 | Musa Burschicosa |  |
5
A SONG OF GOOD GREEKS.
Since Martin Luther the ink-horn threw,
Which worked the Devil much woe,
The power of Greek in Europe grew,
And groweth and ever shall grow;
For never was language at all,
So magical-swelling,
So spirit-compelling,
As Homer rolled,
In billows of gold,
And Plato, and Peter, and Paul.
Which worked the Devil much woe,
The power of Greek in Europe grew,
And groweth and ever shall grow;
For never was language at all,
So magical-swelling,
So spirit-compelling,
As Homer rolled,
In billows of gold,
And Plato, and Peter, and Paul.
Etruscan, Hebrew, and Sanscrit are dead,
And Latin will die with the Pope,
But Greek still blooms like a thymy bed,
On brown Hymettus' slope;
For never was language at all,
That billowed so grandly,
And flowed out so blandly,
And never will die
Till men deny
The faith both of Plato and Paul.
And Latin will die with the Pope,
But Greek still blooms like a thymy bed,
On brown Hymettus' slope;
For never was language at all,
That billowed so grandly,
And flowed out so blandly,
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Till men deny
The faith both of Plato and Paul.
Who'll buy my wares, my old Greek wares?
Here's Homer, who sang of old Troy,
A sunny sprite all robed in light,
And crowned with beauty and joy;
For surely no minstrel at all
E'er poured such a river,
Of verses that never
Will cease to flow,
While men shall know
The Gospel of Peter and Paul.
Here's Homer, who sang of old Troy,
A sunny sprite all robed in light,
And crowned with beauty and joy;
For surely no minstrel at all
E'er poured such a river,
Of verses that never
Will cease to flow,
While men shall know
The Gospel of Peter and Paul.
Who'll buy my wares, my old Greek wares?
Here's Pindar, the eagle sublime,
Who soars where Jove's red lightning flares,
And his awful thunders chime;
For never was poet at all,
In boxing and racing,
And pedigree-tracing,
So learned as he,
And worthy to be
Canonized both with Peter and Paul.
Here's Pindar, the eagle sublime,
Who soars where Jove's red lightning flares,
And his awful thunders chime;
For never was poet at all,
In boxing and racing,
And pedigree-tracing,
So learned as he,
And worthy to be
Canonized both with Peter and Paul.
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Who'll buy my wares? here's Socrates,
Who first by logical spell
From Olympus' crown brought wisdom down,
With mortal men to dwell;
And sure never sage was at all,
Who mingled sound reason
With such pleasant season
Of mirth and fun,
And died like one
Well gospelled by Peter and Paul.
Who first by logical spell
From Olympus' crown brought wisdom down,
With mortal men to dwell;
And sure never sage was at all,
Who mingled sound reason
With such pleasant season
Of mirth and fun,
And died like one
Well gospelled by Peter and Paul.
Who'll buy my wares, my old Greek wares?
Here's Plato will pass for a god,
Who for new worlds new men prepares,
On a plan both pleasant and odd;
For sure never sage was at all
So loftily soaring,
So lavishly pouring
Of nectar fine,
The draught divine,
Only second to Peter and Paul.
Here's Plato will pass for a god,
Who for new worlds new men prepares,
On a plan both pleasant and odd;
For sure never sage was at all
So loftily soaring,
So lavishly pouring
Of nectar fine,
The draught divine,
Only second to Peter and Paul.
Who'll buy my wares, my old Greek wares?
Here's Aristotle, the wise,
Who sniffs about with learned snout,
And scans with critical eyes;
And sure never sage was at all
So crammed with all knowledge,
A walking college,
Who many things knew,
I tell you true,
Unknown both to Peter and Paul!
Here's Aristotle, the wise,
Who sniffs about with learned snout,
And scans with critical eyes;
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So crammed with all knowledge,
A walking college,
Who many things knew,
I tell you true,
Unknown both to Peter and Paul!
Who'll buy my wares, my old Greek wares?
Here's mighty Demosthenes, who,
When traitors sold fair Greece for gold,
Alone stood faithful and true;
For sure never man was at all
Who flung his oration
With such fulmination
Of scorching power
'Gainst the sins of the hour,
Like epistles of Peter and Paul.
Here's mighty Demosthenes, who,
When traitors sold fair Greece for gold,
Alone stood faithful and true;
For sure never man was at all
Who flung his oration
With such fulmination
Of scorching power
'Gainst the sins of the hour,
Like epistles of Peter and Paul.
Who'll buy my wares, my old Greek wares?
Here's Zeno, Cleanthes, and all,
Who set their face, with a manly grace,
To follow where duty might call;
For sure never men were at all
So steeled in all virtue
That flesh may be heir to,
And ready to die,
With never a sigh,
For the truth, just like Peter and Paul.
Here's Zeno, Cleanthes, and all,
Who set their face, with a manly grace,
To follow where duty might call;
For sure never men were at all
So steeled in all virtue
That flesh may be heir to,
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With never a sigh,
For the truth, just like Peter and Paul.
Who'll buy my wares, my old Greek wares?
Here's Proclus, Plotinus, and all,
Who clomb on Plato's golden stairs
To the super-celestial hall;
And sure never men were at all
Who lived so devoutly,
And grappled so stoutly
With flesh and blood,
And tramped in the mud
The Devil, like Peter and Paul.
Here's Proclus, Plotinus, and all,
Who clomb on Plato's golden stairs
To the super-celestial hall;
And sure never men were at all
Who lived so devoutly,
And grappled so stoutly
With flesh and blood,
And tramped in the mud
The Devil, like Peter and Paul.
Come, buy my wares, each learned elf,
Who culls Parnassian herbs,
And swears by Liddell and Scott, and Jelf,
And Veitch's irregular verbs!
For this I declare to you all,
Greek gives you a station
Sublime with the nation
Of gods above,
All hand and glove
With Plato, and Peter, and Paul.
Who culls Parnassian herbs,
And swears by Liddell and Scott, and Jelf,
And Veitch's irregular verbs!
For this I declare to you all,
Greek gives you a station
Sublime with the nation
Of gods above,
All hand and glove
With Plato, and Peter, and Paul.
10
Of all the thoughtful sons of Time,
The Greeks were wisest, that's clear;
The Germans preach a lore sublime,
But it smells of tobacco and beer;
And this I declare to you all,
Though Kant, and such fellows
Know something, they tell us,
They never will do
To tie the shoe
To Plato, or Peter, or Paul.
The Greeks were wisest, that's clear;
The Germans preach a lore sublime,
But it smells of tobacco and beer;
And this I declare to you all,
Though Kant, and such fellows
Know something, they tell us,
They never will do
To tie the shoe
To Plato, or Peter, or Paul.
Some think that man from a monkey grew
By steps of long generation,
When, after many blunders, a few
Good hits were made in creation;
But I can't comprehend this at all;
Of blind-groping forces
Though Darwin discourses,
I rather incline
To believe in design,
With Plato, and Peter, and Paul.
By steps of long generation,
When, after many blunders, a few
Good hits were made in creation;
But I can't comprehend this at all;
Of blind-groping forces
Though Darwin discourses,
I rather incline
To believe in design,
With Plato, and Peter, and Paul.
There's one Thomas Buckle, a London youth,
Who taught that the world was blind
Till he was born to proclaim the truth,
That matter is moulder of mind;
But I really can't fancy at all
How wheat, rice, and barley,
Made Dick, Tom, and Charlie
So tidy and trim,
Without help from Him
Who was preached both by Plato and Paul.
Who taught that the world was blind
Till he was born to proclaim the truth,
That matter is moulder of mind;
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How wheat, rice, and barley,
Made Dick, Tom, and Charlie
So tidy and trim,
Without help from Him
Who was preached both by Plato and Paul.
There's one John Bright, a Manchester man,
Who taught the Tories to rule
By setting their stamp on his patent plan
For renewing the youth of John Bull;
But I say that it won't do at all.
To seek for salvation
By mere numeration
Of polls would surprise,
If they were to rise,
Not a little both Plato and Paul.
Who taught the Tories to rule
By setting their stamp on his patent plan
For renewing the youth of John Bull;
But I say that it won't do at all.
To seek for salvation
By mere numeration
Of polls would surprise,
If they were to rise,
Not a little both Plato and Paul.
Then praise with me the old Greek times,
When men were lusty and strong,
And gods laughed merry in sunny climes,
And wisdom was wedded to song;
For this I declare to you all,
Bright may tickle your palate
With suffrage and ballot,
But you'll die a fool
If you don't go to school
With Plato, and Peter, and Paul.
When men were lusty and strong,
And gods laughed merry in sunny climes,
And wisdom was wedded to song;
For this I declare to you all,
Bright may tickle your palate
With suffrage and ballot,
But you'll die a fool
If you don't go to school
With Plato, and Peter, and Paul.
12
FOR A' THAT, AND A' THAT.
Is there for noble human kind,
Wha droops and doubts and a' that,
We'll pass him by, and what we find
We'll bravely do for a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
Our ups and downs, and a' that,
Though seeds are slow in March to grow,
We'll bide the June for a' that.
Wha droops and doubts and a' that,
We'll pass him by, and what we find
We'll bravely do for a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
Our ups and downs, and a' that,
Though seeds are slow in March to grow,
We'll bide the June for a' that.
Some think a flood of ills is come
To swamp the world and a' that;
'Tis but a fly upon the thumb
Of Titan Time, for a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
Their fears, and frets, and a' that,
Though weeds may grow, with spade and hoe
We'll root them out for a' that.
To swamp the world and a' that;
'Tis but a fly upon the thumb
Of Titan Time, for a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
Their fears, and frets, and a' that,
Though weeds may grow, with spade and hoe
We'll root them out for a' that.
13
Some preach we're near the end o' things,
The crack o' doom, and a' that,
When constitutions, states, and kings
Will fall in smash, and a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
Their dragons, beasts, and a' that,
Wi' love o' God and love to man,
We'll beat the De'il for a' that.
The crack o' doom, and a' that,
When constitutions, states, and kings
Will fall in smash, and a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
Their dragons, beasts, and a' that,
Wi' love o' God and love to man,
We'll beat the De'il for a' that.
Some trust in democratic bills,
And ballot-box and a' that,
But honest hearts and manly wills
Are best Reform for a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
Their counted polls and a' that,
The man who weighs the worth o' brains,
Can look and laugh at a' that.
And ballot-box and a' that,
But honest hearts and manly wills
Are best Reform for a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
Their counted polls and a' that,
The man who weighs the worth o' brains,
Can look and laugh at a' that.
Some trust in churches and in creeds,
The articles, and a' that;
A crutch may help their limping needs,
My legs are mine for a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
Their ban and bray and a' that,
Though priests may blink, and prophets wink,
There's truth in God for a' that.
The articles, and a' that;
A crutch may help their limping needs,
My legs are mine for a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
Their ban and bray and a' that,
Though priests may blink, and prophets wink,
There's truth in God for a' that.
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Some swear by cassock and by cope,
Cross, candlestick, and a' that,
But Christian faith, and love, and hope,
May sit and smile at a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
Their scarlet duds and a' that,
Who walks with God will tread the sod
High priest of men for a' that.
Cross, candlestick, and a' that,
But Christian faith, and love, and hope,
May sit and smile at a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
Their scarlet duds and a' that,
Who walks with God will tread the sod
High priest of men for a' that.
Some talk of forces and of laws,
Blind atom-dance, and a' that,
But God's the force, and Mind's the cause
That spins the globe for a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
Their peeping-glass and a' that,
To Him unseen behind the screen
We'll bend the knee for a' that.
Blind atom-dance, and a' that,
But God's the force, and Mind's the cause
That spins the globe for a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
Their peeping-glass and a' that,
To Him unseen behind the screen
We'll bend the knee for a' that.
Some brag of telegraphs and rails,
Coals, steam, and gas, and a' that,
But rattling mails and cotton bales
Ne'er made a man for a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
Their figures, facts, and a' that,
The first of facts is Thought, and what
High Thought begets, for a' that!
Coals, steam, and gas, and a' that,
But rattling mails and cotton bales
Ne'er made a man for a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
Their figures, facts, and a' that,
The first of facts is Thought, and what
High Thought begets, for a' that!
15
Some dream wi' books the De'il to ban,
Wi' cram of brain, and a' that,
But in the making of a man
The heart's the part for a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
Their penny sheets and a' that,
Without pure love from God above
It's worthless trash for a' that.
Wi' cram of brain, and a' that,
But in the making of a man
The heart's the part for a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
Their penny sheets and a' that,
Without pure love from God above
It's worthless trash for a' that.
Then let us trust in manly wills,
And honest hearts, and a' that,
And love with sacred fire that fills
Heroic souls for a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
Their doubts and fears and a' that,
Though churches nod we'll trust in God,
And live by faith for a' that!
And honest hearts, and a' that,
And love with sacred fire that fills
Heroic souls for a' that;
For a' that, and a' that,
Their doubts and fears and a' that,
Though churches nod we'll trust in God,
And live by faith for a' that!
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BOB AND BILLY.
Fare thee well, my boy!
Where my brain grows muddy,
You find bright employ,
And fatten on deep study.
While on books you thrive,
Pondering and poring,
Bill must keep alive,
Rambling and exploring.
Where my brain grows muddy,
You find bright employ,
And fatten on deep study.
While on books you thrive,
Pondering and poring,
Bill must keep alive,
Rambling and exploring.
Then God bless thee, boy!
A rose is not a lily,
You be steady Bob,
And I'll be roving Billy!
A rose is not a lily,
You be steady Bob,
And I'll be roving Billy!
You will rise and climb,
On the steps of learning,
To the seat sublime,
Where your heart is yearning:
From the pulpit then
You will flash and thunder,
King of Scottish men,
People's love and wonder!
On the steps of learning,
To the seat sublime,
Where your heart is yearning:
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You will flash and thunder,
King of Scottish men,
People's love and wonder!
Then God bless thee, boy! etc.
Or perhaps you may,
Should the creeds offend you,
With grave judgment sway
Where fees and wigs attend you;
Sitting like a god,
Thorny laws expounding,
Thrilling with your nod
Awe-struck throngs surrounding!
Should the creeds offend you,
With grave judgment sway
Where fees and wigs attend you;
Sitting like a god,
Thorny laws expounding,
Thrilling with your nod
Awe-struck throngs surrounding!
Then God bless thee, boy! etc.
Or perhaps you may,
In high deliberation,
With sage counsel sway
The rapt-expecting nation;
And when Church and State
To their base are reeling,
Waft to small and great
Wise words of happy healing.
In high deliberation,
With sage counsel sway
The rapt-expecting nation;
And when Church and State
To their base are reeling,
Waft to small and great
Wise words of happy healing.
Then God bless thee, boy! etc.
18
Some are thinkers born,
Some readers, and some riders,
Some from cats do turn,
And some do shrink from spiders;
But I—the truth to tell—
Above all life's embroglios
Do chiefly hate the smell
Of Greek and Latin folios!
Some readers, and some riders,
Some from cats do turn,
And some do shrink from spiders;
But I—the truth to tell—
Above all life's embroglios
Do chiefly hate the smell
Of Greek and Latin folios!
Then God bless thee, boy! etc.
Something in my blood
Savage and uncivil
Loves by foaming flood
And waving wood to revel:
While my neck is free
From yoke of gilded collar,
Glad I leave to thee
Both dignity and dollar!
Savage and uncivil
Loves by foaming flood
And waving wood to revel:
While my neck is free
From yoke of gilded collar,
Glad I leave to thee
Both dignity and dollar!
Then God bless thee, boy! etc.
Where the whistling breeze
Swells the roaring billow,
There I rock at ease
On a stormy pillow.
Or where the cannon booms
On field of battle gory,
Dashing through the fumes
I pluck the star of glory!
Swells the roaring billow,
There I rock at ease
On a stormy pillow.
Or where the cannon booms
On field of battle gory,
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I pluck the star of glory!
Then God bless thee, boy! etc.
Up the cliffy rocks
With the goat I scramble,
With the nimble fox
I jump across the bramble.
Where the tiger stands,
Through the jungle glaring,
My heart leaps to my hands
And revels in the daring.
With the goat I scramble,
With the nimble fox
I jump across the bramble.
Where the tiger stands,
Through the jungle glaring,
My heart leaps to my hands
And revels in the daring.
Then God bless thee, boy! etc.
Now, farewell, Bob, my boy;
While you sit and study,
Bright be still your eye,
And still your cheek be ruddy!
I must go: for me
The ship waits in the harbour;
Wisdom waits for thee
In Plato's thoughtful arbour.
While you sit and study,
Bright be still your eye,
And still your cheek be ruddy!
I must go: for me
The ship waits in the harbour;
Wisdom waits for thee
In Plato's thoughtful arbour.
Then God thee bless, boy!
Nor think my wisdom silly,
That you be steady Bob,
And I be roving Billy.
Nor think my wisdom silly,
That you be steady Bob,
And I be roving Billy.
20
A SONG OF GEOLOGY.
I'll sing you a ditty that needs no apology—
Attend, and keep watch in the gates of your ears!—
Of the famous new science which men call Geology,
And gods call the story of millions of years.
Millions, millions—did I say millions?
Billions and trillions are more like the fact!
Millions, billions, trillions, quadrillions,
Make the long sum of creation exact!
Attend, and keep watch in the gates of your ears!—
Of the famous new science which men call Geology,
And gods call the story of millions of years.
Millions, millions—did I say millions?
Billions and trillions are more like the fact!
Millions, billions, trillions, quadrillions,
Make the long sum of creation exact!
Confusion and Chaos, with wavering pinion,
First swayed o'er the weltering ferment of things,
When all over all held alternate dominion,
And the slaves of to-day were to-morrow the kings.
Chaos, Chaos, infinite wonder!
Wheeling and reeling on wavering wings;
Whence issued the world, which some think a blunder,
A rumble and tumble and jumble of things!
First swayed o'er the weltering ferment of things,
When all over all held alternate dominion,
And the slaves of to-day were to-morrow the kings.
Chaos, Chaos, infinite wonder!
Wheeling and reeling on wavering wings;
Whence issued the world, which some think a blunder,
A rumble and tumble and jumble of things!
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The minim of being, the dot of creation,
The germ of Sire Adam, of you and of me,
In the folds of the gneiss in Laurentian station,
Far west from the roots of Cape Wrath you may see.
Minims of being, budding and bursting,
All on the floor of the measureless sea!
Small, but for mighty development thirsting,
With throbs of the future, like you, Sir, and me!
The germ of Sire Adam, of you and of me,
In the folds of the gneiss in Laurentian station,
Far west from the roots of Cape Wrath you may see.
Minims of being, budding and bursting,
All on the floor of the measureless sea!
Small, but for mighty development thirsting,
With throbs of the future, like you, Sir, and me!
The waters, now big with a novel sensation,
Brought corals and buckies and bivalves to view,
Who dwell in shell houses, a soft-bodied nation;
But fishes with fins were yet none in the blue.
Buckies and bivalves, a numberless nation!
Buckies, and bivalves, and trilobites too!
These you will find in Silurian station,
When Ramsay and Murchison sharpen your view.
Brought corals and buckies and bivalves to view,
Who dwell in shell houses, a soft-bodied nation;
But fishes with fins were yet none in the blue.
Buckies and bivalves, a numberless nation!
Buckies, and bivalves, and trilobites too!
These you will find in Silurian station,
When Ramsay and Murchison sharpen your view.
Then fins were invented; when Queen Amphitrite
Stirred up her force from Devonian beds,
The race of the fishes in ocean grew mighty,
Queer-looking fishes with bucklers for heads.
Fishes, fishes—small greedy fishes!
With wings on their shoulders and horns on their heads,
With scales bright and shiny, that shoot through the briny
Cerulean halls on Devonian beds!
Stirred up her force from Devonian beds,
The race of the fishes in ocean grew mighty,
Queer-looking fishes with bucklers for heads.
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With wings on their shoulders and horns on their heads,
With scales bright and shiny, that shoot through the briny
Cerulean halls on Devonian beds!
God bless the fishes!—but now on the dry land,
In days when the sun shone benign on the poles,
Forests of ferns in the low and the high land
Spread their huge fans, soon to change into coals!
Forests of ferns—a wonderful verity!
Rising like palm-trees beneath the North Pole;
And all to prepare for the golden prosperity
Of John Bull reposing on iron and coal.
In days when the sun shone benign on the poles,
Forests of ferns in the low and the high land
Spread their huge fans, soon to change into coals!
Forests of ferns—a wonderful verity!
Rising like palm-trees beneath the North Pole;
And all to prepare for the golden prosperity
Of John Bull reposing on iron and coal.
Now Nature the eye of the gazer entrances
With wonder on wonder from teeming abodes;
From the gills of the fish to true lungs she advances,
And bursts into blossoms of tadpoles and toads.
Strange Batrachian people, Triassic all,
Like hippopotamus huge on the roads!
You may call them ungainly, uncouth, and unclassical,
But great in the reign of the Trias were Toads!
With wonder on wonder from teeming abodes;
From the gills of the fish to true lungs she advances,
And bursts into blossoms of tadpoles and toads.
Strange Batrachian people, Triassic all,
Like hippopotamus huge on the roads!
You may call them ungainly, uncouth, and unclassical,
But great in the reign of the Trias were Toads!
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Behold, a strange monster our wonder engages,
If dolphin or lizard your wit may defy,
Some thirty feet long on the shore of Lyme-Regis,
With a saw for a jaw, and a big staring eye.
A fish or a lizard? an ichthyosaurus,
With a big goggle eye, and a very small brain,
And paddles like mill-wheels in clattering chorus,
Smiting tremendous the dread-sounding main!
If dolphin or lizard your wit may defy,
Some thirty feet long on the shore of Lyme-Regis,
With a saw for a jaw, and a big staring eye.
A fish or a lizard? an ichthyosaurus,
With a big goggle eye, and a very small brain,
And paddles like mill-wheels in clattering chorus,
Smiting tremendous the dread-sounding main!
And here comes another! can shape more absurd be,
The strangest and oddest of vertebrate things?
Who knows if this creature a beast or a bird be,
A fowl without feathers, a serpent with wings?
A beast or a bird—an equivocal monster!
A crow or a crocodile, who can declare?
A greedy, voracious, long-necked monster,
Skimming the billow, and ploughing the air.
The strangest and oddest of vertebrate things?
Who knows if this creature a beast or a bird be,
A fowl without feathers, a serpent with wings?
A beast or a bird—an equivocal monster!
A crow or a crocodile, who can declare?
A greedy, voracious, long-necked monster,
Skimming the billow, and ploughing the air.
Next rises to view the great four-footed nation,
Hyenas and tapirs, a singular race,
You may pick up their wreck from the great Paris basin,
At the word of command every bone finds its place.
Palæothere, very singular creature!
A horse or a tapir, or both can you say?
Showing his grave pachydermatous feature,
Just where the Frenchman now sips his café.
Hyenas and tapirs, a singular race,
You may pick up their wreck from the great Paris basin,
At the word of command every bone finds its place.
Palæothere, very singular creature!
A horse or a tapir, or both can you say?
24
Just where the Frenchman now sips his café.
And now the life-temple grows vaster and vaster,
Only the pediment fails to the plan;
The winged and the wingless are waiting their master,
The Mammoth is howling a welcome to Man.
Mammoth, Mammoth! mighty old Mammoth!
Strike with your hatchet and cut a good slice;
The bones you will find, and the hide of the mammoth,
Packed in stiff cakes of Siberian ice.
Only the pediment fails to the plan;
The winged and the wingless are waiting their master,
The Mammoth is howling a welcome to Man.
Mammoth, Mammoth! mighty old Mammoth!
Strike with your hatchet and cut a good slice;
The bones you will find, and the hide of the mammoth,
Packed in stiff cakes of Siberian ice.
At last the great biped, the crown of the mammals,
Sire Adam, majestic, comes treading the sod,
A measureless animal, free without trammels
To swing all the space from an ape to a god.
Wonderful biped, erect and featherless!
Sport of two destinies, treading the sod,
With the perilous license, unbridled and tetherless,
To sink to a devil or rise to a god.
Sire Adam, majestic, comes treading the sod,
A measureless animal, free without trammels
To swing all the space from an ape to a god.
Wonderful biped, erect and featherless!
Sport of two destinies, treading the sod,
With the perilous license, unbridled and tetherless,
To sink to a devil or rise to a god.
And thus was completed—miraculous wonder!
The world, this mighty mysterious thing;
I believe it is more than a beautiful blunder,
And worship, and pray, and adore, while I sing.
Wonder and miracle!—God made the wonder;
Come, happy creatures, and worship with me!
I know it is more than a beautiful blunder,
And I hope Tait, and Tyndall, and Huxley agree.
The world, this mighty mysterious thing;
25
And worship, and pray, and adore, while I sing.
Wonder and miracle!—God made the wonder;
Come, happy creatures, and worship with me!
I know it is more than a beautiful blunder,
And I hope Tait, and Tyndall, and Huxley agree.
26
DORA.
I can like a hundred women,
I can love a score,
Only one with heart's devotion
Worship and adore.
Mary, Jessie, Lucy, Nancy,
With a fine control
Hold my eye or stir my fancy;
Dora fills my soul.
I can love a score,
Only one with heart's devotion
Worship and adore.
Mary, Jessie, Lucy, Nancy,
With a fine control
Hold my eye or stir my fancy;
Dora fills my soul.
Dainty doves are doves of Venus,
(Plumy, soft delight),
But my dove (O wonder!), Dora,
Hath an eagle's might.
Doves are pretty, doves are stupid,
But who Dora loves
Finds Minerva masqued in Cupid,
Strength in downy doves.
(Plumy, soft delight),
But my dove (O wonder!), Dora,
Hath an eagle's might.
Doves are pretty, doves are stupid,
But who Dora loves
Finds Minerva masqued in Cupid,
Strength in downy doves.
27
Like the sun's face brightly dancing
On the shimmering sea,
But, like Ocean, deep is Dora,
Strong, and fair, and free.
Chirping like a gay Cicala
In a sunny bower,
But a Muse in that Cicala
Sings with thoughtful power.
On the shimmering sea,
But, like Ocean, deep is Dora,
Strong, and fair, and free.
Chirping like a gay Cicala
In a sunny bower,
But a Muse in that Cicala
Sings with thoughtful power.
Like a beck that bickers blithely
Down the daisied lea,
So her bright soul bursts and blossoms
In spontaneous glee.
Full of gamesome show is Dora;
But behind the scene
Sits the lofty will of Dora
Thronèd like a queen.
Down the daisied lea,
So her bright soul bursts and blossoms
In spontaneous glee.
Full of gamesome show is Dora;
But behind the scene
Sits the lofty will of Dora
Thronèd like a queen.
Lovely marvel! oak and lily
From one root came forth,
Twined in leafy grace together
At my Dora's birth.
Mellow Eve, and bright Aurora,
Sober Night, and Noon,
Dwell, divinely blent, in Dora,
To a jarless tune.
From one root came forth,
Twined in leafy grace together
At my Dora's birth.
Mellow Eve, and bright Aurora,
Sober Night, and Noon,
Dwell, divinely blent, in Dora,
To a jarless tune.
28
I can like a hundred women,
I can love a score,
Only one with heart's devotion
Worship and adore.
Mary, Jessie, Lucy, Nancy,
With a fine control
Hold my eye or stir my fancy;
Dora fills my soul.
I can love a score,
Only one with heart's devotion
Worship and adore.
Mary, Jessie, Lucy, Nancy,
With a fine control
Hold my eye or stir my fancy;
Dora fills my soul.
29
BILL IS A BRIGHT BOY.
Bill is a bright boy;
Do you know Bill?
Marching cheerily
Up and down hill;
Bill is a bright boy
At books and at play,
A right and a tight boy
All the boys say.
Do you know Bill?
Marching cheerily
Up and down hill;
Bill is a bright boy
At books and at play,
A right and a tight boy
All the boys say.
His face is like roses
In flush of the June;
His eyes like the welkin
When cloudless the noon;
His step is like fountains
That bicker with glee,
Beneath the green mountains,
Down to the sea.
In flush of the June;
His eyes like the welkin
When cloudless the noon;
His step is like fountains
That bicker with glee,
Beneath the green mountains,
Down to the sea.
30
When Bill plays at cricket,
No ball on the green
Is shot from the wicket
So sharp and so clean;
He stands at his station
As strong as a king,
When he lifts up a nation
On Victory's wing.
No ball on the green
Is shot from the wicket
So sharp and so clean;
He stands at his station
As strong as a king,
When he lifts up a nation
On Victory's wing.
And on the golf-ground
Who is like Bill,
Winging his ball
With a soul and a will,
Loftily leaping
On to the goal,
Cunningly creeping
Into the hole!
Who is like Bill,
Winging his ball
With a soul and a will,
Loftily leaping
On to the goal,
Cunningly creeping
Into the hole!
And in the ball-room
He shows such a heel,
Shooting like light
Through the maze of the reel!
Huge-whiskered is Harry,
And thewed like a man,
But Bill I will marry,
Says Jess, if I can!
He shows such a heel,
Shooting like light
Through the maze of the reel!
Huge-whiskered is Harry,
And thewed like a man,
But Bill I will marry,
Says Jess, if I can!
31
When bent upon study
He girds to his books,
No frown ever ploughs
The smooth pride of his looks;
I came, and I saw,
And I conquered at will—
This be the law
For great Cæsar and Bill!
He girds to his books,
No frown ever ploughs
The smooth pride of his looks;
I came, and I saw,
And I conquered at will—
This be the law
For great Cæsar and Bill!
Like Thor with the hammer
Of power in his hand,
He rides through the grammar
Triumphant and grand;
O'er bastions of brambles,
Which pedants up-pile,
He leaps, and he ambles
Along with a smile.
Of power in his hand,
He rides through the grammar
Triumphant and grand;
O'er bastions of brambles,
Which pedants up-pile,
He leaps, and he ambles
Along with a smile.
And like the deep thunder
Of Jove, and the chime
Of St. Paul's, he out-billows
His Latin sublime;
At his Greek stand confounded
All critical men,
So trippingly rounded
It flows from his pen!
Of Jove, and the chime
Of St. Paul's, he out-billows
His Latin sublime;
At his Greek stand confounded
All critical men,
So trippingly rounded
It flows from his pen!
32
As mild as a maiden
Where mildness belongs,
He's hot as Achilles
When goaded by wrongs;
He flirts with a danger,
He sports with an ill,
To fear such a stranger
Is brave-hearted Bill!
Where mildness belongs,
He's hot as Achilles
When goaded by wrongs;
He flirts with a danger,
He sports with an ill,
To fear such a stranger
Is brave-hearted Bill!
For Bill is a bright boy,
Who is like Bill?
Oft have I marched with him
Up and down hill.
When I hear his voice calling
I follow him still,
And, standing or falling,
I conquer with Bill!
Who is like Bill?
Oft have I marched with him
Up and down hill.
When I hear his voice calling
I follow him still,
And, standing or falling,
I conquer with Bill!
33
A SONG OF GOOD CONSERVATIVES.
Most bards of women and wine do sing,
But drinking is now out of date,
And women demand a youthful wing;
I sing grave affairs of the State.
Now gentles, attend to my rede!
Though I'm not an M.P., Sir,
Nor likely to be, Sir,
Perhaps from my mint
You may gather a hint
How to shape your political creed!
But drinking is now out of date,
And women demand a youthful wing;
I sing grave affairs of the State.
Now gentles, attend to my rede!
Though I'm not an M.P., Sir,
Nor likely to be, Sir,
Perhaps from my mint
You may gather a hint
How to shape your political creed!
Some men by liberty swear—not I;
The beasts of the forest are free;
The wild tornadoes that sweep the sky;
The tempests that harrow the sea:
But man is a thing more divine;
With reasoned subjection
He makes his election,
And bends with awe
To sovereign Law,
And limits that wisely confine.
The beasts of the forest are free;
The wild tornadoes that sweep the sky;
The tempests that harrow the sea:
But man is a thing more divine;
With reasoned subjection
He makes his election,
And bends with awe
To sovereign Law,
And limits that wisely confine.
34
All men are equal, the Frenchman says;
Most men will gladly receive
What a fervid fool, with a flattering phrase,
Tricks out for fools to believe;
But these men have less brains than a wren!
When a larch is a lily,
And Bessy like Billy
A beard shall achieve,
Then I will believe
That equality reigns among men!
Most men will gladly receive
What a fervid fool, with a flattering phrase,
Tricks out for fools to believe;
But these men have less brains than a wren!
When a larch is a lily,
And Bessy like Billy
A beard shall achieve,
Then I will believe
That equality reigns among men!
All men as brethren our kinship claim;
Fraternity sounds very well;
But if some are brothers whom I could name,
My father keeps lodgings in hell;
And the rent that they pay him is sin.
Such fobbing and jobbing,
Such rapine and robbing,
Such lust and greed,
I surely would need
A long spoon to sup with my kin!
Fraternity sounds very well;
But if some are brothers whom I could name,
My father keeps lodgings in hell;
And the rent that they pay him is sin.
Such fobbing and jobbing,
Such rapine and robbing,
Such lust and greed,
I surely would need
A long spoon to sup with my kin!
Some men to follow the multitude
Deem wise and proper and fair,
And what the majority say is good,
To this for gospel they swear;
But this never was taught in the schools;
Though you whip in the rabble
To bray and to gabble,
Erect I'll stand
For truth in the land,
Alone 'mid a million of fools!
Deem wise and proper and fair,
And what the majority say is good,
To this for gospel they swear;
35
Though you whip in the rabble
To bray and to gabble,
Erect I'll stand
For truth in the land,
Alone 'mid a million of fools!
But if you will follow your witless whim,
And let brainless multitudes sway,
You'll find yourself sitting upon the rim
Of a hot volcano some day;
And with your own hand you'll uncork
A flask of mad revelry,
Falsehood and devilry,
All the poisoned store
Of filth, foam, and gore,
That seethes up from hell in New York!
And let brainless multitudes sway,
You'll find yourself sitting upon the rim
Of a hot volcano some day;
And with your own hand you'll uncork
A flask of mad revelry,
Falsehood and devilry,
All the poisoned store
Of filth, foam, and gore,
That seethes up from hell in New York!
And now I think you will understand
I have not got in my wallet
Any new receipt to remodel the land
By Agrarian law or by ballot.
I stick to old Solomon's rule:
Let the wise lead the foolish,
And whoso is mulish
I'd give him a thwack
With a rod on his back,
For a rod suits the back of the fool!
I have not got in my wallet
Any new receipt to remodel the land
By Agrarian law or by ballot.
I stick to old Solomon's rule:
Let the wise lead the foolish,
And whoso is mulish
36
With a rod on his back,
For a rod suits the back of the fool!
Then long live She who rules the realm,
And God bless all in authority;
And devil take him who would overwhelm
The truth by a brainless majority!
Now you've heard my political creed;
Though I'm not an M.P., Sir,
Nor likely to be, Sir,
Perhaps from my mint
You may gather a hint
How to temper your reasonless speed!
And God bless all in authority;
And devil take him who would overwhelm
The truth by a brainless majority!
Now you've heard my political creed;
Though I'm not an M.P., Sir,
Nor likely to be, Sir,
Perhaps from my mint
You may gather a hint
How to temper your reasonless speed!
37
ANDREW JACK, M.D.
A Farewell Song.
Farewell to the University!
I'm titled now with high degree;
All capped and doctor'd forth I ride,
To see the world's great pomp and pride!
I'm titled now with high degree;
All capped and doctor'd forth I ride,
To see the world's great pomp and pride!
Four years I've drudged, a patient hack,
With whip and driver at my back;
But now unmuzzled I propose
To track the game with my own nose.
With whip and driver at my back;
But now unmuzzled I propose
To track the game with my own nose.
The wide, wide world before me lies,
With many a blank, and many a prize;
But crowns are nowhere gained by sighs;
He nobly wins who boldly tries.
With many a blank, and many a prize;
But crowns are nowhere gained by sighs;
He nobly wins who boldly tries.
What made the Romans men of might
But wars to wage and foes to fight?
Then let us fight like them, and win!
Or, if we lose—bad luck's no sin!
But wars to wage and foes to fight?
38
Or, if we lose—bad luck's no sin!
Farewell grey hall and fusty book,
And front severe and solemn look;
Long rows of lectures dull and dry,
In mummied state there let them lie!
And front severe and solemn look;
Long rows of lectures dull and dry,
In mummied state there let them lie!
Farewell, proud Arthur's Seat, where oft
With buoyant heart I stood aloft,
And through the broad sun's crimson glow,
Looked on the old grey town below,
With buoyant heart I stood aloft,
And through the broad sun's crimson glow,
Looked on the old grey town below,
And spied afar the huge, huge Bens
That gird our peaceful Highland Glens,
Where birches nod, and fountains pour
On ferny brae and pebbly shore.
That gird our peaceful Highland Glens,
Where birches nod, and fountains pour
On ferny brae and pebbly shore.
And fare-thee-well, my student's home,
Far up near to the starry dome,
'Mid wreaths of smoke, and bristling crops
Of gables gaunt and chimney-tops!
Far up near to the starry dome,
'Mid wreaths of smoke, and bristling crops
Of gables gaunt and chimney-tops!
And fare-thee-well, good dame M'Knight,
Who kept me always right and tight,
And washed my clothes and brushed my hat;
God bless you, honest dame, for that!
Who kept me always right and tight,
39
God bless you, honest dame, for that!
And farewell, Nelly M'Intyre,
Who smoothed my bed and trimmed my fire,
Blue-eyed, blithe-hearted, bright-soul'd Nell;
By Jove, I loved that girl too well!
Who smoothed my bed and trimmed my fire,
Blue-eyed, blithe-hearted, bright-soul'd Nell;
By Jove, I loved that girl too well!
Dear blue-eyed Nell, when Dame M'Knight
Called, ‘Come up, Nell, and put things right!’
And thou shot up with three light skips,
My heart leapt to my finger-tips.
Called, ‘Come up, Nell, and put things right!’
And thou shot up with three light skips,
My heart leapt to my finger-tips.
No courier of the heavenly clans,
With light blue scarf and silver vans,
Could witch my eye like view of Nell;
By Jove, I loved that girl too well!
With light blue scarf and silver vans,
Could witch my eye like view of Nell;
By Jove, I loved that girl too well!
But love is not a bond to bind
The full-blown sail that takes the wind;
A fair face marred Mark Antony;
So, Nell, I'll think no more of thee!
The full-blown sail that takes the wind;
A fair face marred Mark Antony;
So, Nell, I'll think no more of thee!
Farewell, my comrades and my chums,
With whom I picked dry learning's crumbs,
And quaffed, four green and golden years,
Life's mingled bowl of hopes and fears.
With whom I picked dry learning's crumbs,
40
Life's mingled bowl of hopes and fears.
God bless you all, my jolly boys!
The day is past to play with toys;
I go to fight my way,—and you,
Do well what thing you find to do!
The day is past to play with toys;
I go to fight my way,—and you,
Do well what thing you find to do!
I hear the railway whistle call,
And brush the briny drops that fall;
I leave you now plain Andrew Jack,
Perhaps I'll come Sir Andrew back!
And brush the briny drops that fall;
I leave you now plain Andrew Jack,
Perhaps I'll come Sir Andrew back!
41
CONCERNING I AND NON-I.
A Metaphysical Song.
Since father Noah first tapped the vine,
And warmed his jolly old nose,
All men to drinking do much incline,
But why, no drinker yet knows;
We drink and we never think how!
And yet, in our drinking,
The root of deep thinking
Lies very profound,
As I will expound
To all who will drink with me now!
And warmed his jolly old nose,
All men to drinking do much incline,
But why, no drinker yet knows;
We drink and we never think how!
And yet, in our drinking,
The root of deep thinking
Lies very profound,
As I will expound
To all who will drink with me now!
The poets, God knows, a jovial race,
Have ever been lauding of wine;
Of Bacchus they sing, and his rosy face,
And the draught of the beaker divine;
Yet all their fine phrases are vain;
They pour out the essence
Of brain-effervescence,
With rhyme and rant
And jingling cant,
But nothing at all they explain.
Have ever been lauding of wine;
Of Bacchus they sing, and his rosy face,
And the draught of the beaker divine;
42
They pour out the essence
Of brain-effervescence,
With rhyme and rant
And jingling cant,
But nothing at all they explain.
But I, who quaff the thoughtful well
Of Plato and old Aristotle,
And Kant and Fichte and Hegel can tell
The wisdom that lies in the bottle;
I drink, and in drinking I know:
With glance keen and nimble
I pierce through the symbol,
And seize the soul
Of truth in the bowl,
Behind the mere sensuous show!
Of Plato and old Aristotle,
And Kant and Fichte and Hegel can tell
The wisdom that lies in the bottle;
I drink, and in drinking I know:
With glance keen and nimble
I pierce through the symbol,
And seize the soul
Of truth in the bowl,
Behind the mere sensuous show!
Now brim your glass, and plant it well
Beneath your nose on the table,
And you will find what philosophers tell
Of I and non-I is no fable.
Now, listen to wisdom, my son!
Myself am the subject,
This wine is the object;
These things are two,
But I'll prove to you
That subject and object are one.
Beneath your nose on the table,
And you will find what philosophers tell
Of I and non-I is no fable.
Now, listen to wisdom, my son!
Myself am the subject,
This wine is the object;
These things are two,
But I'll prove to you
That subject and object are one.
43
I take this glass in my hand, and stand
Upon my legs, if I can,
And look and smile benign and bland,
And feel that I am a man.
Now stretch all the strength of your brains!
I drink—and the object
Is lost in the subject,
Making one entity,
In the identity
Of me, and the wine in my veins!
Upon my legs, if I can,
And look and smile benign and bland,
And feel that I am a man.
Now stretch all the strength of your brains!
I drink—and the object
Is lost in the subject,
Making one entity,
In the identity
Of me, and the wine in my veins!
And now if Hamilton, Fraser, or Mill,
This point can better explain,
You may learn from them, with method and skill,
To plumb the abyss of your brain;
But this simple faith I avow,
The root of true thinking
Lies just in deep drinking,
As I have shown
In a way of my own,
To this jolly good company now.
This point can better explain,
You may learn from them, with method and skill,
To plumb the abyss of your brain;
But this simple faith I avow,
The root of true thinking
Lies just in deep drinking,
As I have shown
In a way of my own,
To this jolly good company now.
The idea of this song is taken from Baggesen's song in Methfessel's Liederbuch. In the execution I gave myself free reins, feeling that to attempt a translation in such a peculiar case would have been to insure failure.
44
DEATHBED HYMN.
Now Death's murky shades surround me!
God's preventing hand hath found me!
Now his will be done with me!
Amen!
Praise to the Lord give ye!
God's preventing hand hath found me!
Now his will be done with me!
Amen!
Praise to the Lord give ye!
I from darkness rose to being,
I from blindness burst to seeing;
Now thicker night around me swells;
Fear not!
God in the darkness dwells.
I from blindness burst to seeing;
Now thicker night around me swells;
Fear not!
God in the darkness dwells.
I through life's long labour loved Him;
I through life's stern trial proved Him,
Father and friend through good and ill;
Now, Lord,
Dying I own thy will!
I through life's stern trial proved Him,
Father and friend through good and ill;
Now, Lord,
Dying I own thy will!
45
I did feed mine eye with beauty,
I my soul made strong by duty;
I in the fight have fought and won;
Good Lord,
Now let thy will be done!
I my soul made strong by duty;
I in the fight have fought and won;
Good Lord,
Now let thy will be done!
I have lived in keen enjoyment,
Large delight and stout employment,
Working with God for men with glee;
Now, Lord,
Teach me to rest in Thee!
Large delight and stout employment,
Working with God for men with glee;
Now, Lord,
Teach me to rest in Thee!
Friends, for me waste not your weeping,
I on God's strong arm am sleeping;
He from this flesh doth set me free;
Amen!
Praise to the Lord give ye!
I on God's strong arm am sleeping;
He from this flesh doth set me free;
Amen!
Praise to the Lord give ye!
46
THE MAID OF GRISHORNISH.
The clouds are scowling on the hill, the mist is thick and grey,
The sun slants out behind the cloud a cold and meagre ray,
The shepherd wraps his plaid about, and reads the tristful skies,
And to his faithful collie dog across the moor he cries;
But in my heart there sings a bird, with song both loud and clear,
A song that makes me bright within, while all without is drear:
And thus the little bird doth sing with happy chirp to me,
The lovely maid of Grishornish thy bonnie bride shall be.
The sun slants out behind the cloud a cold and meagre ray,
The shepherd wraps his plaid about, and reads the tristful skies,
And to his faithful collie dog across the moor he cries;
But in my heart there sings a bird, with song both loud and clear,
A song that makes me bright within, while all without is drear:
And thus the little bird doth sing with happy chirp to me,
The lovely maid of Grishornish thy bonnie bride shall be.
O Grishornish, thy rocks are black, thy moors are brown and bare!
Who would have thought so fair a thing was kindly nurtured there?
As mild as summer's balmy breath upon thy wintry shore,
As gentle as an angel's wing 'bove thy rude tempest's roar,
As pure as pearl in lucid seas, and like a star serene,
When rifted clouds are racing past, with azure stripes between;
And thus the bird within my breast sings sweetly still to me,
Right soon the maid of Grishornish thy bonnie bride shall be.
Who would have thought so fair a thing was kindly nurtured there?
47
As gentle as an angel's wing 'bove thy rude tempest's roar,
As pure as pearl in lucid seas, and like a star serene,
When rifted clouds are racing past, with azure stripes between;
And thus the bird within my breast sings sweetly still to me,
Right soon the maid of Grishornish thy bonnie bride shall be.
O Grishornish, and Vaternish, and every Nish in Skye,
On you let heaven pour down the rain till all its wells be dry!
With rain, and wind, and mist, and storm, I am content to dwell,
If but the maid of Grishornish shall live and love me well;
If but her fine and dainty lip, and mildly beaming eye
Shall make me lord of more than all Macleod commands in Skye;
If but the little bird shall sing within my breast to me
The lovely maid of Grishornish thy winsome wife shall be.
On you let heaven pour down the rain till all its wells be dry!
With rain, and wind, and mist, and storm, I am content to dwell,
If but the maid of Grishornish shall live and love me well;
If but her fine and dainty lip, and mildly beaming eye
Shall make me lord of more than all Macleod commands in Skye;
If but the little bird shall sing within my breast to me
The lovely maid of Grishornish thy winsome wife shall be.
48
HERR PHILISTER; OR, WHO IS A PHILISTINE?
A Philistine, what man is he?
I'll tell without dissembling;
A thing that seems to walk, d'you see,
On eggs with fear and trembling,
And bears his empty head so trig
With powder, tie, peruke, or wig,
He is, he is, a Herr Philister;
Him may the Devil burn and blister!
I'll tell without dissembling;
A thing that seems to walk, d'you see,
On eggs with fear and trembling,
And bears his empty head so trig
With powder, tie, peruke, or wig,
He is, he is, a Herr Philister;
Him may the Devil burn and blister!
49
When true vine juice from Father Rhine
The hearts of men inflameth,
The draught divine, who with goose wine
In dull potation tameth,
And 'mid the free songs jovial tones
Wry faces makes, and inly groans,
He is, he is, a Herr Philister;
Him may the Devil burn and blister!
The hearts of men inflameth,
The draught divine, who with goose wine
In dull potation tameth,
And 'mid the free songs jovial tones
Wry faces makes, and inly groans,
He is, he is, a Herr Philister;
Him may the Devil burn and blister!
Who prates and pules of evil days,
And always fears a crisis,
And when bold deeds set hearts a-blaze,
The poor thing criticises;
And every Muse's craft doth curse
That puts no money in his purse,
He is, he is, a Herr Philister;
Him may the Devil burn and blister!
And always fears a crisis,
And when bold deeds set hearts a-blaze,
The poor thing criticises;
And every Muse's craft doth curse
That puts no money in his purse,
He is, he is, a Herr Philister;
Him may the Devil burn and blister!
The prig who looks on earth and sky
With cold conceited gazing,
As if God to his mighty I
Had let the world for grazing,
And claims that everything of life
Shall straightway dance as he shall fife,
He is, he is, a Herr Philister;
Him may the Devil burn and blister!
With cold conceited gazing,
As if God to his mighty I
Had let the world for grazing,
And claims that everything of life
Shall straightway dance as he shall fife,
He is, he is, a Herr Philister;
Him may the Devil burn and blister!
It would have been easy to make words to this song with traits taken directly from the British atmosphere and the nineteenth century; but I thought I should gratify many by giving the original German picture of ‘the Philistine,’ now almost naturalized on English ground. He is a narrow, conventional creature, compounded of the Greek βαναυσος and the English prig. The music, as given in the Appendix, is admirable.
50
SONG OF A BACHELOR IN DIVINITY.
I've stood my trials, I've left the school,
I'm capped with a learned B.D.,
Of Latin and Greek and Hebrew I'm full,
Old Wisdom dwelleth with me;
And now, if you'll list to my rhymes,
I'll flap my young pinions
In my new dominions,
And vent what I may
In a delicate way;
For stone walls have ears sometimes.
I'm capped with a learned B.D.,
Of Latin and Greek and Hebrew I'm full,
Old Wisdom dwelleth with me;
And now, if you'll list to my rhymes,
I'll flap my young pinions
In my new dominions,
And vent what I may
In a delicate way;
For stone walls have ears sometimes.
I'm a Protestant good; I hate the Pope,
In every shape and degree,
The Popish Pope, and the Presbyter Pope,
And all the Popes that be;
For this above all things I prize,
To have free admission,
With no man's permission,
Both early and late,
Through the gracious gate,
To the prayer-hearing God in the skies.
In every shape and degree,
The Popish Pope, and the Presbyter Pope,
And all the Popes that be;
For this above all things I prize,
To have free admission,
With no man's permission,
51
Through the gracious gate,
To the prayer-hearing God in the skies.
I hate the Pope; and in God's own book
I read the message of grace,
And I claim a freeman's right to look
The Master I serve in the face;
And I speak this out plainly, because
If you swear to a lesson
From human confession,
You're a muff and a spoon,
And a blinking poltroon,
And a traitor to Protestant laws.
I read the message of grace,
And I claim a freeman's right to look
The Master I serve in the face;
And I speak this out plainly, because
If you swear to a lesson
From human confession,
You're a muff and a spoon,
And a blinking poltroon,
And a traitor to Protestant laws.
Some preach a god so savage and grim,
When he snorts in his terrible wrath,
They crouch and cower and fawn to him,
And lick the dust in his path;
But against this I flatly rebel,
And boldly deny it,
That such a stern fiat
Was forged above
By the Father of love,
To swamp half His children in hell.
When he snorts in his terrible wrath,
They crouch and cower and fawn to him,
And lick the dust in his path;
But against this I flatly rebel,
And boldly deny it,
That such a stern fiat
Was forged above
By the Father of love,
To swamp half His children in hell.
52
Some say that through their chosen veins
There creeps a magical virtue,
To charm away all sorrows and pains
That issue of Adam is heir to;
But this is not gospel at all;
Not narrowly creeping,
But liberal sweeping,
On sinful race
Came God's free grace,
By the preaching of Peter and Paul.
There creeps a magical virtue,
To charm away all sorrows and pains
That issue of Adam is heir to;
But this is not gospel at all;
Not narrowly creeping,
But liberal sweeping,
On sinful race
Came God's free grace,
By the preaching of Peter and Paul.
Some preach a religion of dainty air,
They come with candle and bell,
And cassock and cope and surplice fair,
And might of miraculous spell;
But this I declare to you all,
That by dresses and laces,
And bows and grimaces,
A man should strive
His soul to shrive,
Stands not in the gospel of Paul.
They come with candle and bell,
And cassock and cope and surplice fair,
And might of miraculous spell;
But this I declare to you all,
That by dresses and laces,
And bows and grimaces,
A man should strive
His soul to shrive,
Stands not in the gospel of Paul.
And now I think you will understand,
Of crotchet, and whim, and conceit,
We can boast enough in this Christian land,
To turn into bitter our sweet;
Then take my advice sans offence;
To make harmless the potion,
Of each darling notion,
Just temper the draught,
Before it is quaffed,
With a few drops of plain common sense!
Of crotchet, and whim, and conceit,
We can boast enough in this Christian land,
To turn into bitter our sweet;
53
To make harmless the potion,
Of each darling notion,
Just temper the draught,
Before it is quaffed,
With a few drops of plain common sense!
You've heard my song; if you think it long,
I'll give you the gist in a line,
'Tis the letter that kills, in sermon or song,
The Spirit alone is divine;
God's grace comes to me and to you,
Not by counting of beads well,
Or conning of creeds well,
But by resolute will
To struggle with ill,
And by faith that can dare and can do!
I'll give you the gist in a line,
'Tis the letter that kills, in sermon or song,
The Spirit alone is divine;
God's grace comes to me and to you,
Not by counting of beads well,
Or conning of creeds well,
But by resolute will
To struggle with ill,
And by faith that can dare and can do!
54
YOUNG MAN, BE WISE!
Would'st thou reap life's golden treasure,
Young man, be wise!
Cease to follow where light pleasure
Cheats blinking eyes;
Let no flattering voices win thee,
Let no vauntful echoes din thee,
But the peace of God within thee
Seek, and be wise!
Young man, be wise!
Cease to follow where light pleasure
Cheats blinking eyes;
Let no flattering voices win thee,
Let no vauntful echoes din thee,
But the peace of God within thee
Seek, and be wise!
Where the fervid cup doth sparkle,
Young man, be wise!
Where quick glances gleam and darkle,
Danger surmise!
Where the rattling car is dashing,
Where the shallow wave is plashing,
Where the coloured foam is flashing,
Feast not thine eyes!
Young man, be wise!
Where quick glances gleam and darkle,
Danger surmise!
Where the rattling car is dashing,
Where the shallow wave is plashing,
Where the coloured foam is flashing,
Feast not thine eyes!
55
Rocking on a lazy billow
With roaming eyes,
Cushioned on a dreamy pillow,
Thou art not wise;
Wake the power within thee sleeping,
Trim the plot that's in thy keeping;
Thou wilt bless the task when reaping
Sweet labour's prize.
With roaming eyes,
Cushioned on a dreamy pillow,
Thou art not wise;
Wake the power within thee sleeping,
Trim the plot that's in thy keeping;
Thou wilt bless the task when reaping
Sweet labour's prize.
Since the green earth had beginning,
Land, sea, and skies,
Toil their rounds with sleepless spinning,
Suns sink and rise;
God, who with His image crowned us,
Works within, above, around us;
Let us, where His will hath bound us,
Work and be wise!
Land, sea, and skies,
Toil their rounds with sleepless spinning,
Suns sink and rise;
God, who with His image crowned us,
Works within, above, around us;
Let us, where His will hath bound us,
Work and be wise!
All the great, that won before thee
Stout labour's prize,
Wave their conquering banners o'er thee;
Up, and be wise!
Wilt thou from their sweat inherit,
Fruits of peace, and stars of merit,
While their sword, when thou should'st wear it,
Rust-eaten lies?
Stout labour's prize,
Wave their conquering banners o'er thee;
Up, and be wise!
Wilt thou from their sweat inherit,
Fruits of peace, and stars of merit,
While their sword, when thou should'st wear it,
Rust-eaten lies?
56
Work and wait, a sturdy liver;
(Life fleetly flies!)
Work, and pray, and sing, and ever
Lift hopeful eyes;
Let no blaring folly din thee!
Wisdom, when her charm may win thee,
Flows a well of life within thee;
Young man, be wise!
(Life fleetly flies!)
Work, and pray, and sing, and ever
Lift hopeful eyes;
Let no blaring folly din thee!
Wisdom, when her charm may win thee,
Flows a well of life within thee;
Young man, be wise!
57
HAIL, LAND OF MY FATHERS!
Hail, land of my fathers! I stand on thy shore,
'Neath the broad-fronted bluffs of thy granite once more;
Old Scotland, my mother, the rugged, the bare,
That reared me with breath of the strong mountain air.
No more shall I roam where soft indolence lies
'Neath the cloudless repose of the featureless skies,
But where the white mist sweeps the red-furrowed scaur,
I will fight with the storm and grow strong by the war!
'Neath the broad-fronted bluffs of thy granite once more;
Old Scotland, my mother, the rugged, the bare,
That reared me with breath of the strong mountain air.
No more shall I roam where soft indolence lies
'Neath the cloudless repose of the featureless skies,
But where the white mist sweeps the red-furrowed scaur,
I will fight with the storm and grow strong by the war!
What boots all the blaze of the sky and the billow,
Where manhood must rot on inglorious pillow?
'Tis the blossom that blooms from the taint of the grave,
'Tis the glitter that gildeth the bonds of the slave.
But, Scotland, stern mother, for struggle and toil
Thou trainest thy children on hard, rocky soil;
And thy stiff-purposed heroes go conquering forth,
With the strength that is bred by the blasts of the north.
Where manhood must rot on inglorious pillow?
'Tis the blossom that blooms from the taint of the grave,
'Tis the glitter that gildeth the bonds of the slave.
But, Scotland, stern mother, for struggle and toil
Thou trainest thy children on hard, rocky soil;
And thy stiff-purposed heroes go conquering forth,
With the strength that is bred by the blasts of the north.
62
Hail, Scotland, my mother! and welcome the day
When again I shall brush the bright dew from the brae,
And, light as a bird, give my foot to the heather,
My hand to my staff, and my face to the weather;
Then climb to the peak where the ptarmigan flies,
Or stand by the linn where the salmon will rise,
And vow never more with blind venture to roam
From the strong land that bore me—my own Scottish home.
When again I shall brush the bright dew from the brae,
And, light as a bird, give my foot to the heather,
My hand to my staff, and my face to the weather;
Then climb to the peak where the ptarmigan flies,
Or stand by the linn where the salmon will rise,
And vow never more with blind venture to roam
From the strong land that bore me—my own Scottish home.
63
THE QUAKER'S WIFE.
The Quaker's wife was brisk and gay,
And like her were na' ony,
But now she wears the mantle grey,
And thinks na' on her Johnnie.
Aye when we met we used to be
As blithe as lark or sparrow;
But, wae's my heart, she's cheated me
To be the Quaker's marrow.
And like her were na' ony,
But now she wears the mantle grey,
And thinks na' on her Johnnie.
Aye when we met we used to be
As blithe as lark or sparrow;
But, wae's my heart, she's cheated me
To be the Quaker's marrow.
The Quaker he had 'neugh o' gear,
'Twas this that caught her fancy,
And now she is the Quaker's dear,
Wha was my lovely Nancy.
The Quaker's wife, whene'er I see,
It stings my heart wi' sorrow,
It gars the tears rin frae my e'e,
Like waters in a furrow!
'Twas this that caught her fancy,
And now she is the Quaker's dear,
Wha was my lovely Nancy.
64
It stings my heart wi' sorrow,
It gars the tears rin frae my e'e,
Like waters in a furrow!
The Quaker's wife, whene'er I see,
I curse the fate mischancy,
A house and ha' that envied me,
To furnish with my Nancy.
'Tis lack o' cash that ruins kings,
And clips the poet's fancy;
For lack o' cash I droop my wings,
And sigh in vain for Nancy.
I curse the fate mischancy,
A house and ha' that envied me,
To furnish with my Nancy.
'Tis lack o' cash that ruins kings,
And clips the poet's fancy;
For lack o' cash I droop my wings,
And sigh in vain for Nancy.
The de'il confound his wooden face,
Wha stole frae me my Nancy!
That such a lass o' lightsome grace
Should touch his wooden fancy!
Wi' purple robe a beggar loon,
A turnip wi' a pansy,
An ass that's shod wi' silken shoon,
Is he wi' lovely Nancy.
Wha stole frae me my Nancy!
That such a lass o' lightsome grace
Should touch his wooden fancy!
Wi' purple robe a beggar loon,
A turnip wi' a pansy,
An ass that's shod wi' silken shoon,
Is he wi' lovely Nancy.
Of all the solemn prigs that go,
I chiefly hate the Quakers,
They're like a lump o' tasteless dough
That ne'er went to the baker's:
The strangest thing that earth contains
Is this, that one so stupid
Should lodge within his sluggish veins
So brisk an imp as Cupid!
I chiefly hate the Quakers,
They're like a lump o' tasteless dough
That ne'er went to the baker's:
65
Is this, that one so stupid
Should lodge within his sluggish veins
So brisk an imp as Cupid!
The Quaker's wife I'll ne'er forget,
While I can aught remember;
For I ne'er lo'ed anither yet.
Sin' the first day I kenn'd her.
O gin the Quaker he would dee,
And liberty restore her,
My ain the Quaker's wife should be,
For, oh! I do adore her!
While I can aught remember;
For I ne'er lo'ed anither yet.
Sin' the first day I kenn'd her.
O gin the Quaker he would dee,
And liberty restore her,
My ain the Quaker's wife should be,
For, oh! I do adore her!
The words of this excellent song, as given in verses first, second, and sixth, were sung in admirable style by my father, and I never heard them sung by any other body. The third, fourth, and fifth verses were added by myself.
66
THE MAID OF DALNACORRA.
O have you seen, and do you know,
The lovely maid of Dalnacorra,
So light of limb,
So fine and trim,
That treads the mead at Dalnacorra?
If you have not,
I weep your lot,
All other joys are shades of sorrow
To whoso knows
The light that flows
From her bright eyes at Dalnacorra!
The lovely maid of Dalnacorra,
So light of limb,
So fine and trim,
That treads the mead at Dalnacorra?
If you have not,
I weep your lot,
All other joys are shades of sorrow
To whoso knows
The light that flows
From her bright eyes at Dalnacorra!
O have you seen, and do you know,
The lovely maid of Dalnacorra,
With sunny sheen
Who skims the green
And charms the sod at Dalnacorra?
If you have not,
I weep your lot,
All other joys are shades of sorrow
To him who warms
Beneath the charms
Of her sweet grace at Dalnacorra!
The lovely maid of Dalnacorra,
With sunny sheen
Who skims the green
And charms the sod at Dalnacorra?
If you have not,
I weep your lot,
67
To him who warms
Beneath the charms
Of her sweet grace at Dalnacorra!
O have you seen, and do you know,
The lovely maid of Dalnacorra,
Who takes in toils
Of winsome smiles
Each vagrant heart at Dalnacorra?
No finer bliss
On earth I wis
From poet's dream a wight may borrow,
Than just to lie
Beneath her eye,
Sunned by sweet love at Dalnacorra!
The lovely maid of Dalnacorra,
Who takes in toils
Of winsome smiles
Each vagrant heart at Dalnacorra?
No finer bliss
On earth I wis
From poet's dream a wight may borrow,
Than just to lie
Beneath her eye,
Sunned by sweet love at Dalnacorra!
O have you seen, and do you know,
The lovely maid of Dalnacorra,
Who flings so light
Her fancies bright
Like winged flowers at Dalnacorra?
On whom she pours
Her witching stores,
He counts all pleasures shades of sorrow,
Flings to the rooks
His Greekish books
And reads her eyes at Dalnacorra!
The lovely maid of Dalnacorra,
Who flings so light
Her fancies bright
Like winged flowers at Dalnacorra?
On whom she pours
Her witching stores,
He counts all pleasures shades of sorrow,
Flings to the rooks
His Greekish books
And reads her eyes at Dalnacorra!
68
O have you seen, and do you know,
The lovely maid of Dalnacorra,
Whose clear voice rings
Like bird that sings
In greening groves at Dalnacorra?
If you have not,
I weep your lot,
Beside the swirling pools of Corra;
On thrilling hymns
He floats and swims
Who drinks her words at Dalnacorra!
The lovely maid of Dalnacorra,
Whose clear voice rings
Like bird that sings
In greening groves at Dalnacorra?
If you have not,
I weep your lot,
Beside the swirling pools of Corra;
On thrilling hymns
He floats and swims
Who drinks her words at Dalnacorra!
O if you knew, as I have known,
The lovely maid of Dalnacorra,
With sparkling cheer
Like fountain clear
On purple brae at Dalnacorra,
O then you'd think
On rapture's brink
All other joys are shades of sorrow;
But let me die
Beneath her eye,
And smile at death in Dalnacorra!
The lovely maid of Dalnacorra,
With sparkling cheer
Like fountain clear
On purple brae at Dalnacorra,
O then you'd think
On rapture's brink
All other joys are shades of sorrow;
But let me die
Beneath her eye,
And smile at death in Dalnacorra!
69
PARVA DOMUS MAGNA QUIES.
On a little grassy knoll,
Beneath the huge Ben More,
Where the loch's clear amber waters
Lave the white and pebbly shore,
I have built a little dwelling,
Without or pomp or state,
In smallness quite excelling;
But oh! the peace is great.
Beneath the huge Ben More,
Where the loch's clear amber waters
Lave the white and pebbly shore,
I have built a little dwelling,
Without or pomp or state,
In smallness quite excelling;
But oh! the peace is great.
From the hot and dusty tumult
Of the men that rule the land,
From the pageant of the Park,
And the rattle of the Strand;
From the weariness and worry
Of contention and debate,
I am sheltered, I am hidden;
And my peace is very great.
Of the men that rule the land,
From the pageant of the Park,
And the rattle of the Strand;
From the weariness and worry
Of contention and debate,
I am sheltered, I am hidden;
And my peace is very great.
From the knocking and the ringing
Of the beggar and the bore,
When every man is bringing
Every business to my door;
From saying Yes, and saying No,
To seas of endless prate,
I am sheltered, I am hidde
And my peace is very great.
Of the beggar and the bore,
When every man is bringing
Every business to my door;
70
To seas of endless prate,
I am sheltered, I am hidde
And my peace is very great.
From the doctrine and the dogma
Of each lofty-fancied fool,
Who would take the great Creator
(If Creator be) to school;
From the thousand maggots swarming
In each eager-witted pate,
I am sheltered, I am hidden;
And my peace is very great.
Of each lofty-fancied fool,
Who would take the great Creator
(If Creator be) to school;
From the thousand maggots swarming
In each eager-witted pate,
I am sheltered, I am hidden;
And my peace is very great.
From the carping and the grumbling
Of the spiteful and the small,
Who, when mighty things are tumbling,
Love to see the mighty fall;
From the lust of hot reforming
In the Church and in the State,
I am sheltered, I am hidden;
And my peace is very great.
Of the spiteful and the small,
Who, when mighty things are tumbling,
Love to see the mighty fall;
From the lust of hot reforming
In the Church and in the State,
I am sheltered, I am hidden;
And my peace is very great.
With a wife to share my pillow,
And a man to row my boat,
And a rod to lash the billow
And a friend to glass my thought;
With no great ambition swelling,
And no questions asked of Fate,
Pride leaves the little dwelling;
But my peace is very great.
And a man to row my boat,
And a rod to lash the billow
And a friend to glass my thought;
71
And no questions asked of Fate,
Pride leaves the little dwelling;
But my peace is very great.
Then fare-thee-well, the City's din,
The tumult and the throng,
For a moment and a moment
To myself I will belong;
In my lonely mountain dwelling
Disrobed of empty state,
In smallness quite excelling,
And in peace how very great!
The tumult and the throng,
For a moment and a moment
To myself I will belong;
In my lonely mountain dwelling
Disrobed of empty state,
In smallness quite excelling,
And in peace how very great!
72
THE BOTANIST'S SONG.
God hath made three beautiful things,
Birds, and women, and flowers;
And he on earth who happy would be
Must look with love on all the three;
But chiefly, in bright summer hours,
He is wise who loves the flowers,
And roams the fields with me.
Birds, and women, and flowers;
And he on earth who happy would be
Must look with love on all the three;
But chiefly, in bright summer hours,
He is wise who loves the flowers,
And roams the fields with me.
Flowers have blossoms, and birds have wings,
And women have winsome wiles;
And he on earth who happy would be
Must borrow a joy from all the three;
But wisely he the June beguiles,
Who from brown braes and bright green isles
Plucks starry blooms with me.
And women have winsome wiles;
And he on earth who happy would be
Must borrow a joy from all the three;
But wisely he the June beguiles,
Who from brown braes and bright green isles
Plucks starry blooms with me.
Three ugly things the Devil hath made,
Disease, and Death, and Sin;
And he on earth who happy would be
Must dwell remote from all the three;
And far from the Devil and all his kin
He lives who loves sweet lore to win
From meek-eyed flowers with me.
Disease, and Death, and Sin;
And he on earth who happy would be
Must dwell remote from all the three;
79
He lives who loves sweet lore to win
From meek-eyed flowers with me.
Disease and Death were the spawn of Sin,
When the serpent our dam beguiled;
And he on earth who happy would be
Must hold the charm that bans the three,
The charm that looks from the eye of the child,
And from the grace of the flowret mild,
That droops its crown for me!
When the serpent our dam beguiled;
And he on earth who happy would be
Must hold the charm that bans the three,
The charm that looks from the eye of the child,
And from the grace of the flowret mild,
That droops its crown for me!
80
A SEA VOYAGE.
The sun rides high, the tide is flowing,
Come plough the deep sea!
The sky-born breeze is briskly blowing,
Come plough the deep sea!
Surge chases surge with rival glee,
The white-winged skiffs shoot o'er the sea;
For the wide waves are free,
The wide waves are free,
The waves of the surging sea!
Come plough the deep sea!
The sky-born breeze is briskly blowing,
Come plough the deep sea!
Surge chases surge with rival glee,
The white-winged skiffs shoot o'er the sea;
For the wide waves are free,
The wide waves are free,
The waves of the surging sea!
The captain calls, ‘Now all is ready!’
Hoist sails and away!
‘Come, bear a hand, helm starboard, steady,’
Now bravely away!
We've cleared the Ness, and now we ride
The ancient green untainted tide;
For the wide waves are free,
The wide waves are free,
The waves of the surging sea!
Hoist sails and away!
‘Come, bear a hand, helm starboard, steady,’
Now bravely away!
We've cleared the Ness, and now we ride
The ancient green untainted tide;
81
The wide waves are free,
The waves of the surging sea!
Ha! like a steed the good ship prances,
Hoist royals, huzza!
Behold how mad the light wave dances,
Hoist sky-sails, huzza!
The sea-mews duck and dive with glee,
The porpoise rolls in revelry;
For the wide waves are free,
The wide waves are free,
The waves of the surging sea!
Hoist royals, huzza!
Behold how mad the light wave dances,
Hoist sky-sails, huzza!
The sea-mews duck and dive with glee,
The porpoise rolls in revelry;
For the wide waves are free,
The wide waves are free,
The waves of the surging sea!
Ha! how the crested waves are booming!
Blow stiffly, breeze, blow!
How yonder far east land is looming!
Blow stiffly, breeze, blow!
Reef, reef the sails! a blast! a blast!
‘Helm larboard!’—steady! helmsman, fast!
For the wide waves are free,
The wide waves are free,
The waves of the surging sea!
Blow stiffly, breeze, blow!
How yonder far east land is looming!
Blow stiffly, breeze, blow!
Reef, reef the sails! a blast! a blast!
‘Helm larboard!’—steady! helmsman, fast!
For the wide waves are free,
The wide waves are free,
The waves of the surging sea!
Now gently, gently!—slow but surely!
Now make for the land!
Yon bonnie harbour blinks securely;
The land, now the land!
We've cleared the point, the landsmen hail,
We bear along with gallant sail;
For the wide waves are free,
The wide waves are free,
The waves of the surging sea!
Now make for the land!
82
The land, now the land!
We've cleared the point, the landsmen hail,
We bear along with gallant sail;
For the wide waves are free,
The wide waves are free,
The waves of the surging sea!
83
OBAN IN THE SEASON.
[_]
A merry ballad, very profitable for itinerant Students in the long vacation, and Highland Tourists generally.
Now all the world is touring gone,
My friends are all in Paris,
A fool is he, and I am none,
At home who longer tarries.
I'll give a furlough to my books,
Let no man count it treason,
And fish for health and ruddy looks
At Oban in the season!
For Oban is a dainty place;
In distant or in nigh lands,
No town delights the tourist race
Like Oban in the Highlands!
My friends are all in Paris,
A fool is he, and I am none,
At home who longer tarries.
I'll give a furlough to my books,
Let no man count it treason,
And fish for health and ruddy looks
At Oban in the season!
For Oban is a dainty place;
In distant or in nigh lands,
No town delights the tourist race
Like Oban in the Highlands!
'Tis there the steam-boats drive about—
My tongue is no deceiver—
Out and in, and in and out,
Like shuttle of the weaver;
'Tis now to Mull, and now to Skye,
And now to mouth of Clyde, sir,
Like magic steed, with snorting speed,
They paw the purple tide, sir!
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
My tongue is no deceiver—
Out and in, and in and out,
Like shuttle of the weaver;
84
And now to mouth of Clyde, sir,
Like magic steed, with snorting speed,
They paw the purple tide, sir!
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
At Oban all the world you see,
The doctor and the scholar,
The poor man with his penny fee,
The rich man with his dollar;
The father with his hopeful boy,
The mother with her daughters,
All flock to plash about with joy
Like ducks in Oban waters.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
The doctor and the scholar,
The poor man with his penny fee,
The rich man with his dollar;
The father with his hopeful boy,
The mother with her daughters,
All flock to plash about with joy
Like ducks in Oban waters.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
At Oban on the pier, how gay,
How motley, and how grand, sir,
With tourists all in quaint array,
About to leave the land, sir!
The priest who steals short holiday,
The prince who goes incog., sir,
The schoolboy with his dreams of play,
The sportsman with his dog, sir.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
How motley, and how grand, sir,
With tourists all in quaint array,
About to leave the land, sir!
The priest who steals short holiday,
The prince who goes incog., sir,
The schoolboy with his dreams of play,
The sportsman with his dog, sir.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
85
The dark Italian and the Greek,
The light-haired Northern nation,
In Oban all unite to seek
Their summer recreation;
The Yankee with his long clay face,
The rubicund port-drinker,
The Frenchman with his nimble pace,
The broad-browed German thinker.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
The light-haired Northern nation,
In Oban all unite to seek
Their summer recreation;
The Yankee with his long clay face,
The rubicund port-drinker,
The Frenchman with his nimble pace,
The broad-browed German thinker.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
Praise be to noble Hutcheson,
Who made the Celtic seas, sir,
A highway smooth for any man
To travel on at ease, sir!
Like moving towns his vessels go,
And no one ever dreams now
Of staggering with a face of woe,
So steadily he steams now.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
Who made the Celtic seas, sir,
A highway smooth for any man
To travel on at ease, sir!
Like moving towns his vessels go,
And no one ever dreams now
Of staggering with a face of woe,
So steadily he steams now.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
At Oban, on a breezy morn,
The merry bell invites you,
And on the waters you are borne
Where every turn delights you:
The wooded hill, the bright green isle,
The gleaming loch before you,
The mighty ocean's boundless smile,
The mountain nodding o'er you.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
The merry bell invites you,
And on the waters you are borne
Where every turn delights you:
86
The gleaming loch before you,
The mighty ocean's boundless smile,
The mountain nodding o'er you.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
The huge rock foreland harsh and grey,
That fronts the broad Atlantic,
The rainbow that bestrides the spray
From waterfall romantic;
The floating gull, the flying skiff,
That cuts the water hoary,
The ivied castle on the cliff,
Where hangs the grim old story.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
That fronts the broad Atlantic,
The rainbow that bestrides the spray
From waterfall romantic;
The floating gull, the flying skiff,
That cuts the water hoary,
The ivied castle on the cliff,
Where hangs the grim old story.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
And now your way you steer to Skye,
Where savage green-scarred mountains
The surly western blast defy,
And nurse the roaring fountains;
And there, if happy chance befall
That clouds from rain refrain, sir,
You'll see the rock-built Fairy hall
Which mortals call Quirain, sir.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
Where savage green-scarred mountains
The surly western blast defy,
And nurse the roaring fountains;
And there, if happy chance befall
That clouds from rain refrain, sir,
You'll see the rock-built Fairy hall
Which mortals call Quirain, sir.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
87
Or, if it better suits your plan,
You'll see the wondrous dome, sir,
At Staffa, without help from man,
God reared from out the foam, sir.
Then land upon the sacred beach,
Where, like a shining star, sir,
The saint from Erin came to preach,
When gospel truth was far, sir.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
You'll see the wondrous dome, sir,
At Staffa, without help from man,
God reared from out the foam, sir.
Then land upon the sacred beach,
Where, like a shining star, sir,
The saint from Erin came to preach,
When gospel truth was far, sir.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
And if you know to use your eyes,
And are not stiff and mulish,
You'll spend a day in paradise
At lovely Ballachulish.
Then up the stream you'll wend your way
With thoughtful foot, and slow, sir,
Where white mists veil the bloody tale
Of dreary, dark Glencoe, sir!
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
And are not stiff and mulish,
You'll spend a day in paradise
At lovely Ballachulish.
Then up the stream you'll wend your way
With thoughtful foot, and slow, sir,
Where white mists veil the bloody tale
Of dreary, dark Glencoe, sir!
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
Or you may go where thousands flock
To hear the hollow rumbling
Of waters through the rifted rock,
With foamy fury tumbling,
At Foyers, by the long Loch Ness;
Or you may make your orison
To Nature in her birchen dress,
At lovely Invermorrison.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
To hear the hollow rumbling
Of waters through the rifted rock,
With foamy fury tumbling,
88
Or you may make your orison
To Nature in her birchen dress,
At lovely Invermorrison.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
Or wander where the high Ben Chee
Bewails her sons and daughters,
Transported far by harsh decree
Across the western waters.
Macdonnells now are named no more,
Where once they loved to tarry,
And on the far Canadian shore
They find a new Glengarry.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
Bewails her sons and daughters,
Transported far by harsh decree
Across the western waters.
Macdonnells now are named no more,
Where once they loved to tarry,
And on the far Canadian shore
They find a new Glengarry.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
Or you may roam where sharp green Bens
Hem in the narrow valley
At lone Shiel Inn, and from the Glens
The foaming torrents sally;
Then take your wand in cunning hand,
And lash the brown flood yarely,
And bring the big fish to the land
When you have hooked him fairly.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
Hem in the narrow valley
At lone Shiel Inn, and from the Glens
The foaming torrents sally;
Then take your wand in cunning hand,
And lash the brown flood yarely,
And bring the big fish to the land
When you have hooked him fairly.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
89
Or in Glenelg your foot may trace
The forts where Celtic freemen
Sought refuge from the plundering race
Of fierce Norwegian seamen;
Into their hollow walls they crept
Like conies under cover,
Then forth to light they blithely stept
When the black storm was over.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
The forts where Celtic freemen
Sought refuge from the plundering race
Of fierce Norwegian seamen;
Into their hollow walls they crept
Like conies under cover,
Then forth to light they blithely stept
When the black storm was over.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
Or you at Arisaig may land,
Where all the kilted clanship
For royal Charlie made a stand
With flaming partisanship;
Where gallant chiefs and ladies gay,
With glory held brief parley,
And grandly diced their lives away,
To win a smile from Charlie.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
Where all the kilted clanship
For royal Charlie made a stand
With flaming partisanship;
Where gallant chiefs and ladies gay,
With glory held brief parley,
And grandly diced their lives away,
To win a smile from Charlie.
For Oban is a dainty place, etc.
But why should I sit moping here,
With cobwebs in my head, sir,
When I might stand on Oban pier
With brightness round me shed, sir?
I'll shut my Greek and Latin shop,
And for a month and more, sir,
About the Celtic seas I'll hop
From Oban's bonny shore, sir.
For what my song declares is true,
And wise men think it treason
To pass a year without a view
Of Oban in the season.
With cobwebs in my head, sir,
When I might stand on Oban pier
With brightness round me shed, sir?
90
And for a month and more, sir,
About the Celtic seas I'll hop
From Oban's bonny shore, sir.
For what my song declares is true,
And wise men think it treason
To pass a year without a view
Of Oban in the season.
91
TOM WAS A ROSY BOY.
Tom was a rosy boy
When he went to College,
Brimming with health and joy
When he went to College.
None of all the student clan
Dared his steps to follow,
When the Session he began,
Like a bright Apollo!
When he went to College,
Brimming with health and joy
When he went to College.
None of all the student clan
Dared his steps to follow,
When the Session he began,
Like a bright Apollo!
Tom was a naughty boy
When the months proceeded,
Good advice I gave the boy,
Good, but little heeded.
Hotly panting for the goal,
Not a moment idle,
With mad haste he spurred his soul,
Scorning bit and bridle.
When the months proceeded,
Good advice I gave the boy,
Good, but little heeded.
Hotly panting for the goal,
Not a moment idle,
With mad haste he spurred his soul,
Scorning bit and bridle.
Tom was an altered boy
When the Session ended,
Pale his cheek and sunk his eye,
When the Session ended;
Pills and potions made display,
Nurse and leech attended,
Lean and languid where he lay
When the Session ended!
When the Session ended,
Pale his cheek and sunk his eye,
When the Session ended;
92
Nurse and leech attended,
Lean and languid where he lay
When the Session ended!
Where now is rosy Tom?
O do not ask me!
I can only weep for Tom,
Now when you ask me!
He who was so bright and swift,
Like a flashing river,
Lies now whence none may lift,
Cold, cold for ever!
O do not ask me!
I can only weep for Tom,
Now when you ask me!
He who was so bright and swift,
Like a flashing river,
Lies now whence none may lift,
Cold, cold for ever!
93
SOME BOOK-WORMS WILL SIT AND WILL STUDY.
Some book-worms will sit and will study
Alone, with their dear selves alone,
Till their brain like a mill-pond grows muddy
And their heart is as cold as a stone.
But listen to what I now say, boys,
Who know the fine art to unbend,
All labour without any play, boys,
Makes Jack a dull boy in the end.
Alone, with their dear selves alone,
Till their brain like a mill-pond grows muddy
And their heart is as cold as a stone.
But listen to what I now say, boys,
Who know the fine art to unbend,
All labour without any play, boys,
Makes Jack a dull boy in the end.
There's Moodie, no doubt he's a fellow
Of heart, and of head has no lack,
But his cheek, like a lemon, is yellow,
And he bends like a camel his back.
I tell him the worst of all evils
Is cram; and to live on this plan
Is to nourish a host of blue devils,
To plague him when he is a man.
Of heart, and of head has no lack,
But his cheek, like a lemon, is yellow,
And he bends like a camel his back.
I tell him the worst of all evils
Is cram; and to live on this plan
Is to nourish a host of blue devils,
To plague him when he is a man.
94
Sure Solomon knew what was fitting
To keep a man juicy and fresh,
And he says there is nothing like sitting
O'er books to bring grief to the flesh.
From quarto to folio creeping,
Some record of folly to gain,
He says that your red eyes are keeping
Dull watch o'er the night oil in vain.
To keep a man juicy and fresh,
And he says there is nothing like sitting
O'er books to bring grief to the flesh.
From quarto to folio creeping,
Some record of folly to gain,
He says that your red eyes are keeping
Dull watch o'er the night oil in vain.
I guess you have heard many sermons
Not wiser at all than my rhymes,
But perhaps you don't know what determines
Their sense to be nonsense sometimes.
Though bright the great truth may be beaming,
Through dimness it struggles in vain
Of vapours from stomach upsteaming
Unhealthy, that poison the brain.
Not wiser at all than my rhymes,
But perhaps you don't know what determines
Their sense to be nonsense sometimes.
Though bright the great truth may be beaming,
Through dimness it struggles in vain
Of vapours from stomach upsteaming
Unhealthy, that poison the brain.
Beside her old wheel when 't is birring,
A spinster may sit and may croon,
But a mettlesome youth should be stirring,
Like Hermes with wings to his shoon;
With a club, or a bat, or a mallet,
Making sport with the ball on the green,
Or roaming about with a wallet,
Where steamboats and tourists are seen.
A spinster may sit and may croon,
But a mettlesome youth should be stirring,
Like Hermes with wings to his shoon;
With a club, or a bat, or a mallet,
Making sport with the ball on the green,
Or roaming about with a wallet,
Where steamboats and tourists are seen.
95
Then rise from the lean-visaged study,
That drains all the sap from your brains;
Give your face to the breeze and grow ruddy
With blood that exults in the veins.
Trust me,—for I know what I say, boys,—
And use the fine art to unbend,
All work, with no season of play, boys,
Makes Jack a dull boy in the end!
That drains all the sap from your brains;
Give your face to the breeze and grow ruddy
With blood that exults in the veins.
Trust me,—for I know what I say, boys,—
And use the fine art to unbend,
All work, with no season of play, boys,
Makes Jack a dull boy in the end!
96
A SPRIG OF WHITE HEATHER.
A sprig of white heather I plucked on the brae;
To whom shall I give it?
To whom shall I give it?
Not to the sportive, the light, and the gay,
Not to Jessie with flashing display,
In the flush of the June, when the roses are out,
Flinging her frolicsome fancies about;
But beautiful Phœbe, to thee, to thee,
Thou deep-thoughted Phœbe, to thee!
To whom shall I give it?
To whom shall I give it?
Not to the sportive, the light, and the gay,
Not to Jessie with flashing display,
In the flush of the June, when the roses are out,
Flinging her frolicsome fancies about;
But beautiful Phœbe, to thee, to thee,
Thou deep-thoughted Phœbe, to thee!
A sprig of white heather I plucked on the brae;
To whom shall I give it?
To whom shall I give it?
Not to the haughty, the high, and the proud,
Not to Clotilda, who sails through the crowd
With a lofty look and a fine disdain,
As if all were born to hold her train;
But beautiful Phœbe, to thee, to thee,
Thou mild-eyed Phœbe, to thee!
To whom shall I give it?
To whom shall I give it?
Not to the haughty, the high, and the proud,
Not to Clotilda, who sails through the crowd
With a lofty look and a fine disdain,
As if all were born to hold her train;
But beautiful Phœbe, to thee, to thee,
Thou mild-eyed Phœbe, to thee!
97
A sprig of white heather I plucked on the brae;
To whom shall I give it?
To whom shall I give it?
Not to the clever, the keen and the knowing,
With eye never resting, and tongue ever going,
Not to Rebecca, who all has read
That goes, and goes not into her head;
But beautiful Phœbe, to thee, to thee,
Thou silently-loving, to thee!
To whom shall I give it?
To whom shall I give it?
Not to the clever, the keen and the knowing,
With eye never resting, and tongue ever going,
Not to Rebecca, who all has read
That goes, and goes not into her head;
But beautiful Phœbe, to thee, to thee,
Thou silently-loving, to thee!
A sprig of white heather I plucked on the brae;
To whom shall I give it?
To whom shall I give it?
I'll give it to one, or I'll give it to none,
I'll give it to Phœbe, my beautiful one;
The rare white bloom that peeps from the brae
So chaste and so pure 'mid the purple display,
It grew, dear Phœbe, for thee, for thee,
Thou rarest and fairest, for thee!
To whom shall I give it?
To whom shall I give it?
I'll give it to one, or I'll give it to none,
I'll give it to Phœbe, my beautiful one;
The rare white bloom that peeps from the brae
So chaste and so pure 'mid the purple display,
It grew, dear Phœbe, for thee, for thee,
Thou rarest and fairest, for thee!
98
O BLAME ME NOT, THOU FAIR ONE!
Light floats the breeze, the lark sings loud,
The strong sun pours his radiant river,
But o'er my soul there hangs a cloud
That I must leave thee now for ever.
O blame me not, thou fair one,
O chide me not, thou rare one,
That with one look
Sweet harm I took
From thy fine charm in Dalnacorra!
The strong sun pours his radiant river,
But o'er my soul there hangs a cloud
That I must leave thee now for ever.
O blame me not, thou fair one,
O chide me not, thou rare one,
That with one look
Sweet harm I took
From thy fine charm in Dalnacorra!
Fire must burn and light must shine,
And love, when it flames up with splendour
From throbbing heart by power divine,
Quench thou it not with touch untender!
O blame me not, thou fair one,
O chide me not, thou rare one,
That from thy look
Quick harm I took,
Nor turned to flee from Dalnacorra!
And love, when it flames up with splendour
From throbbing heart by power divine,
Quench thou it not with touch untender!
O blame me not, thou fair one,
O chide me not, thou rare one,
That from thy look
Quick harm I took,
Nor turned to flee from Dalnacorra!
99
When first thy beauty on my sight
Streamed, and thy sunny graces found me,
A throng of star-eyed cherubs bright
Seemed dancing with light wings around me.
Then blame me not, thou fair one,
Then chide me not, thou rare one,
That from thy look
Keen joy I took,
And nursed sweet harm at Dalnacorra!
Streamed, and thy sunny graces found me,
A throng of star-eyed cherubs bright
Seemed dancing with light wings around me.
Then blame me not, thou fair one,
Then chide me not, thou rare one,
That from thy look
Keen joy I took,
And nursed sweet harm at Dalnacorra!
Now fare thee well, thou maiden fine!
When I am far from Dalnacorra,
Chaste gladness through my tears shall shine,
To think on thee and Dalnacorra;
Then blame me not, thou fair one,
Then chide me not, thou rare one,
That with one look
Sweet harm I took
From thee, fair witch of Dalnacorra!
When I am far from Dalnacorra,
Chaste gladness through my tears shall shine,
To think on thee and Dalnacorra;
Then blame me not, thou fair one,
Then chide me not, thou rare one,
That with one look
Sweet harm I took
From thee, fair witch of Dalnacorra!
100
GAUDEAMUS!
‘The end of woman or of man, I think,
Is not a book.’
—Mrs. Browning.
Is not a book.’
—Mrs. Browning.
Gaudeamus, BURSCHEN brave,
Tune your throats and blithely sing!
Where the hedge is greenly sprouting,
Where the angler goes a-trouting,
Walk we forth and greet the Spring!
Tune your throats and blithely sing!
Where the hedge is greenly sprouting,
Where the angler goes a-trouting,
Walk we forth and greet the Spring!
Man was never made for books;
Books may not give law to him:
Not Agamemnon, nor old Homer,
Nor Ulysses, that wise roamer,
Made their eyes with reading dim.
Books may not give law to him:
Not Agamemnon, nor old Homer,
Nor Ulysses, that wise roamer,
Made their eyes with reading dim.
Happy birds, that to the sky
Rise, and sing in tuneful bands,
While we sit in dingy places,
Polishing the rusted graces
Of dead men in distant lands!
Rise, and sing in tuneful bands,
While we sit in dingy places,
Polishing the rusted graces
Of dead men in distant lands!
101
Why should I disturb the dead?
Let the slain lie where he fell!
Why revive forgotten squabbles?
Feuds of Greek and Roman rabbles
From the mouldy record spell?
Let the slain lie where he fell!
Why revive forgotten squabbles?
Feuds of Greek and Roman rabbles
From the mouldy record spell?
Shake the dust out from your ears;
Hear the vernal chorus swell!
Thrush and blackbird, lark and swallow,
While you ponder o'er the tallow
That from last night's candle fell!
Hear the vernal chorus swell!
Thrush and blackbird, lark and swallow,
While you ponder o'er the tallow
That from last night's candle fell!
What's the fruit of learnèd pains?
Value stock, and you will find
Thorny problem, prosy lecture,
Subtle substanceless conjecture,
Swelling systems big with wind!
Value stock, and you will find
Thorny problem, prosy lecture,
Subtle substanceless conjecture,
Swelling systems big with wind!
Men from thistles cull no grapes,
Reap no health from bookish toil;
Blinking eyes, and bad digestion,
Sleepless nights and brain-congestion,
That's the fruit of midnight oil!
Reap no health from bookish toil;
Blinking eyes, and bad digestion,
Sleepless nights and brain-congestion,
That's the fruit of midnight oil!
Fare-ye-well, ye old grey walls,
Inky benches, dusty chairs,
Learnèd tutors, grave professors,
Chancellor, rector, and assessors,
You are named in all my prayers!
Inky benches, dusty chairs,
102
Chancellor, rector, and assessors,
You are named in all my prayers!
Fare-ye-well, old Attic plays,
Whose cross-readings tortured me,
Grindings, crammings, preparations,
Saturday examinations,
When the student should be free!
Whose cross-readings tortured me,
Grindings, crammings, preparations,
Saturday examinations,
When the student should be free!
Vivat home, and home's dear haunts,
Wooded walk and flowery dell!
Welcome father, sister, mother,
Everything that makes no bother,
And the girl that loves me well!
Wooded walk and flowery dell!
Welcome father, sister, mother,
Everything that makes no bother,
And the girl that loves me well!
Vivat Highland glen and ben,
Sweeping breeze and sunny sky,
Rapid torrent grandly swirling,
Deep broad current darkly curling,
Where the big trout gulps the fly!
Sweeping breeze and sunny sky,
Rapid torrent grandly swirling,
Deep broad current darkly curling,
Where the big trout gulps the fly!
Vivat all that frees the soul
From the cumbrous chains of art,
All the living founts of knowledge
Which no books at school or college
Ever gave to thirsting heart!
From the cumbrous chains of art,
All the living founts of knowledge
Which no books at school or college
Ever gave to thirsting heart!
103
Pereat who sneaks to-day
In dull rooms and sunless nooks!
Who, devoid of rummelgumption,
Courts dyspepsy and consumption,
Poring over bloodless books!
In dull rooms and sunless nooks!
Who, devoid of rummelgumption,
Courts dyspepsy and consumption,
Poring over bloodless books!
You have heard my song, brave boys!
Let no pedants clip your wing;
While green life is all before us,
March we forth and swell the chorus
Of blithe birds that greet the Spring!
Let no pedants clip your wing;
While green life is all before us,
March we forth and swell the chorus
Of blithe birds that greet the Spring!
104
SONG OF THE SHEPHERD'S SON.
Of the bold cavaliers some bards delight to sing,
Who drank, and who swore, and who battled for their king;
I'm a poor shepherd's son, and my loves are with the men
Who fought for our faith in the lone mountain glen.
Then hurrah-ra-ra for the Covenanting men,
Who fought for our faith in mountain and in glen;
Who drank, and who swore, and who battled for their king;
I'm a poor shepherd's son, and my loves are with the men
Who fought for our faith in the lone mountain glen.
Then hurrah-ra-ra for the Covenanting men,
Who fought for our faith in mountain and in glen;
The gay cavaliers
Sowed the land with blood and tears;
But her front Freedom rears
With the grey-plaided men!
Sowed the land with blood and tears;
But her front Freedom rears
With the grey-plaided men!
King Charles and Priest Laud came with liturgy in hand,
And they told off a creed to believe at their command,
But the hot-souled Scot scorned to pray by a rule,
And the proud priest ducked to a dame with a stool.
Then hurrah-ra-ra for the Covenanting men,
And for stout dame Geddes, who was wise and mighty then;
And they told off a creed to believe at their command,
But the hot-souled Scot scorned to pray by a rule,
And the proud priest ducked to a dame with a stool.
107
And for stout dame Geddes, who was wise and mighty then;
For the gay cavaliers, etc.
There are fops who will grin, there are wits who will sneer,
But the brave still the deeds of the brave will revere;
And a price is the same which for freedom we pay
On a green Attic plain or a brown Scottish brae.
The hurrah-ra-ra for the heroes of the glen,
With the sword of the Lord, who were great and mighty then;
But the brave still the deeds of the brave will revere;
And a price is the same which for freedom we pay
On a green Attic plain or a brown Scottish brae.
The hurrah-ra-ra for the heroes of the glen,
With the sword of the Lord, who were great and mighty then;
For the gay cavaliers, etc.
They were hunted with hounds, they were bound, they were shot,
They were scourged, they were flayed, they were hung out to rot;
But they smiled at the rack, and the thumb and the screw,
And the more they were lopped still the larger they grew.
Then hurrah-ra-ra for the heroes of the glen,
For the strong, stout hearts of the Covenanting men;
They were scourged, they were flayed, they were hung out to rot;
But they smiled at the rack, and the thumb and the screw,
And the more they were lopped still the larger they grew.
Then hurrah-ra-ra for the heroes of the glen,
For the strong, stout hearts of the Covenanting men;
For the gay cavaliers, etc.
108
And the prayer still was heard from the lone hut, and still
The voice of the preacher was mighty on the hill,
And the free hymn was pealed from the moors of the Merse,
And the brave deeds were done which their children rehearse.
Then hurrah-ra-ra for the Covenanting men,
Who preached on the hill and who prayed in the glen;
The voice of the preacher was mighty on the hill,
And the free hymn was pealed from the moors of the Merse,
And the brave deeds were done which their children rehearse.
Then hurrah-ra-ra for the Covenanting men,
Who preached on the hill and who prayed in the glen;
For the gay cavaliers, etc.
And their seed still remains; from the heroes of the hill
The hot blood we draw, and the stern undaunted will,
And the scorn to receive from a despot's decree,
What should flame up with power from the heart of the free.
Then hurrah-ra-ra for the Covenanting men;
Bright burn the pure flame that consumed the stubble then!
The hot blood we draw, and the stern undaunted will,
And the scorn to receive from a despot's decree,
What should flame up with power from the heart of the free.
Then hurrah-ra-ra for the Covenanting men;
Bright burn the pure flame that consumed the stubble then!
For the gay cavaliers, etc.
My song you have heard; let the dashing cavaliers
Reap smiles from the men who rejoice in our tears!
I'm a poor shepherd's son, and my home is in the glen
That yet rings with the praise of the grey-plaided men.
Then hurrah-ra-ra for the Covenanting men,
Whose praise yet resounds through the lone winding glen;
Reap smiles from the men who rejoice in our tears!
109
That yet rings with the praise of the grey-plaided men.
Then hurrah-ra-ra for the Covenanting men,
Whose praise yet resounds through the lone winding glen;
For the gay cavaliers
Sowed the land with blood and tears;
But her front Freedom rears
With the grey-plaided men!
Sowed the land with blood and tears;
But her front Freedom rears
With the grey-plaided men!
110
COME, CLEAR UP YOUR BROWS!
Come, clear up your brows, and be mellow,
This hard-faced endeavour forego,
Make Pleasure of Labour the fellow,
Not thorns without roses should grow!
This hard-faced endeavour forego,
Make Pleasure of Labour the fellow,
Not thorns without roses should grow!
Why wilt thou be climbing and toiling,
Through regions of frost and of snow,
Despising the sweet flower that smiling
Begems the green meadow below?
Through regions of frost and of snow,
Despising the sweet flower that smiling
Begems the green meadow below?
O let not proud fancies deceive thee,
That point to far peaks capped with snow;
Our joys, like the bright flowers, believe me,
The loveliest lowliest grow.
That point to far peaks capped with snow;
Our joys, like the bright flowers, believe me,
The loveliest lowliest grow.
The Titans of old heaven-scaling
Assailed with proud engines the sky;
But Jove, with strong thunder prevailing,
Down hurled them to hell, where they lie.
Assailed with proud engines the sky;
But Jove, with strong thunder prevailing,
Down hurled them to hell, where they lie.
113
Then cease from your limitless scheming,
The wisdom of life understand,
While fools ride the air in their dreaming,
Death dashes life's bowl from their hand!
The wisdom of life understand,
While fools ride the air in their dreaming,
Death dashes life's bowl from their hand!
And spurn not the sweet spirit-soother,
But learn the fine art to be gay;
Wise Socrates, Solon, and Luther,
Were jolly old boys in their day!
But learn the fine art to be gay;
Wise Socrates, Solon, and Luther,
Were jolly old boys in their day!
114
CONFESSION OF FAITH.
Many churches damn full fiercely,
Peopling vasty hell;
I too have my creed, and tersely
Now to thee will tell.
Jerome, Luther, Calvin, Knox,
Were doctors grave and orthodox;
But who dares deny my creed
Is damned by right divine indeed,
Without help from the Devil!
Peopling vasty hell;
I too have my creed, and tersely
Now to thee will tell.
Jerome, Luther, Calvin, Knox,
Were doctors grave and orthodox;
But who dares deny my creed
Is damned by right divine indeed,
Without help from the Devil!
Everything that stands securely,
Stands on stable soil,
Nothing on no bottom surely
Builders' art may pile;
So from God, the fount supreme,
Flows life's many-branching stream;
And who dares deny this creed
Is damned by Folly's curse indeed,
Without help from the Devil!
Stands on stable soil,
Nothing on no bottom surely
Builders' art may pile;
So from God, the fount supreme,
Flows life's many-branching stream;
And who dares deny this creed
Is damned by Folly's curse indeed,
Without help from the Devil!
115
All the starry preparation
Of the reasoned whole
Comes by fiery inspiration
From the primal soul,
All the marvel of the plan,
From moth to mammoth and to man;
And who dares deny this creed
Is damned by reason's law indeed,
Without help from the Devil!
Of the reasoned whole
Comes by fiery inspiration
From the primal soul,
All the marvel of the plan,
From moth to mammoth and to man;
And who dares deny this creed
Is damned by reason's law indeed,
Without help from the Devil!
All that lives above, around thee,
Even things and odd,
Though their mazy reel confound thee,
Know their law in God.
All that spurs the struggling will
To gain the good and shun the ill
Is God; and who denies this creed,
Is damned by pious doom indeed,
Without help from the Devil!
Even things and odd,
Though their mazy reel confound thee,
Know their law in God.
All that spurs the struggling will
To gain the good and shun the ill
Is God; and who denies this creed,
Is damned by pious doom indeed,
Without help from the Devil!
What thy senses bring thee, hold it
As a part of thee,
Mark its virtue well, and mould it
As thy need may be.
When white mists are floating by,
Deem not that a ghost is nigh;
And who dares deny this creed
Is damned by naked fact indeed,
Without help from the Devil!
As a part of thee,
Mark its virtue well, and mould it
As thy need may be.
When white mists are floating by,
Deem not that a ghost is nigh;
116
Is damned by naked fact indeed,
Without help from the Devil!
Where by right of man thou standest,
Let man's work be done;
What thou knowest thou commandest,
What thou know'st not, shun.
Let not errant Fancy dwell
High in heaven or deep in hell;
Earth is the workshop of thy need,
And dreamers here are damned indeed,
Without help from the Devil!
Let man's work be done;
What thou knowest thou commandest,
What thou know'st not, shun.
Let not errant Fancy dwell
High in heaven or deep in hell;
Earth is the workshop of thy need,
And dreamers here are damned indeed,
Without help from the Devil!
Life's a game of many chances,
But, when humoured well,
How each stroke the next advances,
He who wins can tell.
Watch for what the hour may bring,
Of the moment thou art king;
And who dares deny this creed
Is damned by bungler's curse indeed,
Without help from the Devil!
But, when humoured well,
How each stroke the next advances,
He who wins can tell.
Watch for what the hour may bring,
Of the moment thou art king;
And who dares deny this creed
Is damned by bungler's curse indeed,
Without help from the Devil!
He whose life a lie besmirches
For some golden dole,
All the creeds of all the churches
Shall not save his soul;
Let him live and let him rot
With in his heart a cankered spot!
And who dares deny this creed
Is damned by law of truth indeed,
Without help from the Devil!
For some golden dole,
117
Shall not save his soul;
Let him live and let him rot
With in his heart a cankered spot!
And who dares deny this creed
Is damned by law of truth indeed,
Without help from the Devil!
In the change of gusty weather,
When a squall comes down,
All true men must pull together,
Or together drown.
In the rear or in the van
Each man serves the battle's plan;
And who dares deny this creed
Is damned by curse of self indeed,
Without help from the Devil!
When a squall comes down,
All true men must pull together,
Or together drown.
In the rear or in the van
Each man serves the battle's plan;
And who dares deny this creed
Is damned by curse of self indeed,
Without help from the Devil!
Wouldst thou reap sweet life's true riches,
Know, by law divine,
Love's the charm that all bewitches,
Wedding mine to thine.
To all lovely things that be,
Fling thy heart's gates open free,
And on the bloom of kindness feed;
Else frosted, starved, and damned indeed,
Without help from the Devil!
Know, by law divine,
Love's the charm that all bewitches,
Wedding mine to thine.
To all lovely things that be,
Fling thy heart's gates open free,
And on the bloom of kindness feed;
Else frosted, starved, and damned indeed,
Without help from the Devil!
118
You have heard my creed, brave brothers;
If it please you ill,
Find a fairer faith from others,
Forged with finer skill.
But while ye wander far from home,
To learnèd Oxford or to Rome,
From God direct my simpler creed
I take, to save my soul indeed
Without or priest or Devil!
If it please you ill,
Find a fairer faith from others,
Forged with finer skill.
But while ye wander far from home,
To learnèd Oxford or to Rome,
From God direct my simpler creed
I take, to save my soul indeed
Without or priest or Devil!
122
STUDENTS' MAY-SONG.
Blithe birds are singing now,
Light clouds are winging now,
Easter bells ringing now
Anthems of glee!
Come from your dusty nooks,
Fling away musty books,
Hear how the lusty rooks
Caw merrily!
List to the happy note,
Trolled from the mavis' throat,
Where breezy zephyrs float,
Cradling the trees!
Broad seas are glancing,
Bright waves are dancing,
Light skiffs advancing
With undulant ease!
All things are buoyant and bright with the May,
All things rejoice in the fresh-streaming ray;
Come away! Come away! Come away!
Light clouds are winging now,
Easter bells ringing now
Anthems of glee!
Come from your dusty nooks,
Fling away musty books,
Hear how the lusty rooks
Caw merrily!
List to the happy note,
Trolled from the mavis' throat,
Where breezy zephyrs float,
Cradling the trees!
Broad seas are glancing,
Bright waves are dancing,
Light skiffs advancing
With undulant ease!
All things are buoyant and bright with the May,
All things rejoice in the fresh-streaming ray;
Come away! Come away! Come away!
123
Wilt thou be lagging now,
Fretting and fagging now,
Moping and groping,
With down-drooping head?
Over the yellow leaf,
Wasting thy summers brief,
Building and gilding
The bones of the dead!
Digging from mouldy graves,
Old Greek and Roman knaves,
Scratching and patching
Their mummies to life;
Muddily diving,
Thornily striving,
Idly reviving
Some foolish old strife,
Deaf to the charm of the lusty-voiced May,
Deaf to the call of sweet birds from the spray;
Come away! Come away! Come away!
Fretting and fagging now,
Moping and groping,
With down-drooping head?
Over the yellow leaf,
Wasting thy summers brief,
Building and gilding
The bones of the dead!
Digging from mouldy graves,
Old Greek and Roman knaves,
Scratching and patching
Their mummies to life;
Muddily diving,
Thornily striving,
Idly reviving
Some foolish old strife,
Deaf to the charm of the lusty-voiced May,
Deaf to the call of sweet birds from the spray;
Come away! Come away! Come away!
Wilt thou be dreaming still,
Restlessly teeming still
With bubbles and troubles
That rise from the brain?
Guessing and gaping,
Theories shaping,
Wondering, blundering,
Ever in vain?
With thoughts never steady,
With words ever ready,
Spouting and routing,
And troubling the pool;
Rushing in boldly,
Cutting up coldly,
Weighing, surveying,
All things by a rule!
Burrowing blindly far from the day,
Deaf to the sweet birds that call from the spray;
Come away! Come away! Come away!
Restlessly teeming still
With bubbles and troubles
That rise from the brain?
Guessing and gaping,
Theories shaping,
124
Ever in vain?
With thoughts never steady,
With words ever ready,
Spouting and routing,
And troubling the pool;
Rushing in boldly,
Cutting up coldly,
Weighing, surveying,
All things by a rule!
Burrowing blindly far from the day,
Deaf to the sweet birds that call from the spray;
Come away! Come away! Come away!
Come where the mountain high
Cleaveth the mottled sky,
Where white clouds lightly fly
Dappling the noon!
Where the lone mountain tarn,
Fringed by the plumy fern,
Shimmers and glimmers
Beneath the pale moon;
Where the green birchen spray
Waves o'er the cliffy way,
Fragrantly, vagrantly,
Skirting the Ben;
And the flood roaring free,
Bubbling with foamy glee,
Gushes and rushes
And leaps to the glen!
Where winter's cold cerements are bursting away,
And Zephyrs are piping the birth hymn of May,
Come away! Come away! Come away!
Cleaveth the mottled sky,
Where white clouds lightly fly
Dappling the noon!
Where the lone mountain tarn,
Fringed by the plumy fern,
Shimmers and glimmers
Beneath the pale moon;
Where the green birchen spray
Waves o'er the cliffy way,
Fragrantly, vagrantly,
Skirting the Ben;
125
Bubbling with foamy glee,
Gushes and rushes
And leaps to the glen!
Where winter's cold cerements are bursting away,
And Zephyrs are piping the birth hymn of May,
Come away! Come away! Come away!
Where the wide leafy bower,
Sprouting with snowy flower,
Richly with drooping power,
Nods o'er the lea;
And the brook slowly wandering,
Broadly meandering,
Lispingly, crispingly,
Creeps to the sea!
Where crown, bell, and starlet,
White, purple, and scarlet,
Loosely, profusely,
Spread over the mead;
Where the white lambs are playing,
And reeling and swaying,
The bee goes a-Maying
With light buzzing speed;
Where Nature is vested in light from the May,
And all things with vegetive splendour are gay,
Come away! Come away! Come away!
Sprouting with snowy flower,
Richly with drooping power,
Nods o'er the lea;
And the brook slowly wandering,
Broadly meandering,
Lispingly, crispingly,
Creeps to the sea!
Where crown, bell, and starlet,
White, purple, and scarlet,
Loosely, profusely,
Spread over the mead;
Where the white lambs are playing,
And reeling and swaying,
The bee goes a-Maying
With light buzzing speed;
Where Nature is vested in light from the May,
And all things with vegetive splendour are gay,
Come away! Come away! Come away!
126
Come where broad seas of light,
Flooding with noiseless might,
Sweep with new glory bright
O'er earth and sky!
Wilt thou be lurking then,
Owlishly far from men,
Dark in this musty den,
Blinding thine eye?
Not from dry learning's mine,
Not from dead printed line,
Gushes the lore divine
Living to thee;
Shake rusty bonds away,
Leap into open day,
Wander in face of May
Bravely with me;
Things that were dead shall be quickened to-day,
Touched with new transport of life from the May,
Come away! Come away! Come away!
Flooding with noiseless might,
Sweep with new glory bright
O'er earth and sky!
Wilt thou be lurking then,
Owlishly far from men,
Dark in this musty den,
Blinding thine eye?
Not from dry learning's mine,
Not from dead printed line,
Gushes the lore divine
Living to thee;
Shake rusty bonds away,
Leap into open day,
Wander in face of May
Bravely with me;
Things that were dead shall be quickened to-day,
Touched with new transport of life from the May,
Come away! Come away! Come away!
| Musa Burschicosa | |