guileless heart befitted,
For the pardon of sins that were never committed;
A grateful homage to render Heaven
For all its gifts and favours given,—
For a heart that dreaded the paths of sin;
For a soul of life and light within;
And a form, withal, so passing fair
That the rays of love seem'd centring there.
Young Mary of Moy went out to pray,—
To pray, as her guileless heart befitted,
For the pardon of sins that were never committed;
A grateful homage to render Heaven
For all its gifts and favours given,—
For a heart that dreaded the paths of sin;
For a soul of life and light within;
And a form, withal, so passing fair
That the rays of love seem'd centring there.
Mary felt that her eye was beaming bright,
For her bosom glow'd with a pure delight:
As over the greenwood sward she bounded,
A halo of sweets her form surrounded;
For the breezes that kiss'd her cheek grew rare,
Her breathing perfumed the morning air;
And scarce did her foot, as she onward flew,
From the fringe of the daisy wring out the dew.
For her bosom glow'd with a pure delight:
As over the greenwood sward she bounded,
A halo of sweets her form surrounded;
For the breezes that kiss'd her cheek grew rare,
Her breathing perfumed the morning air;
And scarce did her foot, as she onward flew,
From the fringe of the daisy wring out the dew.
She went to her bower, by the water-side,
Which the woodbine and wild-rose canopied;
And she knelt beneath its fragrant bough,
And waved her locks back from her brow;
But just as she lifted her eye so meek,
A hand from behind her touch'd her cheek:
She turn'd her around, with a visage pale,
And there stood Allan of Borlan-dale!
ALLAN.Which the woodbine and wild-rose canopied;
And she knelt beneath its fragrant bough,
And waved her locks back from her brow;
But just as she lifted her eye so meek,
A hand from behind her touch'd her cheek:
She turn'd her around, with a visage pale,
And there stood Allan of Borlan-dale!
Sweet Mary of Moy, is it so with thee?
Have I caught thee on thy bended knee,
Beginning thy rath orisons here,
In the bower to the breathings of love so dear?
Oh tell me, Mary, what this can mean!
Hast thou such a great transgressor been?
Is the loveliest model of mortal kind
A thing of an erring, tainted mind,
That thus she must kneel and heave the sigh,
With the tear-drop dimming her azure eye?
To whom wert thou going thy vows to pay?
Or for what, or for whom, wert thou going to pray?
MARY.
I was going to pray in the name divine
Of Him that died for me and for mine;
I was going to pray for them and me,
And haply, Allan, for thine and thee;
And now I have answered as well as I may
Your questions thus put in so strange a way:
But I deem it behaviour most unmeet,
Thus to follow a maid to her lone retreat,
To hear her her heart of its sins unload,
And all the secrets 'twixt her and her God.
For shame! that my kindred should hear such a tale
Of the gallant young Allan of Borlan-dale!
ALLAN.
Sweet Mary of Moy, I must be plain:
I have told you once, and tell you again,
Though in love I am deeper than woman can be,
You must either part with your faith or me.
MARY.
What! part with my faith? You may as well demand,
That I should part with my own right hand!
Than part with that faith I would sooner incline
To part with my heart from its mortal shrine.
ALLAN.
Ah Mary! dear Mary! how can you thus frown,
And propose to part with what's not your own?
For that heart now is mine: and you must, my sweet dove,
Renounce that same faith on the altar of love.
And propose to part with what's not your own?
For that heart now is mine: and you must, my sweet dove,
Renounce that same faith on the altar of love.
Then Mary's sweet voice took its sharpest key,
And rose somewhat higher than maiden's should be;
But ere the vehement sentence was said,
A gentle hand on her lips was laid,
And a voice, to her that was ever dear,
Thus whisper'd softly in her ear:—
And rose somewhat higher than maiden's should be;
But ere the vehement sentence was said,
A gentle hand on her lips was laid,
And a voice, to her that was ever dear,
Thus whisper'd softly in her ear:—
LADY OF MOY.
Hush, Mary! dear Mary! what madness is this?
These dreams of the morning, my darling, dismiss:
Awake from this torpor of slumber so deep;
You are raving and clamouring through your sleep:
Up, up, and array you in scarlet and blue:
For Allan of Dale is come here to woo.
MARY.
Tell Allan of Dale straight home to hie,
And court Helen Kay, or his darling of Skye:
This positive message deliver from me,
For I list not his heretic face to see.
LADY.
My Mary! dear Mary! what am I to deem?
Arouse you, my love; you are still in your dream:
Your lover's views of things divine
May differ in some degree from thine;
But I think he is one who will not pother
Betwixt the one faith and the other.
MARY.
That is worse and worse: for my lover must be
Attach'd to my faith as well as to me:
We must kneel at one beloved shrine,
And the mode of his worship must be mine.
For why should a wedded pair devout,
By different paths seek heaven out?
Or in that dwelling happy be,
Who of the road could never agree?
O mother! this day, without all fail,
I had given my hand to young Borlan-dale;
But I've had such a hint from the throne on high,
Or some good angel hovering nigh,
That tongue of mortal should never prevail
On me to be bride to this Allan of Dale,
Unless he sign over a bond, for me
In the path of religion his guide to be.
340
As a sceptic of bold and most dissolute tone,
Who jeer'd at the cross, at the altar and priest,
And made our most holy communions his jest;
Yet Mary of this had of knowledge no gleam,
Till warned of her danger that morn in her dream.
He loved his Mary for lands and for gold,
For beauty of feature, and beauty of mould,
As well as a cold-hearted sceptic could love
Who held no belief in the blessings above;
And whene'er of his faith or his soul she spoke,
He answered her always with jeer and with joke.
The frowns of the maiden, and sighs of the lover,
With poutings and nay-says, were all gotten over;
And nothing remained but the schedule-deed gerent,
The bonds and the forms of the final agreement,—
A thing called a contract, that long-galling fetter!
Which parents love dearly, and lawyers love better.
In this was set down, at the maiden's indictment,
One part, to devotion a powerful incitement,
That her lover should forfeit, without diminution,
Her fortune redoubled, (a sore retribution!)
If ever his words or his actions should jostle
With the creed she revered of the holy apostle.
The terms were severe, but resource there was none;
So he sign'd, seal'd, and swore, and the bridal went on.
Well was it for Mary, for scarce were got over
The honeymoon joys, ere her profligate lover
Began his old gibes, when in frolicsome mood,
At all that the Christian holds sacred and good:
But still, lest the terms might be proven in law,
The bond and the forfeiture kept him in awe;
Which caused him to ponder and often think of it—
This thing that he jeer'd at, and where lay the profit?
Till at last, though by men it will scarce be believed,
A year had not pass'd, ere he daily perceived
The truths of the gospel rise bright and more bright,
Like the dawning of day o'er the darkness of night,
Or the sun of eternity rising to save
From the thraldom of death, and the gloom of the grave.
With poutings and nay-says, were all gotten over;
And nothing remained but the schedule-deed gerent,
The bonds and the forms of the final agreement,—
A thing called a contract, that long-galling fetter!
Which parents love dearly, and lawyers love better.
In this was set down, at the maiden's indictment,
One part, to devotion a powerful incitement,
That her lover should forfeit, without diminution,
Her fortune redoubled, (a sore retribution!)
If ever his words or his actions should jostle
With the creed she revered of the holy apostle.
The terms were severe, but resource there was none;
So he sign'd, seal'd, and swore, and the bridal went on.
Well was it for Mary, for scarce were got over
The honeymoon joys, ere her profligate lover
Began his old gibes, when in frolicsome mood,
At all that the Christian holds sacred and good:
But still, lest the terms might be proven in law,
The bond and the forfeiture kept him in awe;
Which caused him to ponder and often think of it—
This thing that he jeer'd at, and where lay the profit?
Till at last, though by men it will scarce be believed,
A year had not pass'd, ere he daily perceived
The truths of the gospel rise bright and more bright,
Like the dawning of day o'er the darkness of night,
Or the sun of eternity rising to save
From the thraldom of death, and the gloom of the grave.
Then Mary's fond heart was with gratitude moved
To her God, for the peace of the man that she loved;
And her mild face would glow with the radiance of beauty,
As he urged her along on her Christian duty;
For of the two, his soul throughout
Grew the most sincere and the most devout.
To her God, for the peace of the man that she loved;
And her mild face would glow with the radiance of beauty,
As he urged her along on her Christian duty;
For of the two, his soul throughout
Grew the most sincere and the most devout.
Then their life passed on like an autumn day,
That rises with red protentous ray,
Threatening its pathway to deform
With the wasting flood and the rolling storm;
But long ere the arch of the day is won,
A halo of promise is round the sun,
And the settled sky, though all serene,
Is ray'd with the dark and the bright between;
With the ruddy glow and the streamer wan,
Like the evil and good in the life of man;
And, at last, when it sinks on the cradle of day,
More holy and mild is its sapphire ray.
Oh! why should blind mortals e'er turn into mirth
The strange intercourse betwixt heaven and earth;
Or deem that their Maker cannot impart,
By a thousand ways, to the human heart,
In shadows protentous of what is to be,
His warnings, His will, and His final decree?
That rises with red protentous ray,
Threatening its pathway to deform
With the wasting flood and the rolling storm;
But long ere the arch of the day is won,
A halo of promise is round the sun,
And the settled sky, though all serene,
Is ray'd with the dark and the bright between;
With the ruddy glow and the streamer wan,
Like the evil and good in the life of man;
And, at last, when it sinks on the cradle of day,
More holy and mild is its sapphire ray.
Oh! why should blind mortals e'er turn into mirth
The strange intercourse betwixt heaven and earth;
Or deem that their Maker cannot impart,
By a thousand ways, to the human heart,
In shadows protentous of what is to be,
His warnings, His will, and His final decree?
This tale is a fact—I pledge for't in token,
The troth of a poet, which may not be broken;
And had it not been for this dream of the morn,
This vision of prayer, intrusion, and scorn,
Which Heaven at the last hour thus deign'd to deliver,
The peace of the twain had been ruin'd for ever.
The troth of a poet, which may not be broken;
And had it not been for this dream of the morn,
This vision of prayer, intrusion, and scorn,
Which Heaven at the last hour thus deign'd to deliver,
The peace of the twain had been ruin'd for ever.
Jock Johnstone the Tinkler.
“Oh, came ye ower by the Yoke-burn Ford,
Or down the King's Road of the cleuch?
Or saw ye a Knight and a lady bright,
Wha hae gane the gate they baith shall rue?”
Or down the King's Road of the cleuch?
Or saw ye a Knight and a lady bright,
Wha hae gane the gate they baith shall rue?”
“I saw a knight and a lady bright,
Ride up the cleuch at the break of day;
The knight upon a coal-black steed,
And the dame on one of the silver gray.
Ride up the cleuch at the break of day;
The knight upon a coal-black steed,
And the dame on one of the silver gray.
“And the lady's palfrey flew the first,
With many a clang of silver bell:
Swift as the raven's morning flight,
The two went scouring ower the fell.
With many a clang of silver bell:
Swift as the raven's morning flight,
The two went scouring ower the fell.
“By this time they are man and wife,
And standing in St. Mary's fane;
And the lady in the grass-green silk
A maid you will never see again.”
And standing in St. Mary's fane;
And the lady in the grass-green silk
A maid you will never see again.”
“But I can tell thee, saucy wight—
And that the runaways shall prove—
Revenge to a Douglas is as sweet
As maiden charms or maiden's love.”
And that the runaways shall prove—
Revenge to a Douglas is as sweet
As maiden charms or maiden's love.”
“Since thou say'st that, my Lord Douglas,
Good faith some clinking there will be;
Beshrew my heart, but and my sword,
If I winna turn and ride with thee!”
Good faith some clinking there will be;
Beshrew my heart, but and my sword,
If I winna turn and ride with thee!”
They whipp'd out ower the shepherd cleuch,
And down the links o' the Corsecleuch burn;
And aye the Douglas swore by his sword
To win his love or ne'er return.
And down the links o' the Corsecleuch burn;
And aye the Douglas swore by his sword
To win his love or ne'er return.
“First fight your rival, Lord Douglas,
And then brag after, if you may;
For the Earl of Ross is as brave a lord
As ever gave good weapon sway.
And then brag after, if you may;
For the Earl of Ross is as brave a lord
As ever gave good weapon sway.
341
“But I for ae poor siller merk,
Or thirteen pennies an' a bawbee,
Will tak in hand to fight you baith,
Or beat the winner, whiche'er it be.”
Or thirteen pennies an' a bawbee,
Will tak in hand to fight you baith,
Or beat the winner, whiche'er it be.”
The Douglas turn'd him on his steed,
And I wat a loud laughter leuch he:—
“Of all the fools I have ever met,
Man, I hae never met ane like thee.
And I wat a loud laughter leuch he:—
“Of all the fools I have ever met,
Man, I hae never met ane like thee.
“Art thou akin to lord or knight,
Or courtly squire or warrior leal?”
“I am a tinkler,” quo the wight,
“But I like crown-cracking unco weel.”
Or courtly squire or warrior leal?”
“I am a tinkler,” quo the wight,
“But I like crown-cracking unco weel.”
When they came to St. Mary's kirk,
The chaplain shook for very fear;
And aye he kiss'd the cross, and said,
“What deevil has sent that Douglas here!
The chaplain shook for very fear;
And aye he kiss'd the cross, and said,
“What deevil has sent that Douglas here!
“He neither values book nor ban,
But curses all without demur;
And cares nae mair for a holy man,
Than I do for a worthless cur.”
But curses all without demur;
And cares nae mair for a holy man,
Than I do for a worthless cur.”
“Come here, thou bland and brittle priest,
And tell to me without delay,
Where you have hid the Lord of Ross,
And the lady that came at the break of day?”
And tell to me without delay,
Where you have hid the Lord of Ross,
And the lady that came at the break of day?”
“No knight or lady, good Lord Douglas,
Have I beheld since break of morn;
And I never saw the Lord of Ross,
Since the woeful day that I was born.”
Have I beheld since break of morn;
And I never saw the Lord of Ross,
Since the woeful day that I was born.”
Lord Douglas turn'd him round about,
And look'd the tinkler in the face;
Where he beheld a lurking smile,
And a deevil of a dour grimace.
And look'd the tinkler in the face;
Where he beheld a lurking smile,
And a deevil of a dour grimace.
“How's this, how's this, thou tinkler loun?
Hast thou presumed to lie to me?”
“Faith that I have!” the tinkler said,
“And a right good turn I have done to thee;
Hast thou presumed to lie to me?”
“Faith that I have!” the tinkler said,
“And a right good turn I have done to thee;
“For the Lord of Ross, and thy own true love,
The beauteous Harriet of Thirlestane,
Rade west away, ere the break of day;
And you'll never see that dear maid again:
The beauteous Harriet of Thirlestane,
Rade west away, ere the break of day;
And you'll never see that dear maid again:
“So I thought it best to bring you here,
On a wrang scent, of my own accord;
For had you met the Johnstone clan,
They wad hae made mince-meat of a lord.”
On a wrang scent, of my own accord;
For had you met the Johnstone clan,
They wad hae made mince-meat of a lord.”
At this the Douglas was so wroth,
He wist not what to say or do;
But he strak the tinkler o'er the croun,
Till the blood came dreeping ower his brow.
He wist not what to say or do;
But he strak the tinkler o'er the croun,
Till the blood came dreeping ower his brow.
“Beshrew thy heart,” quo the tinkler lad,
“Thou bear'st thee most ungallantlye!
If these are the manners of a lord,
They are manners that winna gang down wi' me.”
“Thou bear'st thee most ungallantlye!
If these are the manners of a lord,
They are manners that winna gang down wi' me.”
“Hold up thy hand,” the Douglas cried,
“And keep thy distance, tinkler loun!”
“That will I not,” the tinkler said,
“Though I and my mare should both go down!”
“And keep thy distance, tinkler loun!”
“That will I not,” the tinkler said,
“Though I and my mare should both go down!”
“I have armour on,” cried the Lord Douglas,
“Cuirass and helm, as you may see.”
“The deil may care!” quo the tinkler lad;
“I shall have a skelp at them and thee.”
“Cuirass and helm, as you may see.”
“The deil may care!” quo the tinkler lad;
“I shall have a skelp at them and thee.”
“You are not horsed,” quo the Lord Douglas,
“And no remorse this weapon brooks.”
“Mine's a right good yaud,” quo the tinkler lad,
“And a great deal better nor she looks.
“And no remorse this weapon brooks.”
“Mine's a right good yaud,” quo the tinkler lad,
“And a great deal better nor she looks.
“So stand to thy weapons, thou haughty lord;
What I have taken I needs must give;
Thou shalt never strike a tinkler again,
For the langest day thou hast to live.”
What I have taken I needs must give;
Thou shalt never strike a tinkler again,
For the langest day thou hast to live.”
Then to it they fell, both sharp and snell,
Till the fire from both their weapons flew;
But the very first shock that they met with,
The Douglas his rashness 'gan to rue.
Till the fire from both their weapons flew;
But the very first shock that they met with,
The Douglas his rashness 'gan to rue.
For though he had on a sark of mail,
And a cuirass on his breast wore he,
With a good steel bonnet on his head,
Yet the blood ran trinkling to his knee.
And a cuirass on his breast wore he,
With a good steel bonnet on his head,
Yet the blood ran trinkling to his knee.
The Douglas sat upright and firm,
Aye as together their horses ran;
But the tinkler laid on like a very deil—
Siccan strokes were never laid on by man.
Aye as together their horses ran;
But the tinkler laid on like a very deil—
Siccan strokes were never laid on by man.
“Hold up thy hand, thou tinkler loun,”
Cried the poor priest, with whining din;
“If thou hurt the brave Lord James Douglas,
A curse be on thee and all thy kin!”
Cried the poor priest, with whining din;
“If thou hurt the brave Lord James Douglas,
A curse be on thee and all thy kin!”
“I care no more for Lord James Douglas,
Than Lord James Douglas cares for me;
But I want to let his proud heart know,
That a tinkler's a man as well as he.”
Than Lord James Douglas cares for me;
But I want to let his proud heart know,
That a tinkler's a man as well as he.”
So they fought on, and they fought on,
Till good Lord Douglas' breath was gone;
And the tinkler bore him to the ground,
With rush, with rattle, and with groan.
Till good Lord Douglas' breath was gone;
And the tinkler bore him to the ground,
With rush, with rattle, and with groan.
“O hon! O hon!” cried the proud Douglas,
“That I this day should have lived to see!
For sure my honour I have lost,
And a leader again I can never be!
“That I this day should have lived to see!
For sure my honour I have lost,
And a leader again I can never be!
“But tell me of thy kith and kin,
And where was bred thy weapon hand?
For thou art the wale of tinkler louns
That ever was born in fair Scotland.”
And where was bred thy weapon hand?
For thou art the wale of tinkler louns
That ever was born in fair Scotland.”
“My name's Jock Johnstone,” quo the wight—
“I winna keep in my name frae thee;
And here, take thou thy sword again,
And better friends we two shall be.”
“I winna keep in my name frae thee;
And here, take thou thy sword again,
And better friends we two shall be.”
342
But the Douglas swore a solemn oath,
That was a debt he could never owe;
He would rather die at the back of the dike,
Than owe his sword to a man so low.
That was a debt he could never owe;
He would rather die at the back of the dike,
Than owe his sword to a man so low.
“But if thou wilt ride under my banner,
And bear my livery and my name,
My right-hand warrior thou shalt be,
And I'll knight thee on the field of fame.”
And bear my livery and my name,
My right-hand warrior thou shalt be,
And I'll knight thee on the field of fame.”
“Woe worth thy wit, good Lord Douglas,
To think I'd change my trade for thine;
Far better and wiser would you be,
To live as journeyman of mine,
To think I'd change my trade for thine;
Far better and wiser would you be,
To live as journeyman of mine,
“To mend a kettle or a casque,
Or clout a goodwife's yettlin pan—
Upon my life, good Lord Douglas,
You'd make a noble tinkler man!
Or clout a goodwife's yettlin pan—
Upon my life, good Lord Douglas,
You'd make a noble tinkler man!
“I would give you drammock twice a-day,
And sunkets on a Sunday morn;
And you should be a rare adept
In steel and copper, brass and horn.
And sunkets on a Sunday morn;
And you should be a rare adept
In steel and copper, brass and horn.
“I'll fight you every day you rise,
Till you can act the hero's part;
Therefore, I pray you, think of this,
And lay it seriously to heart.”
Till you can act the hero's part;
Therefore, I pray you, think of this,
And lay it seriously to heart.”
The Douglas writhed beneath the lash,
Answering with an inward curse—
Like salmon wriggling on a spear,
That makes his deadly wound the worse.
Answering with an inward curse—
Like salmon wriggling on a spear,
That makes his deadly wound the worse.
But up there came two squires renown'd;
In search of Lord Douglas they came;
And when they saw their master down,
Their spirits mounted in a flame.
In search of Lord Douglas they came;
And when they saw their master down,
Their spirits mounted in a flame.
And they flew upon the tinkler wight,
Like perfect tigers on their prey;
But the tinkler heaved his trusty sword,
And made him ready for the fray.
Like perfect tigers on their prey;
But the tinkler heaved his trusty sword,
And made him ready for the fray.
“Come one to one ye coward knaves—
Come hand to hand, and steed to steed,
I would that ye were better men,
For this is glorious work indeed!”
Come hand to hand, and steed to steed,
I would that ye were better men,
For this is glorious work indeed!”
Before you could have counted twelve,
The tinkler's wondrous chivalrye
Had both the squires upon the sward,
And their horses galloping o'er the lea.
The tinkler's wondrous chivalrye
Had both the squires upon the sward,
And their horses galloping o'er the lea.
The tinkler tied them neck and heel,
And mony a biting jest gave he:
“O fie, for shame!” said the tinkler lad,
“Siccan fighters I did never see!”
And mony a biting jest gave he:
“O fie, for shame!” said the tinkler lad,
“Siccan fighters I did never see!”
He slit one of their bridal reins—
Oh what disgrace the conquer'd feels!
And he skelpit the squires with that good tawse,
Till the blood ran off at baith their heels.
Oh what disgrace the conquer'd feels!
And he skelpit the squires with that good tawse,
Till the blood ran off at baith their heels.
The Douglas he was forced to laugh,
Till down his cheek the salt tears ran:
“I think the deevil be come here
In the likeness of a tinkler man!”
Till down his cheek the salt tears ran:
“I think the deevil be come here
In the likeness of a tinkler man!”
Then he is to Lord Douglas gone,
And he raised him kindly by the hand,
And he set him on his gallant steed,
And bore him away to Henderland:
And he raised him kindly by the hand,
And he set him on his gallant steed,
And bore him away to Henderland:
“Be not cast down, my Lord Douglas,
Nor writhe beneath a broken bane,
For the leach's art will mend the part,
And your honour lost will spring again.
Nor writhe beneath a broken bane,
For the leach's art will mend the part,
And your honour lost will spring again.
“'Tis true, Jock Johnstone is my name,
I'm a right good tinkler as you see;
For I can crack a casque betimes,
Or clout one, as my need may be.
I'm a right good tinkler as you see;
For I can crack a casque betimes,
Or clout one, as my need may be.
“Jock Johnstone is my name, 'tis true—
But noble hearts are allied to me,
For I am the Lord of Annandale,
And a knight and earl as well as thee.”
But noble hearts are allied to me,
For I am the Lord of Annandale,
And a knight and earl as well as thee.”
Then Douglas strain'd the hero's hand,
And took from it his sword again;
Since thou art the Lord of Annandale,
Thou hast eased my heart of meikle pain.
And took from it his sword again;
Since thou art the Lord of Annandale,
Thou hast eased my heart of meikle pain.
“I might have known thy noble form,
In that disguise thou'rt pleased to wear;
All Scotland knows thy matchless arm,
And England by experience dear.
In that disguise thou'rt pleased to wear;
All Scotland knows thy matchless arm,
And England by experience dear.
“We have been foes as well as friends,
And jealous of each other's sway;
But little can I comprehend
Thy motive for these pranks to-day?”
And jealous of each other's sway;
But little can I comprehend
Thy motive for these pranks to-day?”
“Sooth, my good lord, the truth to tell,
'Twas I that stole your love away,
And gave her to the Lord of Ross
An hour before the break of day:
'Twas I that stole your love away,
And gave her to the Lord of Ross
An hour before the break of day:
“For the Lord of Ross is my brother,
By all the laws of chivalrye;
And I brought with me a thousand men,
To guard him to my own countrye.
By all the laws of chivalrye;
And I brought with me a thousand men,
To guard him to my own countrye.
“But I thought meet to stay behind,
And try your lordship to waylay;
Resolved to breed some noble sport,
By leading you so far astray;
And try your lordship to waylay;
Resolved to breed some noble sport,
By leading you so far astray;
“Judging it better some lives to spare—
Which fancy takes me now and then—
And settle our quarrel hand to hand,
Than each with our ten thousand men.
Which fancy takes me now and then—
And settle our quarrel hand to hand,
Than each with our ten thousand men.
“God send you soon, my Lord Douglas,
To Border foray sound and haill!
But never strike a tinkler again,
If he be a Johnstone of Annandale.”
To Border foray sound and haill!
But never strike a tinkler again,
If he be a Johnstone of Annandale.”
343
Ringan and May.
I heard a laverock singing with glee,And oh but the bird sang cheerilye;
Then I askit at my true love Ringan,
If he kend what the bonny bird was singing?
Now, my love Ringan is blithe and young,
But he has a fair and flattering tongue;
And oh, I'm fear'd I like ower weel
His tales of love, though kind and leal!
So I said to him, in scornful ways,
“You ken nae word that wee burd says!”
Then my love he turn'd about to me,
And there was a smile in his pawky ee;
And he says, “My May, my dawtied dow,
I ken that strain far better nor you;
For that little fairy that lilts so loud,
And hangs on the fringe of the sunny cloud,
Is telling the tale, in chants and chimes,
I have told to thee a thousand times.
I will let thee hear how our strains accord,
And the laverock's sweet sang, word for word:
Interpretation of the Lark's Song.
“‘Oh, my love is bonnie and mild to see,
As sweetly she sits on her dewy lea,
And turns up her cheek and clear gray eye,
To list what's saying within the sky!
For she thinks my morning hymn so sweet,
Wi' the streamers of heaven aneath my feet,
Where the proud goshawk could never won,
Between the gray cloud and the sun—
And she thinks her love a thing of the skies,
Sent down from the holy paradise,
To sing to the world, at morn and even,
The sweet love songs in the bowers of heaven.
As sweetly she sits on her dewy lea,
And turns up her cheek and clear gray eye,
To list what's saying within the sky!
For she thinks my morning hymn so sweet,
Wi' the streamers of heaven aneath my feet,
Where the proud goshawk could never won,
Between the gray cloud and the sun—
And she thinks her love a thing of the skies,
Sent down from the holy paradise,
To sing to the world, at morn and even,
The sweet love songs in the bowers of heaven.
“‘Oh my love is bonnie, and young, and chaste,
As sweetly she sits in her mossy nest!
And she deems the birds on bush and tree,
As nothing but dust and droul to me.
Though the robin warble his waesome churl,
And the merle gar all the greenwood dirl,
And the storm-cock touts on his towering pine,
She trows their songs a mock to mine;
The linty's cheip a ditty tame,
And the shilfa's everlasting rhame;
The plover's whew a solo drear,
And the whilly-whaup's ane shame to hear;
And, whenever a lover comes in view,
She cowers beneath her screen of dew.
As sweetly she sits in her mossy nest!
And she deems the birds on bush and tree,
As nothing but dust and droul to me.
Though the robin warble his waesome churl,
And the merle gar all the greenwood dirl,
And the storm-cock touts on his towering pine,
She trows their songs a mock to mine;
The linty's cheip a ditty tame,
And the shilfa's everlasting rhame;
The plover's whew a solo drear,
And the whilly-whaup's ane shame to hear;
And, whenever a lover comes in view,
She cowers beneath her screen of dew.
“‘Oh, my love is bonnie! her virgin breast
Is sweeter to me nor the dawning east;
And well do I like at the gloaming still,
To dreep from the lift or the lowering hill,
And press her nest as white as milk,
And her breast as soft as the downy silk.’”
Is sweeter to me nor the dawning east;
And well do I like at the gloaming still,
To dreep from the lift or the lowering hill,
And press her nest as white as milk,
And her breast as soft as the downy silk.’”
Now when my love Ringan had warbled away
To this base part of the laverock's lay,
My heart was like to burst in twain,
And the tears flow'd from mine eyne like rain;
At length he said, with a sigh full lang,
“What ails my love at the laverock's sang?”
To this base part of the laverock's lay,
My heart was like to burst in twain,
And the tears flow'd from mine eyne like rain;
At length he said, with a sigh full lang,
“What ails my love at the laverock's sang?”
Says I “He's ane base and wicked bird,
As ever rose from the dewy yird;
It's a shame to mount on his morning wing,
At the yetts of heaven sic sangs to sing;
And all to win with his amorous din,
A sweet little virgin bird to sin,
And wreck, with flattery and song combined,
His dear little maiden's peace of mind!
Oh, were I her, I would let him see,
His songs should all be lost on me!”
As ever rose from the dewy yird;
It's a shame to mount on his morning wing,
At the yetts of heaven sic sangs to sing;
And all to win with his amorous din,
A sweet little virgin bird to sin,
And wreck, with flattery and song combined,
His dear little maiden's peace of mind!
Oh, were I her, I would let him see,
His songs should all be lost on me!”
Then my love took me in his arms,
And 'gan to laud my leifou charms;
But I would not so much as let him speak
Nor stroke my chin, nor kiss my cheek:
For I fear'd my heart was going wrang,
It was so moved at the laverock's sang.
And 'gan to laud my leifou charms;
But I would not so much as let him speak
Nor stroke my chin, nor kiss my cheek:
For I fear'd my heart was going wrang,
It was so moved at the laverock's sang.
Yet still I lay with an upcast e'e,
And still he was singing sae bonnilye,
That, though with my mind I had great strife,
I could not forbear it for my life,
But, as he hung on the heaven's brow,
I said, I ken not why, nor how,
“What's that little deevil saying now?”
And still he was singing sae bonnilye,
That, though with my mind I had great strife,
I could not forbear it for my life,
But, as he hung on the heaven's brow,
I said, I ken not why, nor how,
“What's that little deevil saying now?”
Then my love Ringan, he was so glad,
He leugh till his folly pat me mad;
And he said, “My love, I will tell you true,
He seems to sing that strain to you;
For it says, ‘I will range the yird and air
To feed my love with the finest fare;
And when she looks from her bed to me,
With the yearning love of a mother's e'e,
Oh, then I will come, and draw her nearer,
And watch her closer, and love her dearer,
And we never shall part till our dying day,
But love and love on for ever and aye!’”
He leugh till his folly pat me mad;
And he said, “My love, I will tell you true,
He seems to sing that strain to you;
For it says, ‘I will range the yird and air
To feed my love with the finest fare;
And when she looks from her bed to me,
With the yearning love of a mother's e'e,
Oh, then I will come, and draw her nearer,
And watch her closer, and love her dearer,
And we never shall part till our dying day,
But love and love on for ever and aye!’”
Then my heart it bled with a thrilling pleasure
When it learn'd the laverock's closing measure,
And it rose, and rose, and would not rest,
And would hardly bide within my breast.
Then up I rose, and away I sprung,
And said to my love with scornful tongue,
That it was ane big and burning shame;
That he and the lark were both to blame;
For there were some lays so soft and bland
That breast of maiden could not stand;
And if he lay in the wood his lane,
Quhill I came back to list the strain
Of an amorous bird amang the broom,
Then he might lie quhill the day of doom!
When it learn'd the laverock's closing measure,
And it rose, and rose, and would not rest,
And would hardly bide within my breast.
Then up I rose, and away I sprung,
And said to my love with scornful tongue,
That it was ane big and burning shame;
That he and the lark were both to blame;
For there were some lays so soft and bland
That breast of maiden could not stand;
And if he lay in the wood his lane,
Quhill I came back to list the strain
Of an amorous bird amang the broom,
Then he might lie quhill the day of doom!
But for all the sturt and strife I made;
For all I did, and all I said,
Alas! I fear it will be lang
Or I forget that wee burd's sang!
And langer still or I can flee
The lad that told that sang to me!
For all I did, and all I said,
344
Or I forget that wee burd's sang!
And langer still or I can flee
The lad that told that sang to me!
The Haunted Glen.
- Lu, a Scottish prince, carried off by the Fairies, and afterwards chosen their king.
- Knight.
- Spirit.
- Lula, a princess living in concealment.
- Philany, Fairy.
- Dew, Fairy.
- Snowflake, Fairy.
- Foambell, Fairy.
- Rue, Fairy.
- Mothe, Fairy.
- Gossamer, Fairy.
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
Scene I.
—A dell, by moonlight, with a distant view behind.A fairy enters, winding swiftly among the trees. Voice above.
Voice.
Fairy, fairy, whither away?
Fairy.
Come down and see;
It fits not thee
To hide in the bud of the chestnut tree,
And scare with yelp and eldritch croon
The spirits that pass by the light of the moon.
Voice.
I heard a sound come through the wood,
I feared it came from flesh and blood;
But I'll be with thee for evil or good.
Spirit enters.
Now, fairy, tell me whither away,
For I have much to thee to say,
And much to do ere the break of day.
Fairy.
For I have much to thee to say,
And much to do ere the break of day.
I know thee not—I cannot tell
Whether thou art from heaven or hell.
In Scottish glen, since the days of old,
I have watched the hamlet and the fold;
Long have I sojourned by mountain and dale;
I have sailed on the moonbeam, and rode on the gale
For a thousand years, and a thousand more,
But, spirit, I never saw thee before.
Spirit.
Here am I sent a while to dwell;
Tell me thy nature, and mine I'll tell.
Fairy.
This form was made when the rose first grew,
Of an odour dissolved in the falling dew,
When first from the heaven it 'gan to distil
Above the top of the highest hill:
And if I may judge, from the moment I came,
There's a germ of the rainbow in my frame;
For my being grew, I remember well,
When first the bow on the rose-bud fell;
And the very first scene that met my view,
Was its pale blossom, tinged anew
With stripes of the green, the red, and the blue.
But I am a spirit of joy and love,
For the breath that formed me was from above.
Spirit.
Then, gladsome spirit, list to me,
For we may meet by tower and tree:
When first the fires of vengeance and wrath
Were kindled in a world beneath,
They from their boundaries burst on high,
And flashed into the middle sky;
From these a thin blue vapour came,
Something between a smoke and flame,
And it journeyed on through the firmament,
Till with a sun-beam it was blent:
Of that I was framed, and in my mood
There is something evil and something good.
But I have been busy since I came here;
There's a comely corse lies stretched near—
Within yon wood of alders grey
There was murder done at the close of day.
Oh, I ne'er saw so lovely a sight,
As a maiden's corse in the pale moonlight!
Fairy.
Ah! spirit of stern and ill intent,
The land may rue that thou wast sent.
Spirit.
'Tis true, I love to seek and see
The evils of humanity,
And the woes and the plagues of the human lot!
But I cannot hurt where sin is not.
Come, trifling fay, I'll consort you,
The relics of mortal beauty to view;
The writhed limb you there may see,
And the stripes of blood upon the lea;
Half open is her still blue eye;
Her face is turned unto the sky;
The shadows sleep on her bosom bare,
And the dew-weft on her raven hair;
And never again shall spirit see
Such picture of sorrow and sanctity!
Fairy.
Get thee away,
Thou elfin gray,
Thou art not fit with fairies to stay!
For me, I am sent by the still moonlight,
Each floweret's bosom to bedight,
For the fairies revel here o'er-night.
The time draws on when Lu of Kyle,
Who in Fairyland had sojourned a while,
Must be crowned, by a virgin's hand,
The king of the fairies of fair Scotland:
And fairies have ridden, and fairies have run,
From the evening set till the morning sun,
The first of mortal maidens to find,
Fairest of body, and purest of mind;
For she must be chaste as the snow-drop at noon,
Stately as cherubim, mild as the moon,
Sweet as the rose-bud, and fresh as the dew,
That sets the crown on the head of King Lu.
Spirit.
If right I judge, you will only miss
Your aim in travelling far for this;
345
The fairest of human form and name;
But if I get sway of this woodland scene,
This matchless maid shall be, ere e'en,
What many a maiden before has been.
Fairy.
Get thee away,
Thou elfin gray,
Thou art not fit with fairies to stay!
The fairies of Scotia are mild as the even,
Jocund and blithe as the laverock in heaven;
Tender to childhood, gentle to age,
Pesterous to priest, and freakish to sage;
But whatever they do, or wherever they go,
They grieve aye for human failings and woe.
Get thee away, over brake, over thorn;
Woo thy dead corse till the break of the morn,
For I hear the sound of the fairies' horn.
[Spirit vanishes.
Scene continues.
Endless trains of Fairies, clothed in green, and riding on white steeds, are seen in the distance.
Song within.
Sweet is the mountain breeze of night,
To fairy troopers blithely riding,
Over holt, and holm, and height,
Through the links of greenwood gliding.
To fairy troopers blithely riding,
Over holt, and holm, and height,
Through the links of greenwood gliding.
CHORUS.
Ara Lu! Ora Lu!Who shall man and fairy sever?
Ara Lu! Ora Lu!
They are knit, and knit for ever.
Lu is prince of Fairyland,
Vales of light and fairy fountains;
Lu shall wield the regal wand
Over Scotia's heathy mountains.
Vales of light and fairy fountains;
Lu shall wield the regal wand
Over Scotia's heathy mountains.
CHORUS.
Ara Lu! Ora Lu! &c.First Fairy.
Our names, prince—our new names!
Lu.
Come hither, beauteous trifle.
Thy name be hence Philany, and thy charge
The nestlings of the birds, that sing at eve
And ere the morning sun. And thou, pale blossom,
Thy name is Snowflake; and thy envied charge,
The walks and couch of virgin purity:
Oh guard that well! If e'er thou mark'st the eye
Beaming with more than earthly lustre, then
Thy sickening opiates use, to dim the ray
Too bright for man to look on. In the night,
By maiden's bosom watch; and if she dream,
Lay thy cold hand upon her youthful breast;
Hang on her waving locks by day, and watch
Her sweet and mellow breath; and as it heaves
And rocks thee to and fro, thou shalt discern
The slightest workings of the soul within;
The rest thy wisdom and thy care direct.
Thy name be hence Philany, and thy charge
The nestlings of the birds, that sing at eve
And ere the morning sun. And thou, pale blossom,
Thy name is Snowflake; and thy envied charge,
The walks and couch of virgin purity:
Oh guard that well! If e'er thou mark'st the eye
Beaming with more than earthly lustre, then
Thy sickening opiates use, to dim the ray
Too bright for man to look on. In the night,
By maiden's bosom watch; and if she dream,
Lay thy cold hand upon her youthful breast;
Hang on her waving locks by day, and watch
Her sweet and mellow breath; and as it heaves
And rocks thee to and fro, thou shalt discern
The slightest workings of the soul within;
The rest thy wisdom and thy care direct.
Kiss me, thou little sweet and humid thing,
Bright as the orient—thy name be Dew;
Thy care, the wild flowers of the hill and dale,
To pearl the rose and weave the heavenly bow.
And thou, her sister, guard the rivulets,
And silver pools, where little fishes dwell,
And sport them in the sun: thou hast a flock
Full wayward and exposed—so be thy care:
Thy name is Foambell, brook thou well the name.
And thine is Rue—thy charge, declining life.
And thou, that hast a pathos in thy looks
Bespeaking mould of tenderness and love,
Be guardian thou of playful infancy.
Watch o'er the imps; and when the comely boy
Nears to the precipice, where blossoms wave,
Or to the pool, where green inverted hills,
And trees, and shrubs betray—then flutter thou
Close by his foot like gilded butterfly,
To lure the rosy lubber from the snare
Of adders young, and from the slow-worm's den.
Thy name is Mothe; the joy of doing good
Be thy reward.
Bright as the orient—thy name be Dew;
Thy care, the wild flowers of the hill and dale,
To pearl the rose and weave the heavenly bow.
And thou, her sister, guard the rivulets,
And silver pools, where little fishes dwell,
And sport them in the sun: thou hast a flock
Full wayward and exposed—so be thy care:
Thy name is Foambell, brook thou well the name.
And thine is Rue—thy charge, declining life.
And thou, that hast a pathos in thy looks
Bespeaking mould of tenderness and love,
Be guardian thou of playful infancy.
Watch o'er the imps; and when the comely boy
Nears to the precipice, where blossoms wave,
Or to the pool, where green inverted hills,
And trees, and shrubs betray—then flutter thou
Close by his foot like gilded butterfly,
To lure the rosy lubber from the snare
Of adders young, and from the slow-worm's den.
Thy name is Mothe; the joy of doing good
Be thy reward.
Thou downy dancing thing,
Fond as the nestling, playful as the fawn,
Thy dwelling be the mountain, and thy task
To guard the young deer and the leveret
And tender lamb—thy name is Gossamer.
Embrace me all, then bound you on your way,
To sport and revel till the dawn of day.
[He embraces them all.
Fond as the nestling, playful as the fawn,
Thy dwelling be the mountain, and thy task
To guard the young deer and the leveret
And tender lamb—thy name is Gossamer.
Embrace me all, then bound you on your way,
To sport and revel till the dawn of day.
Sweet gladsome beings! sweet you are, and kind,
And well I love you. But my mortal frame
Is not so subtilized and pure, but that
I feel in your communion something short
Of true felicity. In all your rounds,
And wanderings wild, search for the mortal maid
Of purity and beauty so refined
That spirits may consort with; and no stain
Of human love or longing intervene.
And well I love you. But my mortal frame
Is not so subtilized and pure, but that
I feel in your communion something short
Of true felicity. In all your rounds,
And wanderings wild, search for the mortal maid
Of purity and beauty so refined
That spirits may consort with; and no stain
Of human love or longing intervene.
Dew.
Prince, here I met with a spirit stern,
Who said that by this forest dern,
There dwells the fairest, loveliest dame,
That ever wore the human frame;
But wicked men and fiends below
Have both combined to work her woe.
Prince, watch this glen, and if you see
A knight of comely courtesy
Lead a fair maiden to the wood,
Of lady mien, and mournful mood;
Be sure that knight's intent is ill,
For the blood is on his corslet still!
Lu.
Hie you away by valley and brae,
Attend to your tasks by night and by day,
346
To tend your behests for right or for wrong;
And here will I watch till the rising sun,
For fear more guilty deeds be done.
The Fairies dance slowly round him in a circle, and sing.
The baby's rest shall be sweet and sure,
The maiden's slumber blest and pure;
The gray-haired sire shall rejoice in mind,
And look before and not behind.
The flowers shall blow, and the rainbow beam,
The fishes sport in the sunny stream;
Young Love and Peace shall go hand in hand,
And Sin and Sorrow flee the land;
The lamb beside the fox shall stray,
The kid and fawn round the martin play,
And the child shall dance by the adder's den,
Since spirits pure are conjoined with men.
The maiden's slumber blest and pure;
The gray-haired sire shall rejoice in mind,
And look before and not behind.
The flowers shall blow, and the rainbow beam,
The fishes sport in the sunny stream;
Young Love and Peace shall go hand in hand,
And Sin and Sorrow flee the land;
The lamb beside the fox shall stray,
The kid and fawn round the martin play,
And the child shall dance by the adder's den,
Since spirits pure are conjoined with men.
CHORUS.
Then hie away, fairies, hie away,Light over flower and tender spray,
Light over moonbeam and midnight dew,
Our blithesome gambols to renew.
Scene II.
—A wood.Enter Lu.
Lu.
Another day is past, and it has been
To me a day of such delight, and pain,
And new sensations mingled, as I never
Deemed consonant with being. I have seen
The peerless maid of this romantic glen;
Have watched her every motion, word, and look,
With lover, and alone. Such beauty, truth,
And purity of soul, I did not ween
This sinful world contained! I love her so,
That I would yield this incorporeal frame,
This state of mental energy, attained
By seven years' penance, and again assume
My former state of gross humanity,
Rather than lose that virgin's fellowship,
Her confidence, and love. I watched her steps,
Led by that treacherous, that decoying fiend,
That demon in the guise of man, and heard
His smooth deceitful tale. I took the form
Of redbreast, and I hopped upon the spray
Close to her cheek, and sung my plaintive note;
And she called me “sweet robin,” and I saw
A kindness in her looks. “Sir knight,” said she,
“List to that robin's note. Methinks he says,
‘Beware, young simple Lula.’” “On my faith,”
The knight replied, “'tis very like these words!”
“I wish I were that robin's mate,” said she,
“To fly away with him o'er many lands,
And live in innocence!” And then I sung
“Would that you were, sweet Lula.” Her blue eyes
Turned doubtfully up to the sky, when this
She heard sung by a bird; her lovely face
Was stamped with sweet amazement and deep thought.
To me a day of such delight, and pain,
And new sensations mingled, as I never
Deemed consonant with being. I have seen
The peerless maid of this romantic glen;
Have watched her every motion, word, and look,
With lover, and alone. Such beauty, truth,
And purity of soul, I did not ween
This sinful world contained! I love her so,
That I would yield this incorporeal frame,
This state of mental energy, attained
By seven years' penance, and again assume
My former state of gross humanity,
Rather than lose that virgin's fellowship,
Her confidence, and love. I watched her steps,
Led by that treacherous, that decoying fiend,
That demon in the guise of man, and heard
His smooth deceitful tale. I took the form
Of redbreast, and I hopped upon the spray
Close to her cheek, and sung my plaintive note;
And she called me “sweet robin,” and I saw
A kindness in her looks. “Sir knight,” said she,
“List to that robin's note. Methinks he says,
‘Beware, young simple Lula.’” “On my faith,”
The knight replied, “'tis very like these words!”
“I wish I were that robin's mate,” said she,
“To fly away with him o'er many lands,
And live in innocence!” And then I sung
“Would that you were, sweet Lula.” Her blue eyes
Turned doubtfully up to the sky, when this
She heard sung by a bird; her lovely face
Was stamped with sweet amazement and deep thought.
Then I became a coney, and I stole
From out the brake, and hitched around their seat,
Mounching the herbs, and raised up my long ears
As listening in dismay, and looked full wise,
Making my cloven lip and wiry beard
Move with grimace. Back to the thicket then
Amain I scudded, and as quick returned,
And cowered, and mounched the grass—she laughed at me,
And praised my antic tricks, but little weened
I was a fairy lover, and far less
A mortal prince rid of his mortal nature.
I must retire and take some other form,
For here my loved and beauteous Lula comes,
Led by the wretch that wooes her to her fate.
From out the brake, and hitched around their seat,
Mounching the herbs, and raised up my long ears
As listening in dismay, and looked full wise,
Making my cloven lip and wiry beard
Move with grimace. Back to the thicket then
Amain I scudded, and as quick returned,
And cowered, and mounched the grass—she laughed at me,
And praised my antic tricks, but little weened
I was a fairy lover, and far less
A mortal prince rid of his mortal nature.
I must retire and take some other form,
For here my loved and beauteous Lula comes,
Led by the wretch that wooes her to her fate.
[Exit.
Enter Lula and Knight.
Lula.
Where do you lead me, knight? I may not go
Farther into the glen: have you not heard
How it is haunted?
Knight.
Fear not, gentle Lula;
No spirit may do harm to innocence
And beauty such as thine. Come, let us stray
Deeper into this dell, and watch the rise
Of the full moon. See how her radiant verge
Streams through the broken cliffs of yon far hill,
Like fragments of a moon. The queen of heaven
Smiles from her lattice. Has it not a cast
Of sweet sublimity that scene, my Lula?
Lula.
It has—oh, I could list and look for ever,
And muse upon these goings on of nature!
Knight.
'Tis a fit scene for love. Will you not hear
The man that loves you to distraction, breathe
The vows of constancy and endless love?
Lula.
Nay, then I'm gone; I loathe the very name
Of love, and every baneful consequence
That follows in its train. Why talk to me
Of love, when Emma's lost? Emma, who loved you
With fondness never equalled! Tell me, knight,
Where think you Emma's gone?
Knight.
How can I know?
Woe's me, poor Emma! She is fled, I fear,
With false deceiver, or some base-born hind—
Let us not think of her.
Lula.
Yet you grow pale
At mention of her name—I honour you
For this. 'Tis true she loved you! What is here?
There's blood upon your basnet, knight! Your hilt
And arm are stained with it. What blood is this?
Knight.
It is the blood of my white steed, which I
Slew in a rage, that now I sore repent.
347
Your steed is whole and standing in his stall;
I saw him; ask your groom.
Knight.
It was my hound,
My milk-white hound—Woe's me that she is slain!
Lula.
Your hound is well, and hunting through the wood.
Knight.
It was a deer that held the hound at bay,
'Twas that I meant.
Lula.
You have not slain a deer
For months and days, nor is it hunting time;
You rave, or do not think of what you say.
But here's our gentle robin come again,
To cheer us with his homely note. O knight,
Let us return. Hear what the robin sings!
Knight.
Come let us dive into the dell, my Lula,
And see the moon lie bathing in the stream,
Deep in the centre of the wood; it is
A scene will charm you. Let us go, my love.
Lula.
I never farther leave my home at eve;
That glen is dangerous, for spirits there
Hold nightly rendezvous. Poor Emma loved
Thoughtful to stray in it—now, where, alas!
Is simple Emma? Knight, though I nought fear,
Strange fancies crowd on me. Ah, might it be
As I now deem! Do guardian spirits ever
Take form of beast or bird?
Knight.
So sages say;
But wherefore ask? Come, let us go, my love,
Down that sweet winding glen. You cannot fear
To walk that space with me? I know the scene
Hath that in't will delight you. You shall see
The moonbeam streaming o'er the shadowy hill,
To kiss the winding wave, and deck the trees
In golden foliage. You shall see the shades
Of hills, and trees, and rocks, lie stretched afar,
Bathing in liquid crystal, till you lose
Sense which is the true world, the stars and moon,
And which the elemental imagery.
Oh! I beseech you let us go, sweet Lula.
Lula.
Well, I will go, for when I hear you talk
Of nature, I am charmed—'tis so unlike
The converse of these simple cottagers;
But talk of that alone, and not of love,
Else I'll not list, nor answer deign to you.
Why am I plagued with language which I loathe? [Going, stops short.
Protect my senses, Heaven! Can it be!
Look at that bird, sir knight—is it not changed
In form and hue since last we looked at it?
Knight.
What is it?
Lula.
See! it grows and changes still;
Waylays and threatens us—I will not go
Farther upon that path for will of man.
Knight.
Then my resolve is fixed—Dame, you shall go,
Return home as you may.
Lula.
What do you mean?
Knight.
Only that you shall go into that glen,
Far as I list to lead you: if you prove
As coy when you return, my well-earned skill
In woman I give up. Nay, struggle not,
Nor pule, nor cry, for neither shall avail!
Lu enters, and by a wave of his hand lays the Knight flat on his back.
Lula.
O comely stranger, spare my helpless youth!
Protect and guard me! here I throw myself
Into your arms.
Lu.
And from all brutal force
And insult shall these arms protect thee, maid.
Lula.
Yes, I can trust you, there is in your look
And your embrace, that chastened dignity,
That calm pure sympathy, which I have longed
And pined so much to look on. Whence are you?
From what blest land or kingdom came you thus
To my deliverance?
Lu.
These lands were mine,
Far as the soaring eagle's eye can reach;
But I resigned them for a dynasty
Wild and ethereal. Could you love me, Lula?
Lula.
I know not: If your touch and looks were aye
As pure as they are now—methinks I could.
Lu.
Then I'll be aught for thee—I'll be again
The thing I was, that I may be caressed
And loved by you; though pain, and woe, and death,
And spirits' vengeance, on the issue wait.
Come with me, gentle maid; and while I lead you
Home to your cot, I will a tale unfold
Shall make your ears to tingle, and your thoughts
Wander into delirious mystery.
[Exeunt Lu and Lula. The Knight rises.
Knight.
What can this mean? How was I struck to earth,
And chained as by some spell? Curse on the stripling!
Who can he be, or whither did he come,
To brave me in this guise? 'Tis like a dream;
And yet I saw them go, arm linked in arm,
While I not moved a finger or a limb.
And chained as by some spell? Curse on the stripling!
Who can he be, or whither did he come,
To brave me in this guise? 'Tis like a dream;
And yet I saw them go, arm linked in arm,
While I not moved a finger or a limb.
Might I believe that I some thing have seen
Not of this world, that with one wave of 's hand,
Could strike me motionless, then do I strive
In vain for the possession of the maid.
But here I swear above this craven sword,
That for the first time slept within its sheath
Beneath the eye of insult, not to brook
Life without Lula. Never shall I see
Another filch that precious morsel, placed
Thus in my reach! Arm, thou wast never wont
To lie in dull and nerveless apathy
When will called “Strike;” ah! couldst thou do it now
When the most delicate and luscious cup
That ever mocked Desire's pale parching lip
Was rudely dashed away? Blood and revenge
Be hence thy meed, or scornful Lula mine!
Not of this world, that with one wave of 's hand,
Could strike me motionless, then do I strive
In vain for the possession of the maid.
But here I swear above this craven sword,
That for the first time slept within its sheath
Beneath the eye of insult, not to brook
Life without Lula. Never shall I see
Another filch that precious morsel, placed
348
To lie in dull and nerveless apathy
When will called “Strike;” ah! couldst thou do it now
When the most delicate and luscious cup
That ever mocked Desire's pale parching lip
Was rudely dashed away? Blood and revenge
Be hence thy meed, or scornful Lula mine!
Scene III.
—The glen.—Twilight.Lu and Fairy meeting.
Lu.
Welcome my little Foambell, here:
How fare thy flocks by frith and meer,
By river, pool, and streamlet clear?
Foam.
O prince, my charge I yield again!
My little breast is rent with pain!
No happy thing on earth may be,
While ruthless man holds sovereignty.
I chose the sweetest stream that fell
From mountain glen, and moorland well,
Where happy, gay, and innocent,
My finny tribes were in thousands blent;
And I rejoiced and smiled to see
Each awkward beck and courtesy;
How downward turned each full set eye,
As I, their queen, went sailing by.
My little breast is rent with pain!
No happy thing on earth may be,
While ruthless man holds sovereignty.
I chose the sweetest stream that fell
From mountain glen, and moorland well,
Where happy, gay, and innocent,
My finny tribes were in thousands blent;
And I rejoiced and smiled to see
Each awkward beck and courtesy;
How downward turned each full set eye,
As I, their queen, went sailing by.
One day, I spied upon the strand,
A carl that waved a sounding wand
Of marvellous length, whom I did deem
Some earthly guardian of the stream;
But coming nigh I wept full sore
To see my people dragged ashore,
One after one, and two by two,
And welcomed forth with murderous blow;
While their dying throes rejoiced his sight,
For his ugly face had the grin of delight.
A carl that waved a sounding wand
Of marvellous length, whom I did deem
Some earthly guardian of the stream;
But coming nigh I wept full sore
To see my people dragged ashore,
One after one, and two by two,
And welcomed forth with murderous blow;
While their dying throes rejoiced his sight,
For his ugly face had the grin of delight.
This scene my feelings could not bear;
I tried to wile them from the snare;
The form of a fisherman I took,
And I angled before him in the brook;
But they wearied of my phantom fly,
And the carl he thrashed and waded nigh:
I could not scare them from his hook,
For I cast no shadow on the brook;
Though boardly my frame, as man's might be,
“The sun shone through my thin bodye.”
I wist not what to do or say,
For still the carl he plashed away;
And his rod, that stretched o'er half the flood,
It sounded through the air so loud,
That it made me start and pant for breath,
For I knew the sough was the sound of death.
No minute passed but one or more
Was dragged forth struggling to the shore;
I saw them flutter in wild affright,
And shiver and gasp in piteous plight;
Their silvery sides, that in the flood
Shone bright and pure, were striped with blood;
Yet no remorse did the carl feel,
But thrust them in his wicker creel.
I tried to wile them from the snare;
The form of a fisherman I took,
And I angled before him in the brook;
But they wearied of my phantom fly,
And the carl he thrashed and waded nigh:
I could not scare them from his hook,
For I cast no shadow on the brook;
Though boardly my frame, as man's might be,
“The sun shone through my thin bodye.”
I wist not what to do or say,
For still the carl he plashed away;
And his rod, that stretched o'er half the flood,
It sounded through the air so loud,
That it made me start and pant for breath,
For I knew the sough was the sound of death.
No minute passed but one or more
Was dragged forth struggling to the shore;
I saw them flutter in wild affright,
And shiver and gasp in piteous plight;
Their silvery sides, that in the flood
Shone bright and pure, were striped with blood;
Yet no remorse did the carl feel,
But thrust them in his wicker creel.
Then I bethought me of a plan,
Of turning pike instead of man;
And aye where his hook the angler threw
I chased away my harmless crew:
Oh! how astonished were the throng
When I came gaping them among!
Away they fled to ward the scathe,
Fast I pursued with threat of death.
Most gleesome sport I had the while,
But wondered at the carl's wile,
For o'er the ripple he swam his fly,
So sleek and so provokingly,
That scarcely could I myself restrain
From springing at that bait amain;
For, though by sage it be denied,
Nature and form are still allied.
Of turning pike instead of man;
And aye where his hook the angler threw
I chased away my harmless crew:
Oh! how astonished were the throng
When I came gaping them among!
Away they fled to ward the scathe,
Fast I pursued with threat of death.
Most gleesome sport I had the while,
But wondered at the carl's wile,
For o'er the ripple he swam his fly,
So sleek and so provokingly,
That scarcely could I myself restrain
From springing at that bait amain;
For, though by sage it be denied,
Nature and form are still allied.
Amazement marked the fisher's look,
Another fish he could not hook;
He changed his tackle, he changed his fly,
And blamed the colour of the sky;
But, baulked for once, he went away,
Cursing the fish and hateful day.
Another fish he could not hook;
He changed his tackle, he changed his fly,
And blamed the colour of the sky;
But, baulked for once, he went away,
Cursing the fish and hateful day.
Full six times twelve away he bore,
I saw him count them on the shore;
All reft of life withouten law,
To gorge a miscreant's ravenous maw.
Then sooth, while man has sway below,
My watery charge I must forego.
I saw him count them on the shore;
All reft of life withouten law,
To gorge a miscreant's ravenous maw.
Then sooth, while man has sway below,
My watery charge I must forego.
Lu.
But here comes slender Gossamer,
Like shred of silver through the air.—
What news, thou gentle, pitying child,
From mountain, glen, and pathless wild?
Gos.
Ah, woeful news! my heart's in pain!
All would be joy in my domain,
The kid and lamb would sport in peace,
The young deer dwell in happiness;
But man—remorseless, ravenous man,
Kills and devours; and stay who can!
The life-blood and the trembling limb
Of parting life are joy to him:
That rank devourer hence restrain,
Or take from me my charge again.
Lu.
Woe's me, that those we so much love,
Such troublers should of nature prove:
But here comes one whose placid face
Speaks better things of the human race.
Welcome, sweet Snowflake, back to me;
How thrives sweet virgin purity?
Snow.
Ah, Prince, decline the woeful theme!
Give it not thought—give it not name!
Else first restrain or quench the blood
Of man, the defacer of all good!
The maiden is pure without a stain,
And pure in mind would aye remain;
But man—I sicken at the thought
Of all the shame that he hath wrought;
There is no art—there is no wile
That may the maiden heart beguile,
And cloud for aye the joyous smile,
Which this destroyer scorns to prove—
This recreant in the paths of love.
Thousands to shame and ruin driven,
Debased on earth—debarred from heaven—
Of human forms and souls divine,
Yearly at Love's unholy shrine,
On bloated altar doomed to lie,
Unblest to weep, unwept to die.
Give it not thought—give it not name!
Else first restrain or quench the blood
Of man, the defacer of all good!
The maiden is pure without a stain,
And pure in mind would aye remain;
349
Of all the shame that he hath wrought;
There is no art—there is no wile
That may the maiden heart beguile,
And cloud for aye the joyous smile,
Which this destroyer scorns to prove—
This recreant in the paths of love.
Thousands to shame and ruin driven,
Debased on earth—debarred from heaven—
Of human forms and souls divine,
Yearly at Love's unholy shrine,
On bloated altar doomed to lie,
Unblest to weep, unwept to die.
Without regret, or wish t'atone,
He boasts his feats and urges on;
And when no other schemes remain
To give the virtuous bosom pain,
To beauty's walks he wends his way,
With shameless stare in open day,
To check the step, abash the eye,
And tint the cheek of modesty.
O prince! my charge I must disclaim,
While man's rude nature is the same.
He boasts his feats and urges on;
And when no other schemes remain
To give the virtuous bosom pain,
To beauty's walks he wends his way,
With shameless stare in open day,
To check the step, abash the eye,
And tint the cheek of modesty.
O prince! my charge I must disclaim,
While man's rude nature is the same.
And more; a baleful imp, I fear,
Is lately come to sojourn here;
A stranger spirit, bent on ill,
Whom I have watch'd o'er vale and hill:
His purposes we must gainsay,
Else shame may be ere break of day.
Yon cot I marked him prying round,
But scared him thence; and there I found
The loveliest maid of mortal race,
In dangerous and in helpless case.
A clown had crept her door within,
And left it open to the gin;
A dark knight stood her casement nigh,
With burning cheek, and greedy eye,
While the unweeting, simple maid,
Kneeled on the floor and inly prayed.
Her light locks o'er her shoulders swung,
Her night-robe round her waist was flung;
Her eyes were raised—her breast of snow
Heaved with devotion's grateful glow.
The speaking lip, the brow erect,
The movement on the polished neck,
The blooming cheek, the fervent mien,
Were all so comely, so serene,
The breeze of earth did ne'er embrace
Such pure angelic loveliness.
Is lately come to sojourn here;
A stranger spirit, bent on ill,
Whom I have watch'd o'er vale and hill:
His purposes we must gainsay,
Else shame may be ere break of day.
Yon cot I marked him prying round,
But scared him thence; and there I found
The loveliest maid of mortal race,
In dangerous and in helpless case.
A clown had crept her door within,
And left it open to the gin;
A dark knight stood her casement nigh,
With burning cheek, and greedy eye,
While the unweeting, simple maid,
Kneeled on the floor and inly prayed.
Her light locks o'er her shoulders swung,
Her night-robe round her waist was flung;
Her eyes were raised—her breast of snow
Heaved with devotion's grateful glow.
The speaking lip, the brow erect,
The movement on the polished neck,
The blooming cheek, the fervent mien,
Were all so comely, so serene,
The breeze of earth did ne'er embrace
Such pure angelic loveliness.
The peasant's rugged form I took,
And braved the blood-hound's surly look;
At me he flew with horrid bay:
I fled, provoked, and led the way
Straight to the base and wicked clown—
The ban-dog seized and pulled him down;
Aloud he cried, and fought for life,
And rough and bloody was the strife.
And braved the blood-hound's surly look;
At me he flew with horrid bay:
I fled, provoked, and led the way
Straight to the base and wicked clown—
The ban-dog seized and pulled him down;
Aloud he cried, and fought for life,
And rough and bloody was the strife.
Then in the maiden's form so light,
Forthwith I glided by the knight,
Who followed fast, and begged and prayed,
But still I flew along the glade;—
Just when his arms were stretched to press
My waist with hellish eagerness,
A quagmire deep I led him in,
And left him struggling to the chin.
Forthwith I glided by the knight,
Who followed fast, and begged and prayed,
But still I flew along the glade;—
Just when his arms were stretched to press
My waist with hellish eagerness,
A quagmire deep I led him in,
And left him struggling to the chin.
Thus far full deftly have I sped,
Protecting maidhood's guiltless bed;
But ah, if man, the lord below,
Continue still as he is now,
Alas! my prince, my toils will prove
Light balance in the scales of love.
Protecting maidhood's guiltless bed;
But ah, if man, the lord below,
Continue still as he is now,
Alas! my prince, my toils will prove
Light balance in the scales of love.
But who would strive?—Last night I spied
The loveliest flower on Leven side
In her bed-chamber laid to rest,
A sweet babe cradled on her breast.
Such fondness melted in her eye—
Affection's holiest purity,
When with her breast the elfin played,
His round cheek to that bosom laid,
That I was moved, and weened if bliss
Be found in life's imperfectness,
If pure affection's from above,—
If “Love is Heaven, and Heaven is Love,”
All love, all fondness is outdone
By mother's o'er her only son:
That glow is bright, its workings kind,
Calm, chastened, ardent, yet refined.
Then let me roam, as heretofore,
And think of guarding maids no more.
The loveliest flower on Leven side
In her bed-chamber laid to rest,
A sweet babe cradled on her breast.
Such fondness melted in her eye—
Affection's holiest purity,
When with her breast the elfin played,
His round cheek to that bosom laid,
That I was moved, and weened if bliss
Be found in life's imperfectness,
If pure affection's from above,—
If “Love is Heaven, and Heaven is Love,”
All love, all fondness is outdone
By mother's o'er her only son:
That glow is bright, its workings kind,
Calm, chastened, ardent, yet refined.
Then let me roam, as heretofore,
And think of guarding maids no more.
Song by Lu.
Never, gentle spirits, neverYield your cares of human kind!
Can you leave the lonely river,
From the moonlight valley sever,
All your guardian love resigned?
Thrown aside and scorned the giver?
Never, gentle spirits, never!
Chorus of Fairies.
Never till the dawn of day,Dawn of truth that shine shall ever,
Will we quit our polar way;
Over greenwood, glen, and brae,
Over tree,
Over lea,
Over fell and forest free,
Over rock, and over river,
Over cairn and cloud to quiver;
Never, gentle spirits, never!
Never!—Never!
Scene IV.
—A deep dell.Knight sitting disconsolate.
Knight.
Sure there's some power unseen, unmeet for man
To cope with, watches o'er that witching thing.
350
Flat without motion; next to slough decoyed,
Bayed by a madman—by a blood-hound torn.
If I escape infection from the fangs
Of that outrageous monster, I shall never
Strive for possession of that maiden more,
Though my heart burn within me.
Spirit enters, and speaks and sings aside.
Spirit.
Then my sport will all be done:
Knight, before the rising sun,
Wet and weary, racked with pain,
You shall seek that maid again.
Sings.
Knight, before the rising sun,
Wet and weary, racked with pain,
You shall seek that maid again.
My love's blithe as the bird on the tree;
My love's bonnie, as bonnie can be;
Though she loves another far better than me,
Yet the dream wears kind in the morning.
My love's bonnie, as bonnie can be;
Though she loves another far better than me,
Yet the dream wears kind in the morning.
Then I will steal to my love's bed-side,
And I will kiss my bonnie, bonnie bride;
And I'll whisper a vow, whatever betide,
To my little flower in the morning.
And I will kiss my bonnie, bonnie bride;
And I'll whisper a vow, whatever betide,
To my little flower in the morning.
Her breath is as sweet as the fragrant shower
Of dew that is blown from the rowan-tree flower;
Oh, ne'er were the sweets of roseate bower,
Like my love's cheeks in the morning!
Of dew that is blown from the rowan-tree flower;
Oh, ne'er were the sweets of roseate bower,
Like my love's cheeks in the morning!
Her eye is the blue-bell of the spring,
Her hair is the fleece of the raven's wing;
To her bonnie breast oh how I'll cling,
While sleeping so sound in the morning!
Her hair is the fleece of the raven's wing;
To her bonnie breast oh how I'll cling,
While sleeping so sound in the morning!
Enter Lu and Fairies.
Lu.
Fairies, the night wears on apace;
There's a paleness spread on the heaven's face,
A silvery haze so mild to see,
As lambent and as pure as we.
Soon will we mount with blithesome sway
Through these bright paths on our spiral way,
On the locks of the morning star to swing,
Or the veil of the sky for dew to wring;
To gallop the blue so lightsome and boon,
Or braid the fair tresses of beauty so bright,
That wanton and wave at the horns of the moon,
They are half of them ether, and half of them light.
But ere we depart from the morning ray,
To follow the moonlight west away,
O spirits, advise what shall be done,
This loveliest flower beneath the sun,
From shame, from sin, and from sorrow to win.
Dew.
Bear her away,
'Twixt the night and the day;
We spirits have might
When we work for the right,
And each of us as much can bear
Of aught corporeal through the air,
As the swallow can carry on wing opprest,
Or the merle upbear to her downy nest.
Then bear her away
'Twixt the night and the day,
For she is too pure in the world to stay.
Lu.
That may not be—by right divine,
In holy church and at holy shrine,
She has been washed with prayer and vow,
And named by a name to which we bow:
Or she must change with free good-will,
Or be as she is for good or for ill.
Should I her gain, say, shall she be
The Queen of the Fairies, and queen to me?
Dew.
Treason and pain!
Speak not again;
Trial and penance must long remain!
Bonnie Philany, Snowflake, and Foam,
Rainbow, Rainbow, blink and go home!
Phil.
(Aside).
Regard not, prince, that freakish thing,
From jealousy her ravings spring;
One we must have, whatever befall;
To-morrow is our great festival,
And nought but mortal virgin's hand
Must crown thee King of Fairyland;
And then thy fate is fixed for ever,
From us and ours no more to sever.
Lu.
Would that the time were not so soon!
It is not yet the wane of the moon.
Phil.
Prince, I have a word to say to thee—
Your troubled mind and eye I see;
But if you dare to harbour a thought
Of yielding a crown so dearly bought,
With all the joys of the moonlight dell,
And the fervent beings that love you so well,
For the sake of a flower that will soon decay,
A piece of fair well-moulded clay,
We'll pick these bright eyes from your head,
And there we'll fix two eyes of lead;
We'll pull the heart from thy breast-bone,
And there we'll lodge a heart of stone:
So take thou care, lest some espy
The thoughts that in thy bosom lie.
Lu.
Sweet friendly fay, 'tis all too true;
Nor thought nor wish I'll hide from you:
Either that maiden here I must have,
Or return to the world, to death, and the grave.
Oh, haste thee, Snowflake, haste and glide
To yon little cot by the greenwood side,
And watch yon maid till the break of day,
For I hear the watch-dog's angry bay:
Watch by her pillow, and look to her bed,
For I fear that beauty is hard bested.
Nor thought nor wish I'll hide from you:
Either that maiden here I must have,
Or return to the world, to death, and the grave.
Oh, haste thee, Snowflake, haste and glide
To yon little cot by the greenwood side,
And watch yon maid till the break of day,
For I hear the watch-dog's angry bay:
Watch by her pillow, and look to her bed,
For I fear that beauty is hard bested.
Then hie you away, fairies, hie you away!
Lean to the breeze, and ride in array
Over the land and the sea so fleet;
Over the rain, and the hail, and the sleet;
Keep aye the sun far under your feet,
The morning behind and the stars by your side,
The moonbeam your path, and her crescent your guide;
For oh, her mild and humid flame
Suits best with the fairy's airy frame!
And meet we again to-morrow at even,
When the first star peeps through the veil of heaven;
And here such a palace of light shall be
As the world ne'er saw and never will see:
For there shall be lamps and glories in store,
And a thousand stars and a thousand more;
And there shall the ruby and onyx be seen,
The amethyst blue, and the emerald green,
With millions of gems of varied flame,
That have no likeness and have no name.
And our columns shall reach to the middle sky,
And the throne shall stand as the pine tree high;
Soft music shall flow of the spheres above,
The songs of gladness and songs of love;
And our feast shall begin with glory and glee—
But little we know what the end shall be!
Lean to the breeze, and ride in array
Over the land and the sea so fleet;
Over the rain, and the hail, and the sleet;
Keep aye the sun far under your feet,
351
The moonbeam your path, and her crescent your guide;
For oh, her mild and humid flame
Suits best with the fairy's airy frame!
And meet we again to-morrow at even,
When the first star peeps through the veil of heaven;
And here such a palace of light shall be
As the world ne'er saw and never will see:
For there shall be lamps and glories in store,
And a thousand stars and a thousand more;
And there shall the ruby and onyx be seen,
The amethyst blue, and the emerald green,
With millions of gems of varied flame,
That have no likeness and have no name.
And our columns shall reach to the middle sky,
And the throne shall stand as the pine tree high;
Soft music shall flow of the spheres above,
The songs of gladness and songs of love;
And our feast shall begin with glory and glee—
But little we know what the end shall be!
Song.
Oh weel befa' the guileless heart
In cottage, bught, or pen!
And weel befa' the bonnie May
That wons in yonder glen;
Wha loes the good and true sae weel—
Wha's aye sae kind and aye sae leal,
And pure as blooming asphodel
Amang sae mony men;
Oh weel befa' the bonnie thing
That wons in yonder glen.
In cottage, bught, or pen!
And weel befa' the bonnie May
That wons in yonder glen;
Wha loes the good and true sae weel—
Wha's aye sae kind and aye sae leal,
And pure as blooming asphodel
Amang sae mony men;
Oh weel befa' the bonnie thing
That wons in yonder glen.
There's beauty in the violet's vest,
There's hinny in the haw,
There's dew within the rose's breast,
The sweetest o' them a'.
The sun may rise and set again,
And lace wi' burning gowd the main,
The rainbow bend attour the plain
Sae lovely to the ken;
But there's naething like my bonnie thing
That wons in yonder glen.
There's hinny in the haw,
There's dew within the rose's breast,
The sweetest o' them a'.
The sun may rise and set again,
And lace wi' burning gowd the main,
The rainbow bend attour the plain
Sae lovely to the ken;
But there's naething like my bonnie thing
That wons in yonder glen.
'Tis sweet to hear the music float
Alang the gloaming lea;
'Tis sweet to hear the blackbird's note
Come pealing frae the tree;
To see the lambkin's lightsome race;
The speckled kid in wanton chase;
The young deer cower in lonely place
Deep in his flowery den;
But what is like the bonnie face
That smiles in yonder glen!
Alang the gloaming lea;
'Tis sweet to hear the blackbird's note
Come pealing frae the tree;
To see the lambkin's lightsome race;
The speckled kid in wanton chase;
The young deer cower in lonely place
Deep in his flowery den;
But what is like the bonnie face
That smiles in yonder glen!
The First Sermon.
Once, on a lovely day—it was in spring—
I went to hear a splendid young divine
Preach his first sermon. I had known the youth
In a society of far renown,
But liked him not, he held his head so high;
And ever and anon would sneer, and pooh!
And cast his head all to one side, as if
In perfect agony of low contempt
At everything he heard, however just.
Men like not this, and poets least of all.
I went to hear a splendid young divine
Preach his first sermon. I had known the youth
In a society of far renown,
But liked him not, he held his head so high;
And ever and anon would sneer, and pooh!
And cast his head all to one side, as if
In perfect agony of low contempt
At everything he heard, however just.
Men like not this, and poets least of all.
Besides, there are some outward marks of men
One scarcely can approve. His hair was red,
Almost as red as German sealing-wax;
And then so curled—What illustrious curls!
'Twas like a tower of strength. Oh, what a head
For Combe or Dr. Spurzheim to dissect,
After 'twas polled! His shoulders rather narrow,
And pointed like two pins. And then there was
A primming round the mouth, of odious cast,
Bespeaking the proud vacancy within.
One scarcely can approve. His hair was red,
Almost as red as German sealing-wax;
And then so curled—What illustrious curls!
'Twas like a tower of strength. Oh, what a head
For Combe or Dr. Spurzheim to dissect,
After 'twas polled! His shoulders rather narrow,
And pointed like two pins. And then there was
A primming round the mouth, of odious cast,
Bespeaking the proud vacancy within.
Well, to the Old Greyfriars' Church I went,
And many more with me. The place was crowded.
In came the beadle—then our hero follow'd
With gown blown like a mainsail, flowing on
To right and left alternate; the sleek beaver,
Down by his thigh keeping responsive time.
Oh, such a sight of graceful dignity
Never astounded heart of youthful dame!
But I bethought me, what a messenger
From the world's pattern of humility!
And many more with me. The place was crowded.
In came the beadle—then our hero follow'd
With gown blown like a mainsail, flowing on
To right and left alternate; the sleek beaver,
Down by his thigh keeping responsive time.
Oh, such a sight of graceful dignity
Never astounded heart of youthful dame!
But I bethought me, what a messenger
From the world's pattern of humility!
The psalm was read with beauteous energy,
And sung. Then pour'd the prayer from such a face
Of simpering seriousness—it was a quiz—
A mockery of all things deem'd divine.
Some men such faces may have seen among
The Methodists and Quakers—but I never.
The eyes were closely shut—one cheek turn'd up;
The mouth quite long and narrow like a seam,
Holding no fit proportion with the mouths
Which mankind gape with. Then the high curl'd hair
With quiver and with shake, announced supreme
The heart's sincere devotion: unto whom?
Ask not—it is unfair! Suppose to Heaven,
To the fair maids around the gallery,
Or to the gorgeous idol, Self-conceit.
Glad was my heart at last to hear the word,
That often long'd-for and desired word,
Which men yearn for as for the dinner-bell,
And now was beauteously pronounced, Ay-main!
And sung. Then pour'd the prayer from such a face
Of simpering seriousness—it was a quiz—
A mockery of all things deem'd divine.
Some men such faces may have seen among
The Methodists and Quakers—but I never.
The eyes were closely shut—one cheek turn'd up;
The mouth quite long and narrow like a seam,
Holding no fit proportion with the mouths
Which mankind gape with. Then the high curl'd hair
With quiver and with shake, announced supreme
The heart's sincere devotion: unto whom?
Ask not—it is unfair! Suppose to Heaven,
To the fair maids around the gallery,
Or to the gorgeous idol, Self-conceit.
Glad was my heart at last to hear the word,
That often long'd-for and desired word,
Which men yearn for as for the dinner-bell,
And now was beauteously pronounced, Ay-main!
Now for the sermon. O ye ruling Powers
Of poesy sublime, give me to sing
The splendours of that sermon! The bold hem;
The look sublime that beam'd with confidence;
The three wipes with the cambric handkerchief;
The strut—the bob—and the impressive thump
Upon the holy Book! No notes were there,
No, not a scrap—All was intuitive,
Pouring like water from a sacred fountain,
With current unexhausted. Now the lips
Protruded, and the eyebrows lower'd amain,
Like Kean's in dark Othello. The red hair
Shook like the wither'd juniper in wind.
'Twas grand—o'erpowering!—Such an exhibition
No pen of poet can delineate.
Of poesy sublime, give me to sing
The splendours of that sermon! The bold hem;
The look sublime that beam'd with confidence;
The three wipes with the cambric handkerchief;
The strut—the bob—and the impressive thump
Upon the holy Book! No notes were there,
No, not a scrap—All was intuitive,
Pouring like water from a sacred fountain,
With current unexhausted. Now the lips
352
Like Kean's in dark Othello. The red hair
Shook like the wither'd juniper in wind.
'Twas grand—o'erpowering!—Such an exhibition
No pen of poet can delineate.
But now, Sir Bard, the sermon? Let us hear
Somewhat of this same grand and promised sermon—
Aha, there comes the rub! 'Twas made of scraps,
Sketches from Nature, from old Johnson some,
And some from Joseph Addison—John Logan—
Blair—William Shakspeare—Young's Night Thoughts—The Grave—
Gillespie on the Seasons—Even the plain
Bold energy of Andrew Thomson here
Was press'd into the jumble. Plan or system
In it was not—no gleam of mind or aim—
A thing of shreds and patches—yet the blare
Went on for fifteen minutes, haply more.
The hems! and haws! began to come more close;
Three at a time. The cambric handkerchief
Came greatly in request. The burly head
Gave over tossing. The fine cheek grew red—
Then pale—then blue—then to a heavy crimson.
The beauteous dames around the galleries
Began to look dismay'd; their rosy lips
Wide open'd; and their bosoms heaving so,
You might have ween'd a rolling sea within.
The gruff sagacious elders peered up,
With one eye shut right knowingly, as if
The light oppress'd it—but their features
Show'd restlessness and deep dissatisfaction.
Somewhat of this same grand and promised sermon—
Aha, there comes the rub! 'Twas made of scraps,
Sketches from Nature, from old Johnson some,
And some from Joseph Addison—John Logan—
Blair—William Shakspeare—Young's Night Thoughts—The Grave—
Gillespie on the Seasons—Even the plain
Bold energy of Andrew Thomson here
Was press'd into the jumble. Plan or system
In it was not—no gleam of mind or aim—
A thing of shreds and patches—yet the blare
Went on for fifteen minutes, haply more.
The hems! and haws! began to come more close;
Three at a time. The cambric handkerchief
Came greatly in request. The burly head
Gave over tossing. The fine cheek grew red—
Then pale—then blue—then to a heavy crimson.
The beauteous dames around the galleries
Began to look dismay'd; their rosy lips
Wide open'd; and their bosoms heaving so,
You might have ween'd a rolling sea within.
The gruff sagacious elders peered up,
With one eye shut right knowingly, as if
The light oppress'd it—but their features
Show'd restlessness and deep dissatisfaction.
The preacher set him down—open'd the Bible,
Gave half a dozen hems; arose again,
Then half a dozen more—It would not do!
In every line his countenance bespoke
The loss of recollection; all within
Became a blank—a chaos of confusion,
Producing nought but agony of soul.
His long lip quiver'd, and his shaking hand
Of the trim beaver scarcely could make seizure,
When, stooping, floundering, plaiting at the knees,
He—made his exit. But how I admired
The Scottish audience! There was neither laugh
Nor titter; but a soften'd sorrow
Portray'd in every face. As for myself,
I laugh'd till I was sick; went home to dinner,
Drank the poor preacher's health, and laugh'd again.
Gave half a dozen hems; arose again,
Then half a dozen more—It would not do!
In every line his countenance bespoke
The loss of recollection; all within
Became a blank—a chaos of confusion,
Producing nought but agony of soul.
His long lip quiver'd, and his shaking hand
Of the trim beaver scarcely could make seizure,
When, stooping, floundering, plaiting at the knees,
He—made his exit. But how I admired
The Scottish audience! There was neither laugh
Nor titter; but a soften'd sorrow
Portray'd in every face. As for myself,
I laugh'd till I was sick; went home to dinner,
Drank the poor preacher's health, and laugh'd again.
But otherwise it fared with him; for he
Went home to his own native kingdom—Fife,
Pass'd to his father's stable—seized a pair
Of strong plough-bridle reins, and hang'd himself.
Went home to his own native kingdom—Fife,
Pass'd to his father's stable—seized a pair
Of strong plough-bridle reins, and hang'd himself.
And I have oft bethought me it were best,
Since that outrageous scene, for young beginners
To have a sermon, either of their own
Or other man's. If printed, or if written,
It makes small difference—but have it there
At a snug opening of the blessed book
Which any time will open there at will,
And save your credit. While the consciousness
That there it is, will nerve your better part,
And bear you through the ordeal with acclaim.
Since that outrageous scene, for young beginners
To have a sermon, either of their own
Or other man's. If printed, or if written,
It makes small difference—but have it there
At a snug opening of the blessed book
Which any time will open there at will,
And save your credit. While the consciousness
That there it is, will nerve your better part,
And bear you through the ordeal with acclaim.
The Mermaid.
“Oh where won ye, my bonnie lass,
Wi' look sae wild an' cheery?
There's something in that witching face
That I lo'e wonder dearly.”
Wi' look sae wild an' cheery?
There's something in that witching face
That I lo'e wonder dearly.”
“I live where the hare-bell never grew,
Where the streamlet never ran,
Where the winds o' heaven never blew;
Now find me gin you can.”
Where the streamlet never ran,
Where the winds o' heaven never blew;
Now find me gin you can.”
“'Tis but your wild an' wily way,
The gloaming maks you eirie,
For ye are the lass o' the Braken-Brae,
An' nae lad maun come near ye:
The gloaming maks you eirie,
For ye are the lass o' the Braken-Brae,
An' nae lad maun come near ye:
“But I am sick, an' very sick
Wi' a passion strange an' new,
For ae kiss o' thy rosy cheek
An' lips o' the coral hue.”
Wi' a passion strange an' new,
For ae kiss o' thy rosy cheek
An' lips o' the coral hue.”
“O laith, laith wad a wanderer be
To do your youth sic wrang;
Were you to reave a kiss from me
Your life would not be lang.
To do your youth sic wrang;
Were you to reave a kiss from me
Your life would not be lang.
“Go, hie you from this lonely brake,
Nor dare your walk renew;
For I'm the Maid of the Mountain Lake,
An' I come wi' the falling dew.”
Nor dare your walk renew;
For I'm the Maid of the Mountain Lake,
An' I come wi' the falling dew.”
“Be you the Maid of the Crystal Wave,
Or she of the Braken-Brae,
One tender kiss I mean to have;
You shall not say me nay.
Or she of the Braken-Brae,
One tender kiss I mean to have;
You shall not say me nay.
“For beauty's like the daisy's vest
That shrinks from the early dew,
But soon it opes its bonnie breast,
An' sae may it fare wi' you.”
That shrinks from the early dew,
But soon it opes its bonnie breast,
An' sae may it fare wi' you.”
“Kiss but this hand, I humbly sue,
Even there I'll rue the stain;
Or the breath of man will dim its hue,
It will ne'er be pure again.
Even there I'll rue the stain;
Or the breath of man will dim its hue,
It will ne'er be pure again.
“For passion's like the burning beal
Upon the mountain's brow,
That wastes itself to ashes pale;
An' sae will it fare wi' you.”
Upon the mountain's brow,
That wastes itself to ashes pale;
An' sae will it fare wi' you.”
“O mother, mother, make my bed,
An' make it soft and easy;
An' with the cold dew bathe my head,
For pains of anguish seize me:
An' make it soft and easy;
An' with the cold dew bathe my head,
For pains of anguish seize me:
“Or stretch me in the chill blue lake,
To quench this bosom's burning;
An' lay me by yon lonely brake,
For hope there's none returning.
To quench this bosom's burning;
An' lay me by yon lonely brake,
For hope there's none returning.
353
“I've been where man should not have been,
Oft in my lonely roaming;
And seen what man should not have seen,
By greenwood in the gloaming.
Oft in my lonely roaming;
And seen what man should not have seen,
By greenwood in the gloaming.
“Oh, passion's deadlier than the grave,
A' human things undoing!
The Maiden of the Mountain Wave
Has lured me to my ruin!”
A' human things undoing!
The Maiden of the Mountain Wave
Has lured me to my ruin!”
'Tis now an hundred years an' more,
An' all these scenes are over,
Since rose his grave on yonder shore,
Beneath the wild wood cover;
An' all these scenes are over,
Since rose his grave on yonder shore,
Beneath the wild wood cover;
An' late I saw the Maiden there,
Just as the day-light faded,
Braiding her locks of gowden hair,
An' singing as she braided:
Just as the day-light faded,
Braiding her locks of gowden hair,
An' singing as she braided:
Mermaid's Song.
Lie still, my love, lie still and sleep,
Long is thy night of sorrow;
Thy Maiden of the Mountain deep
Shall meet thee on the morrow.
Long is thy night of sorrow;
Thy Maiden of the Mountain deep
Shall meet thee on the morrow.
But oh, when shall that morrow be,
That my true love shall waken?
When shall we meet, refined an' free,
Amid the moorland braken?
That my true love shall waken?
When shall we meet, refined an' free,
Amid the moorland braken?
Full low and lonely is thy bed,
The worm even flies thy pillow;
Where now the lips, so comely red,
That kissed me 'neath the willow?
The worm even flies thy pillow;
Where now the lips, so comely red,
That kissed me 'neath the willow?
Oh I must laugh, do as I can,
Even 'mid my song of mourning,
At all the fuming freaks of man
To which there's no returning.
Even 'mid my song of mourning,
At all the fuming freaks of man
To which there's no returning.
Lie still, my love, lie still an' sleep—
Hope lingers o'er thy slumber;
What though thy years beneath the steep
Should all its stones outnumber?
Hope lingers o'er thy slumber;
What though thy years beneath the steep
Should all its stones outnumber?
Though moons steal o'er an' seasons fly
On time's swift wing unstaying,
Yet there's a spirit in the sky
That lives o'er thy decaying.
On time's swift wing unstaying,
Yet there's a spirit in the sky
That lives o'er thy decaying.
In domes beneath the water-springs
No end hath my sojourning;
An' to this land of fading things
Far hence be my returning;
No end hath my sojourning;
An' to this land of fading things
Far hence be my returning;
For spirits now have left the deep,
Their long last farewell taken:
Lie still, my love, lie still an' sleep,
Thy day is near the breaking!
Their long last farewell taken:
Lie still, my love, lie still an' sleep,
Thy day is near the breaking!
When my loved flood from fading day
No more its gleam shall borrow,
Nor heath-fowl from the moorland gray
Bid the blue dawn good-morrow;
No more its gleam shall borrow,
Nor heath-fowl from the moorland gray
Bid the blue dawn good-morrow;
The Mermaid o'er thy grave shall weep,
Without one breath of scorning:
Lie still, my love, lie still an' sleep,
And fare thee well till morning!
Without one breath of scorning:
Lie still, my love, lie still an' sleep,
And fare thee well till morning!
Cary O'Kean.
The streams of Kilalla were never so sheen,
Her mountains so fair, nor her valleys so green;
The birds of the woodland are blithe as before—
Why hear we the song of the maidens no more?
Her mountains so fair, nor her valleys so green;
The birds of the woodland are blithe as before—
Why hear we the song of the maidens no more?
There's something awanting that's nearer the heart,—
Oh, Nature is strong when unshackled by art!
The prospects of beauty on others rely,
Heart links unto heart, and eye kindles to eye;
And many a dawning shall blush o'er the scene,
Ere the maids of Kilalla be cheerful again.
Oh, Nature is strong when unshackled by art!
The prospects of beauty on others rely,
Heart links unto heart, and eye kindles to eye;
And many a dawning shall blush o'er the scene,
Ere the maids of Kilalla be cheerful again.
'Tis true that the streams of her mountains are sheen,
Her woodlands are fair and her meadows are green,
The sunbeam of morning is bright as of yore,
And the shades of the mountain as dark as before;
As mild is the evening, as pure is the dew,
Her breeze is as sweet, and her heaven is as blue;
But, ah! there is one who is missed in the ring,
Then how can the maidens be blithsome or sing?
The youth is away, for whose pleasure they sung,
The pride of the old, and the joy of the young;
Who made the fair bosom beat briskly and high,
Gave the tint to the cheek, and the dew to the eye:
He is gone! he is gone over channel and main,
And the tears run in torrents for Cary O'Kean.
Her woodlands are fair and her meadows are green,
The sunbeam of morning is bright as of yore,
And the shades of the mountain as dark as before;
As mild is the evening, as pure is the dew,
Her breeze is as sweet, and her heaven is as blue;
But, ah! there is one who is missed in the ring,
Then how can the maidens be blithsome or sing?
The youth is away, for whose pleasure they sung,
The pride of the old, and the joy of the young;
Who made the fair bosom beat briskly and high,
Gave the tint to the cheek, and the dew to the eye:
He is gone! he is gone over channel and main,
And the tears run in torrents for Cary O'Kean.
Young Cary had loved, for his heart it was kind,
He loved with a flame that was pure and refined;
Of honours or pelf he despised the name,
He loved from his heart, and expected the same:
But just as the day of the bridal came on,
The bride looked disdainful and bade him begone;
She wedded a squire who was sordid and vain,
But ten times as rich as young Cary O'Kean.
He loved with a flame that was pure and refined;
Of honours or pelf he despised the name,
He loved from his heart, and expected the same:
But just as the day of the bridal came on,
The bride looked disdainful and bade him begone;
She wedded a squire who was sordid and vain,
But ten times as rich as young Cary O'Kean.
Serene is the woe, and the sorrow sublime,
When a friend is removed from the precincts of time;
For hope, from the fetters of cumbersome clay,
On the wing of eternity journeys away,
And views the abodes of the happy and blest,
Where lovers and friends from their sorrows shall rest:
The gloom of the spirit soon grasps the alloy,
And sorrow expands to a twilight of joy.
When a friend is removed from the precincts of time;
For hope, from the fetters of cumbersome clay,
On the wing of eternity journeys away,
And views the abodes of the happy and blest,
Where lovers and friends from their sorrows shall rest:
The gloom of the spirit soon grasps the alloy,
And sorrow expands to a twilight of joy.
But, ah! there is something beyond all redress,
Which nature may feel, but can never express;
Too wide for the fancy, too high for the tongue,
When passion is ardent and reason is young;
A banquet of bliss, or a feeling of grief,
When bound there is none, and when death is relief.
The bourne of the spirit by misery beset,
I know it too well, and shall never forget
The days of enchantment, the joys that had birth,
Ere she whom I loved above all on this earth,
Deceived me—ah! woe that these hopes e'er had been!
O God, thou hast willed it!—I loved, and have seen
Another possessing her heart and her charms,
And the child of a fool in her delicate arms!
Down, down with reflection, it maddens my brain—
Oh, well may I feel for poor Cary O'Kean;
It seemed as if nature combined to destroy
A heart that was formed for its tenderest joy.
Which nature may feel, but can never express;
Too wide for the fancy, too high for the tongue,
When passion is ardent and reason is young;
A banquet of bliss, or a feeling of grief,
When bound there is none, and when death is relief.
354
I know it too well, and shall never forget
The days of enchantment, the joys that had birth,
Ere she whom I loved above all on this earth,
Deceived me—ah! woe that these hopes e'er had been!
O God, thou hast willed it!—I loved, and have seen
Another possessing her heart and her charms,
And the child of a fool in her delicate arms!
Down, down with reflection, it maddens my brain—
Oh, well may I feel for poor Cary O'Kean;
It seemed as if nature combined to destroy
A heart that was formed for its tenderest joy.
Away, and away he has sailed o'er the deep,
But oft turned his face to green Erin to weep:
“Adieu, once loved country, thy name be forgot,
For interest pervades thee, and feeling is not.
I'll circle the earth some sweet island to find,
Where primitive innocence models the mind;
Where nature blooms fair on the face of the free,
Where kindness conferred shall redouble to me.
There, there will I sojourn till memory is o'er,
And think of false Ella and Erin no more.”
But oft turned his face to green Erin to weep:
“Adieu, once loved country, thy name be forgot,
For interest pervades thee, and feeling is not.
I'll circle the earth some sweet island to find,
Where primitive innocence models the mind;
Where nature blooms fair on the face of the free,
Where kindness conferred shall redouble to me.
There, there will I sojourn till memory is o'er,
And think of false Ella and Erin no more.”
Away they have sailed over channel and main,
Till vanished behind them the stars of the Wain;
Unknown was the sky and the track of the wind,
For the sun he was north, and Orion behind;—
Over ocean's wide waste, by lone island and shore,
Which the eye of proud science ne'er measured before;—
Over waves never ploughed, wave their streamers unfurled,
For hope was their leader, their limits the world.
Till vanished behind them the stars of the Wain;
Unknown was the sky and the track of the wind,
For the sun he was north, and Orion behind;—
Over ocean's wide waste, by lone island and shore,
Which the eye of proud science ne'er measured before;—
Over waves never ploughed, wave their streamers unfurled,
For hope was their leader, their limits the world.
The bounds of humanity saw them withdraw,
And all but the triple-walled stone house they saw,
Where the world's own axletree thunders and rolls,
In grooves of blue icicle hung from the poles:
Unknown are its workings—unseen is the dome,
Unless by the whale from its window of foam.
And all but the triple-walled stone house they saw,
Where the world's own axletree thunders and rolls,
In grooves of blue icicle hung from the poles:
Unknown are its workings—unseen is the dome,
Unless by the whale from its window of foam.
But in all the wide world they found nothing so sweet
As the groves and the streamlets of famed Otaheite;
That paradise island, where joys never cease,
That lies like a gem midst an ocean of peace;
Where the verdure and flowers never fade on the lea,
And the fruit and the blossom are aye on the tree;
Where beauty blooms wild, which no land can outvie,
And guileless simplicity laughs in the eye.
As the groves and the streamlets of famed Otaheite;
That paradise island, where joys never cease,
That lies like a gem midst an ocean of peace;
Where the verdure and flowers never fade on the lea,
And the fruit and the blossom are aye on the tree;
Where beauty blooms wild, which no land can outvie,
And guileless simplicity laughs in the eye.
No sooner had Cary beheld the retreat,
And the beauty misguided that blossomed so sweet;
The forms so enchanting, the manners so kind,
The bloom of ripe maidhood, with infancy's mind;
The mountains o'er mountains that towered to the sky,
And the sweet sheltered vales in their bosoms that lie,
Than a life in that island he fondly devised—
The dreams of his fancy were all realized;
For he deemed, that with freedom and honour allied,
As freely he came, he was free to abide.
And the beauty misguided that blossomed so sweet;
The forms so enchanting, the manners so kind,
The bloom of ripe maidhood, with infancy's mind;
The mountains o'er mountains that towered to the sky,
And the sweet sheltered vales in their bosoms that lie,
Than a life in that island he fondly devised—
The dreams of his fancy were all realized;
For he deemed, that with freedom and honour allied,
As freely he came, he was free to abide.
He ranged through the woodlands, he heard the birds sing,
He ate of the fruit, and he drank of the spring;
The maids he saluted with courtesy kind,
For love was the passion that tempered his mind.
His choice was select, when his chance was to see
That pearl of the ocean, the young Oraee;
He loved her at first for her beauty and youth,
But her artless esteem and unblemished truth
So gained on his heart, and his feelings so moved,
Man never so felt, and man never so loved.
When on board she was borne all the wonders to view,
She looked but at Cary, to Cary she grew;
Her dark liquid eye, like the dew on the sloe,
Still followed her lover above and below;
And yet where his smile of sweet sympathy told,
That eye still abroad on the far ocean rolled;
Unconscious of ought that could evil imply,
She blushed and she faltered, yet never knew why.
No morning so early the land could he reach,
But there she was waiting with smiles on the beach;
Her slender arms spread, while the words she addressed
Well noted the welcome that glowed in her breast.
And when in the bower of the mountain he slept,
Still o'er him, unwearied, a guardship she kept;
Her arm was his pillow, and over him flew
Her dark tresses warding the sun and the dew:
Then oft when awakening he caught the sweet smile,
And the kiss lightly pressed on his temple the while;
And well of her bosom he felt the fond strife,
Like a pressure of down that had motion and life;
And then she would tell him, as o'er him she hung,
The words that the little birds said when they sung.
He ate of the fruit, and he drank of the spring;
The maids he saluted with courtesy kind,
For love was the passion that tempered his mind.
His choice was select, when his chance was to see
That pearl of the ocean, the young Oraee;
He loved her at first for her beauty and youth,
But her artless esteem and unblemished truth
So gained on his heart, and his feelings so moved,
Man never so felt, and man never so loved.
When on board she was borne all the wonders to view,
She looked but at Cary, to Cary she grew;
Her dark liquid eye, like the dew on the sloe,
Still followed her lover above and below;
And yet where his smile of sweet sympathy told,
That eye still abroad on the far ocean rolled;
Unconscious of ought that could evil imply,
She blushed and she faltered, yet never knew why.
No morning so early the land could he reach,
But there she was waiting with smiles on the beach;
Her slender arms spread, while the words she addressed
Well noted the welcome that glowed in her breast.
And when in the bower of the mountain he slept,
Still o'er him, unwearied, a guardship she kept;
Her arm was his pillow, and over him flew
Her dark tresses warding the sun and the dew:
Then oft when awakening he caught the sweet smile,
And the kiss lightly pressed on his temple the while;
And well of her bosom he felt the fond strife,
Like a pressure of down that had motion and life;
And then she would tell him, as o'er him she hung,
The words that the little birds said when they sung.
How poor the expression his love to convey,
To say that he loved her as life or as day!
All nature to him had but one only gem,
A treasure unvalued—one sole diadem.
Too high were his raptures for mortal to bear,
If they had not been mellowed by feeling of fear,
For his all was subjected to Nature's behest,
And too good and too dear to be ever possessed.
To say that he loved her as life or as day!
All nature to him had but one only gem,
A treasure unvalued—one sole diadem.
Too high were his raptures for mortal to bear,
If they had not been mellowed by feeling of fear,
For his all was subjected to Nature's behest,
And too good and too dear to be ever possessed.
He heard of their leaving those isles of the main—
He heard of their sailing to Britain again
Without all emotion, save gladness of heart,
For fixed was his mind that they never should part.
But what was his pain when his captain he told,
A smile of contempt in his eye to behold!
He turned from him scornful, and laughing amain,
“Such things may not be—you must think once again.”
He heard of their sailing to Britain again
Without all emotion, save gladness of heart,
For fixed was his mind that they never should part.
But what was his pain when his captain he told,
A smile of contempt in his eye to behold!
He turned from him scornful, and laughing amain,
“Such things may not be—you must think once again.”
Forthwith he foresaw that a terrible blow
Awaited his peace, which he could not forego;
A blow with more exquisite torments combined,
Than the change of his being from matter to mind:
So he fled with his love to a lonely retreat—
A cave in the mountains of green Otaheite,
Where deep they lay moored from the beams of the sun,
Their only resource what they dreaded to shun.
Awaited his peace, which he could not forego;
A blow with more exquisite torments combined,
Than the change of his being from matter to mind:
So he fled with his love to a lonely retreat—
A cave in the mountains of green Otaheite,
355
Their only resource what they dreaded to shun.
There, oft as they felt the sweet breath of the day,
The trembling deserter to heaven would pray,
While poor Oraee, sadly sighing, withdrew,
And sung a wild hymn to the great Eatoo.
They started at step of the prowling racoon,
And gathered their fruits by the light of the moon.
The trembling deserter to heaven would pray,
While poor Oraee, sadly sighing, withdrew,
And sung a wild hymn to the great Eatoo.
They started at step of the prowling racoon,
And gathered their fruits by the light of the moon.
The search is extended to cavern, and tree,—
The prince is a captive, and found they must be.
Full hard was their fate, for beset was each way,
And poor Oraee was ill able to stray,
For, ah! an unmentioned season drew near;
A time of alarm, and anxiety drear!
Yet nightly she travelled, and plaining forbore,
From island to island, from mountain to shore,
Till in a lone forest, of mother forlorn,
Was the beautiful babe of the fugitives born.
The prince is a captive, and found they must be.
Full hard was their fate, for beset was each way,
And poor Oraee was ill able to stray,
For, ah! an unmentioned season drew near;
A time of alarm, and anxiety drear!
Yet nightly she travelled, and plaining forbore,
From island to island, from mountain to shore,
Till in a lone forest, of mother forlorn,
Was the beautiful babe of the fugitives born.
Round came their pursuers, intent on their prey,
As helpless at eve in the woodland they lay;
There were they surrounded—there Cary was ta'en,
As tending his darling, and soothing her pain.
All pale was she seated beneath the wild tree,
With a fair son of Erin asleep on her knee;
With loud shout of triumph they rushed on their prey,
They seized on O'Kean, and they bore him away,
Regardless of delicate mother and child,
Her faint cries of sorrow, and ravings so wild.
They scarce looked around, though she sunk on the sward,
For great was the capture, and high the reward.
Oh, sad was that parting, and woeful the scene,
And frantic the anguish of Cary O'Kean!
As helpless at eve in the woodland they lay;
There were they surrounded—there Cary was ta'en,
As tending his darling, and soothing her pain.
All pale was she seated beneath the wild tree,
With a fair son of Erin asleep on her knee;
With loud shout of triumph they rushed on their prey,
They seized on O'Kean, and they bore him away,
Regardless of delicate mother and child,
Her faint cries of sorrow, and ravings so wild.
They scarce looked around, though she sunk on the sward,
For great was the capture, and high the reward.
Oh, sad was that parting, and woeful the scene,
And frantic the anguish of Cary O'Kean!
On board he is carried, and pinioned fast—
The orders for sailing are issued at last;
And the crew with a sigh, the last evening greet
That e'er they should see on the loved Otaheite.
The orders for sailing are issued at last;
And the crew with a sigh, the last evening greet
That e'er they should see on the loved Otaheite.
That night passed away with loud bustle and wail,
And song of the sailor as heaving the sail;
The sound on the ears of the islanders fell
Like the aerial night-concert that shepherds know well,
When phalanx of swans, at December's behest,
Are journeying to winter on shores of the west;
With hoopings untuneful they wing the dark sky,
And the peasant turns pale at the storm that is nigh.
And song of the sailor as heaving the sail;
The sound on the ears of the islanders fell
Like the aerial night-concert that shepherds know well,
When phalanx of swans, at December's behest,
Are journeying to winter on shores of the west;
With hoopings untuneful they wing the dark sky,
And the peasant turns pale at the storm that is nigh.
When dawning arose from the breast of the main,
With earnestness pleaded the wretched O'Kean,
That, bound to the mast, he might stand on the hoy,
One last, longing sight of the land to enjoy.
With earnestness pleaded the wretched O'Kean,
That, bound to the mast, he might stand on the hoy,
One last, longing sight of the land to enjoy.
Scarce there was he placed when he saw from the bay
A sightly canoe coming sailing away,
And placed on the prow a loved figure he knew,
Arrayed in the mantle of scarlet and blue,
Which erst had her form of virginity drest,
When first with her hand and her love he was blest.
A sightly canoe coming sailing away,
And placed on the prow a loved figure he knew,
Arrayed in the mantle of scarlet and blue,
Which erst had her form of virginity drest,
When first with her hand and her love he was blest.
Alert were the rowers and light the canoe;
She came like a meteor till under the prow,
When oh! the young mother looked pale and aghast,
When she saw her poor Cary bound up to the mast.
She flew to his bosom, and clasped him in pain,
But his pinioned arms could not clasp her again.
She came like a meteor till under the prow,
When oh! the young mother looked pale and aghast,
When she saw her poor Cary bound up to the mast.
She flew to his bosom, and clasped him in pain,
But his pinioned arms could not clasp her again.
Oh, never was pleading so warm from the heart!
They pleaded together—they pleaded apart:
With the child in her bosom poor Oraee kneeled,
Imploring the captain, whose bosom was steeled.
“Oh, grant me my husband! oh, leave him with me,
Or let me go with him across the wide sea!
But sever not two hearts so faithful and true,
Else dread the high vengeance of great Eatoo!
Your love and your home you shall never see more,
But your blood shall flow red on the tine of the shore.”
They pleaded together—they pleaded apart:
With the child in her bosom poor Oraee kneeled,
Imploring the captain, whose bosom was steeled.
“Oh, grant me my husband! oh, leave him with me,
Or let me go with him across the wide sea!
But sever not two hearts so faithful and true,
Else dread the high vengeance of great Eatoo!
Your love and your home you shall never see more,
But your blood shall flow red on the tine of the shore.”
Though then the tear rushed to the captain's proud eye,
Stern duty forbade, and he would not comply.
The moment is come that concluded her stay,
And the mother and infant are ordered away:
She clung to her husband, refusing to go,
And force must compel her to seek the canoe.
She begged for one moment a farewell to take,
For the love of their God and humanity's sake:
'Tis granted;—in tranquil and temperate mood
She went to her lover, who motionless stood;
Her face was serene with a paleness thereon,
Like the face of the sky, when the storm is o'erblown.
She kissed—she embraced him—and fondly took leave—
Held up her young son the last kiss to receive,
Then, swift as an arrow, she sprung in the main,
Dived under the keel, and arose not again!
Stern duty forbade, and he would not comply.
The moment is come that concluded her stay,
And the mother and infant are ordered away:
She clung to her husband, refusing to go,
And force must compel her to seek the canoe.
She begged for one moment a farewell to take,
For the love of their God and humanity's sake:
'Tis granted;—in tranquil and temperate mood
She went to her lover, who motionless stood;
Her face was serene with a paleness thereon,
Like the face of the sky, when the storm is o'erblown.
She kissed—she embraced him—and fondly took leave—
Held up her young son the last kiss to receive,
Then, swift as an arrow, she sprung in the main,
Dived under the keel, and arose not again!
With shrieks of distraction the air was appalled,
For madness the brain of the husband enthralled;
He struggled in fury from bonds to get free,
But strong were the cords, and enfeebled was he.
“O God!” cried the captain, with tears in his eyes,
“Oh, save her, though all I possess be the prize!”
Sheer into the deep plunged the throng of the crew,
But all was confusion, and nothing they knew;
They sought the deep channel, impatient for breath.
But diver met diver, and grappled beneath;
On board they returned with wonder and woe,
For the body appeared not above nor below.
For madness the brain of the husband enthralled;
He struggled in fury from bonds to get free,
But strong were the cords, and enfeebled was he.
“O God!” cried the captain, with tears in his eyes,
“Oh, save her, though all I possess be the prize!”
Sheer into the deep plunged the throng of the crew,
But all was confusion, and nothing they knew;
They sought the deep channel, impatient for breath.
But diver met diver, and grappled beneath;
On board they returned with wonder and woe,
For the body appeared not above nor below.
With a quivering lip, and an eye of red fire,
Convulsion of spirit, and utterance dire,
The injured O'Kean, to extremity driven,
In the name of the Son and the Virgin of Heaven,
Pronounced on his captain a woe that befell,
And a prayer which mercy forbids me to tell.
Oh, woe to the deed to those words that gave birth,
For the curse of the injured falls not to the earth!
Convulsion of spirit, and utterance dire,
The injured O'Kean, to extremity driven,
In the name of the Son and the Virgin of Heaven,
Pronounced on his captain a woe that befell,
And a prayer which mercy forbids me to tell.
Oh, woe to the deed to those words that gave birth,
For the curse of the injured falls not to the earth!
356
They spread out the white sails so broad and so high,
That they gathered the gales from the sea to the sky,
Their bosoms all turned to the eastward away,
Down bowing sublime to the God of the Day.
The harsh creaking sounds of the rigging are loud;
The sailors' own music is shrill on the shroud;
Slow heaves the wet breast of the ship as in pain—
She growls, and departs to her pathless domain.
That they gathered the gales from the sea to the sky,
Their bosoms all turned to the eastward away,
Down bowing sublime to the God of the Day.
The harsh creaking sounds of the rigging are loud;
The sailors' own music is shrill on the shroud;
Slow heaves the wet breast of the ship as in pain—
She growls, and departs to her pathless domain.
She rolled, she moved onward, then heeling forth ran;
And just in the wake, as the boiling began,
A sight was beheld that may scarcely be sung,
That chilled the gay spirit, and silenced the tongue:—
A slender pale corse was hove up on the tide,
One arm locked a beautiful babe to its side,
But the other was stretched on the breast of the ocean,
Spread forth like the hand of a maid in devotion;
And, long as they looked at her watery grave,
That spread hand was seen on the breast of the wave.
And just in the wake, as the boiling began,
A sight was beheld that may scarcely be sung,
That chilled the gay spirit, and silenced the tongue:—
A slender pale corse was hove up on the tide,
One arm locked a beautiful babe to its side,
But the other was stretched on the breast of the ocean,
Spread forth like the hand of a maid in devotion;
And, long as they looked at her watery grave,
That spread hand was seen on the breast of the wave.
The ship sought the limits of ocean again,
But reason returned not to Cary O'Kean;
A being he was that had motion and breath,
But affected by nothing of life or of death.
By day he was silent, by night he reclined
On the deck, and conversed with the waves and the wind,
Till, far in a desert on Asia's coast,
This man of misfortune and sorrow was lost;
They left him unwept through the desert to hie,
Among a wild people to sojourn and die.
Oh, long of the miseries that sufferer befell
The dames of Kilalla to lovers shall tell;
And grieve for their country, the ward of the sea,
Where all but its gallant defenders are free.
But reason returned not to Cary O'Kean;
A being he was that had motion and breath,
But affected by nothing of life or of death.
By day he was silent, by night he reclined
On the deck, and conversed with the waves and the wind,
Till, far in a desert on Asia's coast,
This man of misfortune and sorrow was lost;
They left him unwept through the desert to hie,
Among a wild people to sojourn and die.
Oh, long of the miseries that sufferer befell
The dames of Kilalla to lovers shall tell;
And grieve for their country, the ward of the sea,
Where all but its gallant defenders are free.
But there is a feeling ingrafted on mind,
A shoot of eternity never defined,
That upward still climbs to its origin high;
Its roots are in nature, it blooms in the sky.
From that may the spirit immortal enthroned,
The pangs of this life and its sorrows beyond,
Look onward afar and exult in the view;
And the still voice that whispers, “Immortal art thou:”
On that be thy anchor when sorrows assail,
Else vain are thy sufferings, and vain is my tale.
A shoot of eternity never defined,
That upward still climbs to its origin high;
Its roots are in nature, it blooms in the sky.
From that may the spirit immortal enthroned,
The pangs of this life and its sorrows beyond,
Look onward afar and exult in the view;
And the still voice that whispers, “Immortal art thou:”
On that be thy anchor when sorrows assail,
Else vain are thy sufferings, and vain is my tale.
Bothwell Brigg.
“Oh what is become o' your leal goodman,
That now you are a' your lane?
If he has join'd wi' the rebel gang,
You will never see him again.”
That now you are a' your lane?
If he has join'd wi' the rebel gang,
You will never see him again.”
“Oh say nae ‘the rebel gang,’ ladye;
It's a term nae heart can thole,
For them wha rebel against their God,
It is justice to control.
It's a term nae heart can thole,
For them wha rebel against their God,
It is justice to control.
“When rank oppression rends the heart,
And rules wi' stroke o' death,
Wha wadna spend their dear heart's blood
For the tenets o' their faith?
And rules wi' stroke o' death,
Wha wadna spend their dear heart's blood
For the tenets o' their faith?
“Then say nae ‘the rebel gang,’ ladye,
For it gies me muckle pain;
My John went away with Earlston,
And I'll never see either again.”
For it gies me muckle pain;
My John went away with Earlston,
And I'll never see either again.”
“Oh wae is my heart for thee, Janet,
Oh sair is my heart for thee!
These Covenant men were ill advised;
They are fools, you may credit me.
Oh sair is my heart for thee!
These Covenant men were ill advised;
They are fools, you may credit me.
“Where's a' their boastfu' preaching now,
Against their king and law,
When mony a head in death lies low,
And mony mae maun fa'?”
Against their king and law,
When mony a head in death lies low,
And mony mae maun fa'?”
“Ay, but death lasts no for aye, ladye,
For the grave maun yield its prey;
And when we meet on the verge of heaven,
We'll see wha are fools that day:
For the grave maun yield its prey;
And when we meet on the verge of heaven,
We'll see wha are fools that day:
“We'll see wha looks in their Saviour's face
With holiest joy and pride,
Whether they who shed his servants' blood,
Or those that for him died.
With holiest joy and pride,
Whether they who shed his servants' blood,
Or those that for him died.
“I wadna be the highest dame
That ever this country knew,
And take my chance to share the doom
Of that persecuting crew.
That ever this country knew,
And take my chance to share the doom
Of that persecuting crew.
“Then ca' us na ‘rebel gang,’ ladye,
Nor take us fools to be,
For there isna ane of a' that gang,
Wad change his state wi' thee.”
Nor take us fools to be,
For there isna ane of a' that gang,
Wad change his state wi' thee.”
“Oh weel may you be, my poor Janet,
May blessings on you combine!
The better you are in either state,
The less shall I repine;
May blessings on you combine!
The better you are in either state,
The less shall I repine;
“But wi' your fightings and your faith,
Your ravings and your rage,
There you have lost a leal helpmate,
In the blossom of his age.
Your ravings and your rage,
There you have lost a leal helpmate,
In the blossom of his age.
“And what's to come o' ye, my poor Janet,
Wi' these twa babies sweet?
Ye hae naebody now to work for them,
Or bring you a meal o' meat;
Wi' these twa babies sweet?
Ye hae naebody now to work for them,
Or bring you a meal o' meat;
“It is that which makes my heart sae wae,
And gars me, while scarce aware,
Whiles say the things I wadna say,
Of them that can err nae mair.”
And gars me, while scarce aware,
Whiles say the things I wadna say,
Of them that can err nae mair.”
Poor Janet kiss'd her youngest babe,
And the tears fell on his cheek,
And they fell upon his swaddling bands,
For her heart was like to break.
And the tears fell on his cheek,
And they fell upon his swaddling bands,
For her heart was like to break.
357
“Oh, little do I ken, my dear, dear babes,
What misery's to be mine!
But for the cause we hae espoused,
I will yield my life and thine.
What misery's to be mine!
But for the cause we hae espoused,
I will yield my life and thine.
“Oh had I a friend, as I hae nane—
For nane dare own me now—
That I might send to Bothwell Brigg,
If the killers wad but allow,
For nane dare own me now—
That I might send to Bothwell Brigg,
If the killers wad but allow,
“To lift the corpse of my brave John;
I ken where they will him find;
He wad meet his God's foes face to face,
And he'll hae nae wound behind.”
I ken where they will him find;
He wad meet his God's foes face to face,
And he'll hae nae wound behind.”
“But I went to Bothwell Brigg, Janet—
There was nane durst hinder me—
For I wantit to hear a' I could hear,
And to see what I could see;
There was nane durst hinder me—
For I wantit to hear a' I could hear,
And to see what I could see;
“And there I found your brave husband,
As viewing the dead my lane;
He was lying in the very foremost rank,
In the midst of a heap o' slain.”
As viewing the dead my lane;
He was lying in the very foremost rank,
In the midst of a heap o' slain.”
Then Janet held up her hands to heaven,
And she grat, and she tore her hair,
“O sweet ladye, O dear ladye,
Dinna tell me ony mair!
And she grat, and she tore her hair,
“O sweet ladye, O dear ladye,
Dinna tell me ony mair!
“There is a hope will linger within,
When earthly hope is vain;
But, when ane kens the very worst,
It turns the heart to stane!”
When earthly hope is vain;
But, when ane kens the very worst,
It turns the heart to stane!”
“‘Oh wae is my heart, John Carr,’ said I,
‘That I this sight should see!’
But when I said these waefu' words,
He liftit his een to me.
‘That I this sight should see!’
But when I said these waefu' words,
He liftit his een to me.
“‘Oh art thou there, my kind ladye,
The best o' this warld's breed,
And are you ganging your leefu' lane,
Amang the hapless dead?’
The best o' this warld's breed,
And are you ganging your leefu' lane,
Amang the hapless dead?’
“‘I hae servants within my ca', John Carr,
And a chariot in the dell,
And if there is ony hope o' life,
I will carry you hame mysell.’
And a chariot in the dell,
And if there is ony hope o' life,
I will carry you hame mysell.’
“‘O lady, there is nae hope o' life;
And what were life to me?
Wad ye save me frae the death of a man,
To hang on a gallows tree?
And what were life to me?
Wad ye save me frae the death of a man,
To hang on a gallows tree?
“‘I hae nae hame to fly to now,
Nae country and nae kin;
There is not a door in fair Scotland
Durst open to let me in.
Nae country and nae kin;
There is not a door in fair Scotland
Durst open to let me in.
“‘But I hae a loving wife at hame,
And twa babies, dear to me;
They hae naebody now that dares favour them,
And of hunger they a' maun dee.
And twa babies, dear to me;
They hae naebody now that dares favour them,
And of hunger they a' maun dee.
“‘Oh, for the sake of thy Saviour dear,
Whose mercy thou hopest to share,
Dear lady, take the sackless things
A wee beneath thy care!
Whose mercy thou hopest to share,
Dear lady, take the sackless things
A wee beneath thy care!
“‘A lang farewell, my kind ladye!
O'er weel I ken thy worth:
Gae send me a drink o' the water o' Clyde,
For my last drink on earth.’”
O'er weel I ken thy worth:
Gae send me a drink o' the water o' Clyde,
For my last drink on earth.’”
“Oh dinna tell me ony mair, ladye,
For my heart is cauld as clay;
There is a spear that pierces here,
Frae every word ye sae.”
For my heart is cauld as clay;
There is a spear that pierces here,
Frae every word ye sae.”
“He wasna fear'd to dee, Janet,
For he gloried in his death,
And wish'd to be laid with those who had bled
For the same endearing faith.
For he gloried in his death,
And wish'd to be laid with those who had bled
For the same endearing faith.
“There were three wounds in his buirdly breast,
And his limb was broke in twain,
And the sweat ran down wi' his red heart's blood,
Wrung out by the deadly pain.
And his limb was broke in twain,
And the sweat ran down wi' his red heart's blood,
Wrung out by the deadly pain.
“I row'd my apron round his head,
For fear my men should tell,
And I hid him in my lord's castle,
And I nursed him there mysell.
For fear my men should tell,
And I hid him in my lord's castle,
And I nursed him there mysell.
“And the best leeches in a' the land
Have tended him as he lay,
And he never has lacked my helping hand,
By night nor yet by day.
Have tended him as he lay,
And he never has lacked my helping hand,
By night nor yet by day.
“I durstna tell you before, Janet,
For I fear'd his life was gane,
But now he's sae weel, ye may visit him,
And ye'se meet by yoursells alane.”
For I fear'd his life was gane,
But now he's sae weel, ye may visit him,
And ye'se meet by yoursells alane.”
Then Janet she fell at her lady's feet,
And she claspit them fervently,
And she steepit them a' wi' the tears o' joy,
Till the good lady wept to see.
And she claspit them fervently,
And she steepit them a' wi' the tears o' joy,
Till the good lady wept to see.
“Oh ye are an angel sent frae heaven,
To lighten calamity!
For, in distress, a friend or foe
Is a' the same to thee.
To lighten calamity!
For, in distress, a friend or foe
Is a' the same to thee.
“If good deeds count in heaven, ladye,
Eternal bliss to share,
Ye hae done a deed will save your soul,
Though ye should never do mair.”
Eternal bliss to share,
Ye hae done a deed will save your soul,
Though ye should never do mair.”
“Get up, get up, my kind Janet,
But never trow tongue or pen,
That a' the world are lost to good,
Except the Covenant men.”
But never trow tongue or pen,
That a' the world are lost to good,
Except the Covenant men.”
Wha wadna hae shared that lady's joy
When watching the wounded hind,
Rather than those of the feast and the dance,
Which her kind heart resign'd?
When watching the wounded hind,
Rather than those of the feast and the dance,
Which her kind heart resign'd?
358
Wha wadna rather share that lady's fate,
When the stars shall melt away,
Than that of the sternest anchorite,
That can naething but graen and pray?
When the stars shall melt away,
Than that of the sternest anchorite,
That can naething but graen and pray?
The Three Men of Moriston.
[_]
Though this ballad commemorates three worthies only, it has been said that there were six of them, namely, the three trusty Macdonalds, Peter Grant, Hugh Chisholm, and Colin Fraser, by whom the Prince was concealed and supported in a cave in Glen-Moriston, for above five weeks. One of the Macdonalds went often in disguise into the English camp, to procure some wheaten bread for their guest, and pick up what intelligence he could. There he regularly heard, at the drumhead, a proclamation in English and Gaelic, of a reward of fifty thousand pounds to any one who would produce the Pretender. But though the guardians of the cave had not a shilling among them all, they despised enriching themselves by an act of treachery. How painful it is to add, what the editor has been assured is true, that one of these magnanimous poor fellows was afterwards hanged for stealing a cow! On the ladder he declared that he had never taken either sheep or cow from any of his own clan or their friends, nor from any man who had not risen against the house of Stuart. Consequently, all attempts to persuade him to acknowledge the justice of his sentence were fruitless.
Now cease of auld ferlies to tell us,
That happen'd nane living kens when;
I'll sing you of three noble fellows
Wha lived in the wild Highlan' glen.
The times were grown hard to brave Donald,
For lost was Culloden's sad day;
The hearts o' the chiefs were a' broken,
And oh, but poor Donald was wae!
That happen'd nane living kens when;
I'll sing you of three noble fellows
Wha lived in the wild Highlan' glen.
The times were grown hard to brave Donald,
For lost was Culloden's sad day;
The hearts o' the chiefs were a' broken,
And oh, but poor Donald was wae!
They keekit out o'er the wild correi,—
The towers of Clan-Ranald were gone;
The reek it hung red o'er Glengarry;
Lochaber was herried and lone!
They turn'd them about on the mountain,
The last o' their shealings to see;
“O, hon a Righ!” cried poor Donald,
“There's naething but sorrow for me!”
The towers of Clan-Ranald were gone;
The reek it hung red o'er Glengarry;
Lochaber was herried and lone!
They turn'd them about on the mountain,
The last o' their shealings to see;
“O, hon a Righ!” cried poor Donald,
“There's naething but sorrow for me!”
Now our three noble lads are in hiding,
Afar in Glen-Moriston's height;
In the rock a' the day they are biding,
And the moon is their candle by night.
And oft their rash rising they rued it,
As looking o'er ravage and death;
And blamed their ain prince, Charlie Stuart,
For causing the Highlands sic skaith.
Afar in Glen-Moriston's height;
In the rock a' the day they are biding,
And the moon is their candle by night.
And oft their rash rising they rued it,
As looking o'er ravage and death;
And blamed their ain prince, Charlie Stuart,
For causing the Highlands sic skaith.
Ae night they sat fearfu' o' danger,
And snappit their kebbuck fu' keen,
When in came a stately young stranger,
As ragged as man e'er was seen.
They hadna weel lookit around them
Till tears cam happing like rain—
“You're welcome, young Dugald M'Cluny;
For a' you see here is your ain!”
And snappit their kebbuck fu' keen,
When in came a stately young stranger,
As ragged as man e'er was seen.
They hadna weel lookit around them
Till tears cam happing like rain—
“You're welcome, young Dugald M'Cluny;
For a' you see here is your ain!”
Each kend the brave wreck of Culloden,
But dared not to mention his name,
Lest one of the three had betray'd him,
And cover'd their country wi' shame.
They served him with eager devotion,
They clad him from shoulder to tae,
Spread his board from the moor and the ocean,
And watch'd o'er him a' the lang day.
But dared not to mention his name,
Lest one of the three had betray'd him,
And cover'd their country wi' shame.
They served him with eager devotion,
They clad him from shoulder to tae,
Spread his board from the moor and the ocean,
And watch'd o'er him a' the lang day.
They had not a plack in their coffer,
They had not a ewe on the brae,
Yet kend o' mair goud in their offer
Than they could have carried away.
Now crack o' your Grecian and Roman!
We've cast them a' back in the shade;
Gie me a leal-hearted M'Donald,
Wi' nought but his dirk and his plaid!
They had not a ewe on the brae,
Yet kend o' mair goud in their offer
Than they could have carried away.
Now crack o' your Grecian and Roman!
We've cast them a' back in the shade;
Gie me a leal-hearted M'Donald,
Wi' nought but his dirk and his plaid!
The sun shines sweet on the heather,
When tempests are over and gane;
But honour shines bright in all weather,
Through poverty, hardship, and pain.
Though we had ne'er heard o' Clan-Ronald's
Nor gallant Glengarry's wild sway,
The names of the loyal M'Donalds
Had flourish'd for ever and aye!
When tempests are over and gane;
But honour shines bright in all weather,
Through poverty, hardship, and pain.
Though we had ne'er heard o' Clan-Ronald's
Nor gallant Glengarry's wild sway,
The names of the loyal M'Donalds
Had flourish'd for ever and aye!
The Liddel Bower;
A BALLAD.
“Oh, will ye walk the wood, lady?
Or will ye walk the lea?
Or will ye gae to the Liddel Bower,
An' rest a while wi' me?”
Or will ye walk the lea?
Or will ye gae to the Liddel Bower,
An' rest a while wi' me?”
“The deer lies in the wood, Douglas,
The wind blaws on the lea;
An' when I gae to Liddel Bower
It shall not be wi' thee.”
The wind blaws on the lea;
An' when I gae to Liddel Bower
It shall not be wi' thee.”
“The stag bells on my hills, lady,
The hart but and the hind;
My flocks lie in the Border dale,
My steeds outstrip the wind;
The hart but and the hind;
My flocks lie in the Border dale,
My steeds outstrip the wind;
“At ae blast o' my bugle horn,
A thousand tend the ca':—
Oh, gae wi' me to Liddel Bower—
What ill can thee befa'?
A thousand tend the ca':—
Oh, gae wi' me to Liddel Bower—
What ill can thee befa'?
“D'ye mind when in that lonely bower
We met at even tide,
I kissed your young an' rosy lips,
An' wooed you for my bride?
We met at even tide,
I kissed your young an' rosy lips,
An' wooed you for my bride?
“I saw the blush break on your cheek,
The tear stand in your e'e;
Oh, could I ween, fair Lady Jane,
That then ye lo'ed na me?”
The tear stand in your e'e;
Oh, could I ween, fair Lady Jane,
That then ye lo'ed na me?”
“But sair, sair hae I rued that day,
An' sairer yet may rue;
Ye thought na on my maiden love,
Nor yet my rosy hue.
An' sairer yet may rue;
359
Nor yet my rosy hue.
“Ye thought na on my bridal bed,
Nor vow nor tear o' mine;
Ye thought upon the lands o' Nith,
An' how they might be thine.
Nor vow nor tear o' mine;
Ye thought upon the lands o' Nith,
An' how they might be thine.
“Away! away! ye fause leman,
Nae mair my bosom wring:
There is a bird within yon bower,
Oh, gin ye heard it sing!”
Nae mair my bosom wring:
There is a bird within yon bower,
Oh, gin ye heard it sing!”
Red grew the Douglas' dusky cheek,
He turned his eye away,
The gowden hilt fell to his hand;
“What can the wee bird say?”
He turned his eye away,
The gowden hilt fell to his hand;
“What can the wee bird say?”
It hirpled on the bough an' sang,
“Oh, wae's me, dame, for thee,
An' wae's me for the comely knight
That sleeps aneath the tree!
“Oh, wae's me, dame, for thee,
An' wae's me for the comely knight
That sleeps aneath the tree!
“His cheek lies on the cauld, cauld clay,
Nae belt nor brand has he;
His blood is on a kinsman's spear;
Oh, wae's me, dame, for thee!”
Nae belt nor brand has he;
His blood is on a kinsman's spear;
Oh, wae's me, dame, for thee!”
“My yeomen line the wood, lady,
My steed stands at the tree;
An' ye maun dree a dulefu' weird,
Or mount and fly wi' me.”
My steed stands at the tree;
An' ye maun dree a dulefu' weird,
Or mount and fly wi' me.”
What gars Caerlaverock yeomen ride
Sae fast in belt an' steel?
What gars the Jardine mount his steed,
An' scour owre muir and dale?
Sae fast in belt an' steel?
What gars the Jardine mount his steed,
An' scour owre muir and dale?
Why seek they up by Liddel ford,
An' down by Tarras linn?
The heiress o' the lands o' Nith
Is lost to a' her kin.
An' down by Tarras linn?
The heiress o' the lands o' Nith
Is lost to a' her kin.
Oh, lang, lang may her mother greet,
Down by the salt sea faem;
An' lang, lang may the Maxwells look,
Afore their bride come hame.
Down by the salt sea faem;
An' lang, lang may the Maxwells look,
Afore their bride come hame.
An' lang may every Douglas rue,
An' ban the deed for aye:—
The deed was done at Liddel Bower
About the break of day.
An' ban the deed for aye:—
The deed was done at Liddel Bower
About the break of day.
The Carle of Invertime.
Who has not heard of a Carle uncouth,The terror of age and the scorn of youth,
Well known in this and every clime
As the grim Gudeman of Invertime?—
A stern old porter who carries the key
That opens the gate to a strange country!
The Carle's old heart with joy is dancing,
When, down the valley he sees advancing
The lovely, the brave, the good, or the great,
To pay the sad toll of his darksome gate.
'Tis said nought gives such joy to him
As the freezing blood and the stiffening limb;
It has never been mine his house to scan,
So I scarce trow this of our grim Gudeman.
Wise men believe, yet I scarce know why,
That he grimly smiles as he shoves them by;
And cares not whither to isles of bliss
They go or to sorrow's dark wilderness;
Or if, driven afar, their fate should be
To toss on the waves of a shoreless sea;
Or sunk in lakes of surging flame,
Burning and boiling, and ever the same,
Where groups of mortals toss amain
On the sultry billow and down again.
Time, from the sky shall blot out the sun,
Yet ne'er will this den of dool have done.
It makes me shake and it makes me shiver;
His presence forbid it should last for ever!
Sad, wise, or witty—all find to their cost,
That the grim old Carle is still at his post:
He sits and he sees with joy elate,
In myriads men pour in at his gate.
Some come in gladness and joy to close
Account with Time, and sink to repose;
Some come in sorrow; they think, in sooth,
It hard to be summon'd in strength and youth.
There lady and losel, peasant and lord,
Men of the pen, the sermon, the sword,
The counsellor, leech, and the monarch sublime,
All come to the Carle of Invertime.
Amongst the others, one morning came
An aged and a venerable dame,
Stooping, and palsied, and pain'd to boot,
Moaning and shaking from head to foot.
Slow in her pace, yet steady of mind,
She turn'd not once, nor look'd behind;
Nor dreading nor daring her future fate,
She tottered along to the dismal gate.
A gleam of light danced in the eye
Of the grim Gudeman as the dame drew nigh;
Little cared he for an old gray wife,
Who hung like a link 'tween death and life;
But, by the side of the eldern dame,
A form so pure and so lovely came,
That the Carle's cold veinless heart heaved high,
A tear like an ice-drop came to his eye;
He vowed through his gate she should not win:
She seem'd no child of sorrow and sin.
As thus he stood in his porch to mark,
His looks now light and his looks now dark,
He marvell'd to hear so lovely a thing
Lift up her voice and gently sing
A strain, too holy, too sweet, and wild,
And charming to come from an earth-born child;
It glow'd with love, and fervour, and faith,
And seem'd to triumph o'er time and death:
360
And Spirit of Might,
To work thy will has been my delight;
And here at my knee,
From guiltiness free,
I bring a mild meek spirit to thee.
“When first I went to guide her to truth,
She was in the opening blossom of youth;
When scarce on her leaf, so spotless and new,
Ripe reason had come with her dropping dew.
Where life's pure river is but a rill,
She grew, and scarce knew good from ill;
But my sisters three
Came soon to me,
Pure Love, true Faith, sweet Charity.
Through doubts and fears,
These eighty years,
We have showed her the way to the heavenly spheres.
Our first stage down life's infant stream
Was all a maze and a childish dream;
And nought was there of sin or sense,
But dawning beauty and innocence;
A fairy dance of sweet delight,
Through flowers, and bowers, and visions bright.
Sometimes a hymn, and sometimes a prayer,
Was poured to thee with a fervent air;
'Twas sung or said, and straight was seen
The sweet child gamboling on the green;
While the pure hymn, late pour'd to thee,
Was chanted light as a song of glee.
“As we went down the vale of life,
With flowers the road became less rife.
By pitfall, precipice, and pool,
Our way was shaped, by line and rule.
'Mid hours of joy and days of mirth,
And hopes and fears, high thoughts had birth,
And natural yearnings of the mind,
Of something onward, undefined—
Which scarce the trembling soul durst scan—
Of God's most wondrous love to man,
And some far forward state of bliss,
Of beauty, and of holiness;
But to all woes and evils blinded,
Or thoughts of death, unless reminded.
Oh! happy age, remember'd well,
Where neither sin nor shame can dwell!
Even then thine eye,
From heaven high,
Saw that her monitor was nigh;
At morn and even,
To turn to heaven
The grateful eye for blessings given.
And from the first prevailing tide
Of sin, and vanity, and pride,
To save her, and to lead her on
To glories unreveal'd, unknown.
“Onward we came; life's streamlet then
Enter'd a green and odorous glen;
Increased, and through fair flowrets rolling,
And shady bowers, seem'd past controlling;
Flowing 'mid roses, fast and free—
This was a trying stage for me!
The maiden's youthful heart began
To dance through scenes Elysian;
To breathe in love's ambrosial dew,
Moved by sensations sweet and new;
For, without look or word of blame,
Her radiant blushes went and came;
Her eye, of heaven's own azure blue,
In glance and lustre brighter grew;
Showing fond feelings all akin
To that pure soul which lived within.
“With heart so soft and soul sincere,
Love found his way by eye and ear.
Then how I labour'd, day and night,
To watch her ways and guide her right!
I brought cool airs from paradise
To purify her melting sighs;
I steep'd my vail in heaven's own spring,
And o'er her watch'd on silent wing;
And, when she laid her down to rest,
I spread the vail o'er her virgin breast:
All earthly passions far did flee,
And heart and soul she turn'd to thee.
“Throughout her life
Of wedded wife,
I wean'd her soul from passion's strife;
But oh! what fears,
And frequent tears
For the peril of childhood's tender years!
And when her firstborn's feeble moan
Was hushed by the soul's departing groan;
In that hour of maternal grief,
I pointed her way to the sole relief.
Another sweet babe there came and went—
Her gushing eyes she fix'd, and bent
Upon that mansion bright and sweet,
Where sever'd and kindred spirits meet.
“She has wept for the living, and wept for the dead,
Laid low in the grave her husband's head;
She has toil'd for bread with the hands of age,
And, through her useful pilgrimage,
Has seen her race sink, one by one—
All, all she loved—yet, left and lone,
With cheer unchanged, with heart unshook,
On God she fix'd her steadfast look.
And now with the eye of purest faith,
She sees, beyond the vale of death,
A day that has no cloud or shower—
She has less dread of her parting hour,
Than ever had babe of its mother's breast,
When it lays its innocent head to rest.
“O Maker of Earth, dread Ruler above,
Receive her spirit, her faith approve!
361
Ne'er waged, 'gainst earth and its sorrows, strife;
I never can bid a form arise
With purer heart than hers to the skies.”
The Carle was moved with holy fear,
That lovely seraph's sweet song to hear;
He turn'd away and he cover'd his head,
For over him fell a visible dread,
While she gave her form to the breeze away
That came from the vales of immortal day;
And sung her hymns far over the same,
And heavenly Hope was the Seraph's name:
The guide to a land of rest and bliss,
To a sinless world—how unlike this!
That lovely seraph's sweet song to hear;
He turn'd away and he cover'd his head,
For over him fell a visible dread,
While she gave her form to the breeze away
That came from the vales of immortal day;
And sung her hymns far over the same,
And heavenly Hope was the Seraph's name:
The guide to a land of rest and bliss,
To a sinless world—how unlike this!
To earth's blest pilgrim, old and gray,
The gate dissolved like a cloud away;
And the grim old Carle he veil'd his face,
As she pass'd him by with a holy pace;
With a touch of his hand and a whisper mild,
He soothed her heart as one stills a child.
The song of faith she faintly sung,
And God's dread name was last on her tongue.
The gate dissolved like a cloud away;
And the grim old Carle he veil'd his face,
As she pass'd him by with a holy pace;
With a touch of his hand and a whisper mild,
He soothed her heart as one stills a child.
The song of faith she faintly sung,
And God's dread name was last on her tongue.
Now from the pall, bright and sublime,
That hangs o'er the uttermost skirts of time,
Came righteous souls, and shapes more bright,
Clothed in glory and walking in light;
Majestic beings of earthly frame,
And of heavenly radiance, over the same:
To welcome the pilgrim of this gross clime,
They had come from Eternity back to time—
And they sung, while they wafted her on the road,
“Come, righteous creature, and dwell with God!”
That hangs o'er the uttermost skirts of time,
Came righteous souls, and shapes more bright,
Clothed in glory and walking in light;
Majestic beings of earthly frame,
And of heavenly radiance, over the same:
To welcome the pilgrim of this gross clime,
They had come from Eternity back to time—
And they sung, while they wafted her on the road,
“Come, righteous creature, and dwell with God!”
The Frazers in the Correi.
“Where has your daddy gone, my little May?
Where has our lady been a' the lang day?
Saw you the red-coats rank on the ha' green?
Or heard you the horn on the mountain yestreen?”
“Auld carle graybeard, ye speer na at me,
Gae speer at the maiden that sits by the sea;
The red-coats were here, and it wasna for good,
For the raven's grown hoarse wi' the waughtin' o' blood.
Where has our lady been a' the lang day?
Saw you the red-coats rank on the ha' green?
Or heard you the horn on the mountain yestreen?”
“Auld carle graybeard, ye speer na at me,
Gae speer at the maiden that sits by the sea;
The red-coats were here, and it wasna for good,
For the raven's grown hoarse wi' the waughtin' o' blood.
“Oh listen, auld carle, how roopit his note!
The blood o' the Frazers too hot for his throat;
I trow the black traitors of Sassenach breed,
They prey on the living and he on the dead.
When I was a baby, we call'd him in joke,
The harper of Errick, the priest of the rock;
But now he's our mountain companion no more,
The slave of the Saxon, the quaffer of gore.”
The blood o' the Frazers too hot for his throat;
I trow the black traitors of Sassenach breed,
They prey on the living and he on the dead.
When I was a baby, we call'd him in joke,
The harper of Errick, the priest of the rock;
But now he's our mountain companion no more,
The slave of the Saxon, the quaffer of gore.”
“Sweet little maiden, why talk you of death?
The raven's our friend, and he's croaking in wrath;
He will not pick eye from a bonneted head,
Nor mar the loved form by the tartans that's clad.
But point me the cliff where the Frazer abides,
Where Foyers, Culduthel, and Gorthaleg hides;
There's danger at hand, I must speak with them soon,
And seek them alone by the light of the moon.”
The raven's our friend, and he's croaking in wrath;
He will not pick eye from a bonneted head,
Nor mar the loved form by the tartans that's clad.
But point me the cliff where the Frazer abides,
Where Foyers, Culduthel, and Gorthaleg hides;
There's danger at hand, I must speak with them soon,
And seek them alone by the light of the moon.”
“Auld carle graybeard, a friend you should be,
For the truth's on your lip and the tear in your e'e;
Then seek in yon correi, that sounds from the brae,
An' sings to the rock when the breeze is away.
I sought them last night with the haunch of the deer,
And deep in their cave they were hiding in fear;
There, at the last crow of the brown heather-cock,
They pray'd for their prince, kneel'd, and slept on the rock.
For the truth's on your lip and the tear in your e'e;
Then seek in yon correi, that sounds from the brae,
An' sings to the rock when the breeze is away.
I sought them last night with the haunch of the deer,
And deep in their cave they were hiding in fear;
There, at the last crow of the brown heather-cock,
They pray'd for their prince, kneel'd, and slept on the rock.
“Oh, tell me, auld carle, what will be the fate
Of those who are killing the gallant and great;
Who force our brave chiefs to the correi to go,
And hunt their own prince like the deer or the roe?
I know it, auld carle, as sure as yon sun
Shines over our heads, that the deeds they have done
To those who are braver and better than they,
There's one in this world or the next will repay.”
Of those who are killing the gallant and great;
Who force our brave chiefs to the correi to go,
And hunt their own prince like the deer or the roe?
I know it, auld carle, as sure as yon sun
Shines over our heads, that the deeds they have done
To those who are braver and better than they,
There's one in this world or the next will repay.”
The Lady's Dream.
Let April waft her breeze of life,
And sprinkle far her fostering dew,
And o'er the meadow's velvet breast
Her simple gems renew.
Yes, though she breathe her sweets for you
All o'er the lawn and verdant vale,
In sympathy, oh! stay with me,
And list my piteous tale!
And sprinkle far her fostering dew,
And o'er the meadow's velvet breast
Her simple gems renew.
Yes, though she breathe her sweets for you
All o'er the lawn and verdant vale,
In sympathy, oh! stay with me,
And list my piteous tale!
I wist not when the dawning broke,
Nor when the sun rose bright and high;
What time I slept, nor when I woke,
I knew not—no not I.
I dreamed I sat on my love's knee,
I leaned my head upon his breast,
And yet I wept—I knew not why;
But oh, my heart was ill at rest!
Nor when the sun rose bright and high;
What time I slept, nor when I woke,
I knew not—no not I.
I dreamed I sat on my love's knee,
I leaned my head upon his breast,
And yet I wept—I knew not why;
But oh, my heart was ill at rest!
I felt his arms around me prest;
His vows of love were breathed in vain:
For still my heart with sorrow heaved—
'Twas like to break in twain:
The tears fell from my eyes like rain;
He did not chide but went away;
A glance of anger in his eye
Gleamed like the meteor's ray.
His vows of love were breathed in vain:
For still my heart with sorrow heaved—
'Twas like to break in twain:
The tears fell from my eyes like rain;
He did not chide but went away;
A glance of anger in his eye
Gleamed like the meteor's ray.
I could not hold nor bid him stay,
Such were the throes my bosom wrung;
I tried to follow, but my limbs
Were powerless as my tongue.
I sought him through the busy throng,
I sought him through the weary waste,
Through caves of death and dens of woe
Deep moaning to the blast.
Such were the throes my bosom wrung;
I tried to follow, but my limbs
Were powerless as my tongue.
I sought him through the busy throng,
I sought him through the weary waste,
Through caves of death and dens of woe
Deep moaning to the blast.
362
But when I rose, or how I past
That dreary day, is all a dream;
His form alone my fancy sought,
My feelings still the same:
'Tis said I often called his name;
But when they named my bridal day,
I wistful looked, and raving seemed—
My thoughts went all astray.
That dreary day, is all a dream;
His form alone my fancy sought,
My feelings still the same:
'Tis said I often called his name;
But when they named my bridal day,
I wistful looked, and raving seemed—
My thoughts went all astray.
No more the bird sings from the spray,
Or summer fans her flowers for me;
The sunbeams all unheeded play,
And breezes from the sea.
Like passing hum of meadow bee,
Who winds his little aerial horn;
The fairy rainbow's ample bend,
Or dew-web of the morn;
Or summer fans her flowers for me;
The sunbeams all unheeded play,
And breezes from the sea.
Like passing hum of meadow bee,
Who winds his little aerial horn;
The fairy rainbow's ample bend,
Or dew-web of the morn;
So fled my bliss! So quick were shorn
The garlands from my maiden brow!
Sweet ladies, list a lady's tale
All lone and hopeless now!
The evening came with noise and show;
Mine eye sought for the bridegroom still—
His head is on the dripping pew,
His heart is cold and chill!
The garlands from my maiden brow!
Sweet ladies, list a lady's tale
All lone and hopeless now!
The evening came with noise and show;
Mine eye sought for the bridegroom still—
His head is on the dripping pew,
His heart is cold and chill!
A corse lies in the cold church-aisle,
All dripping wet with ocean brine,
Whose gentle form is all unknown—
Ladies, that youth was mine!
That youth was gentle, fair, and kind;
My heart, my troth, I yielded free;
But, ah! his own hand reft his life—
His soul from heaven and me.
All dripping wet with ocean brine,
Whose gentle form is all unknown—
Ladies, that youth was mine!
That youth was gentle, fair, and kind;
My heart, my troth, I yielded free;
But, ah! his own hand reft his life—
His soul from heaven and me.
His bridal bed the drumly sea;
His revel-room the cheerless tomb;
The red worm sleeps coiled on the breast
My heart chose for its home.
No sun shall ever cheer the gloom
That broods around his hopeless urn;
No ray of grace avert his doom,
Nor point his soul's return.
His revel-room the cheerless tomb;
The red worm sleeps coiled on the breast
My heart chose for its home.
No sun shall ever cheer the gloom
That broods around his hopeless urn;
No ray of grace avert his doom,
Nor point his soul's return.
Then can ye wonder why I mourn,
And shun the day-light's piercing eye;
Or why this pallid maiden cheek
Is never, never dry?
The vernal flowers of every dye
The mollient breezes will renew;
But mine for evermore shall lie
Unmoved by winds or dew.
And shun the day-light's piercing eye;
Or why this pallid maiden cheek
Is never, never dry?
The vernal flowers of every dye
The mollient breezes will renew;
But mine for evermore shall lie
Unmoved by winds or dew.
And when yon sky's ethereal blue
Shall vanish like its slightest dye—
When all this green and solid globe
One mouldering heap shall lie;
Then where shall I my love descry?
Where hope his face to see again?
Oh! can ye wonder I should weep,
Ye ladies of the plain?
Shall vanish like its slightest dye—
When all this green and solid globe
One mouldering heap shall lie;
Then where shall I my love descry?
Where hope his face to see again?
Oh! can ye wonder I should weep,
Ye ladies of the plain?
Yet, oh! let pity's gentle sigh
Spontaneous from your bosoms steal;
The dew of beauty's beaming eye
A maiden's bleeding heart may heal.
Spontaneous from your bosoms steal;
The dew of beauty's beaming eye
A maiden's bleeding heart may heal.
Up an' rin awa', Geordie.
[_]
It is a pity that we cannot father this on the ideal “Dwomony” altogether. However, it is not just so bad, when considered that it is an answer to a Whig song of 1746, beginning, “Up an' rin awa', Charlie,” &c.
Up an' rin awa', Geordie,
Up an' rin awa', Geordie,
For feint a stand in Cumberland
Your troops can mak ava, Geordie.
Your bauld militia are in qualms,
In ague fits an' a', Geordie;
And auntie Wade, wi' pick an' spade,
Is delving through the snaw, Geordie.
Up an' rin awa', Geordie, &c.
Up an' rin awa', Geordie,
For feint a stand in Cumberland
Your troops can mak ava, Geordie.
Your bauld militia are in qualms,
In ague fits an' a', Geordie;
And auntie Wade, wi' pick an' spade,
Is delving through the snaw, Geordie.
Up an' rin awa', Geordie, &c.
The lads o' Westmoreland came up,
An' wow but they were braw, Geordie,
But took the spavie in their houghs,
An' limpit fast awa', Geordie.
Oh had ye seen them at their posts,
Wi' backs against the wa', Geordie,
Ye wad hae thought—it matters not—
Flee over seas awa', Geordie!
Up an' rin awa', Geordie, &c.
An' wow but they were braw, Geordie,
But took the spavie in their houghs,
An' limpit fast awa', Geordie.
Oh had ye seen them at their posts,
Wi' backs against the wa', Geordie,
Ye wad hae thought—it matters not—
Flee over seas awa', Geordie!
Up an' rin awa', Geordie, &c.
These Highland dogs, wi' hose an' brogs,
They dree nae cauld at a', Geordie;
Their hides are tanned like Kendal bend,
An' proof to frost an' snaw, Geordie.
They dive like moudies in the yird,
Like squirrels mount a wa', Geordie;
An' auld Carlisle, baith tower an' pile,
Has got a waesome fa', Geordie.
Up an' rin awa', Geordie, &c.
They dree nae cauld at a', Geordie;
Their hides are tanned like Kendal bend,
An' proof to frost an' snaw, Geordie.
They dive like moudies in the yird,
Like squirrels mount a wa', Geordie;
An' auld Carlisle, baith tower an' pile,
Has got a waesome fa', Geordie.
Up an' rin awa', Geordie, &c.
Brave Sir John Pennington is fled,
An' Doctor Waugh an' a', Geordie;
And Humphrey Stenhouse he is lost,
And Aeron-bank's but raw, Geordie.
And Andrew Pattison's laid bye,
The prince of provosts a', Geordie;
'Tis hard to thole, for gallant soul,
His frostit thumbs to blaw, Geordie.
Up an' rin awa', Geordie, &c.
An' Doctor Waugh an' a', Geordie;
And Humphrey Stenhouse he is lost,
And Aeron-bank's but raw, Geordie.
And Andrew Pattison's laid bye,
The prince of provosts a', Geordie;
'Tis hard to thole, for gallant soul,
His frostit thumbs to blaw, Geordie.
Up an' rin awa', Geordie, &c.
Prince Charlie Stuart's ta'en the road,
As fast as he can ca', Geordie,
The drones to drive frae out the hive,
An' banish foreign law, Geordie.
He's o'er the Mersey, horse an' foot,
An' braid claymores an' a', Geordie;
An' awsome forks, an' Highland durks,
An' thae's the warst of a', Geordie.
Up an' rin awa', Geordie, &c.
As fast as he can ca', Geordie,
The drones to drive frae out the hive,
An' banish foreign law, Geordie.
He's o'er the Mersey, horse an' foot,
An' braid claymores an' a', Geordie;
An' awsome forks, an' Highland durks,
An' thae's the warst of a', Geordie.
Up an' rin awa', Geordie, &c.
363
I canna tell, ye ken yoursell,
Your faith, an' trust, an' a', Geordie;
But 'tis o'er true your cause looks blue,
'Tis best to pack awa', Geordie.
An' ye maun tak your foreign bike,
Your Turks, an' queans, an' a', Geordie,
To pluff an' trig your braw new wig,
An' your daft pow to claw, Geordie.
Up an' rin awa', Geordie, &c.
Your faith, an' trust, an' a', Geordie;
But 'tis o'er true your cause looks blue,
'Tis best to pack awa', Geordie.
An' ye maun tak your foreign bike,
Your Turks, an' queans, an' a', Geordie,
To pluff an' trig your braw new wig,
An' your daft pow to claw, Geordie.
Up an' rin awa', Geordie, &c.
There's ae thing I had maist forgot,
Perhaps there may be twa, Geordie:
Indite us back, when ye gang hame,
How they received you a', Geordie.
An' tell us how the lang-kail thrive,
An' how the turnips raw, Geordie;
An' how the seybos an' the leeks
Are brairding through the snaw, Geordie.
Up an' rin awa', Geordie, &c.
Perhaps there may be twa, Geordie:
Indite us back, when ye gang hame,
How they received you a', Geordie.
An' tell us how the lang-kail thrive,
An' how the turnips raw, Geordie;
An' how the seybos an' the leeks
Are brairding through the snaw, Geordie.
Up an' rin awa', Geordie, &c.
That Hanover's a dainty place,
It suits you to a straw, Geordie,
Where ane may tame a buxom dame,
An' chain her to a wa', Geordie.
An' there a man may burn his cap,
His hat, an' wig, an' a', Geordie;
They're a' sae daft, your scanty wits
Will ne'er be miss'd ava, Geordie.
Up an' rin awa', Geordie, &c.
It suits you to a straw, Geordie,
Where ane may tame a buxom dame,
An' chain her to a wa', Geordie.
An' there a man may burn his cap,
His hat, an' wig, an' a', Geordie;
They're a' sae daft, your scanty wits
Will ne'er be miss'd ava, Geordie.
Up an' rin awa', Geordie, &c.
You've lost the land o' cakes an' weir,
Auld Caledonia, Geordie;
Where fient a stand in a' the land,
Your Whigs can mak ava, Geordie.
Then tak leg-bail, an' fare-ye-weel,
Your motley group an' a', Geordie;
There's mony a ane has rued the day
That ye came here ava, Geordie.
Up an' rin awa', Geordie,
Up an' rin awa', Geordie,
For fient a stand in all England
Your Whigs dare mak ava, Geordie!
Auld Caledonia, Geordie;
Where fient a stand in a' the land,
Your Whigs can mak ava, Geordie.
Then tak leg-bail, an' fare-ye-weel,
Your motley group an' a', Geordie;
There's mony a ane has rued the day
That ye came here ava, Geordie.
Up an' rin awa', Geordie,
Up an' rin awa', Geordie,
For fient a stand in all England
Your Whigs dare mak ava, Geordie!
I'll no wake wi' Annie.
O mother, tell the laird o't,
Or sairly it will grieve me, O,
That I'm to wake the ewes the night,
And Annie's to gang wi' me, O.
I'll wake the ewes my night about,
But ne'er wi' ane sae saucy, O,
Nor sit my lane the lee-lang night
Wi' sic a scornfu' lassie, O:
I'll no wake, I'll no wake,
I'll no wake wi' Annie, O;
Nor sit my lane o'er night wi' ane
Sae thraward an' uncanny, O!
Or sairly it will grieve me, O,
That I'm to wake the ewes the night,
And Annie's to gang wi' me, O.
I'll wake the ewes my night about,
But ne'er wi' ane sae saucy, O,
Nor sit my lane the lee-lang night
Wi' sic a scornfu' lassie, O:
I'll no wake, I'll no wake,
I'll no wake wi' Annie, O;
Nor sit my lane o'er night wi' ane
Sae thraward an' uncanny, O!
Dear son, be wise an' warie,
But never be unmanly, O;
I've heard ye tell another tale
Of young an' charming Annie, O.
The ewes ye wake are fair enough,
Upon the brae sae bonnie, O;
But the laird himsell wad gie them a'
To wake the night wi' Annie, O.
He'll no wake, he'll no wake,
He'll no wake wi' Annie, O;
Nor sit his lane o'er night wi' ane
Sae thraward an' uncanny, O!
But never be unmanly, O;
I've heard ye tell another tale
Of young an' charming Annie, O.
The ewes ye wake are fair enough,
Upon the brae sae bonnie, O;
But the laird himsell wad gie them a'
To wake the night wi' Annie, O.
He'll no wake, he'll no wake,
He'll no wake wi' Annie, O;
Nor sit his lane o'er night wi' ane
Sae thraward an' uncanny, O!
I tauld ye ear', I tauld ye late,
That lassie wad trapan ye, O;
An' ilka word ye boud to say
When left alane wi' Annie, O.
Take my advice this night for ance,
Or beauty's tongue will ban ye, O,
An' sey your leal auld mother's skill
Ayont the muir wi' Annie, O.
He'll no wake, he'll no wake,
He'll no wake wi' Annie, O,
Nor sit his lane o'er night wi' ane
Sae thraward an' uncanny, O!
That lassie wad trapan ye, O;
An' ilka word ye boud to say
When left alane wi' Annie, O.
Take my advice this night for ance,
Or beauty's tongue will ban ye, O,
An' sey your leal auld mother's skill
Ayont the muir wi' Annie, O.
He'll no wake, he'll no wake,
He'll no wake wi' Annie, O,
Nor sit his lane o'er night wi' ane
Sae thraward an' uncanny, O!
The night it was a simmer night,
An' oh the glen was lanely, O!
For just ae sternie's gowden e'e
Peep'd o'er the hill serenely, O.
The twa are in the flow'ry heath,
Ayont the muir sae flowy, O,
An' but ae plaid atween them baith,
An' wasna that right dowie, O?
He maun wake, he maun wake,
He maun wake wi' Annie, O;
An' sit his lane o'er night wi' ane
Sae thraward an' uncanny, O!
An' oh the glen was lanely, O!
For just ae sternie's gowden e'e
Peep'd o'er the hill serenely, O.
The twa are in the flow'ry heath,
Ayont the muir sae flowy, O,
An' but ae plaid atween them baith,
An' wasna that right dowie, O?
He maun wake, he maun wake,
He maun wake wi' Annie, O;
An' sit his lane o'er night wi' ane
Sae thraward an' uncanny, O!
Neist morning at his mother's knee
He blest her love unfeign'dly, O;
An' aye the tear fell frae his e'e,
An' aye he clasp'd her kindly, O.
“Of a' my griefs I've got amends,
In yon wild glen sae grassy, O;
A woman only woman kens—
Your skill has won my lassie, O.
I'll aye wake, I'll aye wake,
I'll aye wake wi' Annie, O,
An' sit my lane ilk night wi' ane
Sae sweet, sae kind, an' canny, O!”
He blest her love unfeign'dly, O;
An' aye the tear fell frae his e'e,
An' aye he clasp'd her kindly, O.
“Of a' my griefs I've got amends,
In yon wild glen sae grassy, O;
A woman only woman kens—
Your skill has won my lassie, O.
I'll aye wake, I'll aye wake,
I'll aye wake wi' Annie, O,
An' sit my lane ilk night wi' ane
Sae sweet, sae kind, an' canny, O!”
Dennis Delany.
In sweet Tipperary, the pride of the throng,
I have danced a good jig, and have sung a good song;
On the green, as I caper'd, I scarce bent the grass—
To a bottle a friend—and no foe to a lass.
At hurling, my fellow could never be found,
For whoever I jostled soon came to the ground;
And the girls all swore that they ne'er could meet any
Could tickle their fancy like Dennis Delany.
I have danced a good jig, and have sung a good song;
On the green, as I caper'd, I scarce bent the grass—
To a bottle a friend—and no foe to a lass.
At hurling, my fellow could never be found,
For whoever I jostled soon came to the ground;
And the girls all swore that they ne'er could meet any
Could tickle their fancy like Dennis Delany.
364
CHORUS.
With my whack about, see it out, Dennis my jewel,Och! why will you leave us? How can you be cruel?
Paddy Whack may go trudge it, and Murtoch O'Blaney,
We'll part with them all for dear Dennis Delany.
Young Sheelah O'Shannon was so fond of me,
That whenever we met we could never agree;
Says I, “My dear Sheelah, we'll soon end the fray,
For no longer in sweet Tipperary I'll stay.”
When the girls all found I was going to leave them,
They swore that from death the world could not save them;
“Oh, we'll leave all our friends, though ever so many,
If you'll let us go with you, swaite Dennis Delany!”
That whenever we met we could never agree;
Says I, “My dear Sheelah, we'll soon end the fray,
For no longer in sweet Tipperary I'll stay.”
When the girls all found I was going to leave them,
They swore that from death the world could not save them;
“Oh, we'll leave all our friends, though ever so many,
If you'll let us go with you, swaite Dennis Delany!”
With my whack about, &c.
To the road then I went, and I trudged it along,
And, by way of being silent, I lilted a song;
“Hey for Dublin!” says I, “where I'll see the fine lasses,
Get married, and drink, and ne'er mind how time passes.”
But when I arrived, and found every lady
Short-waisted—thinks I, They are married already:
“By my shoul, now,” says I, “marriage here is the fashion,
To breed young recruits for defence of the nation.”
And, by way of being silent, I lilted a song;
“Hey for Dublin!” says I, “where I'll see the fine lasses,
Get married, and drink, and ne'er mind how time passes.”
But when I arrived, and found every lady
Short-waisted—thinks I, They are married already:
“By my shoul, now,” says I, “marriage here is the fashion,
To breed young recruits for defence of the nation.”
With my whack about, &c.
To the grand panorama that every one talks of,
Away then I goes and immediately walks off;
But I were astonished, as much as e'er man was,
To see a sea-fight on an ocean of canvas.
But some were a-weeping, and some were a-wailing,
Where Dublin once stood to see ships now a-sailing;
But what in my mind made it still seem the stranger,
Though I stood in the midst, I stood out of all danger.
Away then I goes and immediately walks off;
But I were astonished, as much as e'er man was,
To see a sea-fight on an ocean of canvas.
But some were a-weeping, and some were a-wailing,
Where Dublin once stood to see ships now a-sailing;
But what in my mind made it still seem the stranger,
Though I stood in the midst, I stood out of all danger.
With my whack about, &c.
Then to see a fine play, which I ne'er saw before,
To Crow Street I went, without three or four more;
And up stairs I walk'd, for to see things the better,
And bought a play-bill, though I knew not a letter.
But the crowd was so great, and the players so funny,
I laugh'd more, I'm sure, than the worth of my money;
But the boys went all mad, and I maddest of any,
When all the musicians play'd Dennis Delany.
To Crow Street I went, without three or four more;
And up stairs I walk'd, for to see things the better,
And bought a play-bill, though I knew not a letter.
But the crowd was so great, and the players so funny,
I laugh'd more, I'm sure, than the worth of my money;
But the boys went all mad, and I maddest of any,
When all the musicians play'd Dennis Delany.
With their whack about, &c.
A Ballad about Love.
I aince fell in love wi' a sweet young thing,
A bonnie bit flower o' the wilder'd dell;
Her heart was as light as bird on the wing,
And her lip was as ripe as the moorland bell.
She never kend aught o' the ways o' sin,
Though whiles her young heart began to doubt
That wi' its ill paths she might fa' in,
But never—she never did find them out.
A bonnie bit flower o' the wilder'd dell;
Her heart was as light as bird on the wing,
And her lip was as ripe as the moorland bell.
She never kend aught o' the ways o' sin,
Though whiles her young heart began to doubt
That wi' its ill paths she might fa' in,
But never—she never did find them out.
She oft had heard tell o' love's dear pain,
An' how sae sair as it was to dree;
She tried it and tried it again and again,
But it never could wring a tear frae her e'e.
She tried it aince on a mitherless lamb
That lay in her bosom, and fed on her knee;
But it turned an unpurpose and beggarly ram,
And her burly lover she doughtna see.
An' how sae sair as it was to dree;
She tried it and tried it again and again,
But it never could wring a tear frae her e'e.
She tried it aince on a mitherless lamb
That lay in her bosom, and fed on her knee;
But it turned an unpurpose and beggarly ram,
And her burly lover she doughtna see.
She tried it neist on a floweret gay,
And oh! it was sweet and lovely of hue;
But it droopit its head, an' fadit away,
An' left the lassie to look for a new.
An' aye she cried, oh! what shall I do?
Why canna a lassie be happy her lane?
I find my heart maun hae something to loe,
An' I dinna ken where to fix it again.
And oh! it was sweet and lovely of hue;
But it droopit its head, an' fadit away,
An' left the lassie to look for a new.
An' aye she cried, oh! what shall I do?
Why canna a lassie be happy her lane?
I find my heart maun hae something to loe,
An' I dinna ken where to fix it again.
The laverock loes her musical mate,
The moorcock loes the mottled moor-hen;
The blackbird lilts it early an' late,
A-wooing his love in the birken glen;
The yammering tewit and gray curlew,
Hae ilk ane lovers around to flee,
An' please their hearts wi' their whillie—la—lu—
But there's naething to wheedle or sing to me.
The moorcock loes the mottled moor-hen;
The blackbird lilts it early an' late,
A-wooing his love in the birken glen;
The yammering tewit and gray curlew,
Hae ilk ane lovers around to flee,
An' please their hearts wi' their whillie—la—lu—
But there's naething to wheedle or sing to me.
Quo' I, my sweet, my innocent flower,
The matter's as plain as plain can be,
That this heart o' mine it was made for yours,
An' yours was made for loving o' me.
The lassie she lookit me in the face,
An' a tear o' pity was in her e'e,
For she thought I had lost a' sense o' grace,
An' every scrap o' fair modestye.
The matter's as plain as plain can be,
That this heart o' mine it was made for yours,
An' yours was made for loving o' me.
The lassie she lookit me in the face,
An' a tear o' pity was in her e'e,
For she thought I had lost a' sense o' grace,
An' every scrap o' fair modestye.
The lassie she thought an' thought again,
An' lookit to heaven if aught she saw,
For she thought that man was connectit wi' sin,
And that love for him was the warst of a'.
She lookit about, but she didna speak,
As lightly she trippit out-ower the lea;
But there was a smile on her rosy cheek,
That tauld of a secret dear to me.
An' lookit to heaven if aught she saw,
For she thought that man was connectit wi' sin,
And that love for him was the warst of a'.
She lookit about, but she didna speak,
As lightly she trippit out-ower the lea;
But there was a smile on her rosy cheek,
That tauld of a secret dear to me.
The lassie gaed hame to her lanely dell,
It never was lovelier to her view;
An' aye she thought an' thought to hersell,
An' the mair she thought she began to rue—
If ilk sweet thing has a' mate o' its ain,
Wi' nature's law I e'en maun gang;
I never was made for living my lane—
The laddie was right an' I was wrang.
It never was lovelier to her view;
An' aye she thought an' thought to hersell,
An' the mair she thought she began to rue—
If ilk sweet thing has a' mate o' its ain,
Wi' nature's law I e'en maun gang;
I never was made for living my lane—
The laddie was right an' I was wrang.
O Nature! we a' maun yield to thee;
Your regal sway gainsay wha can?
For you made beauty, an' beauty maun be
The polar star o' the heart o' man.
There's beauty in man's commanding frame;
There's beauty in earth, in air, an' sea;
But there never was beauty that tongue could name
Like the smile of love in a fond young e'e.
Your regal sway gainsay wha can?
For you made beauty, an' beauty maun be
The polar star o' the heart o' man.
There's beauty in man's commanding frame;
There's beauty in earth, in air, an' sea;
But there never was beauty that tongue could name
Like the smile of love in a fond young e'e.
365
The Lord of Balloch.
The eagle flew over the Laggan Loch,
And down by the braes of Badenoch,
And eastward, eastward sped his way,
Far over the lovely links of Spey;
Till the lord of Balloch turn'd his eye
To the haughty journeyer of the sky,
And he said to his henchman, “Gill-na-omb,
What brings the eagle so far from home?”
And down by the braes of Badenoch,
And eastward, eastward sped his way,
Far over the lovely links of Spey;
Till the lord of Balloch turn'd his eye
To the haughty journeyer of the sky,
And he said to his henchman, “Gill-na-omb,
What brings the eagle so far from home?”
Then Gillion watch'd his lord's dark eye,
And his voice it falter'd in reply;
And he said, “My lord, who needs to care
For the way of the eagle in the air?
Perhaps he is watching Lochdorbin's men,
Or the track of the Gordons of the Glen,
For he spies, from his stories of the wind,
That the dead are often left behind;
Or, haply, he knows, in our forest bounds.
Of some noble stag dead of his wounds.”
And his voice it falter'd in reply;
And he said, “My lord, who needs to care
For the way of the eagle in the air?
Perhaps he is watching Lochdorbin's men,
Or the track of the Gordons of the Glen,
For he spies, from his stories of the wind,
That the dead are often left behind;
Or, haply, he knows, in our forest bounds.
Of some noble stag dead of his wounds.”
“Go, saddle my steed without delay;
I have mark'd yon eagle, day by day,
Still hovering over yon lonely dell—
There's a dread on my soul which I dare not tell.
Gillion, no mystery may I brook,
I like not your suspicious look,
And have noted your absence from my hand
More than I approve or understand;
Say, have you heard no word at all
Of some one miss'd from her father's hall?”
I have mark'd yon eagle, day by day,
Still hovering over yon lonely dell—
There's a dread on my soul which I dare not tell.
Gillion, no mystery may I brook,
I like not your suspicious look,
And have noted your absence from my hand
More than I approve or understand;
Say, have you heard no word at all
Of some one miss'd from her father's hall?”
“No, my good lord—No, not one word,
As I shall be sworn upon my sword;
And why should the eagle's yelling din
Awake suspicions your heart within?”
As I shall be sworn upon my sword;
And why should the eagle's yelling din
Awake suspicions your heart within?”
That lord he mounted his gallant steed,
But at his henchman he shook his head,
And gave him a look as bounding away,
That fill'd his black heart with dismay;
And he fled to hide in the bosky burn,
For he durst not wait his lord's return.
But at his henchman he shook his head,
And gave him a look as bounding away,
That fill'd his black heart with dismay;
And he fled to hide in the bosky burn,
For he durst not wait his lord's return.
The lord of Balloch away is gone,
With beating heart, to the wild alone;
For in the dead of night he had dream'd
Of that dell o'er which the eagle scream'd,
And there, with his mortal eye, had seen
A vision of terror and of teen;
And something was borne on his soul oppress'd,
Of a deed that would never be redress'd;
For there are sprites that the truth can scan,
And whisper it to the soul of man.
With beating heart, to the wild alone;
For in the dead of night he had dream'd
Of that dell o'er which the eagle scream'd,
And there, with his mortal eye, had seen
A vision of terror and of teen;
And something was borne on his soul oppress'd,
Of a deed that would never be redress'd;
For there are sprites that the truth can scan,
And whisper it to the soul of man.
The eagle he sail'd upon the cloud,
And he spread his wings, and scream'd aloud,
For he durst not light in the lonely dell,
But his rage made all the echoes yell;
For he saw the blood below his feet,
And he saw it red, and he knew it sweet,
And though death was pleasing to his eye,
The silken tartans stream'd too nigh.
And he spread his wings, and scream'd aloud,
For he durst not light in the lonely dell,
But his rage made all the echoes yell;
For he saw the blood below his feet,
And he saw it red, and he knew it sweet,
And though death was pleasing to his eye,
The silken tartans stream'd too nigh.
The lord of Balloch rode on and on,
With a heavy gloom his heart upon,
Till his stead began to show demur,
For he snorted and refused the spur,
And, nor for coaxing nor for blow,
Farther one step he would not go;
He rear'd aloft and he shook with fear,
And his snorting was terrible to hear:
The gallant steed is left behind,
And the chief proceeds with a troubled mind.
With a heavy gloom his heart upon,
Till his stead began to show demur,
For he snorted and refused the spur,
And, nor for coaxing nor for blow,
Farther one step he would not go;
He rear'd aloft and he shook with fear,
And his snorting was terrible to hear:
The gallant steed is left behind,
And the chief proceeds with a troubled mind.
But short way had that good lord gone,
Ere his heart was turn'd into a stone;
It was not for nought that the steed rebell'd;
It was not for nought that the eagle yell'd;
It was not for nought that the visions of night
Presented that lord with a grievous sight—
A sight of misery and despair:
But I dare not tell what he found there!
For the hearts of the old would withhold belief,
And the hearts of the young would bleed with grief,
Till the very fountains of life ran dry!
Sweet sleep would forsake the virgin's eye,
And man, whose love she had learn'd to prize,
Would appear a monster in disguise—
A thing of cursed unhallow'd birth,
Unfit to dwell on his Maker's earth;
The very flowers of the wilder'd dell
Would blush, were I that tale to tell!
Ere his heart was turn'd into a stone;
It was not for nought that the steed rebell'd;
It was not for nought that the eagle yell'd;
It was not for nought that the visions of night
Presented that lord with a grievous sight—
A sight of misery and despair:
But I dare not tell what he found there!
For the hearts of the old would withhold belief,
And the hearts of the young would bleed with grief,
Till the very fountains of life ran dry!
Sweet sleep would forsake the virgin's eye,
And man, whose love she had learn'd to prize,
Would appear a monster in disguise—
A thing of cursed unhallow'd birth,
Unfit to dwell on his Maker's earth;
The very flowers of the wilder'd dell
Would blush, were I that tale to tell!
Ah! the clan of Lochdorbin for ever may rue
That the dream and its ending proved so true,
For twenty ruffians of that dome,
And at their head base Gill-na-omb,
Were hung by the necks around that dell,
To bleach in the snows and rains that fell;
And there they swung the wild within,
Till the dry bones rattled in the skin;
And they hung, and they hung, till all was gone
Save a straggling skull and white back-bone—
A lesson to men of each degree,
How sacred the virgin form should be.
That the dream and its ending proved so true,
For twenty ruffians of that dome,
And at their head base Gill-na-omb,
Were hung by the necks around that dell,
To bleach in the snows and rains that fell;
And there they swung the wild within,
Till the dry bones rattled in the skin;
And they hung, and they hung, till all was gone
Save a straggling skull and white back-bone—
A lesson to men of each degree,
How sacred the virgin form should be.
As for Lochdorbin's brutal chief,
He was pinion'd like a common thief,
And cast into a dungeon deep
Below the Balloch castle-keep,
Where he pined to death, there not the first
Who had died of hunger and of thirst.
On his own flesh he strove to dine,
And drank his blood instead of wine,
Then groan'd his sicken'd soul away,
Cursing the lord of Balloch's sway,
And wishing, with dying grin and roar,
That twenty maidens, and twenty more,
Were in his power in the lonely dell,
And all by that lord beloved as well.
He was pinion'd like a common thief,
And cast into a dungeon deep
Below the Balloch castle-keep,
Where he pined to death, there not the first
Who had died of hunger and of thirst.
On his own flesh he strove to dine,
And drank his blood instead of wine,
Then groan'd his sicken'd soul away,
Cursing the lord of Balloch's sway,
And wishing, with dying grin and roar,
That twenty maidens, and twenty more,
Were in his power in the lonely dell,
And all by that lord beloved as well.
He is gone—extinct, and well-away!
His castle's a ruin unto this day,
And neither the shepherd nor hind can tell
The name of the chief that there did dwell;
And all that remains of that cruel beast,
Who laid the Buchan and Bogie waste,
Are some shreds of bones in the Balloch keep,
Still kick'd about in that dungeon deep;
Or haply some films of dust enshrined,
Whirl'd on the eddies of the wind.
So perish all from noble range,
Who would wrong a virgin for revenge!
His castle's a ruin unto this day,
And neither the shepherd nor hind can tell
The name of the chief that there did dwell;
366
Who laid the Buchan and Bogie waste,
Are some shreds of bones in the Balloch keep,
Still kick'd about in that dungeon deep;
Or haply some films of dust enshrined,
Whirl'd on the eddies of the wind.
So perish all from noble range,
Who would wrong a virgin for revenge!
The scene of this ancient and horrible legend seems to have been in the country of the Grants, whose chief may have been the Lord of Balloch. In the same district, also, there is an ancient castle, or rather garrison, of great strength and magnificence, called Lochindorb. It is situated on an island. Its walls are twenty feet thick, and it covers fully an acre of ground. It has a spacious entrance of hewn stone, and strong watch-towers at each corner. The inhabitants of the district can give no account of it, but say it was the residence of a great cateran chief, who was put down by the Earl of Moray and the Laird of Grant. Another account is, that he and all his followers were surprised, and cut off to a man, by the Laird of Grant. It is not improbable that this cateran chief may have been one of King Edward's officers.
The Miser's Warning.
There was a carle, right worldly wise,
Wha died without remede,
Yet fought his way to paradise
After that he was dead.
And the first soul that he met there,
Was of a maiden, mild and fair,
Wha once had fallen into a snare,
Whilk led to evil deed.
Wha died without remede,
Yet fought his way to paradise
After that he was dead.
And the first soul that he met there,
Was of a maiden, mild and fair,
Wha once had fallen into a snare,
Whilk led to evil deed.
“Oh, Mrs. Madam!” cried John Græme,
“I wonder mightilye
How leddy of such evil fame
Gat into this countrye!
If such as you get footing here,
Then auld John Græme hath cause to fear
He hath the wrong sow by the ear,
And sore dismay'd is he.
“I wonder mightilye
How leddy of such evil fame
Gat into this countrye!
If such as you get footing here,
Then auld John Græme hath cause to fear
He hath the wrong sow by the ear,
And sore dismay'd is he.
“Is this a place of blessedness,
Or is it a place of woe;
Or is it a place of middle space,
That lies between the two?
For there's a mildness in your mien,
And blitheness in your bright blue eyne,
Whilk certes sennil should be seen,
Where wicked dames do go.”
Or is it a place of woe;
Or is it a place of middle space,
That lies between the two?
For there's a mildness in your mien,
And blitheness in your bright blue eyne,
Whilk certes sennil should be seen,
Where wicked dames do go.”
“Oho, John Græme! are you but there?
Did you ne'er hear of this,
That everilk place where spirits fare
To them is place of bliss?
That men and women, by God's might,
Were framed with spirits beaming bright,
Stepping from darkness into light,
Though sunk in sin's abyss?
Did you ne'er hear of this,
That everilk place where spirits fare
To them is place of bliss?
That men and women, by God's might,
Were framed with spirits beaming bright,
Stepping from darkness into light,
Though sunk in sin's abyss?
“A thousand years, or thousands ten,
Not reckon'd once can be;
The immortal spirit rises on
To all eternitye;
It rises on, or more or less,
In knowledge and in happiness,
Progressing still to purer bliss,
That end can never see.”
Not reckon'd once can be;
The immortal spirit rises on
To all eternitye;
It rises on, or more or less,
In knowledge and in happiness,
Progressing still to purer bliss,
That end can never see.”
John shook his head, and primm'd his mou,
And claw'd his lug amain,
And says, “Fair dame, if this be true,
How comes it men have lain
In darkness to their spirit's frame,
Their Maker's manage and his aim,
Quhill lighten'd by ane sinful dame,
When light can prove no gain?
And claw'd his lug amain,
And says, “Fair dame, if this be true,
How comes it men have lain
In darkness to their spirit's frame,
Their Maker's manage and his aim,
Quhill lighten'd by ane sinful dame,
When light can prove no gain?
“Sooth, it is ane pleasant doctrine
For wicked hearts, I trow,
And suits the lordly libertine,
And ladies such as you—”
Then the fair dame, with witching wile,
Upraised her eyne, withouten guile,
Flung back her locks, and smiled a smile,
And says, “How judgest thou?
For wicked hearts, I trow,
And suits the lordly libertine,
And ladies such as you—”
Then the fair dame, with witching wile,
Upraised her eyne, withouten guile,
Flung back her locks, and smiled a smile,
And says, “How judgest thou?
“Is it for sauntering, sordid sot,
A hypocritic craven,
Say who is wicked, and who is not,
And widdershin with Heaven?
Do you not know in heart full well,
That if there is a burning hell,
You do deserve the place yoursell,
As well as any leevin'?
A hypocritic craven,
Say who is wicked, and who is not,
And widdershin with Heaven?
Do you not know in heart full well,
That if there is a burning hell,
You do deserve the place yoursell,
As well as any leevin'?
“You judge like men, and judge amiss,
Of simple maiden's crime,
But through temptations fathomless,
You cannot see a styme.
Through dark and hidden snares of sin,
And warnings of the soul within,
The eyne of mortal may not win,
Within the bounds of time.
Of simple maiden's crime,
But through temptations fathomless,
You cannot see a styme.
Through dark and hidden snares of sin,
And warnings of the soul within,
The eyne of mortal may not win,
Within the bounds of time.
“But would you know what brought me here,
To this calm world of thought,
It was the sad and silent tear,
That sweet repentance brought;
Of all the things on earth that be
Whilk God and angels love to see,
It is the heart's deep agonye
For souls so dearly bought.
To this calm world of thought,
It was the sad and silent tear,
That sweet repentance brought;
Of all the things on earth that be
Whilk God and angels love to see,
It is the heart's deep agonye
For souls so dearly bought.
“'Tis that which brings the heavenly bliss
Down like the morning dew,
On lost sheep of the wilderness,
Its longings to renew,
Till the poor lamb that went astray
In vice's wild and witless way,
Is led, as by an heavenly ray,
The light of life to view.
Down like the morning dew,
On lost sheep of the wilderness,
Its longings to renew,
Till the poor lamb that went astray
In vice's wild and witless way,
Is led, as by an heavenly ray,
The light of life to view.
367
“And let me tell you, auld John Græme,
Though here you seem to be,
You have through darkness, flood, and flame,
A weary weird to dree,
Unless you do, at God's command,
Repent of all your sins off hand,
Whilk in your hateful native land
Have grievous been to see.
Though here you seem to be,
You have through darkness, flood, and flame,
A weary weird to dree,
Unless you do, at God's command,
Repent of all your sins off hand,
Whilk in your hateful native land
Have grievous been to see.
“A greater sinner was not born
In dale of fair Scotland:
You know you stole Jock Laidlaw's corn,
And broke his heart and hand.
And though men knew you were foresworn,
Yet, when his family fell forlorn,
You treated their complaint with scorn,
And broke them from the land.
In dale of fair Scotland:
You know you stole Jock Laidlaw's corn,
And broke his heart and hand.
And though men knew you were foresworn,
Yet, when his family fell forlorn,
You treated their complaint with scorn,
And broke them from the land.
“Oh fie, John Græme! you sordid slave!
It sets you weel to crack;
You cheating, lying, scurvy knave,
Your heart is raven black!
Instead of a progressive pace,
In virtue, knowledge, and in grace,
Thou art lagging everilk day and space,
And fearfully gone back.
It sets you weel to crack;
You cheating, lying, scurvy knave,
Your heart is raven black!
Instead of a progressive pace,
In virtue, knowledge, and in grace,
Thou art lagging everilk day and space,
And fearfully gone back.
“And there's a thraldom biding thee,
Thine heart cannot conceive,
Worried a thousand years to be,
Without the least reprieve.
Time was—time is—but will not be,
For, when I pass from warning thee,
An angel, with thy death's decree,
The yetts of heaven shall leave.”
Thine heart cannot conceive,
Worried a thousand years to be,
Without the least reprieve.
Time was—time is—but will not be,
For, when I pass from warning thee,
An angel, with thy death's decree,
The yetts of heaven shall leave.”
“Alake!” says John, “it grieves me sore,
Short mercy I shall find;
I thought I had been dead before,
But how I cannot mind.
Much to repentance I incline,
And I could pray, and I could whine:
But to give back what now is mine,
To that I shall not bind.”
Short mercy I shall find;
I thought I had been dead before,
But how I cannot mind.
Much to repentance I incline,
And I could pray, and I could whine:
But to give back what now is mine,
To that I shall not bind.”
Then John knelt down in humble way
Upon the sward of heaven,
And pray'd as loud as man could pray,
That he might be forgiven.
“John!” cried his wife, who lay awake,
“What horrid din is this you make?
Get up, old braying brock, and take
Some breath to end this stevin.”
Upon the sward of heaven,
And pray'd as loud as man could pray,
That he might be forgiven.
“John!” cried his wife, who lay awake,
“What horrid din is this you make?
Get up, old braying brock, and take
Some breath to end this stevin.”
“Whisht, wife!” says John, “for I am dead,
And praying on the sky.
What's this? I know my soul is fled,
Or very soon must fly;
For there is an angel on the way;
How long he takes, I cannot say;
But or to-morrow, or to-day,
Poor old John Græme must die;
And praying on the sky.
What's this? I know my soul is fled,
Or very soon must fly;
For there is an angel on the way;
How long he takes, I cannot say;
But or to-morrow, or to-day,
Poor old John Græme must die;
“And, wife, we must repent for life,
And all men's goods restore.”
“The fiend be there, then!” quod the wife—
“Though they were ten times more.
'Tis good to keep the grip one hath,
Either for life, or yet for death.
Repent and pray while you have breath,
And all your sins give o'er;
And all men's goods restore.”
“The fiend be there, then!” quod the wife—
“Though they were ten times more.
'Tis good to keep the grip one hath,
Either for life, or yet for death.
Repent and pray while you have breath,
And all your sins give o'er;
“And take your chance, like many a ship,
And many a better man.”
John rose, and swore he would restore;
And syne begoud to bann
All wicked wives, of bad intent,
Who would not let their men repent,
Without their froward cursed consent,
That hell might them trepan.
And many a better man.”
John rose, and swore he would restore;
And syne begoud to bann
All wicked wives, of bad intent,
Who would not let their men repent,
Without their froward cursed consent,
That hell might them trepan.
John look'd at all his ewes and kye—
Oh! they were fair to see:
His gold he counted three times bye;
The tear blinded his ee:
But still he swore he would restore,
And blamed the wife, and wept full sore,
Counting his treasure o'er and o'er,
And graening grievouslye.
Oh! they were fair to see:
His gold he counted three times bye;
The tear blinded his ee:
But still he swore he would restore,
And blamed the wife, and wept full sore,
Counting his treasure o'er and o'er,
And graening grievouslye.
They yermit and flaitte a summer's day,
Of what was to be done;
And just as spread the gloaming gray,
Behind the setting sun,
The angel with the warrant came;
John felt his vitals in a flame;
Ghastly he stared upon his dame,
But language he had none.
Of what was to be done;
And just as spread the gloaming gray,
Behind the setting sun,
The angel with the warrant came;
John felt his vitals in a flame;
Ghastly he stared upon his dame,
But language he had none.
He gave a shiver, and but one,
And still his gold he eyed;
He pointed to it—gave a groan—
And as he lived he died,
The slave of that o'erpowering vice,
That dead'ning, craving Avarice,
That turns the human heart to ice,
Unblest, unsatisfied.
And still his gold he eyed;
He pointed to it—gave a groan—
And as he lived he died,
The slave of that o'erpowering vice,
That dead'ning, craving Avarice,
That turns the human heart to ice,
Unblest, unsatisfied.
This carle was hated while he lived,
Unwept when he was gone;
But where he went, or how received,
To me was not made known.
But on this truth I can recline,
That he's where mercy's rays combine—
In better hands nor his or mine,
Which men will not disown.
Unwept when he was gone;
But where he went, or how received,
To me was not made known.
But on this truth I can recline,
That he's where mercy's rays combine—
In better hands nor his or mine,
Which men will not disown.
Lytill Pynkie.
Lyttil Pynkie came to Kilbogye yett,
It wals on ane hallow-day;
And the ladye babyis with her mette,
To heirre quhat sho wolde say.
It wals on ane hallow-day;
And the ladye babyis with her mette,
To heirre quhat sho wolde say.
368
For Pynkie wals the lyttilest bairne,
That ever dancit on the greinne;
And Pynkie wals the bonnyest thynge
That evir on yirthe wals seinne.
That ever dancit on the greinne;
And Pynkie wals the bonnyest thynge
That evir on yirthe wals seinne.
Hir faice wals caste in beautye's molde,
And ower hir browe abone
Hir hayre wals lyke the streemys of golde
That tinssillis from the mone.
And ower hir browe abone
Hir hayre wals lyke the streemys of golde
That tinssillis from the mone.
The smyle that playit upon hir faice
Wals comely to be seene,
And the bonnye blue that dyit the hevin
Wals nevir lyke Pynkie's eeyne.
Wals comely to be seene,
And the bonnye blue that dyit the hevin
Wals nevir lyke Pynkie's eeyne.
Thre spannis from heelle to heidde sho stode,
But all so meitte to se,
No mayden in hir myldest mode
Ane lovelier forme colde bee.
But all so meitte to se,
No mayden in hir myldest mode
Ane lovelier forme colde bee.
Quhatever lookit at hir ane spaice,
Colde nevir calle to mynde
That she possessit not fraime and graice
Of stateliest womankynde.
Colde nevir calle to mynde
That she possessit not fraime and graice
Of stateliest womankynde.
The baronne caime forth to the greene,
And hee toke hir be the hande;
“Lyttil Pynkie, you are welcome heirre,
The flower of fayre Scotlande.
And hee toke hir be the hande;
“Lyttil Pynkie, you are welcome heirre,
The flower of fayre Scotlande.
“You are welcome to myne bowris, Pynkie,
And to myne hallis so gaye,
And you shalle be myne lammie deirre,
And I'll fondle you nychte and daye.”
And to myne hallis so gaye,
And you shalle be myne lammie deirre,
And I'll fondle you nychte and daye.”
“Och, no! Och, no! myne owne gode lorde,
For that wolde bee ane synne;
For if you toye or melle with me,
To hevin you'll nevir wynne.”
For that wolde bee ane synne;
For if you toye or melle with me,
To hevin you'll nevir wynne.”
“But I will taike myne chaunce, Pynkie,
For lofe is sore to thole;
The joie of maydenis leifu' charmis
Can nevir stayne the soule.”
For lofe is sore to thole;
The joie of maydenis leifu' charmis
Can nevir stayne the soule.”
“Better to thole than wynne the goale,
Quhare pryze is nonne before;
The man quha wynnis myne lofe and mee,
Will nevir knowe mayden more.
Quhare pryze is nonne before;
The man quha wynnis myne lofe and mee,
Will nevir knowe mayden more.
“But I will syng ane sang to you,
And daunce ane fairye quheille,
Till you and all youre bonny may bairnis
Can daunce it wonder weille.”
And daunce ane fairye quheille,
Till you and all youre bonny may bairnis
Can daunce it wonder weille.”
Were I to telle Lyttil Pynkie's sang,
It mighte doo muckle ill;
For it wals not fraimit of yirthly wordis,
Though it soundit sweitte and shrill.
It mighte doo muckle ill;
For it wals not fraimit of yirthly wordis,
Though it soundit sweitte and shrill.
But aye the owerworde of the sang
Which ladyis lernit to syng,
Wals, “Rounde and rounde, and sevin tymis rounde
The elfynis fairye ryng!”
Which ladyis lernit to syng,
Wals, “Rounde and rounde, and sevin tymis rounde
The elfynis fairye ryng!”
The firste moove that Lyttil Pynkie maide,
Wals gentil, softe, and sweitte;
But the seconde rounde Lyttil Pynkie maide,
Theye colde not kenne hir feitte.
Wals gentil, softe, and sweitte;
But the seconde rounde Lyttil Pynkie maide,
Theye colde not kenne hir feitte.
The thrydde rounde that Lyttil Pynkie maide,
Sho shymmerit als lycht and gaye
Als dauncyng of the wiry lychtis
On warme and sonnye daye.
Sho shymmerit als lycht and gaye
Als dauncyng of the wiry lychtis
On warme and sonnye daye.
And aye sho sang, with twyrle and spang,
Arounde them on the playne,
Quhille hir feitte theye shymmerit abone theyre heddis,
Then kyssit the swairde agayne.
Arounde them on the playne,
Quhille hir feitte theye shymmerit abone theyre heddis,
Then kyssit the swairde agayne.
Then the baronne hee begoude to bobbe,
No longer colde hee stande,
And his lyttil maydenis in ane ryng
They joynit him hande to hande.
No longer colde hee stande,
And his lyttil maydenis in ane ryng
They joynit him hande to hande.
And rounde and rounde, and faster rounde,
The fairye ryng theye flewe;
And aye the langer that theye daunsit,
The madder on fonne theye grewe.
The fairye ryng theye flewe;
And aye the langer that theye daunsit,
The madder on fonne theye grewe.
And Lyttil Pynkie in the middis
Bobbyt lyke ane flee in Maye,
And everilk spryng Lyttil Pynkie gaif,
The baronne he cryit “Hurraye!”
Bobbyt lyke ane flee in Maye,
And everilk spryng Lyttil Pynkie gaif,
The baronne he cryit “Hurraye!”
And rounde and rounde the fairye ryng
They lyltit and they sang,
And rounde and rounde the fairye ryng
They caiperit and they flang;
They lyltit and they sang,
And rounde and rounde the fairye ryng
They caiperit and they flang;
Quhille the baronne hee begoude to gaspe,
And his eeyne sette in his heidde;
Hee colde not dragg ane oder lymbe,
So neirlye hee wals deidde,
And downe he felle upon the playne,
Prone lyke ane forme of leidde.
And his eeyne sette in his heidde;
Hee colde not dragg ane oder lymbe,
So neirlye hee wals deidde,
And downe he felle upon the playne,
Prone lyke ane forme of leidde.
But aye quhan Pynkie made ane spryng
Betweinne him and the daye,
Hee maide a paulle with handis and feitte,
And gaif ane faynte “Hurraye!”
Betweinne him and the daye,
Hee maide a paulle with handis and feitte,
And gaif ane faynte “Hurraye!”
Hee streikit out his lymbis in dethe,
Unpytied and unbleste;
But “Hurraye!” it wals the ae laste sounde
That gurglit in his breste.
Unpytied and unbleste;
But “Hurraye!” it wals the ae laste sounde
That gurglit in his breste.
The maydis theye daunsit and caiperit on
In madnesse and in blaime;
For lofe or stryffe, or dethe or lyffe,
To them wals all the saime.
In madnesse and in blaime;
For lofe or stryffe, or dethe or lyffe,
To them wals all the saime.
But rounde and rounde the ryng theye flewe,
Swyfte als sevin burdis on wyng;
Regairdyng the deidde man no more
Than any yirthly thyng.
Swyfte als sevin burdis on wyng;
Regairdyng the deidde man no more
Than any yirthly thyng.
The menialis gadderit rounde, and sawe
In terrour and dismaye,
Them dauncyng rounde theyre deidde fader,
And Pynkie wals awaye.
In terrour and dismaye,
Them dauncyng rounde theyre deidde fader,
And Pynkie wals awaye.
369
“Och-on, och-on,” the chaiplyng cryit,
“There's some enchauntmente heirre;
Haiste, haiste awaye, myne maydinis gaye,
This shaimefulle course forbeirre.”
“There's some enchauntmente heirre;
Haiste, haiste awaye, myne maydinis gaye,
This shaimefulle course forbeirre.”
The maydinis lefte the fairye ryng,
And ceissit theyre lychtsome fonne,
But theye colde not comprehende one thyng
Of all that had beinne donne.
And ceissit theyre lychtsome fonne,
But theye colde not comprehende one thyng
Of all that had beinne donne.
The chaiplyng ranne into the ryng
To lifte his maisteris heidde,
And callit on six young bordlye wychtis,
To beirre awaye the deidde;
To lifte his maisteris heidde,
And callit on six young bordlye wychtis,
To beirre awaye the deidde;
Quhan Lyttil Pynkie in the myddis
Stode lofelye als the sonne;
Sho sang ane staife, and dauncit it rounde,
And all theyre grieffe wals donne.
Stode lofelye als the sonne;
Sho sang ane staife, and dauncit it rounde,
And all theyre grieffe wals donne.
The chaiplyng hee begoude to bobbe,
And wagg his heede amayne,
For the lyttil kymmeris lythlye lymbis
Had veirlye turnit his brayne.
And wagg his heede amayne,
For the lyttil kymmeris lythlye lymbis
Had veirlye turnit his brayne.
And rounde and rounde the deidde baronne,
With caiper and with squealle,
The chaiplyng and his six young menne
Wente lyke ane spynnyng quheille.
With caiper and with squealle,
The chaiplyng and his six young menne
Wente lyke ane spynnyng quheille.
And ay they sang Lyttil Pynkie's sang,
Als loudde als they colde braye;
But saife the burden of that sang,
The wordis I daurna saye.
Als loudde als they colde braye;
But saife the burden of that sang,
The wordis I daurna saye.
But ay quhan Pynkie made ane ryse,
With fitfulle fairye flyng;
“Agayne, agayne!” the chaiplyng cryit,
“Weille profen, myne bonnye thyng!
With fitfulle fairye flyng;
“Agayne, agayne!” the chaiplyng cryit,
“Weille profen, myne bonnye thyng!
“Agayne, agayne! Agayne, agayne!”
In maddenyng screimme cryit hee,
“Och, let mee se that spryng agayne,
That I of lofe maye de!”
In maddenyng screimme cryit hee,
“Och, let mee se that spryng agayne,
That I of lofe maye de!”
And rounde and rounde the deidde baronne
Theye flapperit and theye flewe;
And rounde and rounde the deidde baronne
Theye bumpyt and theye blewe;
Theye flapperit and theye flewe;
And rounde and rounde the deidde baronne
Theye bumpyt and theye blewe;
Quhill the chaiplyng hee begoude to gaspe
And quhizle in the throtte,
And downe hee felle upon the greinne
Lyke ane greate mardel stotte.
And quhizle in the throtte,
And downe hee felle upon the greinne
Lyke ane greate mardel stotte.
He streikit out his laithlye lymbis,
His eeyne sette in his heidde,
But “Agayne, agayne!” caime with ane ryfte,
Quhill after hee wals deidde.
His eeyne sette in his heidde,
But “Agayne, agayne!” caime with ane ryfte,
Quhill after hee wals deidde.
Then all the lande togedder ranne
To prieste and holy fryer,
And there wals prayeris in every kirke,
And hymnis in every quire;
To prieste and holy fryer,
And there wals prayeris in every kirke,
And hymnis in every quire;
For Lyttil Pynkie helde hir plaice
At lordlye Kilbogye,
And of everilk chamber in the housse
Lyttil Pynkie keepit the ke.
At lordlye Kilbogye,
And of everilk chamber in the housse
Lyttil Pynkie keepit the ke.
So wordis gone eiste and wordis gone weste,
From Solwaye unto the Clyde,
And wordis gone to the greate Mass John
That livit on Cloudan syde.
From Solwaye unto the Clyde,
And wordis gone to the greate Mass John
That livit on Cloudan syde.
So he is awaye to Kilbogye halle
These lordlys maidis to saive,
And conjure that wylde thyng away
Into the Reidd Sea's wave.
These lordlys maidis to saive,
And conjure that wylde thyng away
Into the Reidd Sea's wave.
Quhan he caime to Kilbogye yette
He tirlit at the pynne,
And quha wals so readdye als Lyttil Pynkie
To ryse and let him in.
He tirlit at the pynne,
And quha wals so readdye als Lyttil Pynkie
To ryse and let him in.
“Bairne, I haif wordis to say to you
On matter most sincere;
Quhare is the countreye you caime frome,
And quha wals it sente you heirre?”
On matter most sincere;
Quhare is the countreye you caime frome,
And quha wals it sente you heirre?”
“I caime from ane countreye farre awaye,
A regioune caulme and sweitte,
For all the sternis of the milky waye
Werre farre benethe our feitt.
A regioune caulme and sweitte,
For all the sternis of the milky waye
Werre farre benethe our feitt.
“But I haif romit this yirthlye sphere
Some vyrgin soulis to wynne,
Since maydis were born the slaives of love,
Of sorrowe, and of synne;
Some vyrgin soulis to wynne,
Since maydis were born the slaives of love,
Of sorrowe, and of synne;
“By nychte and daye and glomyng graye,
By grofe and greinwode tree;
Oh, if you kennit quhat I haif donne
To keippe them fayre and free!
By grofe and greinwode tree;
Oh, if you kennit quhat I haif donne
To keippe them fayre and free!
“I haif satte upon theyre waifyng lockis
Als daunceyng on the greinne,
And watchit the blushes of the cheeke,
And glances of the eeyne.
Als daunceyng on the greinne,
And watchit the blushes of the cheeke,
And glances of the eeyne.
“I have whysperit dremys into theyre eirris,
Of all the snairis of lofe;
And coolit theyre yong and hopyng brestis
With dewis distyllit abofe.”
Of all the snairis of lofe;
And coolit theyre yong and hopyng brestis
With dewis distyllit abofe.”
“But O thou wylde and wycked thyng,
Thynk of this virgyn bande;
Thou'st taiken theyre fader from theyre heid,
Theyre pastor from theyre hand.”
Thynk of this virgyn bande;
Thou'st taiken theyre fader from theyre heid,
Theyre pastor from theyre hand.”
“That fader wals ane man so wylde,
Disgraice of human fraime;
Hee keipit sevin lemanis in his halle,
And maide it house of shaime;
And his fat chaiplyng—worste of alle,
Theyre dedis I maye not naime.
Disgraice of human fraime;
Hee keipit sevin lemanis in his halle,
And maide it house of shaime;
And his fat chaiplyng—worste of alle,
Theyre dedis I maye not naime.
“Before ane of those maydis had blomit
In lofely laidyhode,
Each wold haif loste hir quhite cleethyng,
But and her sylken snode.
In lofely laidyhode,
Each wold haif loste hir quhite cleethyng,
But and her sylken snode.
370
“Then blaime me not now, good Mass John,
For workyng of this skaithe;
It wals the mennis besettyng synne
That tosted them to dethe.
For workyng of this skaithe;
It wals the mennis besettyng synne
That tosted them to dethe.
“But now, Mass John, I know you are
A gude man and ane true;
Therefore I yield my vyrgin chairge
With plesure up to you.
A gude man and ane true;
Therefore I yield my vyrgin chairge
With plesure up to you.
“For oh there is moche for me to doo
'Mong maydenis mylde and meike;
Men are so wycked heire belowe,
And wemyng are so weake.
'Mong maydenis mylde and meike;
Men are so wycked heire belowe,
And wemyng are so weake.
“But I will baithe your eeyne, Mass John,
With unguent of the skye;
And you shall heirre with oder eirre,
And se with oder eye.
With unguent of the skye;
And you shall heirre with oder eirre,
And se with oder eye.
“And you shall se the richte and wrong,
With soule of dredde withynne;
Quhat habitantis you dwelle amang,
Quhat worlde you sojourne in.”
With soule of dredde withynne;
Quhat habitantis you dwelle amang,
Quhat worlde you sojourne in.”
Sho touchit his eye, sho touchit his eirre,
With unguent of the skye,
Distillit from flowris of hevinlye boweris,
That nevir nevir die.
With unguent of the skye,
Distillit from flowris of hevinlye boweris,
That nevir nevir die.
Mass John hee turnit him rounde aboute,
To se quhat hee colde se;
“Quhat's this! quhat's this!” cryit goode Mass John,
“Quhat hath befallen mee!
To se quhat hee colde se;
“Quhat's this! quhat's this!” cryit goode Mass John,
“Quhat hath befallen mee!
“For outhir I am sounde asleippe,
And in ane feirsome dreime;
Or else I'm deidde, and gane to hevin,
Which raither wolde beseime.
And in ane feirsome dreime;
Or else I'm deidde, and gane to hevin,
Which raither wolde beseime.
“For spyritis come and spyritis go,
Of eviry shaipe and shaide,
With ghostis and demonis not ane few;
Sothe, I am sore afrayde!
Of eviry shaipe and shaide,
With ghostis and demonis not ane few;
Sothe, I am sore afrayde!
“Quhare is—quhare is Lyttil Pynkie gone?
I cannot brooke this payne;—
Oh! taik this oyntment off myne eeyne,
And maike mee blynde agayne.
I cannot brooke this payne;—
Oh! taik this oyntment off myne eeyne,
And maike mee blynde agayne.
“How can I live, or moove, or thynk
With spyritis to congree;
I no acquaintance haif of them,
And they haif nonne of mee!”
With spyritis to congree;
I no acquaintance haif of them,
And they haif nonne of mee!”
But Lyttil Pynkie she wals gane
Awaye by daille and glenne,
To guarde the vyrginis of the lande
From wylis of wycked menne;
Awaye by daille and glenne,
To guarde the vyrginis of the lande
From wylis of wycked menne;
And goode Mass John is lefte alone
'Mang spyritis of everilk hue;
There were spyritis blacke, and spyritis quhyte,
And spyritis greene and blue;
'Mang spyritis of everilk hue;
There were spyritis blacke, and spyritis quhyte,
And spyritis greene and blue;
And theye were moovyng too and fro
'Mang thyngis of mortal birthe,
Als thicke als burdis upon the bough,
Or human thyngis on yirth.
'Mang thyngis of mortal birthe,
Als thicke als burdis upon the bough,
Or human thyngis on yirth.
Eache vyrgin had ane guardian fere,
Als fayre als flowir of Maye;
And hee himself ane great blacke dougge
That wolde not pass awaye.
Als fayre als flowir of Maye;
And hee himself ane great blacke dougge
That wolde not pass awaye.
And some had devilis to bee theyre maitis,
And some had two or thre,
That playit soche prankis with maydis and sanctis,
As wals ane shaime to se.
And some had two or thre,
That playit soche prankis with maydis and sanctis,
As wals ane shaime to se.
And then the dougge—the great blacke dougge,
Kept lokyng in his faice,
With many a dark and meanyng scowlle,
And many a sly grimaice.
Kept lokyng in his faice,
With many a dark and meanyng scowlle,
And many a sly grimaice.
It wals ane lyffe hee colde not brooke,
He wals so hard bestedde;
He colde not preiche, hee colde not praye—
He colde not sleippe in bedde;
He wals so hard bestedde;
He colde not preiche, hee colde not praye—
He colde not sleippe in bedde;
For evin within the haly kirke,
By that amaizyng spelle,
He saw some scenis before his faice
Als I can hardlye telle.
By that amaizyng spelle,
He saw some scenis before his faice
Als I can hardlye telle.
Soche als ane spyrit spreddyng clothe
Before ane tailoris eeyne;
And hee wals steillyng in his herte,
Trowing hee wals not seene.
Before ane tailoris eeyne;
And hee wals steillyng in his herte,
Trowing hee wals not seene.
And some wolde shaike ane mychtie purse
Before the courtieris sychte,
Quha solde his countrye for the saime
With very greate delychte.
Before the courtieris sychte,
Quha solde his countrye for the saime
With very greate delychte.
And some were throwyng cairdis and dysse
To many a drowsye wychte,
Quha playit and cursit, and cursit and playit,
Before theyre pastoris sychte.
To many a drowsye wychte,
Quha playit and cursit, and cursit and playit,
Before theyre pastoris sychte.
And some were wooyng maydinis dynke
With sylkis and satynis fyne,
And some with vowis and wycked teris,
Ane very deirre propyne.
With sylkis and satynis fyne,
And some with vowis and wycked teris,
Ane very deirre propyne.
And some were tyckelling maydinis oulde
With thoughtis of manlye youth;
Yea, half the scenis the kirke withynne
Were synnfulle and uncouthe.
With thoughtis of manlye youth;
Yea, half the scenis the kirke withynne
Were synnfulle and uncouthe.
Mass John aft tryit to close his eeyne,
And shutte them from his sychte;
For there were prankis so very drolle,
Theye maide him laugh outrychte.
And shutte them from his sychte;
For there were prankis so very drolle,
Theye maide him laugh outrychte.
There wals no thoughtis withynne the hertis,
Though secret and untolde,
But theye were acted in his sychte
By spyritis manifolde.
Though secret and untolde,
But theye were acted in his sychte
By spyritis manifolde.
371
He wyshed for dethe, and colde not lie
Suche strange enchantment under,
Thus wanderyng with a spyritis eye
Amid a worlde of wonder.
Suche strange enchantment under,
Thus wanderyng with a spyritis eye
Amid a worlde of wonder.
For manne moste be ane mortyl thyng,
With ane immortyl mynde,
Or passe the dore of dethe, and leive
Mortalitye behynde.
With ane immortyl mynde,
Or passe the dore of dethe, and leive
Mortalitye behynde.
So goode Mass John longit ferventlye
That lyffe with him were donne,
To mix with spyritis or with menne,
But only with the onne.
That lyffe with him were donne,
To mix with spyritis or with menne,
But only with the onne.
And then the dougge, the greate blacke dougge,
Wals ever in his plaice;
Evin at the altar there it stode,
And stairit him in the faice.
Wals ever in his plaice;
Evin at the altar there it stode,
And stairit him in the faice.
Mass John wente home and layit him downe,
And soone wals with the deidde,
And the bonnye maydis of Kilbogye
Are lefte withoute ane heidde.
And soone wals with the deidde,
And the bonnye maydis of Kilbogye
Are lefte withoute ane heidde.
Quhan sevin long yeris had come and passit,
With blynke and showir awaye,
Then Lyttil Pynkie sho caime backe
Upon ane Hallow-daye.
With blynke and showir awaye,
Then Lyttil Pynkie sho caime backe
Upon ane Hallow-daye.
But the straynis that Lyttil Pynkie sung
At settyng of the sonne,
Were nevir forgotte by old or young,
Quhill lyffe with them wals done.
At settyng of the sonne,
Were nevir forgotte by old or young,
Quhill lyffe with them wals done.
Quhat then wals sayit, or quhat wals donne,
No mynstrelle evir knewe;
But the bonnye maydis of Kilbogye
With beauty blomit anewe.
No mynstrelle evir knewe;
But the bonnye maydis of Kilbogye
With beauty blomit anewe.
Some demyt that theye wolde pass awaye
To oder lande than this;
But they lyvit the lyvis that wemyng lofe,
Of sociale yirthlie blisse.
To oder lande than this;
But they lyvit the lyvis that wemyng lofe,
Of sociale yirthlie blisse.
But many a taille in westlande daille,
Quainte rhyme and fairye laye,
There yet remaynis of Pynkie's straynis,
Upon the Hallow-daye.
Quainte rhyme and fairye laye,
There yet remaynis of Pynkie's straynis,
Upon the Hallow-daye.
The Two Men of Colston;
OR THE TRUE ENGLISH CHARACTER.
[_]
Returning to my old friends the Jacobites again, I venture to present my readers with three pretended Cumberland ones, which I introduced in an old Magazine as follows:—“Two Scotsmen come to a poor widow's house in Cumberland, in search of old songs, having heard that she was in possession of some. She tells them that she has plenty, but that they were all written by her brwother Twommy, and proceeds to say, ‘Whoy, didst thou neaver heaur of Twommy? I thowt all Cooamberland had knwoan brwother Twommy. Him wos a swart oof, a keynd of a dwomony, whoy had mwore lear nwor wot to guyde it; and they ca'd him the leympyng dwomony, for heym wos a creypple all the days of heym's layfe. A swort of a treyfling nicky-nacky bwody he wos, and neiver had the pooar to dey a gude turn eyther to the sel o' heym, or wony yan belaunged till heym. Aweel, thou'lt no hender Twommy, but he'll patch up a' the feyne ould sangs i' the weyde warld, and get them prentit in a beuk. And sae, efter he had spent the meast pairt o' him's leyfe gathering and penning, he gyangs his ways to Caril, whoy but he, to maik a greyt fortune. Whew! the prenter woad neaver look at nowther heym nor his lawlyess syangs. Twommy was very crwoss than, and off he sets wey them crippling all the way till Edinborough, and he woffers them till a measter prenter for a greyte swom of mwoney. Ney, he would nae byite! Then he woffers them till anwother measter prenter. He wos reather better, for he woffered Twommy a beauk o' prented syangs for his wretten yans. ‘Wow, Twommy, man!’ quoth I, ‘but thou wast a great feul no till chap him, for then thou wadst hae had a beuk that every body could heave read, wheyras thou hast now neything but a batch o' scrawls, that nay body can read but the sell o' thee.’ Twommy brought heame his beauk o' grand syangs yance myair; but at last there cwoms a Scots chap to Caril, speering after ooar Twommy's syangs, and then, peur man, he was up as heyly as the wund, expecting to pouch the hale mony o' the keuntrey. But afore the Scots gentleman came back, there cwomes anwother visitor, by the bye, and that was Mr. Palsy, and he teuk off peur Twommy leyke the shot of a gun, and then all his grand schemes war gyane leyke a blast o' wunn. The syangs are all to the fore, and for ney euse, that I can sey, but meaking sloughs to the wheeal spindle.’”
“Whoy, Josey mon, where be'st thou gwoing
Woth all thyne own horses and keye,
With thy pocks on thy back, leyke a pether,
And bearnies and baggage forby?”
“Whoy, dom it, mun, wost thou nwot hearing
Of all the bwad news that are out,
How that the Scwots rascals be cwoming
To reave all our yauds and our nout?
Woth all thyne own horses and keye,
With thy pocks on thy back, leyke a pether,
And bearnies and baggage forby?”
“Whoy, dom it, mun, wost thou nwot hearing
Of all the bwad news that are out,
How that the Scwots rascals be cwoming
To reave all our yauds and our nout?
“So I's e'en gwoing up to the muirlands,
Amang the weyld floshes to heyde,
With all my heall haudding and gyetting,
For fear that the worst should betyde.
Lword, mon! hast thou neaver been hearing,
There's noughts bwot the deavil to pay,
There's a pwope cwoming down fro' the Heylands,
To herry, to bworn, and to slay?
Amang the weyld floshes to heyde,
With all my heall haudding and gyetting,
For fear that the worst should betyde.
Lword, mon! hast thou neaver been hearing,
There's noughts bwot the deavil to pay,
There's a pwope cwoming down fro' the Heylands,
To herry, to bworn, and to slay?
“He has mwore nor ten thwosand meale weyming,
The fearswomest creatures of all,
They call them rebellioners—dom them!
And cannie-bulls swome do them call.
Whoy, mon, they eat Chreastians lyke robbits,
And bworn all the chworches for fwon;
And we're all to be mwordered togyther,
Fro' the bearn to the keyng on the thrwone.
The fearswomest creatures of all,
They call them rebellioners—dom them!
And cannie-bulls swome do them call.
Whoy, mon, they eat Chreastians lyke robbits,
And bworn all the chworches for fwon;
And we're all to be mwordered togyther,
Fro' the bearn to the keyng on the thrwone.
“Whoy, our keyng he sends out a greyt general,
With all his whole army, nwo less;
And what dwoes this pwope and his menzie?
Whoy, Twommy mon, feath thou'lt nwot guess?
Whoy, they fwalls all a-rworing and yelling,
Leyke a pack of mad hounds were there gowls;
And they cwomes wopen-mouth on our swodgers,
And eats them wop, bwodies and sowls!
With all his whole army, nwo less;
And what dwoes this pwope and his menzie?
Whoy, Twommy mon, feath thou'lt nwot guess?
Whoy, they fwalls all a-rworing and yelling,
Leyke a pack of mad hounds were there gowls;
And they cwomes wopen-mouth on our swodgers,
And eats them wop, bwodies and sowls!
“Whoy, Heaster, what deavil's thou dwoing?
Come, caw up the yaud woth the cart;
Let us heast out to Bwarton's weyld shieling,
For my blood it runs cold at my heart.
So fare thee weal, Twommy—I's crying—
Commend me to Mwoll and thyne wyfe;
If thou see'st oughts of Jwhonny's wee Meary,
Lword, tell her to rwon for her lyfe!”
Come, caw up the yaud woth the cart;
Let us heast out to Bwarton's weyld shieling,
For my blood it runs cold at my heart.
372
Commend me to Mwoll and thyne wyfe;
If thou see'st oughts of Jwhonny's wee Meary,
Lword, tell her to rwon for her lyfe!”
“Whoy, Josey mon, surely thou'st raving,
Thou'st heard the wrong seyd of the treuth;
For this is the true Keyng that's cwoming,
A brave and mwoch-wrong'd rwoyal yeuth.
Thou's ignorant as the yaud that thou reyd'st on,
Or cauve that thou dreyv'st out to the lwone;
For this pwope is the Prince Charles Stuart,
And he's cwome bwot to clayme what's his own.
Thou'st heard the wrong seyd of the treuth;
For this is the true Keyng that's cwoming,
A brave and mwoch-wrong'd rwoyal yeuth.
Thou's ignorant as the yaud that thou reyd'st on,
Or cauve that thou dreyv'st out to the lwone;
For this pwope is the Prince Charles Stuart,
And he's cwome bwot to clayme what's his own.
“His feythers have held this ould keyngdom
For a meatter of ten thowsand years,
Till there cwomes a bit dwom'd scrwogy bwody,
A theyvish ould rascal, I hears;
And he's stown the brave honest lad's crown fro'm,
And kick'd him out of house and hould,
And rewin'd us all with taxations,
And hang'd up the brave and the bwold.
For a meatter of ten thowsand years,
Till there cwomes a bit dwom'd scrwogy bwody,
A theyvish ould rascal, I hears;
And he's stown the brave honest lad's crown fro'm,
And kick'd him out of house and hould,
And rewin'd us all with taxations,
And hang'd up the brave and the bwold.
“Now, Josey mon, how wod'st thou leyke it,
If swome crabbit half-wotted lown
Should cwome and seize on thy bit haudding,
And droyve thee fro' all that's theyne own?
And, Josey mon, how wod'st thou lyke it,
If thou in theyne freands had swome hwope,
If they should all tworn their backs on thee,
And call thee a thief and a pwope?”
If swome crabbit half-wotted lown
Should cwome and seize on thy bit haudding,
And droyve thee fro' all that's theyne own?
And, Josey mon, how wod'st thou lyke it,
If thou in theyne freands had swome hwope,
If they should all tworn their backs on thee,
And call thee a thief and a pwope?”
“Whoy, Heaster, where deavil's thou gwoing,
Thou'lt droyve the ould creature to dead;
Hould still the cart till I conseyder—
Gyang, take the ould yaud bee the head.
Whoy, Twommy mon, what wast thou saying?
Cwome, say't all again without feal;
If thou'lt swear unto all thou hast tould me,
I've had the wrong sow bee the teal.”
Thou'lt droyve the ould creature to dead;
Hould still the cart till I conseyder—
Gyang, take the ould yaud bee the head.
Whoy, Twommy mon, what wast thou saying?
Cwome, say't all again without feal;
If thou'lt swear unto all thou hast tould me,
I've had the wrong sow bee the teal.”
“I'll swear unto all I has tould thee,
That this is our true Sovereign Keyng;
There never was house so ill gueydit,
And bee swuch a dwort of a theyng.”
“Bwot what of the cannie-bulls, Twommy?
That's reyther a doubtful concern;
The thoughts of these hworrid meale weeyming
Make me tremble for Heaster and bearn?”
That this is our true Sovereign Keyng;
There never was house so ill gueydit,
And bee swuch a dwort of a theyng.”
“Bwot what of the cannie-bulls, Twommy?
That's reyther a doubtful concern;
The thoughts of these hworrid meale weeyming
Make me tremble for Heaster and bearn?”
“They're the clans of the Nworth, honest Josey,
As brave men as ever had breath;
They've ta'en the hard seyde of the quorrel,
To stand by the reyght until death.
They have left all their feythers and mwothers,
Their weyves and their sweethearts and all,
And their heames, and their dear little bearnies,
With their true prince to stand or to fall.”
As brave men as ever had breath;
They've ta'en the hard seyde of the quorrel,
To stand by the reyght until death.
They have left all their feythers and mwothers,
Their weyves and their sweethearts and all,
And their heames, and their dear little bearnies,
With their true prince to stand or to fall.”
“Oh, Gwod bless their sowls, honest fellows!
Lword, Twommy! I's crying like mad!
I dwont know at all what's the matter,
But 'tis summat of that rwoyal lad.
Hoy, Heaster! thou fusionless hussey,
Tworn back the yaud's head towards heame;
Get wop on the top of the panniels,
And dreyve back the rwod that thou keame.
Lword, Twommy! I's crying like mad!
I dwont know at all what's the matter,
But 'tis summat of that rwoyal lad.
Hoy, Heaster! thou fusionless hussey,
Tworn back the yaud's head towards heame;
Get wop on the top of the panniels,
And dreyve back the rwod that thou keame.
“Now, Twommy, I's done leyke mee betters,
I's changed seydes, and sey let that stand,
And, mwore than mwost gentles can say for,
I've changed both with heart and with hand;
And since this lad is our true Sovereign,
I'll geave him all that I possess,
And I'll feyght for him too, should he need it,—
Can any true swobject do less?”
I's changed seydes, and sey let that stand,
And, mwore than mwost gentles can say for,
I've changed both with heart and with hand;
And since this lad is our true Sovereign,
I'll geave him all that I possess,
And I'll feyght for him too, should he need it,—
Can any true swobject do less?”
“Now geave me theyne hand, honest Josey,
That's spoke leyke a true Englishman;
He needs but a pleyne honest stworey,
And he'll dwo what's reyght if he can.
Cwome thou down to ould Nanny Cworbat's,
I'll give thee a quart of good brown,
And we'll dreynk to the health of Prince Charles,
And every true man to his own.”
That's spoke leyke a true Englishman;
He needs but a pleyne honest stworey,
And he'll dwo what's reyght if he can.
Cwome thou down to ould Nanny Cworbat's,
I'll give thee a quart of good brown,
And we'll dreynk to the health of Prince Charles,
And every true man to his own.”
The two other songs, “Red Clan-Ranald's Men” and “Up an' rin awa', Geordie,” will be found in a different part of this collection.
Fragment.
Lord Huntly's sheets were like the milk,
His couch was down, his curtains silk;
Wrought on his gilded canopy
Were wolf, and hound, and fleur-de-lis;
By him the loveliest lady lay
E'er hunted deer on bank of Spey—
Nor bed of down, nor lady kind,
Brought peace or bliss to Huntly's mind:
His couch was down, his curtains silk;
Wrought on his gilded canopy
Were wolf, and hound, and fleur-de-lis;
By him the loveliest lady lay
E'er hunted deer on bank of Spey—
Nor bed of down, nor lady kind,
Brought peace or bliss to Huntly's mind:
Unearthly moans his ears assail;
He heard a suffering infant wail:—
The watch-dog howling to the gale,
The thunder's burst, the rattling hail,
The river roaring down the dale,
All nature seemed at enmity.
He heard a suffering infant wail:—
The watch-dog howling to the gale,
The thunder's burst, the rattling hail,
The river roaring down the dale,
All nature seemed at enmity.
Why foamed that flood from shore to shore?
Why did the volleying thunder roar?
Fierce lightnings rend the rocking tower,
And crested clouds incumbent lower
In dark and dread condensity?
Ah, Heaven!—that lady by his side—
That lady was not Huntly's bride!
Why did the volleying thunder roar?
Fierce lightnings rend the rocking tower,
And crested clouds incumbent lower
In dark and dread condensity?
Ah, Heaven!—that lady by his side—
That lady was not Huntly's bride!
When rose the morning clear and fair,
Why did the frightened menials stare,
Each knight and squire his weapon bare,
And maidens rend their flowing hair?
What?—neither lord nor lady there!
Why did the frightened menials stare,
Each knight and squire his weapon bare,
And maidens rend their flowing hair?
What?—neither lord nor lady there!
Why o'er yon thicket's dusty ring,
Where sullen sloes and brambles cling,
Does the dark raven veering hing,
And mountain eagle flap her wing?
Ah, horror to the searching eye!
What are those mangled fragments by,
All scattered, rent, and red that lie?
Where sullen sloes and brambles cling,
Does the dark raven veering hing,
And mountain eagle flap her wing?
Ah, horror to the searching eye!
What are those mangled fragments by,
All scattered, rent, and red that lie?
373
Are these the limbs of prowling thief,
Of reaver stern, or robber thief?
No, all that now remains they see
Of Huntly, flower of chivalry!
For, sooth, the beauty by his side
No lady was, nor Huntly's bride.
[OMITTED]
Of reaver stern, or robber thief?
No, all that now remains they see
Of Huntly, flower of chivalry!
For, sooth, the beauty by his side
No lady was, nor Huntly's bride.
The Admonition.
Auld Geordie sat beside a board,
Wi' routh o' hamely meltith stored;
Threw aff his hat, composed his face,
An' just was thinking owre the grace,
When ae wee say that chanced to pass,
'Tween his auld wife an' only lass,
At aince pu'ed Geordie's mind away
To something he wished lang to say.
Wi' routh o' hamely meltith stored;
Threw aff his hat, composed his face,
An' just was thinking owre the grace,
When ae wee say that chanced to pass,
'Tween his auld wife an' only lass,
At aince pu'ed Geordie's mind away
To something he wished lang to say.
He turned, an' wi' a fervent air,
That weel bespak a parent's care,
Soft yet severe, though kind yet keen,
He thus addressed his darling Jean;
His wife close by his elbow staid,
Assenting weel to a' he said.
That weel bespak a parent's care,
Soft yet severe, though kind yet keen,
He thus addressed his darling Jean;
His wife close by his elbow staid,
Assenting weel to a' he said.
“Ah lassie! thou art a' we hae,
For Heaven has left us now nae mae;
Thy ilka faut we grieve to see,
For a' our care on earth's for thee.
If ye but kend, by night an' day
How for thy guid we wish an' pray—
How sair owre thee our bosoms yearn,
Jean, ye wad be a mindfu' bairn.
For Heaven has left us now nae mae;
Thy ilka faut we grieve to see,
For a' our care on earth's for thee.
If ye but kend, by night an' day
How for thy guid we wish an' pray—
How sair owre thee our bosoms yearn,
Jean, ye wad be a mindfu' bairn.
“I've lately seen, an' grieved to see,
Your frequent rambles owre the lea,
When gloaming draws her fairy screen
Around the walks an' woodlands green;
When music melts in ilka grove,
An' ilka note's a note of love.
What gars ye dander out your lane,
In wrapper braw an' tippet clean,
Your hair kaimed up sae dink to see,
An' gowden curls aboon your bree?
Ah, Jean—beware, my bonnie bairn,
The book o' virtue's hard to learn!
The pleasant way aft leads to death,
The adder lurks in flowery path:
Ye needna lie—ye gang, I ken,
To meet young Jamie o' the glen;
Ye maunna do't—I trow fu' weel
Your virtue fair, your bosom leal;
But that's no a'—by night an' day,
Keep out o' sin an' danger's way.
Your frequent rambles owre the lea,
When gloaming draws her fairy screen
Around the walks an' woodlands green;
When music melts in ilka grove,
An' ilka note's a note of love.
What gars ye dander out your lane,
In wrapper braw an' tippet clean,
Your hair kaimed up sae dink to see,
An' gowden curls aboon your bree?
Ah, Jean—beware, my bonnie bairn,
The book o' virtue's hard to learn!
The pleasant way aft leads to death,
The adder lurks in flowery path:
Ye needna lie—ye gang, I ken,
To meet young Jamie o' the glen;
Ye maunna do't—I trow fu' weel
Your virtue fair, your bosom leal;
But that's no a'—by night an' day,
Keep out o' sin an' danger's way.
“Oh think, if sic a thing should be,
As that these walks by greenwood tree,
These nightly danderings by the river,
Should gar us lose our bairn for ever!
As that these walks by greenwood tree,
These nightly danderings by the river,
Should gar us lose our bairn for ever!
“Thy health is high, thy blossom fair,
Thy spirits dance as light as air;
Yet, trust me, Jean, thou'rt lightly poising
Between the winning an' the losing:
On youthfu' passion's firm control
Depends thy fair immortal soul.
Thy spirits dance as light as air;
Yet, trust me, Jean, thou'rt lightly poising
Between the winning an' the losing:
On youthfu' passion's firm control
Depends thy fair immortal soul.
“Be guid, my bairn; ye canna be
For aye aneath a parent's e'e;
But mind there's Ane will aye be near thee,
Will ever see, will ever hear thee,
An' if thou'rt guid he'll be thy friend,
An' make thee happy i' the end.”
For aye aneath a parent's e'e;
But mind there's Ane will aye be near thee,
Will ever see, will ever hear thee,
An' if thou'rt guid he'll be thy friend,
An' make thee happy i' the end.”
Young Jeanie's heart was soft an' kind;
A tender thought shot through her mind;
It came unsought—an' came again—
'Twas about Jamie o' the glen;
But she was guid as she was fair,
An' i' the gloaming walked nae mair.
A tender thought shot through her mind;
It came unsought—an' came again—
'Twas about Jamie o' the glen;
But she was guid as she was fair,
An' i' the gloaming walked nae mair.
Red Clan-Ranald's Men
[_]
Is likewise a pretended transcript from the “Dwomony's beuk,” and relates to the skirmish on Clifton Moor, on the 18th of December, 1745, where a party of M'Donalds, left to guard the baggage, so gallantly repulsed two regiments of cavalry, killing one hundred and fifty of them, and wounding more, while the Highlanders lost only twenty-four in all.
There's news—news—gallant news,
That Caril disna ken, joe;
There's gallant news of tartan trews,
And red Clan-Ranald's men, joe.
There has been blinking on the bent,
And slashing on the fell, joe;
The red-coat sparks hae got their yerks,
But Caril darena tell, joe.
That Caril disna ken, joe;
There's gallant news of tartan trews,
And red Clan-Ranald's men, joe.
There has been blinking on the bent,
And slashing on the fell, joe;
The red-coat sparks hae got their yerks,
But Caril darena tell, joe.
The prig dragoons they swore by 'zoons,
The rebels' hides to tan, joe;
But when they fand the Highland brand,
They funkit and they ran, joe.
And had the frumpy froward duke,
Wi a' his brags o' weir, joe,
But met our Charlie hand to hand,
In a' his Highland gear, joe;
The rebels' hides to tan, joe;
But when they fand the Highland brand,
They funkit and they ran, joe.
And had the frumpy froward duke,
Wi a' his brags o' weir, joe,
But met our Charlie hand to hand,
In a' his Highland gear, joe;
Had English might stood by the right,
As they did vaunt fu' vain, joe,
Or played the parts of Highland hearts,
The day was a' our ain, joe.
We darena say the right's the right,
Though weel the right we ken, joe;
But we dare think, and take a drink
To red Clan-Ranald's men, joe.
As they did vaunt fu' vain, joe,
Or played the parts of Highland hearts,
The day was a' our ain, joe.
We darena say the right's the right,
Though weel the right we ken, joe;
But we dare think, and take a drink
To red Clan-Ranald's men, joe.
374
Afore I saw our rightfu' prince
Frae foreign foggies flee, joe,
I'd lend a hand at Cumberland
To rowe it in the sea, joe.
Come fill a cup, and fill it up,
We'll drink the toast ye ken, joe,
And add, beside, the Highland plaid,
And red Clan-Ranald's men, joe.
Frae foreign foggies flee, joe,
I'd lend a hand at Cumberland
To rowe it in the sea, joe.
Come fill a cup, and fill it up,
We'll drink the toast ye ken, joe,
And add, beside, the Highland plaid,
And red Clan-Ranald's men, joe.
We'll drink to Athole's gallant band,
To Cluny of the Glen, joe,
To Donald Blue, and Appin true,
And red Clan-Ranald's men, joe;
And cry out news—our gallant news,
That Caril disna ken, joe,
Our gallant news of tartan trews,
And red Clan-Ranald's men, joe.
To Cluny of the Glen, joe,
To Donald Blue, and Appin true,
And red Clan-Ranald's men, joe;
And cry out news—our gallant news,
That Caril disna ken, joe,
Our gallant news of tartan trews,
And red Clan-Ranald's men, joe.
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