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' ■"*■»•,• y i ^ I DEDICATED BY SPECIAL PERMrSSlON TO .,_...,■-;'.; \ - THE RIGHT HONORABLE SIR JOHN DOUGLAS SUTHERLAND CAMPBELL K. T., Q. o. M. Q., ETC., MARQUIS OF LORNE, Late Governor-General of Canada. -ic *.* CONTENTS. PAOR Dedication iii A Biographical Sketch of the Author ... 9 TuK Mountain Minstrel ; or, Poems and Songs of Early Life : — A May Morning ii» Glen-Shira 27 My Own Native Cot 29 Annie's Eyes 30 , An Autumn Day on Loch-Lomond 31 Raven-black Tresses 34 The River Beauly 35 A Pictured Beauty 37 . The Castle of Lochavich 38 On Viewing Glen- Urquhart 49 Jessie of Carlunnan 50 Another Dagon Down 51 The Findhorn 52 Definition of a Poet 54 Maggie of Lochgair : A Pastoral '55 A Fair Harpist 56 Mary Mine 57 Staflfa 58 Donald and Sawney 61 Lov'o in Hiding 64 On Vievving Tobermorry Baj' 66 Shams 67 My Three Charmers 71 Lines addressed to a Young Brother Bard 72 Snowfall in a Highland Glen 73 Craigantairve : A Scene in Nether Lome 75 Britain vs. Afghanistan 77 The Fisherman's Return 79 The Highland Emigrant's Farewell 80 On the Death of a Beloved Mother 81 A Stolen Kiss 82 On Visiting lona 83 Duncan's-Bay Head * 87 A Vanished Hope , 88 Love's Last Appeal 89 Miss Makebelieve : A Sketch from Life 92 My First Railroad Ride 96 Sellars and his Shears 98 An Epistle to a Poetical Friend 100 Elegiac Stanzas on the Death of a Young Highland Nobleman 102 To the Morning Star 104 A Dreamland Delight 105 Lines wjitten on the Banks of the Dee, near Chester 107 The Dingle 108 Sonnet : The Primrose 109 n CONTENTS. Sonnet: To a Robin Singing on a November Morning 109 Sonnet : To the Author of '* The Shadow of the Pyramid " . . 110 Disenchanted 110 Tarlochan's Advice to his Son 112 A Last Fond Farewell 113 The Captured Bird : A Fable 114 Happiness 115 Jeanie's New Album 116 Verses addressed to a Fair Friend on her Birthday 119 To my Father, on his Emigrating to America 120 The Minstrel to his Harp 122 Translations : — Loch-Duich — From " Clarsach nam Beann " 123 The Child of Promise— From the same 126 Another Version of the Child of Promise 1 27 A Lover's Lament — From " Clarsach nam Beann " 128 Mairi Laghach— From the Gaelic of a Ross-shire bard 129 Songs :— The Hills of the Heather , 133 Who Loves not to think of Glenfinnan? 135 Ellie Bhoidheach 136 The Lass of Leven-side 137 The Banks of Loch-Shin . . 138 Jeanie Stuart 139 When I am Far Away 139 Bonnie Isabel 140 The Lass wi' the Bricht Gowden Hair 141 Glenara, I Love Thee 142 Winna the Siller make up for an Old Man ? 143 The Lass of Glenfyne 145 The Betiayed One to her Child 145 Sweet Annie of Glenara 146 The Shepherd Boy 147 Bella 148 Maggie Stuart 149 Inverae's Wooing. 150 Poems, Songs and Sonnets — Written chiefly in Canada : — The Chaudi6re 153 The Relief of Lucknow 154 Creag-a-ghhrie 156 To Professor G , on his last Historical Discovery 159 Robert Burns . Written for Centennial Celebration of 1859. . 160 Burns Again An Anniversary Tribute 162 ; '" The Modern Hercules 165 Canadian Girls 169 The Clans of 'Forty-five 170 ■ ■ A " Fabled " Ossian 172 ■ The Lake of the Thousand Isles. 174 r CONTKNTS. Vii I A Scottish Syren 175 Sonnets doscriptivo of tlio Scenery of Loch -A wo : — I. Loch-Awe — seen from Ciuio-aii-t -^^Icuchilaidh 178 II. Innis-Druidhiiich 1 71) IIL Fraoch-Kiloivn 171) IV. The IJrander Pass 180 V. Kilohurn Castle 180 VI, Glenorchy 181 VII, A Summer Morning at Dalmally 181 Keep your Powder Dry, Boys 182 The Press. 183 DomhiiuU Piobaire and the Bagpipes 1 80 *• Stands Scotland where it did ?" 1 89 To Mary, Sleeping in an Arbour 101 A Day with the Muse 1 02 My Rowan Tree 1 1)0 Erui Machree 108 A St, Andrew's Night in Canada , 2(M) In Memoriam of I)r, H, S. Laycock ! . 202 A Time that yet shall be 204 The Modern Moloch 20(» From the Sublime to the Ridiculous 208 William Lyon Mackenzie and his Traducers 209 A Girl I know 210 Glory to the Brave 211 Scottish Church Music 212 The Work Before us 214 A Missing Minstrel 216 John Bull on his Travels 218 To a Fair Favourite Friend 219 The Wallace Monument vs, " Old Humphrey " 220 Let us do the Best we Can 223 To John F. Campbell, younger, of Islay 224 Canada's Welcome to the Prince of Wales 226 A Very Ill-used Squad, Sir 228 Macaulay vs. Scotland 230 Garibaldi the Brave 232 Curling vs. Shinty 234 Christmas-time 236 A Good-bye 238 To a Fair Friend in a Foreign Land 238 To the same 239 The Wellington Street Peacock 240 The Tandys 242 Captain Creighton 244 Abram Lincoln 247 A Highland Hero's Coronach 248 My Wherry, " Brunette " .251 The Land of the Lakes 262 Vllt 0ONTKNT.S. Hf»w Long, O Lf>r(l, How Long ? On a VV()ul(l-l)c Cana ♦ < ♦ 6 VAN MacCOLL was born on the 21st Septem- ber, 1808, at Kenmore, Loclifyne-side — a farm situated on the banks of tiiat famous Loch, about five miles west from Inveraray, Argyll- shire, and at the time in the joint occupation of several tenants, the poet's father, Dugn,ld MacColl, being one of them. The bard, who was the youngest but one of a family of six sons and two daughters, was fortunate enough in having for his father one who, ill ddition to many other excellent qualities, was famed far and near for the richest store of Celtic song of any man living in his part of the couutiy. His home became, in 'on- sequence, the common resort of thoso in the district who de- lighted in such things ; and long and frequent were the winter ceiliiUis at his house to listen to him singing song after song — especially the Jacobite lays of such favourite minstrels as Mniri nighean Alastair RwW , Alexander Macdonald, and Duncan Ban Macintyre, ever) line of whose compositions he could ropeat from memory, and in a manner well calculated to attract and captivate the rustic audience congregated round his hospitable fireside. He had a keen and genuine appre- ♦Written for the Celtic Magazine of 1880, by its editor, Alexander Mackeuzie F.S.A., Scot., Inverness, Scotlaud. . • * lO Biographical Sketch. oiation of the beautiful and the grand in the natural scenery winch adorned his native land, and it was charming to hear the bard relating his recollections of how, when a mere boy, his father had made him familiar with the best positions ir the neighborhood of his home from which to view to advan- tage any scene of more than ordinary attraction — a circum- stance which, no doubt, tended to implant in the mind of the future poet that love of Nature which afterwards found such melh'^uous expression in his "Address to Loch Lomond;" his "Sonnets descriptive of Lochawe," which appeared in these pages; bis "Loch-Duich,'* and many more of his most beautiful and best descriptive poems. Dugald MacCoU was received among, aud lived on close terms of intimacy with, men who moved in a sphere of social life fa: above his own, and was in consequence r.ble to pro- cure the use of books, otherwise inaccessible, for his children ; for parish libraries in those days were things undreamt of in the Highlands. Nothing delighted him more than to see the patriot flame fanned in the bosom of his young family by the perusal of such books as Blind Harry's Metrical Life of Sir William Wallace, the Life of Hannibal, Baron Trenck's Autobiography, and other works of a similar character. He was descended from an old family— the MacColls of Glas- drum — a family in which resides, it is said, the chiefship of his cl«n — a small but heroic branch of the great clan Domh- nuill. He possessed superior natural end wments— physical as well as mental — and was reputed to be altogether as fine a specimen of the Highlander as could be found in the whole county of Argyll in his day. He delighted to v/ear the High- laud dress, and continued to do so, at lea fc as a holiday dress, long after it had ceased to be used by any other of the adult population of his native parish. Biographical Sketch. ri In his mother, Mary Cameron, a daughter of Domhnull mor it' Oharbh- choir re — in his day a man of considerable mark in the district of Gowall — the bard was scarcely less fortunate. Shs was noted for her store of traditional tales, legeridary and fairy lore, and not less so for a life of much active benevo- lence. '^ ^ '*; ^ * * * >!<**** John Mackenzie, in his "Beauties of Gaelic Poetry, and Lives of the Gaelic Bards," informs us that "the poet's paroiits, although not affluent, were" in the e?^.joyment of more comfort than generally falls to the lot of Highland peasants ; and were no less respected for their undeviating moral recti- tude than distinguished for their hospitality, and the practice of all the other domestic virtues that halbw and adorn the Highland hearth." Of the bard himself, with whom he was intimately acquainted, the same writer says : — "At a very early age he displayed an irresistible thirst for legendary lore and Gaelic poetry ; but, from the seclusion of his native glen and other disadvantageous circumstances, he had but scanty means for fan':ing the latent flame that lay dormant in his breast. He, however, greedily devoured every volume he could procure, and when the labours of the day were over, would often resort to some favourite haunt where, in the en- joyment of that solit'ide which his father's fire-side denied him, he might be found to take advannage of the very moon- light to pore over the minstrelsy of his native country: until lassitude or the hour of repose compelled him to return home." The same author continues : — * His father, Dugald MacColl, seems to have been alive to the blessings of educa- tion ; for, as the village school afforded but little or nothing worthy of that name, he, about the time that our bard had reached his teens, hired a tutor for his family at an amount of remuneration which his slender means could scarcely war- 12 BiogaAphical Sketch. rant. The tutor's stay was short, yet sufficiently long to accomplish one good purpose — that of not only enabling Evan properly to read and understand English, but also of awak- ening in him a taste for English literature. A year or two later a circumstance occurred which tended materially to encourage our author's poetic leanings. His father, while transacting business one day in a distant part of his native parish, fell in with a Paisley weaver, who, in consequence of the depression of trade, had made an excursion to the High- lands with a lot of old books for sale. MacColl bought the entire lot, and returned home groaning under his literary burden, which Evan received with transports of delight. Among other valuable works ho was tlius put in possession of were the 'Spectator,' 'Burns's Poems,' and the 'British Essayists.' He read them with avidity, and a new world opened on his view ; his thoughts now began to expand', and his natural love of song received an impetus which no exter- nal obstacles could resist. Contemporaneous with this liter- ary impulsion was the artillery of a neighboring Chloe, whose eyes had done sad havoc among the mental fortifications of our bard ; he composed his first song in her praise, and, although he had yet scarcely passed the term of boyhood, it is a very reepectable effort, and was very well received by his co-parishioners." The means taken for the publication of this first effort, as related to us by the poet himself while his guest in Canada, k worth telling. The bards were not at the time held in high esteem in his native district, and this fact, of which he was well aware, coupled with the subject and nature of the song, made him unwilling to make it known even among his mos^ intimate friends. He, however, felt conscious that his effort possessed some small merit, and was anxious to submit it to / Biographical Sketch. 13 the local critics, which he did in the following manner : — Taking into his confidence a young friend, who wan an excel- lent song singer, Evan taught him his first attempt, without however letting him so far into the secret as to name the author. The same evening a ceilidh "of lads and lasses" was held in the house of a poor widow who lived rent-free on the farm of Kenmore — that on which our bard was born— and Evan's friend engaged to sing the song during the evening, while the bard decided to remain outside, and hear, through tiie chinks and crevices with which the walls of the primitive domicile were pretty freely riddled, not only the singing of the song but the criticism which wai sure to follow. His nerves were strung to die highest pitch, waiting the result, which to him was of the utmost consequence. The song was sung ; it was received with loud and unanimous applause, and its unknown author, whom every one became anxious to discover, was praised without stint. Evan heard the whole , he felt himself a bard, and became supremely happy, and the genias of which this was the first-fruit broke forth from that moment with the result so well known to th-o lovers of genuine poetrj' throughout the length and breadth of the land, wher- ever Highlanders are located, and to all to whom the name of Evan MacColl is long since a household word. Of his educational opportunities in early life the bard, in a letter recently received from him, gives the following interest- ing account : — "My earliest schoolboy days were spent in a most miser- able apology for a school, existing quite close to where I lived, and conducted by a dominie of whose scholastic acquirements you may judge from the fact that he was content to be paid for his services at the rate of dElO per annum, besides board and lodging — the last being secured to him at the expense of ::::M^ i t4 Biographical Sketch. a constant round of house to house billeting, one day at a time for each child attending school. Here, in a building little better ihan a hovel, and where the discipline was such as I . even now shudder to think of, I first learned to master the A B C, the ab, abs, and so forth. This important preliminary being once through, I. in common with all little ones of simi- lar standing, were made to grope our way through the Shorter Catechism— the English version, mind you— for to be taught at that stage of our progress to read a word of Gaelic was a thing never dreamt of. So much for our First Book of Les- sons ! Our next was the book of Proverbs, then the New Testament, and afterwards the Old — all in English, of course, and the same as Greek to most of us. These were followed by some English Collection, or it might be Goldsmith's His- tory of Rome, in the case of children whose parents could afford to buy such books ; and where that could not be done, I have known an odd volume of Dean Swift's writings doing duty instead ! Last of all came in the Gaelic Psalm-book for such of us as might wish to attain to a knowledge of reading our native tongue. When it is considered how very little English any of us knew, I thiak it must be allowed that a total reversal of all this would have been the infinitely-more sensible procedure. In those days, and in such schools, a boy caught speaking a word of Gaelic was pretty sure to be made to mount the back of some one of his sturdier schoolmates, and then, moving in a circuit around the master, tawse in hand, get his hips soundly thrashed. You may well guess what a terror was inspired by such a mode of punishment in the case of little urchins wearing the kilt, ns most, if not all of us, then did. Another barbarous mode of forcing us to make English - our sole vehicle of speech at school was, to make any tres- passer on that rule carry on his breast, suspended by a gad jU 'I / Biographical Sketch. 15 made to go round the neck, the skull of some dead horse ! and which he was by no means to get rid of until some other luckless fellow might be overheard whispering a word in the prohibited tongue. How Highland parents, with the least common sense, could approve of all this is to me now inex- plicable. Little wonder if, under such circumstances, we could often devoutly wish that the Saxon and his tongue had never existed ! It is to be hoped that no such foul, short- sighted means of killing off my good mother-tongue are still allowed to exist in any part of the Highlands. If it must die — though I see no good reason why it should — let it have at least a little fair play in the fight for its life. "The nearest parish school being separated from my father's house by a considerable extent of rough moorland, which made his children's attendance there a thing scarcely to be thought of, it was lucky for me that, after picking up all the little knowledge possible at the school just described, my father, while on a visit to some relations in Appin, there fell in with, and er, gaged as a teacher in our family, a young man to whom I am indebted for almost all the education worthy of the name, ever received by me during my school-boy days. ^y worthy tutor had been for several years a teacher under the Society for the Propagation of Christian Knowledge in the Highlands, but was, at the time of Tuaking this engage- ment with my father, waiting for a promised situation as book-keeper in one of Mr. Malcolm of Poliallocli's estates in Jamaica, to which island, after a year spent with us, he went, and where, within a period of two short years, he died. Poor Alexander Mackenzie MacLeod — for that was his name — was a man of rare, ripe Celtic scholarship — a man who well merited being held by me in most loving rememlrance;" MacCoU's mind is of a peculiarly dehcate and sensitive tex- tc Biographical Sketch. ture, and the strongest impression of his early childhood still remaining, he informs us, in his recollection of his extreme sensitiveness to pain inflicted on any creature, even among .the lower animals. This characteristic pecuharity of his nature made the day set apart for killing the ''MuUag-gheam- hraidh" or any other occasional victim necessary to furnish the household with animal food, to him a day of special horror and anguish. On all such occasions it became necessary to send him out of the way until the necessary proceedings were over. It led him also, often at the expense of much rough treatment from boy companions older than himself, to become a regular little knight-errant in the defence of his favourite wild-birds and their brood from the harrying propensities sc common to most boys ; and a lapwing could not more suc- cessfully wile away from her nest the searcher aftei> it than he often did from their mark the would-be despoilers of some poor robin's cuach, as yet undiscovered by them. With a boy so constituted we may well believe him when he writes in his poem on '^Creag-a-gharaidh,'' given to the public a few years ago, that These were the days a planet new , . Would joy its finder less than there I ' ^ To find some blackbird's nest, known to ' - Myself aloi\e in Creag-a-gharrie. Like most Highland boys brought up in rural life, MacColl was early trained to all the various duties and labours inci- dental to that sphere of life— the spade, the plough, and the sio.kle being for many years implements far more familiar to him than the pen. The herring fishing season in Lochfyne was also to him for several years of his early manhood a period of more than ordinary activity — himself and his wherry, "Mairi Chreag-a-gharaidh," die praises of which Biographical Sketch. 17 have been already sounded in excellent 6 aelic verse in these pages, being generally foremost in opening the fishing cam- paign, and seldom missing a fair share of iis spoils. Ard, further, his father, in addition to the labour demanded by the cultivation of his small holding at Konmore, was seldom with- out a road contract of some kind or another on hand, gener- ally the making or repairing of roads within the policies of the Duke of Argyll, at Inveraray. During the last tan years of the father's residence in Scotland before emigrating to Canada, in 1831, he held a contract for keeping a consider- able stretch of the county roads in repair, to which he con- fined himself exclusively in that particular department. These repairs were usually carried on during the winter, and the bard and his brothers had to work along with the other labourers employed, thus making the whole year to them one unceasing round of hard and active labour. The bard was thus employed for several years— years, however, during which many of his best Gaelic lyrics were composed. When his father, accompanied by all the other unmarried members of his family, emigrated to Canada, Evan could not make up his mind to leave his native land, even t > accom- pany those whom he lovor" above all others in the world — he having already secretly r'^solved that before following them, he would try to leave his country-men at home something to be remembered by,— a poetic volume, in short, the materials for which were daily growing on his hands. How well he succeeded in his purpose remains now to be shown. His first publication in volume form appear3d in 1836, under the title of The Mountain Minstrel, containing Gaelic songs and poems, and his earliest attempts in English. Though the names of MacLachlan and Stewart appear upon the title page, the work was entirely published at the risk of i8 Biographical Sketch. the author. It was well received, the sale covered the cost of publication, and left a small balance to the bard. During the next two years he wrote several new pieces, both in Gaelic and English, and in 1888 the Messrs. Blackie, of Glasgow, published the Gaelic work now known as "Clar- sach Nam Beann," containing all the Gaelic pioductions of the bard till that date. Simultaneously with the "Clarsach" the same firm brought out the first exclusively English edition of the Mountain Minstrel, the first edition of which, we have seen, was partly Gaelic and partly English. A second edition of this Mountain Minstrel was published in 1847, and another in 1849 ; but neither of these produced any great financial results to the author. ^r- On the appearance of his two volumes in 1838, MacColl was hailed as a rare acquisition to Gaelic literature and his right to stand in the front rank of modern Celtic bards was at once established and acknowledged. Of his Mountain Minstrel or "Poems and Songs in English," some of the best contem- porary authorities in Britain wrote in the very highest praise. The late Dr. Norman MacLeod, reviewing it in an Edin- burgh paper, writes :— "Evan MacCoU's poetry is the product of a mind impressed with the beauty and the grandeur of the lovely scenes in which his infancy has been nursed. We have no hesitation in saying that this work is that of a man possessed of much poetic genius. Wild, indeed, and some- times rough are his rhymes and epithets ; yet there are thoughts so new and striking, images and comparisons so beautiful and origina^ feelings so warm and fresh, that stamp this Highland peasant as no ordinary man." Hugh Miller says, in the Inverness Courier: "There is more of fancy than of imagination in the poetry of MacColl, and more of thought and imagery than of feeling. In point, glitter, polish, he is / Biographical Sketch. 19 the Moore of Highland song. Comparisons and ideaHty are the leading features of his mind. Some of the pieces in this vohime are sparkhug tissues of comparison from beginning to end. The images pass before us in quick and tantahzing succession, reminding us of the figures of a magic lantern, hurriedly drawn athwart the wall, or the patterns of a web of tapestry, seen and then lost, as they sweep over the frame. Even when compelled to form a high estimate of the wealth of the bard f"om t'^e very rapidity with which he flings it be- fore us, we cannot avoid wishing at the same time that he had learned to enjoy it a little more at his leisure. This, if a fault, however, and we doubt it after all, is a fault of genius." Dr. Brovvn, author of "The History of the High- land Clans," noticing the work in the Caledonian Mercury, wiote : — "Here we have the poetic spirit breaking out amidst every disadvantage in the person of a Western Celt, — one, who, obedient to the voice within, sought to embody in song those feelings and emotions which external nature has kindled up in his bosom ; and who, with none of the means and ap- pliances furnished by the schools, has thrown together in his Mountain Minstrel more gems 'of purest ray serene' than could be found in a decade of lustra amongst the measured dullness of the choristers and songsters in the cities of the south." ■ Thip is surely high praise, but we must yet quote Bailey, the celebrated author of "Fesfcus" and of the "Angel World." "There is a freshness, a keenness, a heartiness in many of these productions of the Mountain Minstrel, which seems to breathe naturally of the hungry air, the dark, bleak, rugged bluffs among which they were composed, alternating occa- sionally with a clear, bewitching, and spiritual quiet, as of the gloaming deepening over the glens and woods. Several of i 20 Biographical Sketch. the melodies towards the close of this volume, are full of simple and tender feeling, and not unworthy to take their place by the side of those of Lowland minstrels of universal fame." Our Minstrel having thus established for himself a name which his countrymen "will not willmgly let die," the time to leave his beloved Lochfyne-side, not for Canada, but England, at last drew near. For, having been in the spring of 1839, through the influence of Mr. Campbell, of Islay, then M. P. for Argyllshire, appointed to a clerkship in the Liverpool Custom House, he, in that year, bade his native home an affectionate farewell, and exchanged the Highland hills and heather, which had so often occupied his poetic mind, for a sphere of life which, with its necessary duties and surround- ings, had little attraction for one of his temperan^ent, tastes and feelings. ■■■■>^''-- ' '^■■^'■-V■'^■'■ ' V'-'^ .''''•■■■ '■:>■ ;;v.:-'-.v. In 1850, the health of our bard having become somewhat impaired, he obtained six months' leave of absence to enable him to visit his friends in Canada, and at the same time re- cruit his overv.orked constitution. Shortly after his arrival there he happened to come in contact with an old friend of his father's family, the Hon. Malcolm Cameron, then a mem- ber of the Canadian Government, and was by this distin- guished countryman invited to transfer his clerkship in the Liverpool Customs for a somewhat better position at the time in the Provincial Customs of Upper Canada. Unfortunately for him, we think, he fell in with this friendly suggestion, and was, shortly after, appointed to a situation in Kingston, a position in which he remained until 1880, when he was superannuated. Promotion in the public service in Canada, being a matter almost entirely dependent on political influence, — and the Biographical Sketch. 21 Liberal party, — that to which MacColl owed his appoint- ment, — having, unfortunately for him, been left in the cold shades of opposition, with but a very short interval during the whole of liis official life in that country, his portion at the "public crib" was never much to boast of. We suspect that a farther barrier to his advancement lay in a suspicion that not a few of the political lyrics anonymously contributed from time to time to the Reform press were from his pen. It is certain tliat the bard never professed to be much of an ad- mirer of his countryman, Sir John A. Macdonald, the leader of the Conservative party there ; and, this being the case, he made, it a point of honor never to soUcit any favour at his hands. Yet Sir John, w' i had it so often in his power to befriend him, can hardly be excused for not acting towards him in a more generous spirit than he seems to have done. It was hoped that when, in 1874, Mr. Mackenzie, the leader of the Liberal party, came into power, MacCoU's well-estab- lished claims to promotion would result in some lucrative place being at once given him. A promise to that effoct was cheerfully made; but, yielding to political exigencies, Mr. Mackenzie delayed its fulfilment, more clamorous claimants having to be provided for, — while the bard, too modest to press his claims, and altogether too confident that the time would come when his patience would be amply rewarded, kept vainly trusting on until the upset of the Mackenzie Gov- ernment, in 1878, suddenly put an end to all his hopes of preferment. ?; , . We have said enough to show the stamp of man, whom we (on this side of the Atlantic) had almost permitted to die out of remembrance ; but we must yet bo allowed to add one more tribute in his praise from a brother Canadian band, of no mean powers himself ; for it is not often that one poet can 22 Biographical Sketch. be found to Bpeak so well of another. Wo quottock from which they sprang. worthy ;h born aother, llshire. poet's is now readers of his a poet iter, is iile iihe ly giva F/tock M,* o>- (r-v(£y?^v5>-^ ^Ke in^irQl t ! 1 , Where the insect-chasing swallow Hither-thither skims thy breast, ' And yon wil,d duck — timid fellow— t Flaps his wings in awkward haste, 'sM 111. f MacColl's Poems. 33 ,'^*:.rS.? See with what an air of scorning Sails yon swan in beauty's pride, Bright as sunbeam of tlie morning, Fairer far than Eastern bride ! Little cares the yeoman yonder What to me such rapture yields ; More to him than all thy splendour Are his own gold-tinted fields. 'Tis for him yon maids the corran* Ply among the yellow corn, Cheered on by the chorused orani Of such happy labours born. Hark now! "tis some youthful shepherd "Whistling all his cares away Near yon fold where lately upward To the milking went his May. Nature now is hushed to silence ; Ceased the sportsman's pastime fell ; 111 becomes his licensed violence Heath-clad Fruin's fairy dell. Now thy face, loved Lake, is beamless ; Dies the daylight in the west; — Never mind, my beauty blameless. Stars will soon bedeck thy breast. Vanished is the ray that crimson'd Yonder sky-sustaining pile O'er which, like some spirit ransomed, See how Vesper now doth smile ! *Beaping hook. tSong. f^ / li '' 'I n .1 34 MacColl's Poems. 'Tis the witching hoar of gloaming, Just the very time to hear Fairy footsteps lakeward roaming, Fairy minstrels piping near. From his lair the fox is stealing, Quits the owl her hermit cell ; Vision fair, past all revealing. Dear Loch-Lomond, now farewell ! RAVEN-BLACK TRESSES. Of fair flaxen ringlets oft sung I the' praises, Oft found my heart caught in the auburn's loved ma ^es ; But of all the sly snares cunning Cupid possesses There's none like one woven of raven-black tresses. Yes — raven-black hair that, a wavy web weaving, "Would in vain veil the bosom belovV it fond-heaving Like a sunbeam that bursts throui^h some dark cloud's caresses; — Hearts are never love-proof nigh to raven-black tresses I To see them, Louisa, thi/ fair shoulders hiding. Or down to thy waist in their glossiness gliding, One feels that, however angelic thy face is. Beauty's grand crowning glory are raven-black tresses. The poets, fond fools ! in the time 'clept the olden. Described Love's own queen proud of locks that were golden ; But had they seen thee, they would own that the Graces -= ; Misjudged in not giving her raven-black tresses. I ■■—■r^ MacColl's Poems. 35 Then choose whoso will beauties auburn or flaxt.i, Give me, when I mate — be she Celtic or Saxon — A girl who can add to the sweetest of faces The rarest profusion of raven-black ' "esses ! THE RIVER BEAULY. Of all the witching scenes the North Can boast of well and truly, — Haunts which no bard of any worth Would fail to honor duly, — There's none, I ween, To match that scene Where quits its Druim, the Beauly, And, laughing, leaps mto the plains Where plenty smiles on happy swahis. ; I've stood by Foyers' thundering leap. Seen Lora's rush astounding. Heard the swift Brander's moaning deep 'Mong Cruachan's caves resounding: ^., These have their share Of grandeur rare, But, Beauly, thee surrounding Are scenes that might Elysium grace, The beauty-spots on nature's face 1 'Tis grand thy crystal flood to view Benvaichard's borders leaving Nor less to see the Strath below Thy fuller flow receiving ; / 36 MacColl's Poems. But grander far To see thee where ItH narrowing bounds thou'rt cleaving Through rocky ridges opening wide In very terror of thy tide. Now through the Druim's dark gorges deep, Methinks I see thee going, Half hid 'mid woods that love to keep Fond watch upon thy flowing From rock to rock, With flash and shock, And fury ever growing, — A giant fettered, it is true, Yet bound all barriers to subdue. for a home on Agais fair, - / Nigh which, anon, thou wendest Thy way, proud-rushing on to where In thy great might ihou rendest The one more chain That strives in vain To fetter thee, and lendest To our charmed sight thy grandest gift of nil, The gleaming glory of Kilmorack's Full ! scene most magically wrought ! "^Yhat minstrel pen can paint <^hee ? TliF charms, fantastic beyond thought, A.rt never could have lent thee : Enchanting spot, I wonder not The Muses love to haunt thee ; MacColl's Poems. 37 And long, lovecl Agais, may they joy to stray Through thee with tuneful, King-descended Hay.* Majestic stream ! mothinks I see Thee through the Aird now goingj Calm-glassing many a lordly tree On thy fair margin growing. Soon in thy grave, The German wave, Shall ever cease thy flowing ; — Gease ? deathless flood ! till time shall cease to run, Thy race is finished, and yet but begun. A PICTURED BEAUTY. ■ * (Written on seeing, in the studio of Mr. Alex. Maclnnos, Inverness, a painting representing a very young girl— his own beautiful daughter— in the attitude of caressing a favourite Newfoundland dog.) r ; ,i I, Was ever mortal maiden half so fair As thou, the form all-perfect pictured there ! ■ • If breath were thine, I'd almost wish to be Myself a dog, to be caressed by thee I ♦John Sobieskie Stuart Hay, author of " The Bridal of Kilchurn," and other poems of great merit, and who for some years resided in the vicinity of the scene here alluded to. ,( IMH / 38 MacColl's Poems. THE CASTLE OF LOCHAVICH. A WEST-HIGHLAND LEGEND. The Castle of Lochavicli (better known in the titnlitionary lore of the West Highlands as " Caisteal na h-ighinne ruaidh ") stands on a little islet lying close to the western shore of Locliavich — a lake whose leg- endary associations, altogether apart from its romantic beauty, may well justify a pilgrimage to Glendovan, the valley in which it is situ- ated. Tradition points to Innis-lun»<, the islet already alluded to, as having been, in Ossianic times, the scene of a very tragic occurrence — that which forms the subject of a poem well known to all students of ancier.t Gaelic poetry as " Laoidh Fhraoich." There is no question whatever as to Lochavicli having been, at a period much less remote, the scene of the leading incidents related in tiie following poem, and which in all their main features form an " ower true tale." Lochavich's banks are fair to view, The swan loves well its bosom blue, And well the angler is aware His paradise of sport is there. Yet, pilgrim to that solitude, However sceptical thy mood, I would not counsel thee to bide On Avich's breast at twilight tide, And least of all, to ply the oar Near Innisluna's haunted shore. Thou'lt know it from all scenes around By the grim castle, ivy bound, There tow'ring. Pile unhallowed ! though The winds wail through its chambers wide, It looks upon the floor below With something ^et of feudal pride. re of che 1 a little lose leg- ty, may ; is situ- jd to, as rrence — idents of question remote, )em, and / *a MacColl's Poems. 3Q When night resumes her dusky sway, The shepherd shuns yon beechward way ; The hunter, lated and alone, May well with quickened pace move on Whenever meets his watchful eye Lochavich's castle frowning nigh, For often there, close by the tide, A phantom form is seen to glide. Now, with a low beseeching wail. Now, silent as a cloudlet frail Dissolving in the moonlight pale, Causing the dark-o'ertaken wight, There passing homeward, sore aifright. " It is the Nighean ruadh," he says — " Protect me, Heaven good !" And while he yet doth wildered gaze. She sinks into the flood. But listen, stranger, while I tell A legend of old Dovan-dell, So may thy doubting mood give way To a wise wish that Heaven may Be from all ill thy shield and stay ! Glendovan's lord — a chief far-famed For daring deeds unblest, — untamed And fierce as wild boar of the wood. Lived in Glendovan's solitude, Where, in a wild, barbaric way. Five hundred clansmen owned his sway. Alas for them, or friends or foes. Who would stout Ardau's will oppose ! ^msfm ■BHiaaRI 40 / MacColl's Poems. A chief was he who never long From strife his hand could stay ; The leader of a reiving throng Who ne'er distinguished right from wrong— His creed was that unto the strong The weak were lawful prey. But now at length grown grey in strife, With foemen thirsting for his life, And deeming insecure, I ween, His home ancestral in the Glen, He plans that on yon isle ere long Shall tower a castle stout and strong, Where, if in war no longer famed, He'll pass life's winter still untamed When Art can wield his father's ''^'v . And chiefs contend for Euna's hand, (Fair Euna, his sole daughter mild — The Sunbeam of Glendovan styled) — Stern Ardan on his castled rock His stoutest foe right well may mock. What speck is that upon the wave ? Where fleetly glides yon binrlinn brave ? It hastens off to Erin's shores In search of Patrick of the Towers. No castle then on Albin's coast Could match with those by Patrick plaLU: And Erin of no towers might boast Like those which owned his master hand. Famed Patrick found— himself and son — (A youfch he fondly doated on, f MacColl's Poems. 4t Though loving harp and song much more Than all his sire's masonic lore) — Together with the strangers sail ; Straight steers their bark for Erraghael, And, by propitious breezes borne, Safe reaches now the coast of Lome. On haste her crew o'er waste and wild To where, 'mid hills o'er hills high-piled, Lochavich fair in sunshine gleams — Lochavich that forever seems Calm-listening to the voice of streams I Glendovan's chief was glad to see Wise Patrick, and they soon agree As to the site — the plan — the fee ; Nor lUd sage Patrick lose a day His skill masonic to display ; Grim Ardan ill can brook delay. "Why, Fergus, is that frequent sigh ? That dreamy, unobservant eye ? Thy duty fitly to fulfil Needs all thy wonted zeal and skill ; My cares are doubled since the day Thou'st taken to this moody way I It seems, my son, as thou would'st have Us never more to cross the wave, — As if the day our task is done You'd have it opAv just begun !" Ah, Patrick, thou art old as wise — 'Tis long since love could wake thy sighs,- ( 42 Ei ! II I MacColl's Poems. But yet experience might thee shew What woman's witching smile may do, Ar d how in vam would youth defy Th' omnipotence of Beauty's eye. His day's work o'er, young Fergus there Oft in his harp found solace rare, Aiid — oftener than his father knew — His evening walk he would pursue To where, begirt by rock and brake, An airidli^ overlooked the lake, — A scene whose features wildly fair Young Runa loves, and oft is there With maids who milk her father's flocks ; The while they vocal make the rocks With songs whose melody so sweet Alone might thither tempt his feet, — Nor did their lilting charm for nought The youth who thus their presence sought, For often, when encouraged by A word or glance from Runa nigh, He'd touch his harp, and sing, the while, Some thrilling lay of Erin's Isle. The wonderinj^ shepherds praise his skill, Confessing Torrau's fairy hill Could boast no minstrel to compare One moment with that harper rare ! Their fair companions, though they praise Less loudly, list with glad amaze ; Or rude or gentle — one and all, His music held in willing thrall. '^A Shieling. • « KXM MacColl's Poems. 43 Another and another strain Succeed, — so charms he heart and brain, The briefest silence seems a pain ! But why, hke wavelet in the light Of sunbeams on the lake. Heaves Buna's bosom lily-white ? Can song such tumnlt wB,ke ? Ah, Runa ! be upon thy guard ! Thou lov'st the music well, — Yet frequent sighs may well be spared, And blushes more than tell the bard How much he doth excel ; — Then tempt him not 'gainst fate to cope ; Alas, what will not minstrel hope ? Time passes on ; the builder's skill Is shewn to be unrivalled still, And Ardan's castle soon shall stand The stoutest structure in the land, And Patrick ready be to hail Once more his native Innisfail. Alas, poor Patrick ! never he That land beloved again may see I He little weens that when he has His task complete, and would be gone, Resolved is Do van's chieftain base To rob of life both sire and son ! '•Why should o'er ocean's distant flow The guerdon of their labors go ? His steel is sharp — yon rock is steep, — His gold shall never cross the deep I " ■'■/.^ - i.v. ',.-.■ ■H 44 MacColl's Poems. f His daughter sees his brow assume From day to day a deeper gloom, And strives in winsome way to chase That gloom unwelcome from its place. As well that maiden fair might try To dissipate the cloud That in its sable canopy The thunderbolt doth shroud ! One night, when oft the cup went round Grim Arden's table, plenty-crowned, Strange whisp'rings reached young Runa's e,ar- She heard what it was death to hear : — ♦* 'Tis fixed — this night must be their last ; Let fox and cub alike be cast Together o'er yon rocky steep — The lake below is dark and deep ; The gold with which they hope to swell Their purse, will portion Euna well." Poor Runa, well thy heart may quake : — "What can be done for Fergus' sake ? Another hour may seal his doom ; Yon lake may be the minstrel's tomb ! that he had but time to fly ! that some warning voice were nigh The idol of her secret sigh ! He whom, alas ! she cannot tell, Yet feareth much she loves too well, Silent she stealeth forth : Ah me. What may not in extremity By woman's love accomplished be 1 f mm MacColl's Poems. 45 One minute, and the dread cabal That night convened in Ardan's hall Unconscious prisoners will be all, And Fergus, ere the dawn of day, Be from Lochavich far away. 'Tis done ! she locks the pond'rous door. And quitteth now with quick'ning pace That home to which in life no more She may her path retrace — Resolved her lover's life to save Or with him sleep beneath the wave. 'Twas midnight : Just behind yon Ben The crescent moon had set ; Upon Lochavich's breast serene Her parting smile seemed yet To linger as if loth to die Amid such sweet tranquility. Fair lake, no grief disturbs thy rest ; Young moon, no terrors thee molest ; And thus ye both can calmly sleep Unheeding of her anguish deep Who now — as some poor doe might fly From hounds whose bay betray them nigh — Speedeth the lake's grepn margin by, Till soon, in Innisluna's sight — Her lover's resting place at night — She halts and sends her voice whereto The flood forbids herself to go, — A warning voice that yet may reach His tent on Innisluna's beach. / 46 MacColl's Poems. THE WARNING. " Fergus, wake ! Hence quickly take Thy flighty for death lurks by thee ! A ruthless knife That seeks thy life Gleams at this moment nigh thee ! Awake ! awake ! ' Beyond the lake Afar thy flight betaking, Else wilt thou sleep That slumber deep From which there's no awaking I " Such was the fateful warning wail Of Euna's anguish born ; Can Fergus hear it and yet fail Its meaning dread to learn ? He may have heard, and yet may he Suspect her but some lone Banshee Who fain would frighten him, maybe, And thus he haply may Within his tent list, laughingly, That warning sent his way. Oh, that she had but wings to fly. Or shallower the tide ; Then, spite of maiden modesty, She'd soon be by his side ! Ye streamlets, why so rudely rush ? Ye birds of night, your discords hush ! I MacColl's Poems. 47 What if dread Ardan's step is near ? What if poor Buna's words of fear Should fail to reach her lover, where He sleeps a sleep whose eud uublest May be a dagger in his breast ! Again across the tide is sent Poor Buna's warning cry, When, lo ! a torch from out his tent Is waved in fond reply ; And though the bearer of it be Too distant yet his face to see She knows, and shouts, " 'Tis he ! 'tis he ! " Dear is the long-expected rain Of summer to the thirsty plain. And joyful to a mother mild The accents of a long-lost child ; But lo the lover still more dear The voice of his heart's chosen near ; And 0, the rapture 'tis to prove The depth of Beauty's long-hid love I Thus Fergus feels, as out into The darkness hurries he ; For well voung Buna's voice he knew Was that which broke his slumbers through : Now for her sake lo die or do, Besolves he, gallantly, As on, across yon narrow tide. He hastes to where her voice doth guide. iij I f i I. I 48 MacColl's Poems. r^ I 1 Fast plies bis hand the beiicl'ng oar, And fast his skiflf flies to the shore, Where half expects he soon to prove Her fears a mere excess of love ; Yet Runa, if good cause he find For flight, shall not be left behind ! Lone maiden ! why dost then renew That tone beseeching ? dost not view Thy lover nearing quick the beach ? Heaven ! a well-known voice doth reach Her ear, — it is— it is her sire ! A scornful laugh reveals his ire. He heard her cry : The wolf is meek Compared with Ardan's fury wild As forward hastens he to wreak Revenge on his own child. His brandished steel now flashes nigh, Yet— "Fly ! devoted Fergus, fly !" Was still that maiden's anguished cry. In vain, Fergus, thou art brave ; In vain thou rushest on to save Thy Runa from her father's sword — His minions thine own blood have poured, But with thee dies Glendovan's lord ! On fair Lochavich's v;cstern shore The traveller still may see Two stony heaps — the swelling store Of more than centuries three. One marks — so say old senachies — The spot where Ardan fell ; MacColl's Poems. The other, where his daughter lies With him she loved so well. The herd-boy oft, in passing by, Adds to each cairn a stone ; The pilgrim, with a pitying sigh, Thinks of the early gone, And brands with execration brief Thy memory, Dovau's demon-chief I 49 ON VIEWING GLEN-URQUHART, INVERNESS-SHIRE. Hail, thou Arcadia of the North ! Glen-Urquhart lovely, well I trow Yon sun above thee ne'er looked forth On any landscape fair as thou. When Nature's seeming negligence Left rough Stratherrick what we see, Meseems, as if in recompense, She made a paradise of thee ! This path, so prodigal of flowers. Yon dark-blue lakelet zephyr-curled. Those murmuring streams and greenwood bowers Seem all as of some brighter world. 'Mid scenes like this, methinks, was given To minstrels first to strike the lyre ; 'Mid such, methinks, the Sons of Heaven Learned Earth's fair daughters to admire. 5° f MacColl's Poems. 'Tis well such wooers are no more Permittfid thus on earth to rove, Else they would haste to yonder bower, All rivals for fair Ellen's love !* 1837. JESSIE OF CARLUNNAN. I OWN that in the Lowlands fair Blooms many a winsome marrow ; But for a charmer past compare, Give me Carlunnan's Jessie dear : Love's queen, when she would gods ensnare. Might well her graces borrow ! Her mouth and breath find emblems fit In June-time's opening ros^ Her eyes are of the hue deep- In spring-tide's dew-gemmed violet ; The Greek's ideal nymph complete Her form all-perfect shows us. No wonder that such love for her Within my heart is springing ; — But that I fear such freedom might Find little favour in iier sight, How glad I'd make her beauty bright The theme of all my singing ! ♦The "Fair Ellen" here alluded to was a sister to Patrick Grant, Esq., once proprietor of the estate of Redcastle, and who, at the time these verses were penned, made his home in Glen-Urquhart, on the banks of the beautiful Loch-Meikley. MacColl's Poems. 51 ANOTHER DAGON DOWN. (Lines occasioned by the abolition of slavery in the British Wes* India Colonies. ) Hurrah ! thrice hurrah for the »^ew8 just received ! A victory rare in Truth's cause is achieved ; — One Hnk more is broken in slavery's chain ; — Heav'n grant quick destruction to those that remain ! All honoured be they through whose labours beloved Britain finds a foul stain from her forehead removed : Shame on her past record ! — 'tis high time indeed Man's possession in man should be dropt from her creed. No more in her Isles of the West far away Shall the slaver accursed find a mart for his prey : There's a price on his head ; he must henceforth steer shy Of a coast where, if caught, like a dog he must die. Of profits unhallowed no more left to boast — Hark the howl of the hell-hounds whose harvest is lost ! By hell only pitied, long let them howl on ; Their traffic was worthy of demons alone. 0, for the quick advent of that happy time Foreseen by the prophet of Patmos sublime — That time when, as brothers in loving accord, Earth's tribes all shall joy in the smile of her Lord ! 52 MacColl's Poems. ^l i THE FINDHORN. (Dedicated to the memory of the Lite Lady Gordon Gumming, of Altyre, Morayshire, for whose album these lines were originally penned. ) FiNDHORN the Beautiful ! Fain would I sing thee ; Praise is the dutiful Homage I bring thee. Child of the Mist and Snow, Nursed 'piong the mountains. Well loves the red deer to Drink at thy fountains. Glassing the skies above, Ycnder thou glidest ; Now in some piney grove, Sudden, thou hidest. Here, with a rushing might, Bocks thou art rounding ; There, like a flash of light, Over them bounding ! Calm in the distance now, Rest thou seem'st craving, Darnaway's forest bough Over thee waving. What though a-near thee No orange grove springeth ? What though to clieer thee Ng nightingale singeth ? f- MacColl's Poems. 53 More love I to mark What is thine in full feather, The song of the lark O'er the bloom of the heather ! witching Relugas ! Altyre enchanting ! The Findhorn, in you, has Good cause for loud vaunting. What stream e'er was given A neighbourhood fairer ? What maidens 'neath heaven More lovely than there are ? But hark ! — 'twas the whirr Of the night-hawk, bold rover ! The bat is astir. The lark's vespers are over. The angler, spoil bringing, Now homeward proud paces ; 'Tis time I ceased singing Of Findhorn 's wild graces. October. 1838. 54 t MacColl's Poems. 'i 'it it- DEFINITION OF A POET. A PLAYER strange on life's rough stage, Now saint, now sinner, and now sage ; A dreamer oft of creed unsound, And yet a prophet frequent found ; A wayward wight of passions wild, Yet tender-hearted as a child ; A spirit like the lark endowed To sing its sweetest in a cloud ; A soul to whom, by beauty given, A frown is hell, a smile is heaven ! The friend of Truth, past contradiction, And yet the very slave of Fiction ; The mortal foe of vanity. Yet no one half so vain as he ; The moralist high-toned, withal Oft bound in Pleasure's circean thrall — The vices he can ban so well Himself the weakest to repel ! A vapour in the whirlwind's pow'r, A dewdrop glittering for an hour, A flow'r whose pow'r to charm is due More to its fragrance than its hue, — Such aye has been from days of old The traits and types that truest shew out That strange compound of mud and gold, That Eara Avis called a poet. f MacColl's Poems. 55 MAGGIE OF LOCHGAIR: A PASTORAL. So fain is my hope e'er to win The hand of a maiden so fair, That often I wish I'd ne'er seen Young Maggie, the pride of Loohgair. Her form is the sum of all grace, Her heart is as warm as 'tis pure ; One look at her sweet, smiling face Is to love her, and love evermore. Methiuks I now see that loved one — Her tresses of gold in full flow O'er shoulders as fair to look on As sunshine on Oineachan's snow ! When she moves 'mong the girls on the green, Dancing there to some heart-stirring lay, I could fancy her Fairyland's queen - Such grace all her motions display. When she sings, vainly would I declare The thrilliii delight that is ours, For ne'e'* was heard liltuig so rare Outshi. f celestial bowers! would that less ch wyre her kiu, Or I laird of Glass -y know: ! 1 then might despair not to win And wear this bright pea'l as m;^ own. Courage, heart ! Maggie'.s Kind as she's fair. And the Cannuck land fertile and wide ; Who knows but this lass of !.">' ^air May yet bloom 'mong its t wers as my bride ! / 56 MacColl's Poems. A FAIR HARt^IST. She knelt beside the harp — her hand Swept o'er its quivering wires, And soon, as if some fairy band. Unseen, beside her took their stand, Assisting with their lyres, — Such tones melodious filled the air As made it almost heaven to hear ! Anon, as if in envy of The harp's rich harmony. She sings, — it is a song of love, — And while her fingers gently move The wires, I think of thee, Malvina, when in Selma's hall. Thy song was of thy Oscar's fall. What mortal man, with ears to list Those sounds divinely sweet. But would forever listen, blest. And feel as if he would have kissed The ground beneath her feet ? Such was the, witching spell profound In which she all her audience bound. If Dear woman ! what mean bard unblest Would not thy praises make His chosen theme o'er all the rest ? MacColl's Poems. 57 A world with thy fair presence graced, - A world where Anna's* fingers chaste Such raptures can awake, — With all its heavy sum of ill, There's much of Eden in it still ! MARY MINE. ' They tell thee that I'm a deceiver ? A deceiver ! Mary mine, While this heart heats, never, never. Can it be aught else than thine. What although of other Maries I may sometimes sing the charms ? Not the less my heart's sole care is To live only in thine arms. Moons may change in yonder heaven. Oceans still may ebb and flow ; But my love, so fondly given, Change nor ebb shall never know. ♦ The "Anna" whose skill as a harpist led to the production of the above verses was Mrs. Robert Chambers, of Edinburg, the beautiful and accom- plished wife of the founder of Chambers' Journal. / 58 MacColl's Poems. SIAFFA. Off with the morn's first faint ray, our trim bark, west away, Like a ghost from the dawn, was flying Before a fair wind which, from Ulva behind. O'er the solemn sea went, sighing. With all eyes in full strain, scanning leeward the main, Swift and swifter thus on we go proudly ; The mere thought soon to stand upon Staffa's famed strand Made the coldest heart 'mong us beat loudly. On the Paps we scarce thought— of Eigg's cliff took slight note ; Nor, although its blest shore was so nigh us, ' Could Columba's own Isle for a moment beguile Our charmed gaze from that now which lay by us. Like a fragment chance-hurled from some fairer-framed world. Mid the waves, round it joyously dancing, Stood that Isle which all there well indeed might declare All unmatched save in Sinbad's romancing. jj-i i: And now thy weird beach, wondrous Staffa, we reach — Now we kneel with devotion beseeming ; Now that grotto we mark, where, 'tween daylight and dark, Combs the mermaid her tresses gold-gleaming ; And now wend we our way where, above us, in play. Wakes the seagull a. clamorous chorus. Till a joyful •' hurroo !" sudden stops us, and lo 1 Fingal's cave in its glory before us ! I / MAcr,oLL's Poems. 59 What vain fool would compare with that fabric rare Palace, Church or Cathedral splendour ? Charms that far more amaze the rapt pilgrim's fond gaze It has there in its own gloomy grandeur. No — there's nothing can be, of man's work, matched with thee, Thou famed fane of the ocean solemn ! He who see's not God's hand in a temple so grand Never will in the holiest volume ! the joy of that hour ! the heart- stirring pow'r Of the music so wildly romantic. Which the light summer gale 'neath its roof blended well With the sough of the moaning Atlantic ! Still in Fancy's charmed air that wild anthem I hear — Still, the echoes that answered our voices, As we hymned our delight at His goodness and might Who could fashion such things to rejoice us. Witching Isle of the West, never made for thy breast Was the slow-gliding plow nor the harrow ; But the lightnings that fly, and the storms passing by, On thy brow have left many a furrow. What, to thee, is the spring of which bards love to sing ? W^hat, to thee, how the harvester speedeth. When the life-teeming sea giveth amply and free All thy feathered inhabitant needeth ? Thine are no gowan'd leas — thine no bloom-kissing bees, Nor the cuckoo with spring returning ; Thine is never a thrush in the hazel bush Glad-greeting the Maytide morning ; 6o MacColl's Poems. But thine is the shell where the pearl loves to dwell, The wild swan anil the fulmar wary, And the spar-spangled cave which the murmuring wave Lightens up with an emerald glory. I i Yet withal, thou weird Isle, heaven help him thou'dst wile In the winter to voyage by tkee, When the west winds rave, and a ready grave Finds the bark that would dare to nigh thee, And from Skerrievore comes the ceaseless roar Of the mountain-waves over it bounding. While thy echoes reply to the seabird's shrill cry Heard afar mid tliat music confounding ! It is then one might hear with a trusting ear (What the Isleman believes in, devoutly — ) That, though haughty enow in the calm lookest thou, On thy pillar-propped throne seated stoutly, In the hurricane hour, when the storm-fiend's full pow'r Breaks upon thee in surges snowy. Thou dost quiver and quake like a leaf in the brake. As if fearing their force would o'erthrow thee ! When but yet a boy the most cherished joy Of my heart was the hope to view thee ; Of all pleasures rare mine some day to share None seemed equal to roaming through the^. The long fret is o'er : Mine may be no more To renew the delight attending My first sight of thee, yet its memory Shall dwell with me, a joy unending. rif » MacColl's Poems. 6i DONALD AND SAWNEY. A DIALOGUE. 'TwAs at last Autumn's Falkirk fair Two rustics waged a battle rare : — The one, a drover stout and stern, Was from the braes of fair Muckairn ; The other chap, as stout as he, A Lothian farmer seemed to be. Their labours fo? the day quite ended. To a near " houf " their way they wended, Where, while the glass goes often round, And both in talking mood are found. They joke and laugh and boast by turns, Of Ossiah this, and that, of Burns. Nor long it was till themes as good For wordy warfare fired their blood. — And Lowland thrift and Highland pride, And mountains high and carses wide, And bonnets blue and tartans gay, And " rig and fur," and hodden gray, Alternate, in the well-fought fray. Provoked the jibe or waked the boast, — 'Twas doubtful which prevailed the most. So much premised; — who had the best o't May from what follows here be guessed at. D. — Give me the land of mountains high, bedecked with purpling heath. And glens like to that happy on where first I drew my breath, — / m 62 MacColl's Poems. Where, be he rich or be he poor, the stranger, roammg there, Finds Highland hearts and Highland homes to give him welcome rare. S. — Awa wi' a' your mountains rude, where the wild eagles be! Gude laying hens and stacks 0' corn hae far mair charms for me. As for your welcomiiigs, I think he is a fool, right plain, Whase brose wad any belly fill till first he filled his ain. D. — Confusion to such selfish ways ! I hate men coldly calm — The same thing listening to a speech, a sermpn, song or psalm ; The man with all his thoughts and cares concentred in himself Is but a poor man after all, no matter what his pelf. Not thus you'll find the manly Gael ; though nursed amid the storm, His sympathies are wide and deep —his heart is ever warm : No selfish wish e'er finds his breast, except the wish to be The bravest aye among the brave, the freest 'mong the free ! S. — Preserve me frae a Hielander, tho' clad in a' the pride Of philebeg and bonnet blue, and skian-dhu by his side ! / MacColl's Poems. 63 His voice is, like his beard, so rough— an' thea his bare, grit knees — Ye'd think them, as he gangs the street, a pair 0' birken trees ! D. — Tre^a here or there, — one thing is sure,— his is the honour high Which never yet betrayed a trust— much sooner would he die, — His, too, the songs that tell of sires unmatched in days of yore ; The tyrant's dread and Freedom's guard is still the Gael's claymore ! S.— As for his sangs, I've yet to ken that sangs can fill the pot; An', sure, wha wad for '* honour" bleed maun be a rauckle stot : I think the lad that bauds the pleugh and swingeth weel the flail Mair worthy 0' his kail an' beef than Ossian was himsel' ! D. — No doubt you do ; yet kail and beef, though good in their own way. The man to whom they're all in all maun be but sorry clay ; Here's to the soul that brooks no guile, the heart that knows no fear, That paragon of life and grace— the kilted Mountain- eer ! 4 7 " i 64 MacColl's Poems. S. — Gudesakes ! did ever mortal man give ear to sic a blaw ! A cock upon his ain dunghill could not mair crousely craw ; But keep your poortith and your pride,- -thank heaven I was born Wi' common-sense arid plenty, in the land 0' carse and corn ! LOVE IN HIDING. 'Tis well for lovers such as I Love has a rare variety Of ways his presence to make known Else might I often sigh, Ochone ! My Mary has such wilful ways As well might much misgiving raise, But that her lover's vision true. All vain disguises piercing through, Sees in the breast of that dear one A heart that beats for him alone. Iknow it, when at Gloaming's 1-our She meets me in yon garden bower With well-feigned start and bashful air — • "She never thought ta meet me there !" I note the love-light m her eye, And stop her feigning with a kiss — One which, of course, she'd sooner die Than give, yet giveth, ne'ertheless, Though under protestation grave 'Twould be the last from her I'd have ! ■% / MacColl's Poems. 65 blaw ! )U8ely eaveii e and A dire lookout, — but never mind, A secret solace quick I find, When to my love-tale, fondly told, She feigns to give attention cold. Though in her bosom's wild unrest My suit's best answer is expressed. My pleading done, she giveth me A look that settles all the plea ; And after being kissed anew, 'Mid maiden blushes not a few. With fluttering heart she springs away. Much wondering what "mamma" will say ! When in some social circle free She finds some other girl with me, I know she loves me by the care She takes to keep a distance rare. Vain-trying, in her maiden pride. The shadow on her brow to hide. When in her praise my verses flow, The light within her eyes well show A joy her lips would quite disclaim— A revelation all the same To me that, hide it as she m'ay, She loveth well both bard and lay ! 'Tis thus, despite those feigning ways Familiar to that darling dove, My songs are all in Mary's praise. My hopes all centred in her love. 66 MacColl's Poems. j L ON VIEWING TOBERMORRY BAY. Sweet Tobermorry Bay ! well may Thy beauty in the poet's lay Oft find expreEsion free. No storm-tossed mariner am I, And yet I feel a perfect joy Thy uosom fair to see. How grand, wlien waves without run high, To see thee, their wild tumult nigh, Enjoying slumber calm ! Nought to disturb thy peace profound, Save airs that from the groves around Delight in stealing balm ! Yon pebbly shore of rarest sweep, Near winch the salmon, in his leap, Oft stirs thy placid tide, — The woods that grace thy margin fair, The streams whose muvmurs charm my ear, As on to thee they glide, — Yon Isle that guards thee from the sea, The fisher's song so full of glee. The sea-birds joyous cry, — All, all arc graces that well might Cause any pilgrim rare delight, — To scene so sweet to bid good-night 'Tis sweet to heave a sigh ! MacColl's Poems. 67 SHAMS. There are some honest folks who ivould be What nature never meant they sliould be — Men who, themselves alone deeeivhig, Ai'e always mighty things achieving ; But since what they so fain would seem Is what they really may esteem, Poor souls ; we bid them quick adieu, — I see the Hypocrite in view, — That knave in heart, though saint in face, That creature basest of the base. Yet finding favour oft, withal. Where men more upright get the wall ! My muse, unheeding who may blame, Would make him, for the nonce, her theme. Here goes he, solemn as an owl, His forehead hid in priestly cowl ; There, in Geneva cloak and bauds, Your ready reverence he commands ; So meek look both — you'd think they'd die Ere either would have hurt a fly. Alas to thiuk that, ne'ertheless. May oft be found more gall than grace Within their hearts— as one may ween P'rom the keen zest and sure precision With which each proves the other in The very high road to perdition ! What matters that ? Do they not each Of charity and mercy preach, 68 MacColl's Poems. And ape the saint in sucli a key As might make Satan laugh to see ? Small wonder that their flocks oft place In bigot zeal the sign of grace, And judge that man most grace-possessed His neighbour's creed who damneth best ! h If in the Ebenezer camp You would appear a shining lamp, You'd best consult my neighbour Jones, Who shows his wealth of grace in groans ; Or, to make surer of thy name Attaining quick to saintly fame. Feign horror at a laugh or song, Thy speech into a drawl prolong, — Aim at a Pharisaic air. Be very lengthy in thy prayer, — Find in all pastime only evil, Be loud in railing at the devil ; Nor will it harm thee to throw in Something about the " Man of Sin," And how all good men soon cause common Should make against " The Scarlet Woman." If but, withal, you learn to prate About " Foreknowledge, Will and Fate," And to the Church with liberal air Give of thy worldly wealth a share. You may be all a rascal can. Yet pass for a most saintly man ! I might enlarge — for thick as peas Are painted sepulchres like these — MacColl's Poems. 69 Some of that hue and some of this. And some of colours mixed, I wis — Here, in Episcopalian ground, And there in Baptist borders found. But let them pass : I would not choose To press too hard on saintly toes, Since not alone in churchly regions Are hollow shams and shows in legions. Think how they swarm in Fashion's train- The Bench and Bar's red-tape domain — The Court, the C?mp, the Senate Hall, And Marts commercial most of all ; Scarce one profession you may name Where humbug rules not all supreme. Leaving to bards more gifted to Give to such shams the justice due, I would, in winding up my lay. One or two minor shams pourfcray. Would'st thou, at quite an easy rate, Pass for a man of learning great ? The more a thing transcends thy reach, The more pretentious be thy speech ; Commit to memory, carefully, Quotations classic, two or three ; Seem quite familiar with the flames Of mythologic gods and dames ; Get most great minstrel names by rote, From Homer down to Walter Scott ; Prate much about " the tale divine Of Troy," and eke '* the sacred Nine," \ 1 / 70 MacColl's Poems. I "The Graces three," " Calypso's cave," And "Venus rising from the wave ;" Affect to find Herodotus Making of history quite a muss ; Keep babbhng 'bout the wondrous store Of Egypt's hieroglyphic lore ; Be great on " the Draconian code," Nor quite forget " the Sapphic Ode." If to all this thou should'st essay A prompt, dogmatic Yea or Nay To leading questions of our day, 'Tis ten to one thou'lt soon be owned "A man of learning most profound !" I i i Would'st thou, with parts however mean, Wish to be thought a critic keen ? Get practised in sarcastic sneers, Looks consequential, gibes and jeers. Though by thee never read, yet stilly Feign finding " Orion" work up-hill, The " Vestiges" a failure sad. And "Festus" simply " prose run mad." Talk of this bard as writing trash. That other, writhing 'neath thy lash — This novel, one of interest deep. And that, first-rate to make one sleep. Though thy sole standing with the Press May be of the waste-basket class, Hint that thou art of the Review The " Veritas" or " 0. P. Q."— That even Blackwood could not stand Without thy modest helping hand ; / MacColl's Poems. 71 Chime in with those who labour hard To make a myth of Selma's bard ; There's " Junius" also — subject grand For sage conjectures second-hand ! The Bacon- Shakespeare question, too, To help thy purpose much may do ; To make thy chances still more fair, Thou might'st do worse than join that Club Who once a week their learning air At The Athenic, 10, Goose-dub."'' MY THREE CHARMERS. Oft myself I question which of Three dear girls my bride should be Jeanie owns a treasure rich of Golden hair well loved by me ; Raven-hued are Jessie's tresses — Contrast sweet to sunny brow, While not least of Maggie's graces Are rich locks of auburn glow. Let my heart be ne'er so joyless. One fond glance from Jeanie fair Sets it dancing ; Jessie's smile has A care-killing grace as rare ; — When a rougher mood needs smoothing 'Tis with Maggie I would be Finding in her converse soothing For my choice a ready plea. 9.'- from He learm fan* (SaiHirt; trihtt t» -vdn, — Here Ueiti^ my wnul a hdk glow ; I giory J3 she Lj($ag Ago Hei!'-, dM. jbe XiVxeSMi mj aid require. I'd cmamputm rr. throtig^i flood ahd rire ; Here nathi**B8s TuEte'g reformini* skill, Could wish die Bast w&e prestat still, And thou, lai^-^esolfltted I,"^' The heaven tboa •cere wont to be ! O could my muse, unskilled to sing Of mitred priest or sceptered king, From hoar Tradition take her cue, And paint thy past in colours true, My verse of nobler deeds would w 11 Than ever graced crusading zeal, — Labours outmatching far away The noblest of our own proud day, — Triumphs by mighty mt:i achieved. By meaner men now scarce believed* Yet meriting in song se lyre Is touched with tnc poetic fire. May yet •Mnpiete what iu this la^ I far too Ifeebly wcuM pourtray. The Druid, w^e ihe pictunt" trii^. In the dim ditstance mighi we view * I, au islaad: G»el generally d t-ChallH'rt-Ch&9^ -«he name by which the Western lonau MacColl's Poems. 85 Within bis stony circle, where Now towers yon sacred fane in air ; The noblest of that noble band Who pagan soil made Christian land — Good Galium would be seen once more Steering his currach from thy shore, Intent on spreading gospel light Where erst was darkness deep as night ;- — SDme godless Viking's pirate host Once more would hover round thy coast ; While quickly, too, to thy relief Would muster many an Island chief; — The war -axe would strike sharp and sore ; The Norsemen, scattered evermore, Would go in song indignant down To fitting irfamous renown ! — Nor should forgotten be the fair Whose virgin lives passed peaceful here In deeds of mercy, praise and prayer, — Who, living, loved, and piously Bequeathed in death their dust to thee. the "Western 'Tis evening's hour : The sun has gone To rest his ocean couch upon ; Lo ! where Dunchalva's distant pile Is crimsoned by his parting smile — A loving smile that seems to say How gladly would the God of Day His wonted rest a while delay, To gaze a little longer space On loved lona's hallowed face ! IT 86 MacColl's Poems. In sober sooth, I'd like to know, Of all our earth to him can show, Where vieweth he in all his round A spot more worthily renowned ; Where sees he any coast as fair As that which forms thy setting rare, Thou gem so worthy of his care ! Oh, take the whole resplendent view Of islands cradled 'mid the blue Of ocean, from far Barra's crest To where the clouds on Cullin rest. And Jura's sister-summits three Love in the path of stars to be, — What man with any soul at all A sight so charming would not thrall 1 Who would not leave earth's furthest strand To gaze upon a scene so grand ! Farewell, lona ! Yonder, lo ! My bark awaits, and I must go ; A little space, and envious night Shall hide thee from my loving sight. Yet, hallowed Isle, thou'lt ever be A blissful memory to me — My Mecca, to which often I In thought will wend my way, Much wishing that whene'er I die My last long slumber may Be on thy bosom : Who can tell ? Once more, enchanting Isle, farewell ! 1836. MacColl's Poems. 87 md DUNCAN'S-BAY HEAD. (Written in a Visitor's Album kept at the f[una Inu, John O'Ciroat's. ) Pilgrim, not wben skies are smiling, And old Octsan lies asleep, But when ravos the blast despoiling Should you view yon headland steep. "When o'er liquid hills and hollows Pipes the wind an anthem grand ^^ Heard o'er all the roar of billows Breaking on the rock-ribbed strand, — When, o'erhead, the storm-cloud's marge is Brightened by the lightning's play, And, far down, the foamiug surges Dashing, die in clouds of spray, — When upon the distant skerrie Cowers the cormorant in fear, While the screaming seagull merry Rides upon the wave-crest near, — When the scud that o'er it sweepeth The vext Pentland's visage veils, Where some stout ship, nathless, keepeth Breasting it, 'neath close-reefed sails, — Jhen it is that fancy pictures Haco and his galleys good Swallowed up where oft, as victors, Rose their wave-cries o'er the flood ; — 88 MacColl's Poems. Then it is that 1 would, cheerful, Tarry on yon giddy height ; Then old Ocean's turmoil fearful In my soul wakes wild delight ! Tides in which, with zest untiring, Sea-birds many-millioned feed, — Wave-girt rocks more awe-inspiring Than earth's proudest pyramid, — Cliflfy scaurs of rarest grandeur. Crags where broods the eagle grey. Chasms, caves, where wild waves thunder - These thy charms are, Duncan's-bay I 1838. A VANISHED HOPE. My once loved and loving fond one. Though thou wiliest it to be That all hope I now abandon. More I blame myself than thee. Had I, spite thy charms alluring. Made thee less my all in all — Never owned my heart, adoring. Thine — thine only, past recall, — Haply, the old oak tree under, Mine were yet to oft enjoy Thy love-lighted glances tender, Smile for smile and sigh for sigh I MacColl's Poems. 89 Was it that I made thy beauty My choice theme in many a lay, — MaJiing it my muse's duty All thy graces to portray ? Was it that I thought of Heaven Far less often than of thee That ray love so ill has thriven ? That no hope is left for me ? Think how, by yon river, queenly Flowing thy loved home anear. Thou oft promised, ! how vainly, All thy Hfe with me to aare. Think — but no, — the thought might sadden Thee too much ; so take thy way, Of regrets that come unbidden Leaving me alone the prey. LOVE'S LAST APPEAL. Maiden of Adgartan ! Hear me, while I fain Would pour out my heart in One appealing strain — My last appeal to thee, if now I plead in vain. Once thy heart would question Aught in my dispraise ; Once thine eyes could rest on Mine with loving gaze, Or droop, as soul to soul sent love's electric rays. I' 90 MacColl's Poems. Though all unavailing Now such memories be, — Bootless as the wailing Of the winds ray plea, — Song soothes the wounded swan— it, too, may comfort me. As some gem enriching, Lost as soon as found, — As some strain bewitching In a discord drown'd, — As Eden fruit within some fair forbidden bound, — As a starlet looking On some wreck-strewn tide, — With its brightness mocking The destruction wide, — So is to my fond heart thy beauty and thy pride. fl \l What though all unmatched' Be thy mien and mould. Would the slave less wretched Feel it chained with gold ? The victim of the block, should crimson him enfold ? I Tell, bewitching creature ! Tell me why thou art Angel in each feature. Tyrant in thy heart ? A rosebud that yet wills no odour to impart ? , ■)iu afort me. MacColl's Poems. 91 Suns were raade to wtirm us, Stars ( <) cheer us shine, Soars the lark to charm us With her song divine : tliink not less to please such peerless graces thine ! Love, thou archer clever, If thy shafts must fly. Aim at Annie, — give her In her turn to sigh, Or teach me of thy grace her scorning to defy. Ah, too well Love knoweth The attempt were vain ; Much as Beauty oweth To the minstrel train, Weak is the power of song where wealth her smiles would gain. m a? Memory, gift of Heaven To the happy— gay ! My poor heart is driven Mad beneath thy sway, Thou vulture at my breast, exulting o'er thy prey ! Hopeless love, bright maiden, Is a fever strong. But the grave once laid in. We sleep sweet and long : Alas, that Lethe's stream flows but in idle song m ^'iu. >% .0. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) / £^. "%§^'^/ y 'MZ ^ (? #.% ^ ^5" '«■ fA 10 I.I e IE M iiiim 2:j 2.0 1.8 1.25 1.4 1.6 ^ 6" — ► v^ >% ^ ^ m./^ e. ^/•^.% #1 o ..' .«< '^. Photographic Sciences Corporation # <^V3 %" ^* ^1 o >s^ '^? 73 Vv'ESr MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. HSSO (716) 872-4503 4it Wr 4 \': 92 MacColl's Poems. MISS MAKEBELIEVE. A SKETCH FROM LIFE. Since moralizing's out of fashion, And gossiping the "ruHng passion," Methinks it were but little harm here To sing you of a certain charmer. And first, it might be well to state here How lords and lairds were " wooing at her," In youthful prime, when every charm Of hers the coldest heart might warm, — How many Collins she had slain, How many Strephons sighed in vain, How many sonnets in her praise Were penned by bards of other days, — Put lest ye'd think my tale too long. We'll leave her " dancing days" unsung, And hasten on to picture how — Gone the last lover in her " tow," Her pow'r to please forever fled. Her last faint hope of wedlock dead — She, nun-like, from the world retires, And to a saintly life aspires, As many of her sisters do When we, poor sinners, cease to sue. No more she apes the peacock gay. Attending opera or play ; No more she haedeth Fashion's call ; She hates to hear of rout or ball, T'yT^^'^""^ a ,i MacColl's Poems. 93 And thinks such scenes of sinful mirth Should be quite banished from the earth. As for herself, she ne'er could bear The half-nude style of dressing there So common now to girl aud dame ! The waltz, too ! — a still greater shame It was to see how girls can prance Unblushing througji that wanton dance! Woe to the hand thr "■ ever would Its presence on her \v„ t mtrude ! No — never in her life would she Admit of so much liberty ; She always was of men afraid, And hopes to live and die a maid ! Behold her now, a saint full-fledged, On social problems much engaged ; And seeming to be fairly grown The very Dorcas of our town, — So many garments old and new The needy to her bounty owe ; And then she visits all the sick — Was ever lady half so meek ? Condemns Sir Walter, quotes good Boston- Was ever lady half so Christian ? She lives in very pious hope To see the downfall of the Pope, And hopes his time will soon be up : She tells such interesting news 'Bout Juggernaut and the Hindoos, With all that's done among the Jews, — 94 B i j 1 ! 1 r i' 1 1; ) If 1 !■ m j 1 i i 1 j HH ? ■: : r 1 i I 1 I i MacColl's Poems. And then, with what a grace she coaxes Your mite to missionary boxes ! Alas ! that whispering tongues there be Who in all this mere " shamming" see — A well played part, that soon would end, Should fortune here a husband send. They've heard she paints — and 'tis well-known Her wealth of curls not all her own ; They fear she feeleth more at ease Before her glass than on her knees ! They've seen her often, when at church. Like any sinner nod and lurch. However much the preacher there ' ' - Might merit more attentive ear. 'Twas but the other Sunday she Gave quite a shock to Mrs. T — ; - , ■ A psalm is given forth - our saint. Smelling of perfume and of paint, Turns up her book, when lo ! that rake Don Juan, carried by mistake ! Is't possible, mysterious fate I Behold her now in married state ; A swain who jauch admired her purse Proposed "for better or for worse " — She took him at his word, of course ! Hymen, dread transforming god, What changes follow at thy nod ! MacColl's Poems. 95 The angel forms of Cupid's day Become much Hke to mortal clay ; Enchanting syrens learn to be Much in the curtain-lecture key ; Adored Clarindas wear the trews, And goddesses turn famous shrews ! But turn we to our saint : — fie On mortal mutabihty I ' In one short month t_ v. .^ime so graced, So high among the godly placed, Comes down to quite a different level. Where — where, in short, she plays the d — 1 ; Forgets her charities and prayers. For sick or naked never cares ; Is first each night to see the play, Tho' last to church on Sabbath day; Talks scandal— reads each new romance, Nor thinks it any harm to dance ! So pirates, once their prize made fast, Give their true colours to the mast ; So butterflies, for aught I learn. To dirty grubs again return I 96 ■ t. 1 i ' i 1 1 i it , '*'' ' i: M: 1 1 • 1 ! i ! 1. i i ■■ 1 : 1 ■ 1 t 1 \ ii y^ 1 - MacColl's Poems. MY FIRST RAILROAD RIDE* Our fare is paid — 'tween fear and hope, We hear " Just to depart" ; Our seats ara ta'en — the steam is up — And now we're on the ptart ! ** Oh, fire and fury — how we go ! Thou magic-working thing ! What speed can match with thine ? I trow The eagle on the wing, " Eesistless darting on her prey, ' Glides not more swift than thee, Untiring still, away, away, • Upon thy journey free ! ♦• Gramercy ! how we're dashing on O'er moss and moor and mead ! Methinks the Coursers of the Sun Would vainly match our speed !" Thus spake our bard. A pause ensued : Some looked as on the rack ; • Some felt as if through air they rode On some swift storm-cloud's back ! ♦The ride recorded in these verses was takeu at a time when p, railroad extending from Glasgow to AJrdrie was the only such road then in all Scot- land. MacColl's Poems. 97 '• Our nag's the boy !" one chap remarked, - '• Needs neither corn nor stall : No rest seeks he, how^nver worked ; My troth ! but he beats all. ** Tell me no more of Gilpin's feat At Edmonton so gay, Nor yet of Johnny Cope's retreat From Preston's fatal fray I " Not swifter over field and fell Our horse and we could hie If demons after us did yell, And we for life did fly I" Thus on we go. What ! can it be Old Airdrie ? By the powers, 'Twas but the other minute we Left fair St. Mungo's towers ! Whiss ! \7hi8S ! goes forth a deaf'ning sound. Like breath of Polar whale ; Our Pegasus his goal has found And we the ground, all hale ! f mmn 98 MacColl's Poems. SELLARS AND HIS SHEARS. (Patrick Sellars— one of the most notorious of the agents engaged in the celebrated Sutherlandshire "clearances" — having, at an agricul- tural dinner once attended by him, his health proposed by a nobleman present thereat, the following verses are an attempted ibcerpretution ol the thoughts that must have crowded on him, as he rose to express his thanks for the honour thus done him. ) Here stand I before you, a man matched by few For clearancing work in this land : Thank heaven for laws that so wisely allow The pursuit of a labour so grand I Though a man of peace, true enough it is, As his grace of Argyle declares, That Ardtoruish grey, scarce a year away, Struck its flag to old Sellars' shears. ''• Yes, mine are shears which for many years, Despite much resistance rude, Have wrought more skaith to the clans, i' faith, Than the Eoman or Dane e'er could. Wherever they dip into the " clip," 'Tis all up with your mountaineers : Like a mist they're gone, while I flourish on, — Then hurrah for old Sellars' sliears ! m In Yet, with all my skill, it was work up-hill For a time, since, with one accord, ^, v ■ They refused to see why they cleared should be To oblige even Sutherland's lord. : % ♦Spoken in allusion tn Sellars' then recent purchase of an estate in Argyle- shire— that on which stands the grand old Castle of Ai ornish, once the royal residence of the Lords of the Isles. !l i MacColl's Poems. 9$ It was sad, no doubt, just to fire them out, — Still I kept heating well their ears Till the land's good Chief, to my great relief. Brought the sword to assist the shears. Then were well-tilled lands turned to sheep-walks grand, And I often could dance with mirth At iihe sight so gay— my dear lambs at play Round a many extinguished hearth I 'Mong the witless lairds of the Glens and Airds What a change in a few short years By my pluck was wrought — for their lands I bought ! Such the might of old Sellars' shears I The Celt talks of a prescriptive right To the land of his birth ! Ah, well, I love it, too, more than many do, As the Celt to his cost can tell ! Sure a shire like this made a wilderness To make room for my fleecy cares Is enough to prove how this land I love, — Then hurrah for old Sellars' shears ! Long, long may all chiefs in a " clearing" mood Their reward in good rent-rolls reap : " Every man for himself" is a maxim good, One to which I at least will keep. Green, depeopled stra,ths are the chosen paths Best befitting one's Cheviot dears ; Then blaze on, ye who can ;— the true Chief is the man Who gives scope to the crook and shears ! 1859. . lOO fi I ! !iU MacColl's Poems. AN EPISTLE TO A POETICAL FRIEND. (Written from Liverpool, England, in 1848.) With meikle shame to think that I Should have allowed your last to lie Unanswered two whole months well-nigh, 'Tis high time, Watty, That I fit response should try, So here goes at you ! And how have you heen all this while ? Proving the chartists all that's vile, Or smartly stirring Tory bile With Free Trade speeches ? Or calmly basking in the smile Of •• Yorkshire witches ?" Or, may it be that you have crossed The channel, joining that brave host Now crushing despot rule unblest All Europe through — Thrones built on blood and bayonets, tossed The devil to ? Or have you been to Erin's strand, Cheering her gallant patriot band Now hoping for the hour at hand She will once more 'Mong Europe's nations take the stand . _ „ She held of yore ? . a ~-;^ -^.i. MacColl's Poems. loi If so, friend Wat, I hope that you May quickly join the minstrels true Who, in The Nation, pitch into John Bull's rough hide, — To end his base misrule, to do Or die, their pride ! For me, my rhyming days are o'er ;— As well seek grapes in Labrador As Bardic visions by the shore Of Mersey muddy ; 'Mid traffic's wretched stir and stour No minstrel should be. Who would become the muse's pride Must learn to woo her as a bride. And never, never quit her side At any cost ; Let meaner aims the heart divide, And all is lost. for the days that once have been ! for the Aray's wildwood Glen, And thou, lost Harp ! to wake again The echoes near me, And maidens bright and honest men To charm and cheer me I Though living in the humblest cot, If by the Muse neglected not. Princes might envy me my lot, . So blest — SD free : I , I02 MacColl*s Poems. h t. i ■ I':} Let others in your cities rot — The hills for me I But wheresoe'er I Hve or die, — Doom'd in forgotten grave to lie, Or, haply, up Parnassus high Thy steps attend, Believe me, till my latest sigh. Thy faithful friend. ELEGIAC STANZAS. ' (Occasioned by the death, at a very early age, of John Heury; the first-born son of Lord John Campbell, of Ardincaple, afterwards seventh Duke of Argyll.) A SHADOW rests on Aray's strand. O'er all the West is ^mi\ and woe ; The heir to all MacCailean's land In death's relentless grasp lies low. youth so loved, so gifted ! though The cruel grave has closed o'er thee. Long, by the Aray's murmuring flow, Shall flourish green thy memory. • Oft, as we watched thy life's bright morn, How fondly did we hope to see The statesman just — the warrior stern — A second "Ian Rudah" in thee, — MacColl's Poems. 103 The stoutest frieud of liberty — The glory of the Campbell Clan 1 Alas that thus so soon should be That fond day-dream forever gone ! We well could see, without a sigh, The whirlwind in its mad career Uproot the dozened beech-treo dry, The gloomy yew or hemlock sere ; But when the oak of promise rare Is torn untimely from its place. Who; seeing, would not wish that there The tempest had shown better grace ? ury, the ;erwards Yon stately Pile may well be grey, — Deserted— desolate, though long. From thee it hoped a better day — The flow of mirth, tL voice of song, The charity that has no tongue, The ever-hospitable board ; And ladies fair and gallants young There proud to meet Dunaray's Lord. Oh, death 1 thou art a monster blind. Forever groping for thy prey ; And oft, by sad mischance, doth find The young when thou should'st get the grey- The thousands to whom life well may Be more a burden than a joy : Ah ! why flew not that welcome way The dart which did our hopes destroy ? J4 n 104 MacColl's Poems. TO THE MORNING STAR. Fairest and rarest gem Placed in Night's diadem ! Morn's happy usher ' who would not with joy' Welcome thy presence bright, Over yon distant height Queenly resuming thy place in the sky ? The dawn-loving lark now Is stirring — and hark now The joyful ado at thy coming she makes ! While, glad at thy showing The darkness now going, The amorous black-cock his harem awakes. The elfin knights prancing, ^""^ The elfin maids dancing, The witch at her cau+.rips, thou fill'st with dismay ; Chosts from thy presence fly. Owlets no longer cry, — __ — ~t^— Wand'rer benighted, now smile on thy way I / ■• ! Farewell, illustrious youth, farewell ! Though deep and long be our regret. And earthly thou hast surely well Exchanged for heavenly coronet. be thy last long slumber sweet By fair Cill-mhunnu's hah wed strand : Our sun of promise bright is set ! A shadow hath come o'er the land ! MacColl*s Poems. 105 Star of the golden gleams, Where dost thou hide thy beams When the young Morr her fair eye-lids unclose ? Charms such as her's to see Well worth thy while might be Exit less hasty thus from us to choose. Lo, in the twilight grey Vanish thy sisters gay ; Soon must thou also be lost to my view ! Harbinger dutiful Of the Dawn beautiful^ Now, till thy next glad returning, adieu ! A DREAMLAND DELIGHT. ADDRESSED TO- Last night in my bachelor chamber lone Ihe sleep by me wooed seemed scarce begun, When I dreamed a dream of the rarest bliss, A vision such as I would not miss For all that has ever yet been my share Of joy in this waking world of care. Seemed I throned 'mid the gods in Olympian light ? Teemed I feasting with kings in some palace bright. Where, of all the gay courtiers gathered there, I of royalty's smiles had the amplest share ? .^_.^^ _^ With the sceptre of power in my potent hand. Did myself seem the chief of some far-famed land ? SI •;,■ io6 MacColl's Poems. Did I deem I was owned in the World's glad sight A Hero uuraatched in fair Freedom's fighii ? Or a Sage taught to bless and enrich mankind With the wisdom and lore of a godlike mind ? In the Temple of Fame was it mine to win The most coveted place 'mong the bards therein ? Did I seem in possession of stores untold Of the brightest gems — of the purest gold ? * Did some daughter of Beauty, with hand of snow, Wake the harp to some strain, of the long ago ? Was I charmed by the tones of some seraph Choir ? Seemed I list'ning the Angel of Love's own lyre, As anear him were joined, in the Land of Bliss, The fond-hearted whose loves had been cross'd in this ? In my Highland home did I seem to stray With 3ome well-loved Ben in my near survey When its peak with the sun is in glory crowned. And the rocks to the cries of the Chase resound ? Seem'd ray bark o'er the breast of the blue Lochfyn6 Bounding fearless and fleet, as in days longsyne, When a swelling sail and a heaving sea Were a joy to my little bark and me ? No, not from such things, my fair questioner, grew The delight which that dream o'er my spirit threw ; Just list, and you'll own there was cause enow. Methought I was sitting, at gloaming's hour, Inside of some cool, cosy garden bower ; -^ A maiden of beauty supremely bright Sat near me— her eyes full of love's own light. Brief time passed we there when, sans further sign, MacColl's Poems. 107 I told how I loved her and wished her mine ; Nor was it long till she sighed, " I'm thine ;" And just as in ecstacy I pressed Her yielding form to my beating breast — A prelude sweet to a very shower 01 kisses laid all her fair face o'er — I awoke. — My fair friend, if that joy of joya It ever may mine be to realize, You only can say, since the darling elf Of that dream of mine was your own sweet self ! V.:: .- LINES - WRITTEN ON THE BANKS OF THE DEE, NEAR CHESTER. Shake off, my soul, each earth-born care ! A glimpse of paradise is here ! , , Scene like this to see ^ Wakes a duubt in me How a curse can be on a world so fair ? Here— the blackbird sings like some spirit blest, There — the skylark springs from her secret nest. And in heaven away Pours so sweet a lay As might envy wake in a seraph's breast. Let those who list far distant go To gaze on scenes of sterner shew ; Enough for me Is the joy to be Where the winding Doo delights to flow, i 108 MacColl's Poems. it II ^i 1 . ■ i ! Ye bards, let fancy wander free ; Think what earth's faiiest spot should be ; Then hither stray In flowery May And view the gay reality ! May 24th, 1841. THE DINGLE. s A SCENE ON THE BANKS OP THE MERSEY, ENGLAND. I've been 'mid scenes where horn and hound Make hills and valleys ring all. But ne'er in such a fairy bound As thine, delightful Dingle ! Here sweetest bloom the " stars of earth ; '[ Here woodland minstrels mingle Notes such as onlv could have birth In Eden — or the Dingle. Here ever- verdant shrub and spray The richest odours fling all On Zephyr's wings, while on his way Flow'r-kissing in the Dingle. • ' H'^re sunny slopes in/ite the view ; Here, bowers where fond hearts tingle ; There, glides the Mersey, calmly blue, Proud to reflect the Dingle ! Ye bachelors, come here, and then , ™^ I dare ye to live single ; * How can ye, where such nymphs are seen As love to haunt the Dingle ? ■j MacCcll's Poems. SONNET. THE PRIMROSE. Of all the gems that Earth's green bosom grace Give me the Primrose, May-dew-drinking flower, That loves not gay parterre )ior gaudy bower, But gives its beauty to each desert place. So Innocence, rare guest in Palaces, Blooms in yon cct upon the bleak hill-side ! So sweet content, unknown to Wealth and Pride, With rustic Toil her quiet dwelling -.as. Loved flow'r ! thy term of life is brief, but thou Enjoy'st it in the Seasons' golden age. When the wood-minstrels chaunt on every bough, And larks to Heaven make vocal pilgrimage ; I well may deem, of all things fair below, Thy praise doth most Ibeir thrilling songs engage. 109 I SONNET. TO A ROBIN SINGING ON A NOVEMBER MORNING. Emblem of Hope ! thou minstrel sweet, that sings When eild and sadness fall upon the year, And Winter tramples on the leaflet sere, And flowers are not — I marvel what thus brings Joy to thy heart. Dost thou in memory stray To the bright May-time, when on wanton wings Thy fond mate thou hast courted ? — when the spray Is musical as Heaven's own bowers, and springs The skylark from the gowan'd sward to chaunt Her matin song ? Sweet bird ! it so rnust be ; — MacColl's Poems. Of present pleasures little canst thou vaunt, Yet is thy lot an envied one to me To whom reflection mnch of sorrow brings, — Whose memory is a snake that my sad heart oft stings. SONNET. Addressed to J. Ferguson, of Carlyle, on reading his " Shadow of the Pyramid" — a volume of Sonnets descriptive of a tour through Egypt and the Holy Land. Bard of the lay that tells of Egypt's land, Who would not own the magic of thy rhyme ? Palace and pyramid and temple grand — Titanic structures fastened for all time — Gracefully conjured up at thy command, , I gaze enraptured on their forms sublime. I see the chosen Chief, whose wondrous wand Awed and confounded prince and priest and seer, O'er the Red Sea, majestic, stretch his hand — The foes of God and Israel pressing near : The waves once more divide — God's chosen band Walk safely through, while Egypt's hosts are drowned : Tiiy song is as if, 'mid the desert sand. The harp inspired of Miriam thou had'st found I DISENCHANTED. So thou hast " changed thy mind !" What then ? A common thing in woman -kind To wonder at werequite as vain As wondering that the wind Can vary. If the minstrel sings," 'Tia for the balm that music brings. W^W MacColl's Poems. No, false one, if I now repine, 'Tis not that others bend the knee In welcome homage at the shrine Once sacred unto me : I grieve that I could ever bow Where all who list may worship now ! And this is she I once could deem A being less of earth than heaven- One who could all perfection claim— The veil at last is riven, And lo, revealed, to my dismay. An image of most common clay ! Good-bye, fair fickle one, good-bye I A little while of bitter thought And I may learn to wonder why Thy love I ever sought, Yea, thankful be that to thy pride I yet may owe a worthier bride. Ill The stricken deer may seek the shade 'Mid scenes where beauty is not sold My heart shall yet to joy be wed My lo\e-tale shall be told— And thou, if still remembered, be One of the common crowd to me. ^m 1 112 MacColl's Poems. ; li • TARLOCHAN'S ADVICE TO HIS SON. (paraphrased from the GAELIC.) • One advice 1 would give you, my son, in thirf strain — It may serve when a- wooing you go : Be not daunted too much by a seeming disdain, — With deceit to the truthful your soul never stain, — If you wear it at all, wear but lightly Love's chain, — , It may save you a many heigho ! Should you meet "a fine girl," be you sure she is so Not alone in her figure and face Ere you give her your heart, or, too late, you may know Yourself helplessly fooled, like a bird in the bough Neath the spell of some snake in the grasS'. Beneath a bright landscape the earthquake may sleep, — In the rosebud a canker may be, — The river wli^^re calmest is always most deep. And balmy the breeze that may oftentimes sweep O'er a rock-bosomed, ship-wreckiug sea. Then seek you in woman the charms of the mind, Those charms that with youth will not die ; No graces or gifts of the Circean kind Must allure your young heart, or, right soon, you may find You have built on the ice — yon have trusted the wind — You have made your whole lifetime a sigh ! \ MacColl's Poems. "3 A LAST FOND FAREWELL. As some beacon -light, far throwing Through a uight of starless skies Its blest rays, the seaman showing Whore his wished-for haven lies, Loved one ! thus, when shadows dreary All around my pathway lay, Came thy gentle smiles to cheer ne. Chasing all the gloom away ; Shewing that, however lowering My hfe's sky might sometimes prove, I could aye find refuge "sure in The calm havn of thy love. Wherefore, thou delightful vision, Was thy stay so very brief ? Woe's me that a joy elysian Should so sudden change to grief I Parted now, for ever parted — Mahce well has played her part,— I, the lorn and broken-hearted. Thou — I ask not what thou art. Still, within my heart adoring Lives thine image, ever fair ; Like a rose in winter flow'ring. Blooms my love amid despair. Fare thee well ! yon heaving ocean Farther soon shall us divide ; Still, till death shall end its motion, --. Thou shalt be my heart's fond bride I 114 MacColl's Poems. THE CAPTURED BIRD. A FABLE. A GIRL once caught in a well-set snare A. song-bird sweet of plumage rare, Close caged him, yet still such kind care had he That he could not well wish for a life more free ; Though sometimes seen with his bars at strife, His was, on the whole, a pleasant life. i i When his mistress had kept this bird so long That forgot seemed tha haunts that first heard his Came a change which he ill could brook to see The more fond he grew the less kind seemed she ! He had been so long her imprisoned slave, So grateful for every crumb she gave, That it seemed, be his dole however small. He could not but choose to live still in thrall. But not thus, from his native joys exiled, Can a bird to its cage be reconciled ; The string that is played on too long may break, And a yoke, tho' of gold, soon must tire the neck. no, — it is not from all joy exiled That a bird brought up in the forest wild Can be to such bondage reconciled, — A truth which his jailor, fair ingrate ! Found out ere long, yet all too late. song, One day she open'd his cage in play, — - -- With a ♦' Go, vain thing, if thou wilt, away !" Never dreaming her captive one inch would stray. MacColl's Poems. 115 The fond bird heard the insulting word, And his native pride was within him stirred ; So he flapped his wings, to her wond'ring view. And away, and away, fast and far he flew ! It was then that the grief of his mistress proved That the bird she lost was a bird beloved ; He returned to his bower in the forest green, And her captive caged never more was seen ! Moral — Love is the bird, ye maidens bright. Of which the minstrel sings ; Then, never may you, with caprice ligb*, Or seeming scorn, or wanton slight. Forget that he has wings. HAPPINESS. Say, where dwelleth happiness — Where ? With the peasa-it in yon low-roofed cot ? So sages and statesmen declare. Yet the peasant knows there she dwells not. Is her home then in palaces grand. Proud Eoyalty's favourite guest ? With the gay and the great of the land, Does she dwell 'mid the dance and the feast ? Alas ! 'neath the coronet there Oft hid is a dark aching brow ; Oft the purple but hides in its glare ^ The choice victims of care and of woe. jfT" ii6 MacColl's Poems. I Docs she dwell with the famous in song ? Most of all there the search would ba vain, Since tne strains that our raptures prolong Are oft poured from a bosom of pain ! With the Learned and the Wise surely she Makes herself no rare guest, one would deem ; Lo, the fool, as he passes, may see She abides not with any of them ! Is she found where the wine-cup is drained 'Mid laughter and revelry high ? Her presence is there only feigned — Her true self sach scenes ne'er comes nigh. A heart wholly freed from sin's stain, A soul with its maker at peace. There only content can remain, There only true happiness is. JEANIE'S NEW ALBUM. A PREFATORY RHYME. Friendship's gift so fair to see, What can I say worthy thee ? Thou'rt a tablet far too fair For aught else than fancies rare — Tablet where, in sequence bright. Rare gems of thought shall yet have place, As, one by one, the stars at night Come out adorning heaven's face. MacColl's Poems. 117 Book of beauty, let me shew What should grace thy paj^e of snow, What the themes on which may turn "Thoughts that breathe and words that burn." Friendly wishes " short and sweet" Here may find admittance meet : Here may bard and artist be Found, in friendly rivalry. Painting, 9ach in his own way, Now Old Ergland's landscapes gay. Now the scenes less gay than grand Of thy own loved native land. Patriots struggling for the right Here, in verse, may win the fight ; Tyrants who the world would thrall Here in verse unpitied fall, — Here, too, may the bondsman's wrong Find a fitting voice in song ; Here the moralist may teach, Here the lover may beseech, To the idol of his heart Doiiig homage like a true man ; Never pleases minstrel art More than when the theme is woman, — Woman — pearl of priceless worth 1 Nature's purest, fairest birth ! Woman — to whose grace is given To make Earth almost a Heaven 1 But for woman's smile I wis Earth her sweetest smiles would miss ; And even this poor lay I sing Were poorer still, but that it has p I ii8 i h j. , {I I MacColl's Poems. The inspiration following The wish to win fair Jeanie's praise. Never in this book be penned Aiighi that virtue id ay offend : Let the knavc; in friendship's guise Elsewhere vent his flatteries ; Dullards, pray keep distance wide ; Hands off, all ye slaves of pride I Wits whose pens are dipt in gall, Misanthropes and sceptics all, Anght that ye might have to spare her, Least of all would Jeanie care for. Types of infancy ere yet Thought has its impression set On the brovr that may be found Yet with the proud laarel crowned, — Joyful as a mother may "Watch the dawn of reason's ray Growing into pt^rfect day. Thus may thy fair mistress see All that she could wish in thee Growing, till thy glowing pages Prove thee all her heart presages. MacColl's Poems. 119 VERSES. ADDRESSED TO A FAIR FRIEND ON HER BIRTHDAY. Some love the Springtime's promise bright, Some Summer's fuller joys ; Some most in Autumn's charms delight, But Winter most 1 prize : For thou in winter had thy birch — Thou whose fair hand to own I'd count a gift of rarer worth Than any kingly crown. 'Tis true no scent of flowers nor hymn • Of forest songsters free, Nor aught of beauty marks the time Of thy nativity, — Yet, in thy presence dear, to me 'Tis summer all the while ; Yea, more than all its charms I see In thy love-lighted smile. Scarce didst thou reach thy teens, sweet one, When it was plain to see That Beauty meant her chosen throne Thy loving fpce to be. And now that thou'rt a woman grown, He'd be of sumphs the rarest Who would not with me freely own Thee of earth's fair the fairest ! I20 MacColl's Poems. All honour then to that blest day That on this earth first found thee ! May ever thus its advent gay Find loving friends around thee. May all thy life, beloved one, be A life of perfect bliss ; And my reward for this brief lay Be now — a birthday kiss ! Nov. 2rrd, 1845. TO MY FATHER, ON HIS EMIGRATING TO AMERICA. Safe be thy passage o'er the deep, My sire, to that far soil Where they who sow^ may hope to reap The fruitage of their toil. Scotland has been a stepdame base To men like thee too long — Men who, though leaving her, confess Their .love for her still strong. A ppirit fearless, ever prone To bravely say thy say 'Gainst evil in high places when Thy silence best would pay, — MacColl's Poems. 121 Too kind a man, in grab or greed To ever take much stock, — Too good and upright e'er to need Hypocrisy's vile cloak, — Too strong in thy integrity Into the mart to bring Thy conscience, though it were to be The favourite of a king, — Thou didst mid toil and trouble keen Stand ever in thy place A living libel on the mean, A terror *o the base, — A rock that meets the rushing waste Of waves with silent scorn, — A tree that yields not to the blast Till by the roots uptorn. Let others trace their pedigree To princes if they can, More proud am I to spring from thee, Thou poor but honest man ! I 1- I I Ik '\ 122 m MacColl's Poems. THE MINSTREL TO HIS HARP. I've learned to look on fame as A breath of passing ah- ; Thy favours, fickle fortune, Were never much my care ; The crown poetic never May on my brow be set, But, 0, my rustic wild harp, I love thee, love thee yet ! To beauty's smile is given My worship now no more ; From home and kindred driven, , Sad thoughts are all my store ; Yet svveeter than the blossoms Of summer to the bee. Than fountain to the desert, Is my wild harp to me. '^ MacColl's Poems. 123 TRANSLATIONS FROM THE AUTHOR'S •• CLARSACH NAM BEANNr LOCH-DUICH. LooH-DuicH, hail ! Scene so all-resplendent ! Were power befitting my wish now mine, Soon, in a song as my theme transcendent. Thy charms unmatched would forever shine. While storms are often o'er ocean sweeping, Unbroken here is thy slumber, deep And calm as that of an infant sleeping Near some sad mother who wakes to weep. Well may the skiff of the fisher daring. When tempest-tossed on a sea more wide. Be often seen towards thee glad-steering, Assured of safety on thy calm tide. Ye hills that soar in stern beauty yonder. Proud watchers over Loch-duich's rest. Well may ye glory to see your grandeur Thus mirror'd daily in Duich's breast ! How grand the sight when, with night advancing. The stars seem touching your summits bold ! Nor less the joy when, your charms enhancing. The morning crowns you with wreaths of gold. Hark ! 'tis yon urchins among tLe heather, — They see green woods in the lake below, And fondly question each other whether Brown nuts and berries may 'mong them grow 1 - • 124 MacColl's Poems. The herd-boy near them, with no less wonder, Sees kine within the lake's bosom clear, And thankful seems, as he looketh on there, The he d he tendeth himself still near ! DunDonnan !* tow'ring there, grim and ^oary — Thou ghost of greatness long passed away, Outliving scenes once thy grace and glory. Good cause thou hast to look sad and gray. Thou seem'st like Ossian, alone, lamenting His vanished prowess — his kindred dead ; Time, thy stern foeman, knows no relenting ; Soon, soon shall all but thy fame be fled. 'Tis said,' when moonbeams are round thee gleaming, Oft by thy sea-circled base is seen A maiden form of the gentlest seeming. Sad- singing there 'mong the seaweed green. The passing fisherman shrewdly guesses That hapless nymph of the golden hair Is sad because of the missed caresses From some false lover once hers to share ! * Ye streams, that ever in grateful numbers Pour to Loch-duich your tribute due, I marvel not it so often slumbers. Lulled by the anthems thus sung by you. ♦ More properly, Caisteal Donnain, once the residence of the "Stem son of Lord Kenneth, high Chief of Kintail 1" MacColl's Poems. 125 Here — through fair, Jower-mantled meadows pasaiug, Ye, lingering, waken your softest song ; There— higher up, bright as sunbeams flashing, Ye ceaseless roar, rage, and rush along ! ■ •»-'.' ., ' Scur-Orain, chief of a thousand mountains ! Storm-swept and bare though thy forehead be, The stag delights to live by thy fountains ; — Hark ! 'tis the crv of the Chase in thee ! What though, with fleetness the winds excelling, The quarry far to the desert flies, Ere ends that yell 'mong the rocks far-pealing The antler'd Pride of the Forest dies. Fain would I sing of yon dell roe-haunted, And thou, Kiutail of the woodlands gay. Where the cuckoo's first spring notes are chanted, And wildflowers grace even Winter's sway ! Nor would Glensheil in my lay find wanting The praises due to its minstrel throng. But most of all to the charmers haunting That happy Eden of love and song ! But time forbids. Fare thee well, Loch-duich ! Though thy green banks I no more may see, While life's warm stream in my bosom floweth I'll cease not lauding and loving thee. I i ! 1 ^ 126 MacColl's Poems. THE CHILD OF PROMISE. (Translated from the author's Gaelie by the late Rev. Dr. Buchanan, Methven, Scotland.) She died — as die the roses On the ruddy clouds of dawn, When tlie envious sun discloses His flame and morning's gone. , She died — like waves of sun -glow By fleeting shadows chased ; She died— like heaven's rainbow By gushing showers effaced. She died — like snow glad-gracing Some sea-marge fair, when lo ! Rude waves each other chasing, Quick hide it 'neath their flow. She died— as dies the glory Of music's sweetest swell : She died — as dies the story When the best is still to tell ( She died — as dies moon-beaming. When scowls the rayless main : She died— like sweetest dreaming Quick changed to waking pain. She died— and died she early ; Heaven wearied for its own. As the dipping snn, my Mary, Thy morning ray went down ! MacColl's Poems. 127 ANOTHER VERSION OF THE SAME POEM. (Contributed to the " Teachdaire Oaidhealach," by the late Lachlan MacLean, of Glasgow.) Thy life was like a morning cloud Of rosy hue, at break of day ; The envious sun appears, and soon The rival glory melts away. Thy life was like May's sunny beams By shadows bruslied o'er field and flower ; Or like the bow of heaven that sheds Its glory in a fleeting shower. Thy life was like new-fallen snow, Gracing some sea-beach lately bared ; The tide returns with heedless flow — The sky-born guest hath disappeared ! Thy life was like some tuneful harp Abruptly stopped when sweetest strung, Or like " the tale of other years " To expectation half unsung. Thy life was like a passing gleam Of moonlight on the troubled main. Or like some blissful dream which he Who dreams, may never dream again. child of promise bright ! although 'Twere wrong to grudge to heaven its own, Our tears, withal, will often flow To think thy sun so soon gone down. ■ . , 128 MacColl's Poems. A LOVER'S LAMENT. (An abbreviated free translation of one of the Author's earliest Gaelic productions. ) In vain do springtime's many charms essay To chase the gloom in Aray's glen to-day ; The strains that there once charmed my listening ear Can ne'er again avail my heart to cheer. When that fair star, so late my soul's delight, Hath vanished, never more to cheer my sight, — "When my fond heart, sad-missing joy so brief, Lies in the dust, enamoured of its grief, — ;!j When, for the couch she soon might reach, fove-led. The grave becometh Jessie's bridal bed. Well may the tears of friendship freely flow, And life to me be an unending woe. Insatiate Death ! was it to make us see How all impartial fly thy arrows, we Are left to mourn her dead, whose graces might Make even thee ashamed our prayers to slight ? * * Alas for Life ! its frail unequal thread Is, like the gossamer in sunshine spread, The ready wreck of the first passing blast, And yieldeth first where it should longest last. 'Tis thus that all too soon in death's cold sleep Closed Jessie's eyes, while mine are left to weep ; ■i MacColl's Poems. 129 Better it were, than thus be left, to have My own last sleep beside her iu the grave. Shade of my love ! if it indeed be true That spirits blest, though hidden from our view, May still be round us, guardian angels rare, Oh, be it mine to feel thee often near,— An inspiration ever leading me To justify thy loving sympathy By actions such as may alone secure The conscious favour of thy spirit pure. Come then, in all thy wonted, loving grace. Making the grief, now my sole guest, give place To the sweet hope that, this vain hfe once o'er, I'll see thee and be near thee evermore. MAIRI LAGHACH. (From the Gaelic of J. McDonald, a Ross-shire bard of the last century. ) Chorus. — Hey, my winsome Mary,— Mary fondly free ! Hey, my winsome Mary, ; Mary, mine to be ! , ;.;l ^^ Winsome, handsome Mary, Who so fair as she ? My own Highland lassie. Dear as life to me ! w^ 130 MacColl's Poems. Long ere in my bosom Lodged Love's arrow keen, Often with young Mary In Gleiism'^oil I've beeii ; Happy hours ! succeeded By affection true, Till there seem'd 'neath heaven No such loving two ! Cnoiius. — Hey, my &o. Often I and Mary Desert haunts have sought, Innocent of any Evil deed or thought, — Cupid, sly enchanter. Tempting us to stray Where the leafy greenwood Keeps the sun at bay. Chorus. — Hey, my &c. ! I 1 I What although all Albin And its wealth were mine, How, without thee, da'^^Ung, Could I fail to pine '/ As my bride to kiss tboo ■ I would prize far more Than the all of treasure 4-:-> Europe has in store. Chorus. — Hey, my &c. t MacColl's Poems. Fairer is tlio bosom Of my loving one Than the downy phimage Of the floating swan ; • Hers the sHra waist graceful, And the nock whose hue Matches well the sea-gull's Out on Gairloch blue. Chorus — Hey, my &c. What a wealth of tresses Mary dear can show ! Crown of lustre rarer Ne'er graced maiden brow. 'Tis but little dressing Need those tresses rare, Falhng fondly, proudly O'er her shoulders fair. Chorus. — Hey, my &o 131 Hers are teeth whose whiteness Snow alone can peer ; Hers the breath all fragrance, Voice of loving cheer, — Cheeks of cherry ripeness, Eyelids drooping down 'Neath a forehead never Shadowed by a frown. Chorus.— Hey, my &c. 132 ■ n- MacColl's Poems. Out on roj'al splendours ! Love best makes bis bed 'Mong the leaver and grasses Of the sylvan shade, Where the blissful breezes Tell of bloom and balm, And health-giving streamlets Sing their ceaseless psalm. Chorus. - Hey, my &c Chobus.- No mere music art-born There our pleasures crowned Music far more cheering Nature for us found, — Jjarks in air, and thrushes On each flow'ring thorn, And the cuckoo hailing Summer's gay return ! -Hey, my winsome Mary, — Mary fondly free ! Hey, my winsome Mary, Mary, mine to be ! Winsome, handsome Mary, Who so fair as sha ? My own Highland lassie. Dear as life to me ! ^ifi THE HILLS OF THE HEATHER. Air — The Bonnets of Bonnie Dundee. Give the swains of Italia 'mong myrtles to rove, Give the proud, sullen Spaniard his bright orange grove, Give gold-sanded streams to the sons of Chili, But give the hills of the heather to me ! Chorus — Then, drink we a health to the old Highland Bens Whose heads cleave the welkin, whose feet press the glens : What Scot worth the name would not toast them with glee? The red heather hills of the Highlands for me ! The hills whose wild echoes delight to prolong The soul-stirring pibrochd, the stream's gashing song— Storm-vexed and mist- mantled though often they be, Still dear are the hills of the heather to me. Chorus — Then, drink we a health to the old Highland Bens That fondly look down on the clan-peopled glens : What Scot worth the name would not toast them with glee? The red heather hills of the Highlands for me I I^M'I I v.ft ll I ^ 1-4 ■ .'I 134 MacColl's Poems. Your carses may boast of their own fertile farms, Yet give me the glens, shielding well in their arms Blue lakes grandly glassing crag, cliff, tower and tree : The red heather hills of the Highlands for me ! Chorus — Then, drink we a health to the old Highland Bens, Their deer-haanted comes, and hazel wood dens : What Scot worth the name would not toast them with glee ? The red heather hills of the Highlands for me ! 'Tis there 'neath the taitan beat hearts tha most leal — Hearts warm as the sunshine, yet firm as the steel ; There only this heart can feel happy or free : The red heather hills of the Highlands for me ! Chorus — Then, drink we a health to the old Highland Bens, Glad-leaving to England her flats and her fens ; What Scot worth the name would not toast them with glee ? The red heather hills of the Highlands for me ! t'k' MacColl's Poems. 135 WHO LOVES NOT TO THINK OF GLEN- FINNAN? Air — Wooed an' Married an' a\ Who loves not to think of Glenfinnan, And chiefs such as no one now sees Saluting young Charlie's bold standard There freelv unfurled to the breeze ! Well might he be proud of his place in Their hearts all so loyal and leal ; No foe to his rights would care fkcing, That day, the dread flash of their steel. ff Chorus— Chieftains and clansmen and all Yielding to loyalty's call : What Scot does not feel his heart beating With pride as he thinks of them all ? glee? Arrayed in the garb of the Gael, In fancy, I see him still there — The Prince so long loyally hoped for, Glad-trusting his cause to their care ; So worthy the throne of his fathers He looked that, like Highlanders true, ^' hey swear, his lost rights to recover. Together to die or to do ! Chorus— Chieftains and clansmen all Yielding to loyalty's call : What Scot does not feel his heart beating With pride as he thinks of them all ? i I t I* !j^j 136 MacColl's Poems. Woe's me for the mighty in battle — 'ihe heroes in honor so steeled ! No '^Cothrom na Feinne"'^" vain-seeking, They died where they never would yield ; What man could well grudge to such true hearts Their still- swelling meed of renown ? Alas that the sun of the Stuarts At such a dread cost should go down ! Chorus— Chieftains and clansmen and all Yielding to loyalty's call : What S ' ^'^'>s not feel his heart beating With pi as he thinks of them all ? ELLIE BHOIDHEACH. Air — *S9wZ e mar chaidh 'w cal an dolaidh," Or, " The Lass 0' Gowrie." Of all the many scenes that be A memory aye sweet to me, My heart clings most to fair Carskey, The home of Ellie bhoidheach. f There first I felt love's pleasing pain ; There told her smiles that not in vain I might aspire some day to gain The hand of Ellie bhoidheach. Alas, that true love never may Be left to choose its own sweet way ! If thus it were, my bride to day Might be sweet Ellie bhoidheach. ♦The equal combat. + Beautiful ; pronounced "voyach." MacColl's Poems. ^37 And knowing this, come weal or woe, I trow that, till in death laid low, This heart of mine will overflow With love for Ellie bhoidheach. THE LASS OF LEVEN-SIDE. Air— « * Mary's Dream." In vam I see fair nature's face In all its springtide beauty rare ; In vain old woodland walks "l trace' In search of joys once mine to share ;- One face — one only — everywhere My vision haunts, my footsteps guide ; That witching face so heavenly fair Is thine, sweet lass of Leveuside. The swan on Lomond's breast serene Delights to please her wooer gay ; The linnet in yon leafy den Eejoicing Hsts her lover's lay ; Could Annie thus my love repay, Unheeding who might frown or chide. How would my life be one long May ! How Eden-hke fair Leven-side ! that I were the happy herd Who of her father's kye takes care, And often a kind look or word Finds at the milking time from, her, i ~< I •! " 138 MacColl's Poems. And sees her when his evening fare She does with gentle grace provide ! To woo her though I might not dare I still were blest on Leven-side. THE BANKS OF LOCH-SHIN. Air— ' ' The Hills of Glenorchy. " Though pleasant enough be our lakes of the west, And many the swains who live nigh them, lovo- blest, Yet often find I my fond heart ill at rest When I think of the far-away banks of Loch-shin. Well, well may those Banks ever dear be to me. Since of all Beauty's daughters the fairest is she Who with me changed hearts and love-promises free One bright summer night, on the Banks of Loch-shin. Give lordhngs to revel in royalty's rays, Give heroes their laurels the poet his bays, — 'Tis little reck I of rank, riches or praise While blest with the love of the Lass of Loch-shin. Each hour seems a year, thus so far from her side ; Oh, for that glad time I can call her my bride, And, proud as if lord of all Sutherland wide, Live, loving and loved, on the Banks of Loch-shin I --- I ; MacColl's Poems. 139 JEAN: : STUART. AiR-"rAf BankM 0/ the Devon." Oh, why so long absent, beloved Jennie Stuart, The home of thy childhood so far distant from ? Far friends may be kind, yet the darling that thou art Should surely forget not thy friends left at home. Return, then, sweet truant ! my soul lougs to see thee, The bud always fair now a rose in full bloom ; From this weary heartache there's nothing can free me Till thou art returned once again to thy home. Come, welcome as calm after storm on the o<^ean. Come, fair as the dawn after dai'kness and gloom ; Come, proving how vain was the fear that my chosen Could ever forget me, — oh, come, loved one, come ! Come, proving how well nlay my joy and my pride be Our Sweet gloaming love-trj'sts once more to resume ; Come, showing that death, only death, can divide thee Again from thy lover — then oh, hasten home ! hin I WHEN I AM FAR AWAY. Air — "0' a' fheAirtn the Wind can blaw." O'er yonder ocean wide and wild When I am far away. Where never more thy voice, sweet child, My spirit sad may sway, This thought will cheer the minstrel's heart, Forget though others may, That thoii wilt sing my songs, sweet child, When I am far away. 140 • , , ,,8 -l! ' ' t 'I MacColl's Poems. Unknown to fortune's fickle smile Though oft the minstrel sings, If but his lays are loved meanwhile, He'll laugh at crowns and kings. And thus it is I comfort bring From out life's darkest day. Since thou, sweet child, my songs will sing When I am far away. BONNIE ISABEL. Give fortune's favoured sons to roam However far they please from home, And find their eventide delights 'Mong Rhenish groves or Alpine heights, But give to me, by Shira's flow — With none to see and none to know — Love's tryst to keep, love's tale to tell, And kiss my bonnie Isabel I A rustic maiden thougli she be, 'Twould puzzle all the graces three To say where in her form or face They could have added to her grace. To see her tripping through the grove, So fair, so full of life and love. You'd think our glen some Elfland dell, And Elfland's queen sweet Isabel. MacColl's Poems. 141 Ye guardian spirits hovering near The cot where dwells this maiden dear, Beware the glances of her eyes — They'd make yon to forget the skies ! And then her lips — take care, take care ! If once you'd taste the nectar there I fear you'd get as fond's mysel' Of kissing bounie Isabel ! THE LASS Wr THE BRIGHT GOWDEN HAlR. Air — "/e.9sie, the Floioer 0' Dumhlane.'^ The pride of all the Dee-side i^ fair Jennie Stuart, How dearly I love her nae words can declare : The mair I see of her, the mair my fond true heart Is charmed by the lass wi' the bricht gowden hair. Her smile is the dawn breaking o'er the horizon. Her voice is the lilt of the lark in tiie air ; Nae mortal can look on her face all-enticing And not love the lass wi' the bricht gowden hair. I'll fa' them who say I've in vain set my mind on A lass of whose smile richer wooers despair ! Sic fools naething ken of the love-light I find in Ilk look of the lass wi' the bricht gowden hair. Oh, for that blest day this dear maid sae enchanting Is mine, and mine only — my life's darling care ! This world would to me be a weary world, wanting - The love of yon lass wi' the bricht gowden hair. I! 142 MacColl's Poems. GLENARA. I LOVE THEE. Air — ^'Airfailiriiiu, illiriiin, uUirinn 0." Glenara, I love thee, though not for thy share Of far-stretching woodlands or balia-breathing air, Thy flower-spangled meadows or heather-clad braes ; Charms other than these now alone claim my praise. I .< I love thee — though not for the streamlets that run, Now hid in thy birch-woods, now kissed by the sun ; The notes of the song-birds no more charm my ear. Still less could the sportsman's rude work tempt me here. no — for unheeded the roo now skips by ; No trout from Carlunan to tempt do I try ; A magnet surpassing all these I find in The golden-haired lass in yon cot by the linn ! Yes, maiden beloved ! as a bee, that has found Some honey-bloom rare in his balm-seeking round, Keturns and returns oft to feast on his prize, So seek I love's food in thy tale-telling eyes. Give poets their choice of Parnassian bays. Give wealth's pampered puppets the crowd's passing praise ; Away with such shadows ! yon green try sting tree And the smile of my Jessie, dear Jessie for me ! * MacColl's Poems. 143 WINNA THE SILLER MAKE UP FOR AN OLD MAN. Air — ** Bha mi air banain a^m BaiV lonaraora." MOTHER. WiNNA the siller make up for an old man ! Winna the siller make up for an old man ! 'Twere silly against sic an offer to hold on ; Lass ! let the siller make up for an old man. The old man has gowd an' braid acres a plenty ; — His house is weel stored wi' all things gude and dainty !- Ye may live to repent in a comfortless, cold one, Gin ye daftly refuse to be paired wi' the old man. Winna the siller, &c. DAUGHTER. Oh, mither, just think how maist people wad jeer me — Less wife than a nurse to a body sae eerie ! Gin I wed not for love I'll a maid ever hold on ; Come weal, then, or wae, I will ne'er wed the old man I Winna the siller, &c. MOTHER. Love looks very nice as a dream,— but be sure, lass, It counts not for much when the wolf's at the door, lass ; A girnel aft toom is nae look-out sao golden That a lassie like ye should refuse sic an old man. Winna the siller, &c. 144 MacColl's Poems. DAUOHTER. Yet, mither, 'twere sinful to wed ane sae frail-like ; His hair i3 sae scant and his chnek is sae clay-like ; Just think ye of airms such as his to enfold one 1 Oh mither, dear mither ! speak not of the old man. Winna the siller, &e. MOTHER. Nae doubt he is auld, — then the sooner may you get The chance wi' his gear to look out for a new mate ; There be young men auouch, once his banes ye' ve the mould on, Wad be blythe to be seen in the shoon of the old man. Wmna the siller, etc. DAUGHTER. 'Tis true, that might be, — yet it seems a mean part, ma, To give up the hand where one can't give the heart, ma ; To pity his erase it may be I'm beholden, But save, mither, save me mair talk of the old man ! Winna the siller, &c. MOTHER. In silks and in satins he'll busk ye up fine, lass ; Nor need ye wait long till his all may be thine, lass : Alas, and alas, for the fair, fickle, sold one ! She's wed and away with the frail, foolish old man ! Winna the siller, &c. '.m MacColl's Poems. 145 . THE LASS OF GLENFYNE. Air—" The. liankn of the Devon." Oh, would that my home were some green summer shieling 'Mid scenes far removed from all discord and din — Scenes dear to the roe, and where skylarks keep trilling Their songs from the day-dawn till glr»a'*iing sets in ! There, living to love and be loved by the maiden I trysted yestre'en 'neath the moon's yellow shine. How would all around me seem charming as Eden, — So dear to my heart is yon lass of Glenfyne 1 All day with the flock, how delighted I'd roam there. No song-bird more tuneful, no man more care-free ! How gladly at sundown my charge I'd. bring home there. Where, ready to milk them, my Peggie . d see ! And when with a kiss she would welcome her lover. No mortal can guess what a bliss would be mii.e : Such life with a lassie perfection all over who would not live 'mong the braes of Glenfyne ! THE BETRAYED ONE TO HER CHILD. Gaelic Air — " gu ma dan a chi mi mo chailinn dileas, donn. ' Oh, wae's me for thee, darling ! And wae's me for the hour I trysted thy false faither. In yonder greenwood bower ! Sae sweet the tale he tauld me, . ' Sae warmly wooed he there. My trusting heart was soon deceived. My peace lost evermair ! 'li 146 !l : i i> . I 'A: J! 4- Mi I'i \ MacColl's Poems. He said my neck and bosom Were fair as winter's snow, And that the rose for redness Was naethiag to my mou ; He vowed he aye would lo'e me, Till death should us divide, And that as soon as e'er I plea^^ed I'd be his wedded bride. , Oh sleep, now sleep, my dearie. Safe in thy lanely lair ! Thy mither is too eerie This nict '. to sing thee mair. Alas for the forsaken To the cold world's disdain I When comes God's hour of reckoning Alas the faithless then ! SWEET ANNIE OF GLENARA. Air — '* Katharine Ogie." Let Tannahill in tender strain Sing- her of Arrautenn' 1, Let Ettrick's barcl in witching vein Extol the fair Kilmeny ; The lassie who has won my heart Is quite as bright a fairy : You'd own it true, if you but knew Sweet Annie of Gienara ! MacColl's Poems. 147 Her brow is of the lily's hue, Her lips a honey fountain ; Her cheek is as when Dawn doth show Her blushes o'er yon mountain : As any roe that haunts our glen Her step is light and airy ; In grace and mien a very queen Is Annie of Glenara. Away with fashion's fickle set ! Give me the darling creature All charming without knowing it, All woman in her nature. Small joy to me were any boon Dame Fortune well could spare me. Could I not with it call my own Sweet Annie of Glenara. THE SHEPHERD BOY. Air — '■^Oudc NUjht a«' Joy he wi" you a'." The shepherd boy was far away, — His heart was dowie as the song That often in the gloaming grey To pity moved his comrades youi.g : They hinted of the coming May, With all its wealth of bud and bloom, Yet aye the burden of his song Was, This is no my native home I Si- V.k < i 1 I t ' -; ■J'' t 148 H > if MacColl's Poems. " There's trout to wile frae yonder burn, Our fields are white wi' lambkins gay ; The blackbird on yon flow'riug thorn To love and song gives a' the day ; Nae glen in a' the land caa be Mair fit than ours to chase thy gloom : Yet aye the burden of his lay Was, This is no my native home ! " The cushat nestles in yon wood, The cuckoo, too, will soon be there ; Our muirlands teem wi' music good Frae clouds of laverocks in the air ; O'er hazel dell and berrie brae We'll a', betimes, delighted roam ;" Yet still the burden of his lay Was, This is no my native home ! m BELLA. Ye've seen frae heaven's blue The star 0' Gloamin' gleam — The rosebud wet wi' dew, The rowan bv the stream ; But naething hae ye seen. And ne'er may see, I trow, Sae bright as Bella's een, Sae red as Bella's mou', Ye've seen the snow-wreath high On Cruachan's airy steep — The lake when zephyrs die, And sunbeams on it sleep ; MacColl's Poems. Yet naething hae ye seen, And ne'er may see, I trow, Sae fair as Bella's skin, Sae calm as Bella's brow ! 149 MAGGIE STUART. Air— "0 but ye're long a coining." Oh but she's sweet and bonnie, Swce'^ .nd bonnie, blythe and bonnie ! A heart-charmer quite uncannie Is young Maggie Stuart. ■ Ye who would see grace the rarest Joined to form and face the fairest — One to all perfection nearest — Look on Maggie Stuart ! Oh, but she's sweef , &c. Sweet her smile as May-morn -mining, Bright her eye as starlet gleaming , Not vno maiden charm worth naming Misses Maggie Stuart. 0, but she's sweet, etc. Thinking of her, late and early. Wiser thoughts are mine but sparely ; All the lads around are fairly Daft for Maggie Stuart ! 0, but she's sweet, etc. .6: I ;i t ' , i '.mmi iii 150 MacColl's Poems. Would that some kind star would move her To make me her chosen lover, Nothing then save death could sever Me from Maggie Siuart ! 0, but she's sweet, &c. INVERAE'S WOOING. (Written to the Gaelic air of "^ Mhorajf, an dean thu tighinn.") Thus a Highland wooer Pleaded with a Lowland lassie, As he fond'y drew her 'Neath his plaid, one gloaming gray : — " Annie, gin yp. love me. Do, I pray thee, Cease to Nay me ; Now or never I must hae thee Off to bonnie Inverae." Answered she, " Na, I canna ; — Weel tho' I'd like to gae, Faither and mither winna Let me gang to Inverae." '* Sweet along the glen, there, Sounds the herd-boy's morning carol ; Sweeter still at e'en, there. Lilts the lass her milking lay ; MacColl's Poems.. 151 Nor less like to charm thee Songs of thrushes 'Mong the bushes Bending o'er each burn that rushes, Flowret-fringed, through Inverae.' Still it was, *' Na, I canna ;— Weel tho* I'd like to gae, Faither and mother winiia Let me gang to Inverae." " Ne'er was such a welcome As my bonnie bride shall win there ; Hundreds proudly shall come To our bridal banquet gay : Bards shall sound thy praises— Gladly granting, 'Mid their vaunting. Ne'er was bride so all-enchanting ! Haste we, then, to Inverae." • Still, though 'twas, " Na, I canna, Weel though I'd like to gae," Long ere they parted, Annie Said she'd gang to Inverae ! -!• f I !il 11 ^:- r 1 ■\' ■ ' 'li i> ■■ ,2fc. . . t y kikM oeins 9 .^^jongs ^ ^onnetSf WRITTEN CHIEFLY IN CANADA. ♦->+<-» THE CHAUDIERE. A SCENE ON THE RIVER OTTAWA, Where the Ottawa pours its magnificent tide Through forests primaBval, dark-waving and wide, There's a scene which for grandeur has scarcely a peer, — 'Tis the wild roaring rush of the mighty Chaudiere. On, onward it dashes — an ocean of spray ; How madly it lashes each rock in its way ! Like the onset of hosts, when spear breaks against spear, Is th' omnipotent sweep of the mighty Chaudiere. See ! see where it now from yon ledge wildly leaps, — Less swift down some Alp the dread avalanche sweeps ; That vortex below may well agonize where Eight into its throat goes the mighty Chaudiere I Evermore, evermore, where sheer downward it springs, Its mist-mantle it weaves — its loud anthem it sings ; Yonder isle* in its path seems to quiver with fear, — It may well dread the shock of the mighty Chaudi«^re. The proud conqueror's might is the boast of a day, — Thine, river majestic 1 endureth for aye ; ♦The little isle above referred to was, at the time these verses were penned, a conspicuous feature in the channel immediately below the Ohaudiere. There is no trace of it now remaining. i > > « 1 ,1 1 i ,' 1 .1 f I \ I i mfmmimmmmm I I 154 MacColl's Poems. Strange thought, that just thus upon Time's infant ear Came the God- speaking voice of the mighty Cliaudiere ! Though for hps uninspired it seems almost a crime To be aught else than mute near a scene so sublime, Could I voice all I feel as I gaze on it here, How immortal in song were the mighty Chaudi(^re I Sept. 13, 1859. THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW. In vain, in saddest plight, Lucknow's defenders fight ; Its walls to heathen might Yield at last ; Yet though they well might grow Appalled at that dread show, Defiance to the foe Still they cast. 'Twas then, amid the wail Of women, children, frail, A daughter of the Gael, Fever-spent, Found from all care and grief A merciful relief In a sweet slumber brief, Heaven-sent. Of home and kin she dreams, — One after one she names, As loved ones there she seems To embrace ; MacColl's Poems. 155 Now seems some Sabbath psalm To yield its soothing balm, So heavenly is the calm On her face. But hush I she starts,— her eyea Uplifting to the skies, " We're saved ! we're saved 1" she cries- " Dinna ye hear The pipes ! the pipes I Ha 1 ha ! Clan-Alpine's battle-ca', The grandest o' them a', Swelling near I" Some, 'mid that scene of death, Take heart from what she saith'; Some of more feeble faith Deemed her crazed. Till, as she shouts anew, '• Dinna ye hear them noo '" They heard and shouted too, "God be praised I" When, lo I through smoke and fire Advancing nigh and nigher, Their saviours in the atture Of the Gael 1 Quick banished are all fears ; The doomed dry up their tears And with a storm of cheers Havelock hail I at 13 '\U 156 MacColl's Poems. creag-aTgharie. A SCENE ON LOCHFYNE-SIDE. Let others sing of towering Bens With cloud-capped summits stern and scaury ; Give me to glory in such scenes As grace my native Creag-a-gharie 1 You may roam Scotland, east and west, From the Bass Rock to Staffa sparry. Yet sadly miss where she looks best Unless you visit Creag-a-gharie. Away with Erin's boasting of Her own Avoca's Vale and Tara ! There's naught in them to praise or love Compared with thee, dear Creag-a-gharie I Here, towers Dunleacan o'er the lake ; There, loom fair Gowal's summits airy ; Nor less Ben-Vuidhe helps to make A setting grand to Creag-a-gharie. When winds are hushed, and night's fair Queen Casts o'er Lochfyne a gleaming glory, You'd think that Elfland there and then Lent all its charms to Creag-a-gharie. There spring's first lilies love to blow ; The gowan white and primrose starry You can't help treading on — they grow So thick all over Creag-a-gharie I MacColl's Poems. ^57 There oft I've kissed (no mighty wrong) Some Hebe, 'spite her coy " How dare you !" The theft requiting with a song Breathed in her praise in Creag-a-gharie I There first I sought thy witching smile, And won thy heart, my long-lost Mary : Alas, that death so soon should spoil That love-dream sweet of Creaga-gharie ! How have I joyed in boyhood's days To list its woodland warblers cheerie. Nor less the lark whose thrilling lays Seem'd more for Heaven than Creag-a-gharie 1 When nuts were ripe, and autumn skies Made plump the sloes on branches briery, To me there scarcely seems a choice 'Tween paradise and Creag-a-gharie. These were the days a planet new Would joy its finder less than there I To find some blackbird's nest, known to Myself alone in Creag-a-gharie. Nor less the rapture in mine eye. When some shy lytlie or sea-trout wary I, from his native haunts, close by. Triumphant lodged on Creag-a-gharie. 158 MacColl's Poems. Small wonder, Alltaneadan's stream, The music of thy cascade fairy Is ever present in each dream I have of home and Creag-a-gharie : It was within thy hosky bound I first adventured, somewhat chary. To weave those lays long after found Remembered well in Creag-a-gharie. Twice twenty summers, woe is me I Have passed since then : A weary far way Is placed between us : — let it be, — My heart is still in Creag-a-gharie ! ' And thus it is from year to year. No matter how adverse my star be, I have an offset ever dear In memories sweet of Creag-a-gharie. March lat, 1876. MacColl*s Poems. 159 TO PROFESSOR G E, ON HIS LAST HISTORICAL DISCOVERY. (The gentleman here addressed having, in a speech made at a certain public meeting, ventured to assert that " Scotchmen must admit their country to have been once conquered," the author, who was present, felt himself impelled to deny the truth of his assumption. Hence the following lines, written oflF-hand, and received by the professor next morning at his breakfast-table. ) Scotland, a conquered land I Learned sage, Pray tell us how, and in what age ? Not so I read historic page. Thou canst not deem a mere invasion — A brief disputed occupation — To be the conquest of a nation ? Think'st thou the homage of a knave Binding on those he would enslave ? Let Baliol answer from his grave ! Scotland a conquered land ! Ho, ho ! Proud Edward found it was not so When dying— vainly still her foe. ■■ , ) , j No pandering, then, to Saxon pride 1 Pretensions by our sires defied Shall we not also cast aside ? Forget'st thou Carun's crimsoned stream ? Is Bannockburn a myth or dream ? And Wallace a mere minstrel theme ? i6o MacColl's Poems. ! 1 : Hi Vi' Mi •I ■ Thou speak'st of Cromwell ? Be it so : Cromweil was never Scotland's foe — How then her conqueror, prithee, show ? Her friend and Freedom's, north he came ; Her noblest sons backsd well his aim, And scotched misrule in Cromwell's name. Hold up thy head, then, Scotia I Wnen Thy sons forget that they are men Thou may'ot be conquered — not till then ! 1857. ROBERT BURNS. ( Written for the centennial celebration of 1859.) So many minstrels known to fame Have made sweet Coila's bard their theme, That like an oft-told tale may seem All I can sing of Robin. Yet be his cairn however high. No Scot can mutely pass it by ; . The tribute of a song and sigh Let's therefore give to Robin. His was the true poetic art To sing directly from the heart : To Wdiken mirth, or tears to start. No mortal matches Robin I i'A MacColl's Poems. i6i Now gently flow his thoughts along, Now, Uke a rushing river strong, A very cataract of song Resistless is our Robin ! The sun not aye unclouded shines ; There's dross within earth's richest mines Rob had his faults, and grave divines Oft shook their heads at Robin. A lassie " coming through the rye" Unkissed he never could pass by ; Nor can I blame him much, for why, The lasses all loved Robin ! Rob loved to speak the truth right down, No matter who might smile or frown ; A rascal, be he king or clown. No mercy had from Robin. His sympathies — how dread to tell ! Embraced all being —Nick himsel' — Yes, pity for the very de'il. No sin or shame thought Robin. I see him with scorn-flashing eyes Detect "a cuif" in lordly guise ; To see was to denounce — despise : •* A man's a man," quoth Robin 1 Hold, honest Labour, up thy head, And point with pride to Robin dead ; The halo round thy path he shed Immortal is as Robin. l62 MacColl's Poems. n I. I i t» I lilt; "T^ , W 1 Alas, that not till they are lost The gifts that we should value most A.re rightly prized ! To Scotland's cost, Thus fared it with her Robin. Yet may she glory loud and long To know, of all earth's sons of song, The most world-honoured of the throng Is Coila's matchless Robin ! •1 < t '■ if "ti BURNS AGAIN. (The following anniversary lay was written at the special request of the Burns' Society, of Des Moines, Iowa, to whom it is now respect- fully dedicated.) > Again comes round that happy day. More welcome than thy brightest, May, — A day that Scotia will for aye Hold sacred to her Robin. Let winds without blow e'er so chill. That Scottish heart is colder still Whicli beats not with a joyful thrill. This day, to think of Robin. The sovereign lord of song confessed. He lives enthroned in every breast. Where well I ween that dispossessed Shall never be our Robin. 0, never was with laurels crowned A bard more worthily renowned ; All Scotland is made classic ground By thee, immortal Robin I \\ MacColl's Poems. 163 As freely as yon sun forth flings Incessant light in dazzling rings, So, rare and rich imaginings Around him flung our Eobin. The truest censor of his age — He in the bard ne'er sank the sage ; No mortal man could better gauge The human heart than Robin. The manners of his native clime Are all made deathless in his rhyme ; Poor toiling Wortli throughout all time Will bless the name of Robin. What Scotsman reads his " Hallowe'en" But feels as if a boy again, And well may ask, Was ever seen A wizard like our Robin ? Though tender as a cushat's croon He sings of love by "bonnie Doon," To war he well his lyre could tune, — A hero born was Robin. His "Scots wlia hae" what patriot hoars And pants not for the strife of spears ? He sings, and Bannockburn appears Fought o'er again with Robin ! To see the hypocrite laid bare, Just list to " Holy Willie's Prayer ;" Let " Hornbrook" and •• The Calf declare How witty was our Robin. ft ■■ n 164 MacColl's Poems. How eloquent the grief expressed Beside yon " mousie's" ruined nest ! Oh, try him by whatever test, No bard can match with Robin ! Let bigots, ready to deride. Themselves examine ere they chide, And learn, abashed, to cast aside The stone they'd fling at Robin. To judge of him by their mean test Of sanctity were sure a jest ! '• He prayeth best who loveth best All things," and this did Robin. 1860. It may be Scotland did him wrong To leave him poor, tlie poor among ; Yet, to her honor be it sung, She always loved her Robin. She gave him inspiration true. Such as no other land could do ; Hurrah, then, for the matchless Two — Auld Scotland and her Robin ! rr-n: MacColl's Poems. 165 THE MODERN HERCULES. Offspring renowned of Water anil of Fire I Thy triumphs, Steam, to sing I would aspire : Let critics wlio would deem my luimberH tame Confess at least the greatness of my theme. Power unmatched ! what wonders hast thou wrought ! "What feats sublime beyond the reach of thought ! In thee we gladly realize at length The fabled Titans' all-eompelling strength — A might that dwarfs what Grecian bards have told Of derds Herculean done in days of old. The winged Mercury of their proud day Were, matched with thee, a lagger on the way : Scornful of distance, unfatigued by toil, No task thy temper or thy strength can spoil, — Whate'er thou djest doing with good will, And at such speed as seems a miracle. Man's mightiest ally upon land or sea. He owns indeed a glorious gift in thee ! Not mine the skill to sing in fitting phrase How science yokes thee to her car — the maze Of tubes metallic, wondrous as a spell. In which, like to a spirit, thou dost dwell — A worker with a zeal that naught can tire, Determined, prompt, impetuous as fire, — Seeming as almost taught to think and feel With that complex anatomy of steel ! To this let others fitting homage pay, My task be thy achievements to pourtray. • * I i66 MacColl's Poems. Power surpassiug fancy's wildest flight, No less for thy dociUty than might ! UnHke the " Brownie" — Scotia's wayward loon, Who wrought such marvels at night's silent noon — Once at thy work, by day and night the same. No respite from thy labors dosti thou claim. I see thee toiling in the busy mill, The faithful door of thy master's will : Ever submissive, — if he but commands. Thine is the labor of a thousand hands ; The shuttle darteth with the speed of thought ; The fabric grows as if by magic wrought ; Th' astonished gazer freely must allow Penelope less diligent than thou 1 Less complex work, tho' valued not the less — We see thee yoked now to the plough and press ; Our corn thou threshest and our grain dost grind : We yet may teach thee both to reap and bind. Thy aid is asked, and from the lake below The limpid wave ascends in copious flow. And to the distant city rusheth, where Thou art confessed a benefactor rare. The oak that long has stood the forest's pride Thou with a speed like lightning dost divide : Thou strikest the anvil with such force as might Make Vulcan stare with wonder and delight : Thou heavest up from earth's internal store Pile upon pile of ever-precious ore — Such weight, I trow, as Atlas never bore. wonder-worker ! with results so grand, 'Well may thy praises ring throughout the land ; Well may the muse declare, exjultingly, Man owns indeed a glorious gift in thee ! i| "v^,.s7^^' MacColl's Poems. 167 Darer of danger in a thousand forms — Thou canst not shun, but thoii canst scorn the storms I Where, zig-zag, slowly toils the sail-urged bark. As if she'd never reach her d38tined mark, How grand to see, upon her ocean way, {Some stately ship beneath thy potent sway Cleaving the waves opposing her career As forceful as a thunderbolt the air ! Naught recketh she of adverse winds or tides ; No canvas needs she as the wave she rides ; Straight as au arrow on her way she goes, Uncaring though Leviathan oppose. Till, a wide wilderness of waters past. Her anchor in the wished-for port is cast. Lo ! —dashing on through forest, glen and glade, — O'er rushing rivers — gorges deep and dread, — Now lost, now seen, far o'er the landscape's face, — Yon fiery steed, so peerless in his pace, A steed whose speed annihilateth space ! Each passing minute over miles he sweeps ; Matched with his flight the hurricane but creeps : You'd think him and his chariot, madly hurled, Just off to make the circuit of the world, And bound to verify how may be done What Fiction feigned of coursers of the Sun I But see ! — his goal emerging into view. His speed he slackens with a shrill halloo. And, as if conscious of a welcome wide, Into the city's heart doth proudly glide. Murmur'd applauses through the crowd prevail ; Long-parted friends once more each other hail, — ».ii !ii^ m i68 MacColl's Poems. Friends who, but for their faith in him, I ween, Had never thus each other sought or seen. But that this tributary lay I sing Might seem too long — my muse too weak of wing — "With eye prophetic, fain would I pursue Thy future triumphs crowding on my view, — How to earth's utmost limits they extend. Age after age increasing to the end, — How the far Isles now 'neath barbaric sway. Shall smile and flourish in thy better day, — How the swart Indian, quitting club and spear. Shall be himself, in time, thy charioteer — His savage appetites all laid aside, His hunting grounds transformed to cornfiolds wide,- *• A stoic of the woods" no longer now, But going forth to toil with cheerful brow, Grateful to Him who framed the social plan- - Thus reaching the true dignity of man ! Peerless discovery ! Blessing rich and true ! When such thy pow'r, and such thy promise, too, We well may hope in thee at last to find A chain that shall in peace the nations bind — A chain- of love embracing all mankind. Immortal Watt ! I surely were to blame If ceased my song forgetful of thy fame. By thee a secret, long by all- wise Heaven Concealed from man, at last to man was given. Though some there be who with presumption vain Would make their own the fruitage of thy brain, iiill MacColl's Poems. 169 Justice and Truth must scout the base design, And own the great achievement to be thine That has enriched the nations tenfold more Than all earth's boasted mines of golden ore, And giveth to thy name a right to be Throughout all time remembered gratefully : Scotland may well be proud to claim a son in thee. CANADIAN GIRLS. Canadian girls— the truth to tell — Sly arts coquettish practice well, Yet must we own them not the less Unrivalled in their loveliness. I know of one whose lips to kiss To me were earth's most perfect bliss ; A lass whose loving heart to own A king might gladly give his crown. Her step is light as is the flake Of snow just falling in the brake ; A creature full of life and grace — There's naught 'neath Heaven to match her face I liii Small wonder that I would with pride Make this Canadian girl my bride ; None ever sees that darling one But owns her nature's paragon. #1 / ■ I 1 ■ '1' V. la i ' 4 m jW ! . n If Ml lifii 170 MacColl's Poems. Then cease, ye bards, to louger hold As matchless Beauty's queen of old ; Ye would, if you could come with me And bonnie Mary Murray see I* THE CLANS OF 'FORTY-FIVE. •* Ho ! landed upon Moidart's coast is Scotland's rightful King!" Such was the news to which the Gael once gave warm wel- coming ; And soon, glad-buckling on their arms, stout chiefs and clans- men true Have sworn in his good cause to try what t,^od broadswords can do. No cravens they to count the cost of failure : Man alive I We'll never see their like again — the Clans of 'Forty-five. Brief time hath passed till Finnan's vale is all astir with men From east and west in loyal haste proud-gathering : To their kon The royal standaru .s unfurled — their Prince himself is there, Their loving homage to receive, their dangers all to share ; Stout Chiefs who for his fathers fought, the fires of youth revive, To stirring pibrochds marshalling the Clans of 'Forty-five. * A Hamilton lady, then in her girlhood, and now the still charm- ing wife of W. Hendrie, Esq., of that city. MacColl's Poems. 171 Let no man say that to restore a creed proscribed they arm ; They Ihink but of his loving trust, his Highland heart so warm, His royal n^'hts usurped, — and they upon his princely brow Would place his father's crown or die : Too well they kept their vow ! Let men who prate of loyalty, in this our day, derive Instruction in that virtue from the clans of 'Forty-five I Ay I let them think of brave Lochiel and Borrodale the bold, — Of Keppoch and Glengarry too, both men of might extolled, — The Chisholin, Cluny, Athol's lord, the Macintosh ao keen, — The Appin Stuarts and MacCoUs, — thy lion-hearts, McLean, — With many a chief and clan besides, who quickly did con- trive To make their L'ames immortal in the famous 'Forty-five ! How well they fought let Falkirk-field and Prestonpans de- clare ; Well might all Europe, as it marked, applaud their valor rare ; Woe's me for dark Culloden Moor, where, all too rashly brave. They to a force their own thrice told unequal battle gave ! What mortal might could do, they did, — but who 'gainst fate can strive ? To destiny alone succumbed the Clans of 'Forty-five. Alas, that their descendants now, upon their native soil. Can hardly find, for deer and sheep, a spot whereon to toil ! ir 172 MacColl's Poems. Our good old race of Chiefs give place to mercenary knaves Who, for a bushel, less or more, would plough their father's graves ! '•The age of chivalry is past," yet shall its fame survive Forever brightened by their deeds— the Clans of 'Forty-five. A "FABLED OSSIAN." ["He (Burns) was pre-eminently the poet of the Scottish people ; not that Scotland cannot boast of other bards. They shine as lights — they stnd her history as stars, all along from the time of the fabled Ossian down to Adam Smith." From a speech hy an Eufjlish clergy- man present at the Kingston celebration of the Centenary of Burns.l A "fabled" Ossian, did'st thou say ? That warrior-bard of deathless lay '"Fabled" indeed 1 I tell thee, Nay I « A bard whose praise all ages ring. Forsooth, a mere imagining I How judgest tliou of such a thing ? Go learn a tongue to thee unknown. Be guided by the truth alone, Then sit the critic's seat upon I m'y V- i i '. Do more, — read Scotia's bards forthwith ; I think it will take all thy pith Among them to find Adam Smith ! MacColl's Poems. Adam a poet I — liea it, Cocker 1 Was ever such a funny joker ! You'd be a fortune to "The Poker." 173 '11 i\ 1' *l But as a nod's as good's a wink, I say no more about that "kink" — My duty is to make thee think. Think, then, through what long ages came, Unwritten, Homer's song and fame : Why could not Ossian's come the same ? What marvel that a strain that winds ltd way into all hearts and minds A never-ending audience finds ? 1859. Be not, then, sceptical, but wise ; Scan Ossian with no jaundiced eyes. And learn to blush at Saxon lies. Yes, read the songs of Selma through ; Though old, they may be fresh to you — A study manifestly new ! I ii I I i.^ ii 174 MacColl's Poems. 'f 'if I il THE LAKE OF THE THOUSAND ISLES. Though Missouri's tide may majestic glide, There's a curse on the soil it laves ; The Ohio, too, may be fair, but who Would sojourn in a land of slaves ? * lie my prouder lot a Canadian cot And the bread of a freeman's toils ; Then hurrah for the land of the forests grand, And the Lake of the Thousand Isles ! I would seek no wealth, at the cost of health, 'Mid the city's din and strife : More I love the grace of fair nature's face, And the calm of a wood'.aud I'fe ; I would shun the road by ambition trod And the lore which the heart denies ; — Then hurrah for the land of the forests grand. And the Lake of the Thousand Isle? ! 0, away, away ! I would gladly stray Where the freedom I lovo is found ; Where the pine and oak by the woodman's stroke Are disourbed in their ancient boaud ; Where the gladsome swain reaps the golden grain, And the trout from the stream beguiles ; Then hurrah for the land of the forests grand. And the Lake of the Thousand Isles ! *The above verses were written some years prior to the abolition of Slavery in the U. S, of America. MacColl's Poems. 175 A SCOTTISH SYREN. (The following lines were addressed to Miss Ellen Kennedy, at the termination of a vocal tour througli Canada by the celebrated " Kennedy family.") As when, through clouds dark-frowni ug, driven Across the midnight vault of lieaven, Smiles on some lone belated wight, Sudden, a star of beauty bright, That with its gloom-dispelling • «y Quick-chases all his fears away, Till, lo ! as sudden from his ken 'Tis gone, and all is dark again ! 'Twas thus upon my pathway drear, — A stranger long to Scotland dear — Her music sweet, h^r wealth of song — The tartan sheen — the Doric tongue — Thou camest, Nature's own bright child ! To cheer me with thy •' wood-no!;es wild." Such music ! thou Syren sweet ! I could liave kissed thy very feet What time the tuneful keys along Thy fairy fingers moved, und flung Such wealth of melody around As made yon hall seem hallowed ground, And thou— less of Earth's daughters fair Than some bright spirit of the air I Ye've marked some sky-lark, singing sweet High up above earth's dust and din, Stop sudden, as if heaven's gate Had ope'd and let her in : • F'J ~ r" 176 MacColl's Poems. 'Twas thus it se'^med, each time withdrew My bird of beanty from my view, — Withdrawing only to enhance The joys that each return attend, Keeping my heart's tumultuous dance Increasing to the end. " nicht" of rapture so complete ! • Alas, the morn my song-bird sweet Flew hence afar ! while here am I In gloom still deeper than before. Much fearing that sj great a joy May mine be jievermore ! Thou'rt gone -yet still, in thought, I trace Thy faultless form, thy winsome face Beaming with intellect and grace, — Thy sunny smile, thy forehead fair, The gleaming of thy auburn hair, And all the other graces rare> Which with me, spite of time and tide, A "joy forever " shall abide ! Thou'rt gone, yet evermore to me Thy name will wake the memory Of d^ r old Scotia's hills and haughs, Her woody dells, and sylvan sliaws, — Her matchless Rants, and Lilts and Reels So dear to Highland hearts and heels. From Ruidhle 'I hulachain's delights, And Oille CaUiun's airy flights, To TuUoehfjor urn's whirls and flings. And fe»mous Neil's immortal springs !* * N3il Gow, the composer of many of Scotland's most popular Reels and Strathspeys, iiiLMiA^ U. tt .^^ W < MacColl's Poems. 177 Yet most of all, bewitching elf ! Whene'er I think of thee, Loves long since laid on memory's shelf Again revive in me ; Maidens as lovely as thyself In laughing groups I see, — Now, at " the milking 0' the fauld," Now, " when the kye come hame," Now, by " the Birks of Invercauld," And now by Aray's stream. Fond fancy, roaming free as wind, One after one, the long-lost find, And with a loving, ready will, Paints each dear charmer charming still 1 Well might a bard be proud to please And sing of maidens such as these ; Small wonder Scotia's bards ahvays Sing best whene'er they sing their praise, - Those darling girls whose graces rare Might make the coldest lover there Less lover than idolater I Long may old Scotia's sons rejoice In lays so worthy of her choice ; Long may such minstrels as thy sire Be hers to honour and admire ; And aye may Scotia's daughters be What with such joy and pride I see The bright epitome in thee ! «*.-,. ,-.^-U* i. . ll M« i y i| i»f 1J> l» l m m- i' T :•¥■• i ::r: i 5SV .1. :(■ i ^'^ il I ,)l 178 MacColl's Poems. SONNETS DESCRIPTIVE OF THE SCETERY OF LOCH-AWE, ARGYLESHISE. I. LOCH-AWE —SEEN FEOM CRClS-AN-T-flLEUCHPAIDH.* No time nor tide can dim a genuine joy ; — In thought I wander to that far-off day Wlien first upon my sight burst grand Glenstrae, And from me brought Loch-Awe a sudden cry Of ecstacy, as proudly to mine eye It spread its glories. ! but now to be Standing where, cross-crowned Inuisfail to see, The Celt, of old, his knee bent reverently ! Here, kingly Cruachan, twin-topped, cleft the sky, — There, tower'd Ben-doran's head above the cloud, — While on the lake's calm breast lay, lovingly, Islets of which Elysium might be proud : — When fades that landscape from ray memory, Some friendly hand may quick prepare my shroud. * Crois-an-t-shuchdaidh (a term suggestive of Catholic 'sroee ia tk» West Highlands) is the name of that moorlanosing in this paradise to dwell I m. FRAOCH-EILEAN. Fraocli's l»^nely isle ' if of a hermit life I were Cfunmoured, 'tis on thee I'd dwell, Where all around, afar or near, seems rife With grace and grandeur more than tongue can tell. Yon time-worn Keep would yield a ready cell ; My drink would be the lake's pure crystal tide ; My rod and gun with fish and fowl would well An ample feast at any time provide. If ever nature's face to bard supplied liae inspiration, 'twould, methinks. be here, — Loch-Awe in beauty slumbering him beside, The sound of distant torrents in his ear, And every feature of the landscape wide Speaking of God in language loudly clear. J-* .«fc. i-.uliV.^ - 1 .!»;>; ■ I' m 1 80 MacColl's Poems. IV. THE BRANDER PASS. Hark ! 'tis the Awe loud-moaning in its course Through yonder Pass, where once, in days of old, Lorn's hauglity lord met Bruce in conflict fierce, And traitor dirks struck well for English gold ! It is enough to make one's blood run cold To think what Scotland would have lost that day, If, when through that deep gorge war's tide was rolled, And chief met chief in battle's stern array. The Bruce's sword hewed not a ready way, Resistless through the thickest of the foe ! — Well may his country's scorn pursue for aye The memory of the wretch who thus could show , Himself too base to ever rule a Clan Oft found since then in E'reedom's battle-van. V. KILCHURN CASTLE. Lo ! yonder veteran pile by Urchay's flow — Kilchurn ! proud home of many a warlike chief, Seem'st thou there brooding o'er the long ago, Like some old warrior musing, in his grief, On years that shall return not : Time, the thief. Has robbed thee of thy ancient pomp and pride, Leaving thee there, all hopeless of relief. Nodding to thine own spectre in the tide. Thy sole friend seems the ivy spreading wide Its dark-green mantle round thy aged form ; The owl loves well within thee to abide, A lonely tenant, safe from all alarm ; While through thy halls, where beauty once enjoyed The minstrel's song, oft howls the midnight storm. ■■tri MacColl's Poems. i8i VI. GLENORCHY. Talk not to mo of Tempo's classic vale, With fair Glenorchy stretched before my view ! If of its charms ho sung, I could right well Believe the Grecian poet's picture true. What were his boasted groves in scent or hue To lady-birches and the stately pine, The crimson heather and the hare-bell blue ? Be his the laurel — the red heath be mine ! No faun nor dryad here I care to see, More pleased by far to mark the bright-eyed roe Through Craig's green woodlaads bounding airily ; Nor less the joy when, in the glen below, Some milking Hebe sings her luinnea%:^- \\^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) lili LO U 25 iiii^ e I'M i^ 1.4 2.0 I.S 1.6 6"

% m '^ f!^ /;^ /A « £"» »;' ^ O / PhoiDgraphic Sciences Corpomtion <- «^^\ ^<:^ ^nN ^^1>^ \ \ o' ^^.^ '% 23 WeST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (n«) 872-4503 r^ ^'P/' .1?T ^V'. i86 MacColl's Poems. 11 1 i DOMHNULL PIOBAIRE AND THE BAG-PIPES. (Written for a Social Gathering of the Kingston Caledonian Society.) Air — ^* Wooed an^ married an* a\" Our Gathering Night — more's the pity — But ouce in a year cometh round ; Good-bye the dull cares of the city, — This evening we're heatherward bound ! The bag-pipes to charm and to cheor us — The darlings we love in full sight — The tartan around us and near us — "Who would not be proud of our Night I • List'ning Mac's gathering call, Surely his sense mast be small "Who would not declare such rare piping Enough any heart to enthral ! ! i Away with your brass-bands a-braying I John Bull thinks them grand — but you'll own When Tubal invented such playing 'Twas surely worse discords to drown ; • Some think that such music he planned, sirs, The wolves of his time to affright, Then fashioned the bag-pipe so grand, sirs. For times like our Gathering Night. Heard or in hut or in hall, "Who, save one deaf as a wall, But owns of all music 'neath Heaven There's nothing to match it at all 1 MacColl's Poems. 187 Lot Donald but screw up his chanter, A.nd giye U8 the Tullaichean rare, What mortal but feeleth instanter As if he could dance in the air ! He strikes up a charge, and proud Preston, Or famed Killicrankie's fierce fight We fight o'er again as we listen, Loud lauding both Mac and our Night. Piobrachds, marches and all, Ei a to charm even a Saul — These are of the witcheries endless That minstrel has aye at his call. There's lifedn the voice of the Clarsach*— But would you join rapture to praise, Just hear some sweet spring from the Oinnseach,\ Juf't dance to its Eeels and Strathpeys I Its Coronach sets us a-weeping, Its flings make us wild with delight ; It has tones for all moods in its keeping — Rare treat for a Gathering Night ! Out on the thick-headed thrall Who his disUke o't would drawl ! The right way to deal with such creatures - Were nailing their ears to the wall 1 A bicker of good Athol brose is Not bad when a battle is near ; But the right thing, when coming to blows, is The pipe's stirring no^es in your ear : The Harp, f The Bag-Pipes. m MacColl's Poems. From Bannockburn down to this hour, sirs, ' Its place is the front of the fight ; Then hey for the gallant Pioh-mhor, sirs, The glory and pride of our Night ! Drums and bugles and all Such things may well suit a roll-call, But tiie Clans, when their foes they would scatter, The pipes takes to open the ball I If ll Long, long may fair Scotia flourish, Bejoicing in Bant and in Lilt I That day will her liberties perish She lacketh the Clans and the Kilt. To keep her proud triumphs still swelling. Her plan is to stick to them tight, And honor the patriot feeling Begot of a Gathering Night, Joy then, joy be to all Beady to hasten their fall "Who would in the Gael's loved homesteads The deer and the stranger instal I ffl MacColl's Poems. 189 "STANDS SCOTLAND WHERE IT DID? Land of the Bruce ! I marvel how, With scarce a murmur, comest thou To let it seem As if thy name Were off the list of nations now. Shall „ . .oe who ne'er, as foes, Could their rule on thee impose Not in vain Ceaseless strain Now thy history's page to close ? Up ! or evermore disown Thy once well-wou fair renown I If, of two, One must do, Let the Saxon name go down. Strange how word so brief as " Scot" Sticketh in the Anglo throat- That Maelstrom, Like a doom, ' Gulping down all else we've got I Is there any noble deed Told of men born north the Tweed ? Ten to one, •• Times" or ''Sup," 'Tis of Englkhmm we read I I 190 MacColl's Poems. If a battle has been won By a Campbell, Gough or Gunn, Take the blows, Macs and 0\, England takes the praise alone 1 Scribblers of the Cockney school, Verily you've crazed John Bull ; Saxon blood. Clear as mud ! Who but he the world should rule 1 Scotsmen, 'tis high time that we Ceased to feed such vanity, — Time to show Our old foe He is only one of three. Sooner we our rights should yield Fighting on some battle-field Than thus be Quietly Worse than from earth's map expelled I Teach we, then, those braggarts tall Theirs alone their own to call. And, pave in drink, To never think That England yet is all-in-all. MacColl's Poems. 191 TO MARY, SLEEPING IN AN ARBOUR. Thou I'eigning fair one, opo thiue eyes ! — She hears me not : My darling dear Seems dreaming more of Paradise Than of her lover's presence near ! Such sacred calm surrounds her bower, So rich the balm its blooms dispense, I marvel not my fairer flower Thus sleeps the sleep of innocence. Well may the zephyrs fanning her Be glad to pilfer from her breath ; I trow they find more fragrance there Than in all flowers that grace the heath. She dreams, raethinks ! Ah ! can it be The vision of some chaste embiace That causes that warm blush I see Quick-crimsoning her neck and face ? My beautiful, my darling one 1 How fondly round that neck I'd throw My arms, save that no mortal man Seems pure enough to touch its snow I Those lips of Phydian curve divine, That bosom toa, fair-heaving nigh, Once — only once— to press to mine, Methinks that I oould gladly die t 192 MacColl's Poems. Her guardian angel, hovering near. Could hardly blame me much, I trow, If, tempted by a chance so rare, I kissed at least her lily brew. Hush, hush, my heart, thy wild ado ! Herd, freedom such as that would be A sin 'gainst her and heaven too. So pure, so holy, seemeth she 1 '■•^v m I A DAY WITH THE MUSE. >- (The following eflfusion was written by way of apology to a friend who expected the author to devote his " next holiday " to the produc- tion of a poem wanted for a certain national celebration, then at hand — a task which he unluckily failed to accomplish. ) " There's no place like home ;" ; -^^ Quite true, I presume. If spoken regarding the Deaf and the Dumb. A bard, I opine, Should at least be both these, In a home such as mine To feel much at his ease , Though each one of the Nine Did her utmost to please. Just fancy a house with a dozen or so Of hearty young hopef Is, all trained a la Combe — A day to myself, and the muse all aglow Some web, long bespoken, to work off L-sr loom I MacColl's Poems. 193 The breakfast is taken, — As desk ward I draw, The young ones I beckon Away with " Mamma ;" On silence I reckon — My word being law. All right !— so I think,— Not the ghost of a sound ; The muse in a blink At my elbow is found, When — horror to hear 1 * Comes some ash-man's loud knock ; That man, it is clear, Thinks our door is a rook I Anon, shouts the baker, " Bread wanted to-day ?" •' The baby's awake here," • . Cries Fanny to May, While Betty — deuce take her ! . , Falls down with a tray. A cry of despair Is now heard up the stair — 'Tis Angle, who will not let Kate comb his hair, And strikes, in the struggle, his head 'gainst a chair 1 By and bye, comes the blessing Of silence once more ; My desk again facing, I muse as before. While Dan sits caressing The cat on the floor. 194 MacColl's Poems. Now Dan, if he may, Will have his own way. And puss is not overly partial to play : Her beard he would catch — She gives him a scratch. Quick-causing a roar only thunder could match ! The baby its lungs (Two miniature gongs) Now worketh with energy fine ; The school is let out. And now with a shout Our quota are on us to dine. Each tongue goes quick as an alarm bell ; Mamma herself confesses— sooth to tell — The din of Babel imitated well I mercy ! mercy ! how they ever go In one unceasing flow ! Not one there cares a jot Who listens, or does not, — And yet they seem in keen contention hot. Till I could almost wish a millstone in each throat ! In vain with sudden tramp Upon the floor I stamp ; In vain I hope for peace 'mid forks and knives, And hungry girls and boys Whose very heaven seems noise : — 1 own that man is mad who ever wives I 1 . + The dinner over, and the youngsters gone Once more to school — a riddance blest I anon, With zeal redoubled I proceed anew The thread of some fond fancy to pursue, MacColl's Poems. 195 When— hark you there ! I do declare That horrid kitchen-maid begins her scrubbing ! A damsel with red hair who brooks no snubbing. Flop— slop — Bucket and mop Splashing about till I swear she must stop. What now ? Bless our lives ! She's scouring the knives ; You'd think — such the discord— a saw-mill she drives f Now plies she the poker Till I feel like to choke her ; That woman would make a first-rate steamboat stoker ! Provoked to a passion, I swear by the saints To go for the fashion of living in tents, Or choose me a cave, in some solitude far. Where no such dread discords my musing may mar, And, donning my hat in a terrible ire, I bolt from the house as if all were on fire. Convinced that if ever 1 finish that stave It can only be after I find out the— cave. ni 196 MacColl's Poems. MY ROWAN TREE. Fair shelterer of my native cot — That Cot so very dear to me, — 0, hovir I envy thee thy lot, My long-lost Rowan Tree ! Thou standest on thy native soil, Proud-looking o'er a primrosed lea ; The skies of Scotland o'er thee smile. Thrice happy Rowan Tree ! Well do I mind that morning fair When, a mere boy, I planted thee : A Kingdom now were less my care Than then my Rowan Tree. How proudly did I fence thee rcund ! How fondly think the time might be I'd sit with love and honour crown'd Beneath my Rowan Tree 1 My children's children thee would climb. Inviting grandpapa to see ; I yet might weave some deathless rhyme Beneath my Rowan Tree 1 'Twas thus I dreamed : That happy day, I'd die to think my fate would be So soon to plod life's weary way Far from my Rowan Tree. MacColl's Poems. 197 Long years have passed since last I eyed Thy growing grace and symmetry : A stranger to me sits beside My well-loved Rowan Tree ; Yet still, in fancy, I can mark Thy lily-bloom and fragrancy, And birds that sing from dawn to dark. Perched on my Rowan Tree. Like rubies red on Beauty's breast Thy clustering berries yet I see Half-hiding some spring-warbler's nest Built in my Rowan Tree. Fair as tho maple green may tower, I'd gladly give a century Beside it for one happy hour Beneath my Rowan Tree. The forest many trees can boast More fit perhaps for keel or knee, But none for grace, in heat or ' st, Can match the Rowan Tree. How beautiful above them all Its snow-white summer drapery ! A cloud of crimson in the Fall Seems Scotland'^ Rowan Tree I 198 MacColl's Poems. Weii knows the boy. at Beltane time When near it in a vocal key, . What whistles perfectly sublime Supplies the Rowan Tree. Well knows he too whpt ills that wretch Might look for, who would carelessly Home in his load of firewood fetch Aught of the Rowan Tree. In vain might midnight hags colleague To witch poor Crambie's milk, if she Had 01^ xy o'er her crib a twig Cut from the Rowan Tree ! Alas, that in my dreams alone I ever now can hope to see My boyhood's home, and thee, my own, My matchless Rowan Tree ! 'i, •■ , ,:i»Ji;-. ERIN MACHREE.* ; (Written for, and read at the Kingston St, i:*i»trick's T y celebrati'>n of 1868.) When darkness barbaric plunged Europe in night. One spot still remained where Truth's daystar shone bright ; Twas a land whose ELere name is like music tc me — That fair Ocean-Eden, old Erin maohree ! ♦Erin of my heart. The term "nmchree" is here used in deference to a popular though erroneous orthography. It is more properly spelt " mo-chri," or " mo-chridJue." MacColl's Poems. 199 LTrnd of minstrels the sweetest on earth to be found — 1 Land for eloquent speech and rare wit most renowned ! Pat may spoi.^ for a fight now and then, all agree, Still the kindest of hearts beat in Erin mac^ree. Talk of Venus just sprung from the ocean-foam light ! Old Erin has thousands of charmers as bright 'Mong the white-bosom'd maids, all so modest, yet frep, Who bloom thick as flowers in old Erin machree ! Would you wish for fair scenes, there's a choice of them there ; Would sweet songs please you best, she has plenty to spare ; — Would you like to make love to some smiling Banshee, You should just make your home in old Erin machree I /.;j»v, Would you find the true Leth^ of every ill, You should taste her poteen just fresh down from the hill ; Would you charm away grief or get dizzy with glee, All you want is the music ol Erin machree. )rati'>n Bad luck to the bards in whose verse she appears A. Niobe-nation, for ever in tears : Though caught in a " caoint^ "* she sometimes may be. There's still heart and hope in old Erin machree. m right ; ice to a lo-chri," guard her, kind Heaven, and make he** once more The envied of nations — the Erin of yore ! That day so long looked for, methinks I can see At last fairly dawning o'er Erin machree. ♦A sorrowful wail — lamenting. 200 MacColl's Poems. A ST. ANDREW'S NIGHT IN CANADA. (A free-and-easy sketch addressed to a distant friend.) Never yet in '* houff" or hall, sir, Was there such a carnival, sir. As we " Kingston Scots " had all, sir. At our late St. Andrew's. *■ Verily, we feasted rarely, '"■ Merrily we preed the barley ; Good Glenlivet had no parley From us on St. Andrew's I ' The Piob-mhor, so justly vaunted, Each and all of us enchanted ; •• Mac " seemed by Macrimmon haunted, Piping on St. Andrew's. v Macintosh, with jibe and joke there. Saints to laughter would provoke there ; Whitehead ably played the " gowk " there For us on St. Andrew's. Shaw was great in whoop and yell, sir, Gunn in grinning did excel, sir ; Kinghoi-n's horse-laughs bore the bell there, Keeping up St. Andrew's. Judge MacKenzie, as he cast there A proud glance at Scotland's past, sir, All her foes, in fancy thrashed, sir, Bravely, on St. Andrew's. MacColl's Poems. 201 Th6 MacEwen clan was there, sir, Emblem'd by a spirit rare, sir, Charming every heart and ear there, Singing on St. Andrew's. Tailor John, MacKay, and Keeley Cut and cabbaged pretty freely ; In them each enough for three lay, • Keeping up St. Andrew's. V/ith the haggis fairly stuffed tnere, Losh, how Ramage groaned and puffed there ! The mere flavour o*t set Duff there Dancmg on St. Andrew's ! Little wonder though old Dixcn, Lured by Drummond's hot-scotch mixing, Took of it enough for six in, Gladly, on St. 'Andrew's. 'Twas no feast of scones and scuddan Made McDonald to unbutton ; Dan on sheep's-head plays the glutton Aye at a St. Andrew's. Far too narrow for his orbit Was the door to Sheriff Corbett With the good things he absorbed With us on St. Andrew's. 202 MacColl*s Poems. When the bree had thawed Carruthers, Who but he above all others Claiming all mankind for brothers, Blythely, on St. Andrew's I Not one Saxon guest attended - But spake Erse ere all was ended ; Pat, of course, is " Scotch-descended " Always on St. Andrew's ! The finals — fitting close there — Was a dance of Macs and O's there, ■ Ending with three grand hurros there For our next St. Andrew's ! IN MEMORIAM OF DR. H- S. LAYCOCK, OF WOODSTOCK, ONTARIO. My Laycook's star already set ! Laycock the gifted and the good I In thought, I seem to see thee yet Where last we met, by Mersey's flood. Our feet were then on England's soil, — Thou, from thy kindred far away, Donning thine armour for the toil And tug of life's stern battle-day. MacColl's Poems. 203 With gifts that well might make thee brave All obstacles to fair renown, Alas, that thy untimely grave Should cheat thee of the laurel crown ! Alas, that on thy path to save * Others, thine own dear life was lost I How must thy friends across the wave Mourn, when the tale shall reach their coast I MacLennan, Greatrex, Strype, MacBride,*^ And Bailey too — that gifted one Whose ardent spirit, eagle-eyed. Has often soared where thou hast gone. K, OF If grief could aught avail, there's room Abundant to indulge it here ; Could but their prayers avert his doom. The suffering still were Lay cock's care. How vain this stage of life ! Its hopes How evanescent I All seems gay. When, announced, the curtain drops. And man, the actor, turns to clay. Peace to the dead I However keen Our sorrow for the early lost, There's less for grief than glory in A soldier dying at his post. ♦ Members of the Liverpool Atbenic Club- a literary society of which Dr. Laycock and James Phillip Bailey, the author of FeaPia, were at one time the leading spirits. Lay cock's death wa3 the result oi an acoidei::^<. 204 MacColl's Poems. A TIME THAT YET SHALL BE. (Written on reading a report of the proceedings of the Peace Congress, sitting in Berlin, in 1877. 4 Oh, who would not unite in a loud chorus Of praise to those brave spirits of our race Who o'er this blood- drenched earth would hasten for us Tbe hallowed reign of universal peace ! « Blest be they for the promise they are bringing Of angry nations sheathing up their swords — Wisely resolved, for discords 'mong them springing. To make their battle-fields be Council Boards : Fair prelude to that time when, wholly ceasing From War's dread work, men shall see, satisfied, Nature's rude forces all employed in blessing, Power protecting where it once destroyed. Oh for a fuller, joyful realizing Of earth's march onward to that happy goal When her Immanuel King shall see, rejoicing, The full fruit of the travail of his soul, — That time millenial when all earth shall own him Her Sovereign Lord supreme, the Prince of Peace, — The sons of those who once with thorns did crown him The first to share the richness of His grace ! MacColl's Poems, 205 Not as the monarch vainly wished by Judah, But as the Victor over Death and Sin Shall Zion hail, 'mid many a hallelujah, The Lord of Life once more her gates within. Well may the joy be great on Mount Moriah ; Well may, in him, at last poor Israel see Not hers alone but the whole world's Messiah, And gladly own the Lord her God is He. > Time that shall change all rancour and division To holy concord and assurance blest, — Time that shall give our earth, 'mid peace elysian, From sin and sorrow a long Sabbath rest I Time of the light and glory all-illuming I Era of bliss unmatched since Eden's day I No wonder that the hope of thy sure coming Finds joyful u^erance in the Poet's lay. Well might the seer of old, the future glassing, Be lost in rapture thy approach to see ; If then to him it was a joy surpassing, What to our surer vision should it be 5 T 206 MacColl's Poems. ft THE MODERN MOLOCH. There's a foe withiu our borders, One of most malignant might, — One who, fiend-like, loves the darkness, Though oft smiting in the light. Crowds of every rank and station, Year by year, become his prey ; ? What of that ? He pays state tribute ; Wise men license him to slay I Here, 'tis some once wise bread-winner Helpless struggles in his hold ; There, to graves untimely hastes he Men who senates once controlled ; Ofien from tho very altar Draggeth he a victim down : Would you learn to scorn and hate him, Only think such fate your own I If poor Bruin in some corn-field Worketh e'er so slight a skaith. How we make quick war upon him I How we hunt him to the death I Not a wolf within our forests But a price has on his head ; Meanwhile, 'mid our streets, unchallenged, . Strikes his prey this demon dread. Well ye know, ye guilty nations, Alcohol, the fiend I sing, Works ye more of ill than ever Famine, war, or pest could bring. MacColl's Poems. 207 These can only kill the body, This corrupts and kills the soul ; Wise indeed are they who never Touch or taste the " social bowl." Talk of Juggernaut or Molocli ! v Small would seem the whole amc ant Of their victims, man}-iiiillioned. Matched with Alcohol's account. ' Well may Heaven indignant look on, Well may good men mourn to see Such a hell-delighting record — Sue', law-sanctioned misery. Think not, ye whose better vision Helpeth you the pit to shun Which your brother, less observant. Falls into, and is undone — Think not that a passing pity Is the sole account ye owe ; Only such as try to save him Guiltless of his ^1 can go. k Honour be to all whose chosen Best-loved drink is •' Adam's wine ; Quickly may their good example Thin the crowd at Bacchus' shrine, Leading them to break the fetters Of a worse than Circean thrall, — Earning thus all good men's praises. And God's favour, best of all. I' !^ ii K I'.r' IS' 208 MacColl's Poems. FROM THE SUBLIME TO THE RIDICULOUS. (Lines suggested by a glance at the visitors' Album, kept at the • Museum, Niagara Falls.) Give up, ye would-be bards, your rhymes to tag here so, In vain you rack your brains to paint Niagara ; A theme which even Milton's muse might beggar, you Had better let alone when at Niagara. To all who can stand boasting fit to stagger me, I'd recommend a visit to Niagara. Hear yon sleek slaver — not a bit in waggery— Toasting the •• Flag of Freedom " at Niagara !* ♦• You Canucks," quoth he, ** need the starry flag o'er you To make you worth your salt benorth Niagara ! You can't too quickly have that British rag o'er you To disappear entirely from Niagara I He calculates some day to blast a crag or two And drain Lake Erie all up from Niagara. He speculates, just as myself I drag away, . How ^Etna's throat would like to gulp Niagara. Oh, cousins, cousins 1 what a set for brag are you ! When will you learn mere froth is not Niagara ? , But I must cease, lest they should lynch or dagger me ; s Already they have fleeced me at Niagara. * The above lines were penned previous to the abolition of slavery in the United States of America. MacColl's Poems. 209 US. ,t the you WILLIAM LYON MACKENZIE AND HIS TRADUCERS. (Written on hia retirement from public life, in 1858.) Asses, avaunt 1 be careful how you kick I The lion ye deem dead is only sick, — Sick to the heart to see how all in vain Is freedom won for slaves who hug thoir chain ; Sick at beholding knaves to honour mount, The test of taleni a well-cooked account, Votes in the House, like apples, bought and sold, Chiseling and quirks as statesmanship extolled, A Punch-and-Judy Cabinet in power, A French man-monkey hero of the hour. While, over all, a Head — ill-omened name — Smiles blandly on, and shields them in their shame I 'Tis true, ye dastards, that, to earn your hire, Ye must abuse, — abuse then till ye tire ; The head at which in vain your filth is cast Will honoured be when ye have flung your last, Finding, as fitting for such scribbling knaves. Your last, best recompense in nameless graves. ne ; ,very in t^® Alas for public virtue in a land That brooks the curse of such a helot band ! The loathsomest of Egypt's plagues, I trow, Were far less fatal to our weal than you, — Creatures whose praise is censure— hate, no less The highest compliment to uprightness. _^_ BW J I 2IO MacColl*s Poems. for the time when, weary of their thrall, The people shall deal justice to you all, And with befitting tar-and-feathers deck Each well-whipped scoundrel up from heel to neck I A retribution righteously due, — Hanging's too good for wretches such as you 1 A GIRL I KNOW. *• Love's a fire that iieedg renewal • Of fresh beauty for its fuel."— Campbell. Were the vain bard who thus could write, but once Blest with the smile of one dear girl 1 know, The joy exceeding born of her love-glance He surely would not for a world forego. In vain would any mortal try to see, Unmoved, the wondrous beauty of her face, "Which, as her humour for the time may be, Is grave or gay, yet ever full of grace. ■i ■' '" ■ . " '.--'-■'.' - . \ . ' Oh, but to bask forever in the light % Of her sweet, sunny smile, now lost to me Save only when in visions of the night My soul with hers holds fond communion free I t ■ ■■.;■ MacColl's Poems. 211 GLORY TO THE BRAVE. (Written on the declaration of war against Russia, in 1854 ) Hark ye how the Czar threatens Europe's peace, MarshalHng his millions for the fray ! Britons I up and on at the despot base, Dashing in between him and his prey. Up I 'tis Freedom's cause ; • ' Up! nor ever pause Till some ditch Crimean be his grave. Who, that day to se*^, • > Would not shout with glee, Glory, glory, glory to the brave I On the Euxine's wave on the Baltic tide Soon shall our proud banners be unfurled ; Britain and the Gaul, heart and hand alhed,' Well may dare to battle half a world I On then, stern as fate— Striking ere too iate Europe you from Cossack rule would save ; . . Onward in your might, — God defend the right ! ' •, , Glory, glory, glory to the brave I Waken, Poland, wako from thy dream of death I Think of all thy wrongs yet unavenged ; Huilgary, arise I proving in thy wrath The old hate of tyranny unchanged : 212 MacColl's Poems. By thy sword of flame, Schamyl 1 son of fame, ' Swear that now or never thou shalt have Thy Circassia free, — Her best hope is thee : Glory, glory, glory to the brave ! Glory to the brave ! soon may they return Crown'd with wreaths of never-dying fame, Leaving Bussia's lord, now so crousely stern, Cover'd with discomfiture and shame. Potent though he be, Europe shall him see Mercy on his knee from you crave. Such be quick the fall Of earth'p despots all : Glory, glory, gloiy to th* brave ! SCOTTISH CHURCH MUSIC. (A remonstrance addressed to a certain church choir-leader of the Old School.) Air — ** Alister MacAlister." How canst thou, John, with conscience clear. Join sacred song to tones so drear ? Have pity on us, and forbear This owlet ha^monie 1 A choir of ghosts would less appal • ; Than those dread sounds you *' singing " call : One would need ears as deaf's a wall To stand such melodie I MacColl's Poems. 213 0, weary sir I 0, weary sir ! 'Twould tire a saint to hear thee, sir ; Job's patience, were he near thee, sir, "Would quick exhausted be. There's something lively in the chant Of tom-cats on some spree gallant ; The bull-frog, though his notes be scant, Ne'er strikes a drawling key ; But you, whate'er the Psalmist's tone Of thought may be, go m-o-a-n-i-n-g on, Till some poor Crumbie's dying groan Your model seems to be ! 0, weary sir ! weary sir I If David could but hear thee, sir, He well might wish some thistle-burr A down thy throat to see. Now some old wife's asthmatic croon Seems the sole spirit of the tune ; Now some long ba-a, much like a drone, Breaks from thy choir and thee ; .And now the climax grand you reach, — A something 'tween a scream and screech,- Your Bole ambition seeming which . The most can torture me. 0, weary sir I 0, weary sir ! .^^-^i "3J7: ; 0, dismal, dismal, dreary sir ! A whip-saw rasped, or yelping cur, I'd sooner stand than thee. ■ra 'ffT 214 MacColl's Poems. The " kist o' whistles " may be bad, *" Yet, Where's the mortal man not mad, Who once heard you, would not, rigtit glad, Give it a welcome free ? Oh I any, anything at all ' To drown this Kirk-nursed caterwaul : How Scotland can it " sacred " call None but herself can see. r * 0, weary sir I 0, weary sir 1 7^:; ; Small wonder that, anear thee, sir, I sometimes wish thyself and choir Down where the mei maids be I t THE WORK BEFORE US. A NEW year's day REVERIE. Year just born, while bells rejoicing Ring thy advent, 1 would be In thy youthful ear fond-voicing ■ What 1 most desire of thee. ■■/■,..: n May'st thou witness triumphs mighty In Truth's holy battle-field- Shafts unerring going right through Hoary Error's triple shield I ^- Ivi- May he prosper who, sans swither. Helps his brother man in need, — Helping without asking whether This or that may be his creed. MacColl's Poems. 2i; Shame o'ertake the wretch whose only Care is to increase his pelf ! The mean money-grub unmanly, May it all end with himself 1 Down with every form of folly I Earth with hollow shows is cursed, At her age, 'tis melancholy To see shams so fondly nur.sud. Knaves are everywhere abounding : With enough of '« brass " at call, Mountebanks go empire-founding Where their betters seek the wall. Lo I where L*-,w looks on, scarce heeding . How sleek Traffic's wires are pulled,— Here, the few to fortune speeding ; There, the millions robbed and fooled I Half the wealth kings waste, so mad, on War's proud panoply alone, Year by year, would feast and gladden All the poor beneath the sun. Time 'tis men were reahzing They are brothers, one and all. And each other's welfare prizing. Ban all knaves that would them thrall. To improve the world we live in, Folded arms will never do ; 2l6 MacColl's Poems. He who hopeth all from Heaven Wrongs himself and Heaven too. Ho, for praymg less than toiling For the good time long delayed ! Never faileth Heaven to smile on All who thus its advent aid. 1 1 t A MISSING MINSTREL. (His friends, in consultation with a Wizard, thus address the ghostly Presence.) Know you aught of Erin's Bard ?* Igo and ago. Is he in this life still spared ? Iram, coram, dago. » Has he gone in a balloon, Igo and ago, O'er the seas or to the moon ? Iram, coram, dago. f Is he, above or under ground, Igo and ago, ^ In some foul enchantment bound ? v Iram, coram, dago. t Taken t^ a Gipsy life ? ^ -':■'' Igo and ago : ^^7:.;:;; a-;' r- ''\Z, --l'- Ta'en a broomstick ride to Fife ? i-.;-'i^>:M' lA Iram, coram, dago. ♦ N't Tom Mooro ; but the well-known Scoto-Canadian bard, Alexander Mac- Lacblan, from whom the above bagatelle in the Scottisli-American Journal soon brought the author a reply to a long unanswered letter. MacLachlan at the time in question lived in the township of Erin, Ontario. MacColl's Poems. 217 Iress the lexander Moc- rican Journal [acLacblan at Is he 'mong New Yorkers ''guessing'' ? Igo and ago, Or fair Bostonian maids caressing ? Iram, coram, dago, 'Neatb Canadian snow-wreaths smothered ? Igo and ago, Or in Kentucky tarred and feathered ? Iram, coram, dago. Was he shot at Harper's Ferry ? Igo and ago. Crossed he Styx in CKaron's wherry ? Iram, coram, dago. Stands he now beyond Death's portal, Iv : Igo and ago, Fitly crowned a bard immortal ? Iram, coram, dago. Was he murdered for his gear ? Igo and ago, A poor-paying job that were ! Iram, coram, dago. Was he drowned in Morton's bree? Igo and ago — A more lively case, say we ! Iram, coram, dago. Wizard I haste, resolve all doubt, Igo and ago : Let us have the truth right out. Iram, coram, dago. Ghostly shade or man alive, Igo and ago. We fain would hear how Mac does thrive. Iram, coram, dago. January, I860. illl" BHM 2l8 MacColl's Poems. JOHN BULL ON HIS TRAVELS. John Bull goes on a tour through France ; — Its people dance And laugh and sing — all happy, rich and poor : ; ; "What brainless fools these French are, to be sure ! He never saw such goings on ; — He'll write the Times each in and out o't : That land is blest — that land alone Where Saxons rule, that's all about it 1 " Now goes he grumbling up the Bhine, Self-superfine, — Finds Khenish wines but sorry stuff, And the calm German '• such a muflf 1 " A boor not fit to come between The wind and his nobility ! The Teuton thinks the man insane, /^ And leaves him to his humours free ! Anon, he roams through Switzerland : Its mountains grand, ' • ..; If grand to him,, is pretty mu'jh a question Dependent on the state of his digestion. He finds the Swiss sans any lord Or duke or marquis — men who must , ?*;?;' Be rulers born : the thing's absurd ! He quits the country in disgust. The Isles of Greece now wandering through, :_ Scenes fair to view M lit ' MacColl's Poems. 219 Are fa'.r or foul to him, just as the sinner Findeth the chances of roast heef for dinner ! He owns indeed the Greeks one day 'Mong nations held the foremost place ; Yet all that granted, what were they Matched with the Anglo-Saxon race ! ^ At last arrived in Italy — What does he see ? Half-naked heggars swarming everywhere, — A contrast vile, of course, to England fair 1 Such sigiits our traveller sets a loathing, — He sighs for England once again, "Where, though men starve, 'tis counted nothing, If only they but starve unseen. TO A FAIR FAVOURITE FRIEND ON HER MODESTLY POUBTINO HEU RIGHT TO BE THOUGHT BEAUTIFUL. It may be bards, like love, are blind To faults which others quickly find. But thou — the flow'r of womankind — Why this mistrust ? Thy doubts prove more a modest mind Than judgment just. , m Thou speak'st of maidens many a one Pair as thyself to look upon : If such there be, 'tis strange that none I ever see — Blinded perhaps by looking on —--- My sun in thee ! /; , ; 220 MacColl's Poems. .«►* Well may he bless his stars whose fate It is to be thy wedded mate, When thy mere friendship is so sweet To hearts like mine, That my whole being, when we meet, Seems lost in thine. Were mine the bliss to meet thee when My years were only three times ten, How more than that of any queen Thy love I'd prize I How would I count thy hand to win The joy of joys 1 Fate willed not this — ^yet be thou sure That, ever till my life's last hour, Thou in my bosom's inmost core Shalt live enshrined, My beau ideal evermore ^ »;:. Of womankind. iii i THE WALLACE MONUMENT ; ;■■> versus ;.^;;-v "OLD HUMPHREY." S (The following verses were written by way of a rejoinder to a letter which appeared, anonymously, in a Kingston paper during the time that subscriptions were being taken up in Canada towaixls the erection of a monument to William Wallace — that now adorning the Abbey Craig, near Stirling.) What a Solon hath the News Got in Master Humphrey ! Of good counsel so profuse Is old Master Humphrey I MacColl's Poems. 221 ..^A Liberal of nought beside — Wherefore should old Humphrey chide Men of sympathies more wide ? Fie, fie on thee, old Humphrey ! Little reck we how John Bull Likes our purpose, Humphrey : ' John's wishes ne'er were Scotia's rule To go by, Master Humphrey. Poor Pat, accustomed to his yoke. May well indulgfl a jealous joke. But thou, a Scotchman, thus to croak Seems downright baseness, Humphrey ! A Scot, indeed ! Alas the day That Scotland, Master Humphrey, Can boast no sons of nobler clay Than chine, good Master Humphrey I He's no true Scot who does not own He's rich in Wallace's renown. Though parting with his last half-crown To prove it, Master Humphrey. ? to a letter the time le erection ;he Abbey A Cairn to Wallace — what a crime ^' To think of, Master Humphrey f A thing, forsooth, so " out of time I " A " slight to England," Humphrey ! As if a wholesome hate of wrong -^'^- Can ever be indulged too long. Or Scotchmen care a cricket's song For Cockney humours, Humphrey I ill 222 MacColl's Poems. '^ To deeds heroic, Humphrey ! 1859. • MacColl's Poems. 523 LET US DO THE BEST WE CAN. Not in riches, rank, or power Is true greatness to be found, — Mere possessions of an hour, ^ By the sordid often owned. Better far than noble blood Is the deed Samaritan : If we can't do all we would, Let us do the best we can. Mark yon worldling, lost in self, Dead to every social glow ; Would'bt thou, to own all his pelf, All life's purer joys forego ? Truest wealth is doing good — Doctrine strange to him, poor man If we can't do all we would. Let us do the best we can. Did we all with one accord Labour for the common good. Nature at her ample board Would see no one lacking food. Let us then, in loving mood. Make the most of life's short span : If we can't do all we would, Let us do the best we can. -■•I hi ■I il sii Mi I 224 MacColl's Poems. TO JOHN F. CAMPBELL, YOUNGER, OF ISLAY, ON THE PUBLICATION OF HIS "POPULAR TALES OF THE WEST HIGHLANDS.' Thou whose delight it is to stray The bowers of Fairyland among- Benewing o'er our hearts the sway Of Fairy tale and song, — This book of thine will long endear Thy nam*^ to all who love the land Where thou hast gleaned, with zeal so rare. Those legends quaintly grand. As shells that on some lonely strand The sea castB careless, may confine Pearls which, when touched by skilful hand. With peerless lustre shine. So these stray waifs of ancient lore Turn, touched by thee, to treasures rare, Bich gems oi v/hich for evermore The wori Perchance an I. 0. U., sir, What time comes lunch, at drinking punch We pass a pleasant hour, sir, Then yawn away, as best we may, The time till it is four, sir. Scarce work, &c. Sometimes indeed, by way of change, Our nails we pick or pare, sir, Or through the lobbies chatting range, Or lark from stair to stair, sir ; Or slyly pin to some one's skirt Some dusting cloth or stamp, sir. Or watch for duns, who oft athwart Our pleasures cabt a damper. Scarce work, &c. 1 ti ill 111 i! livil Service 1 to the pre- Good luck be to the bees that hive Our honey in such siore, sir ! Long may they in their labours thrive, And help to bring us more, sir 1 A health to all who do tl^eir best In such snug berths to moor us ; To thin us here would be, I fear, ' To overcrowd the poor-house ! Scarce work, &c. rsm 230 MacColl*s Foems. MACAULAY vm«s SCOTLAND. ["Such travesties of history cannot long suvvive the age in which they were written. No literary excellence ; no airs of philosophic im- partiality ; no lofty pref^nsions to more than ordinary research, and much more than ordinary sagacity ; no silver-toned press or golden exchequer, can long save them fiom the fate that awaits the ill-omened productions of learning without principle, of eloquence leaning on fables, and of talent in league with error. * « « " We have heard, though we cannot vouch for the truth of the story, that ■ 'rnas Carlyle, when exhorting a friend to amuse himself, after hard scv ^'ith light reading, and being asked what books he would recommeiiv "eplied, " Why, Thackeray's last novel, or Macaulay's last volume, or any other of the best works of fiction." — From a review oj Macaulay^s History of England, hy Hugh Miller." Macaulay ! Macaalay ! They surely miscall thee To Scotland thy lineage who trace ; Thou a Scotchman ! Good lack I Scot alone in the ".Mac " One would think far more likely thy case. The " Arabian Nights," So renowned for its flights, We once deemed the sublime of romance ; But the gift to outshine Its inventions is thine, As thy " History " proves at a glance. A History, forsooth ! . ' ' What an outrage on truth __._ Thus to title a tissue of lies ! li! MacColl's Poems. 231 That we read it, 'tis true, Though 'tis only to view Of thy figments the shape and the size. * * * * * Foul defamer of men Whose stout limbs did disdain To bow down at Proud Prelacy's nod — Ages after thy name Is forgot, their fair fame Shall be dear to their country and God. The apologist now Of a massacre ! thou Might defy Nick himself to fib harder When, with sophistry vile, Thy pet prince to assoil, Thou contrivest to justify murder. * 1 An •M Oh, falsest of tongues I Oh, foulest of wrongs I Oh, prince that could sanction such deed ! " Out, out, damned spot !" Though I fear thou wilt not, Spite of all this smart sophist can plead. I 4 1 '- 'i Mac ! Mac 1 do give o'er This wild work ! Let's once more List Uie tones of thy classical lyre ; Stick, sir, stick to thy *' Lays ; " There alone we can praise — There alone thy inventions admire. aaoBSim 232 MacColl's Poems. GARIBALDI THE BRAVE. (Written during the war of freedom in Italy.) Of all heroes known to fame There is no one men can name Who, Caprera's chief, can claim Rank before thee. Ever battling for the right, Ever victor in each fight, Fillest thou the world's glad sight With thy glory. 0, who would not join that band Who, on fair Italia's strand. To a royal hunting grand Hasten on with gun and glaive ! 0, who would not pant to be In the vanguard of the free, To the fight led on by thee, Garibaldi the brave ! I See him in the battle's van His stern veterans leading on — His own spirit burning keen In each bosom ! Swift as lightning cleaves the air On he dashes — Bruce-like, there Dealing death to all who dare To oppose him ! In the battle's wildest roar Making havoc evermore. Like Achilles famed of yore, A charmed life he seems to have 1 MacColl's Poems. 233 Wlie; > his falchion flashes bright, Never doubtful is the fight : God defend thee and the Bight, Garibaldi the brave 1 Ever honoured may they be Who from lands already free Haste to do or die where he Moves victorious. Vain may Austria brow-beat, Vain may Pius execrate • See where Tuscany's crowned cheat Flies, inglorious ! See where Parma's prince abhorred Cowerd beneath fair Freedom's sword I Lo, where Naples' heartl^^s lord On his knees doth mercy crave I Such a blood-stained king and crown In the dust to trample dow^n Well may climax thy renown, Garibaldi the brave ! -■; ii! Matched with thy career, I ween CfiBsar's triumphs were but mean ; In thy life no trace is seen Of Ambition. '* Noblest Eoman of them all " — To lead lands 'neath despot thrall Forth to freedom's festival Is thy mission. .. i , 234 MacColl's Poems. On, then, on ! and never spare Till, triumphant, in the air Stout Immauuel's ensign dear O'er the Quirinal shall wave. May that happy day soon be When all Italy, made free, Shall triumphal wreaths decree Garibaldi the brave I CURLING versus SHINTY. ( Verses suggested by a visit to the Strathadder Curling Rink. Some get crazed through drinking, Some through grief or fear ; They're bom fools, I'm thinking, "Who come curling here. Chorus. — Hey for famed Strathadder And its curlers free ! Long may they have weather 20 below Z ! At some shot by Drummond, Laughing, all admit ' Were the •' Tee " Ben Lomond Tom might make a hit 1 * Now 'tis Craig that's likened To a frozen snail ; Now 'tis Todd that's reckoned Hardly worth his " Kail." , - U; At the broom Bob Struthers - ---^ - — - . _^ Beateth all the squad ; ; : ; ■ MacColl's Poems. 235 Practice at his mother's Bob must oft have had ! Though but sorry sport there Kirk makes at the stone, On all fours— his forte there- He makes food for fun. To see Kerr practising Motion on his stern, Shows how, sometimes, wise men Laughing-stocks may turn. Sweep away, MacMartin I "Wherefore shouldst thou mind That half-yard of shirting Swinging out behind I Just to hear their noUos, See them slide and sprawl, One would think these fellows Fit for Bedlam all. Home themselves now dragging, None without some maim, Hark them still a-bragging Of ♦♦ the roaring game I " Game supreme ! The ninnies I— All the boys know well 'Tis but playing ♦' stonies " :^- :- - On a larger scale. ^ III 'H " i I 236 MacColl's Poems. Ho for shinties flashing ; On some chosen lea ! Of all games surpassing That's the game for me. CHRISTMAS TIME. ■ Of all glad sounds we mortals hero May listen to with grateful ear, The sweetest surely is the chime That ushers in the Christmas-time. It minds me of far Beth'lem's plain, — I seem to see that angel train Who chanted there the song sublime That told of Earth's first Christmas-time, •* Glory to God in highest Heaven I Peace and good -will to man is given " — Yon choir from a celestial clime Seem chanting still at Christmas-time. To think of all that marked the morn On which the Prince of Peace was born, A mood unthankful were a crime : Let's all bless God for Christmas- time 1 0, for that day when praise supreme Shall from all hearts flow forth to Him Who yet shall to her Eden prime Eestore our Earth some Christmas-time I ;-'';v,;'lK /\'*:"'-;4^- MacColl's Poems. 237 REMEMBER THE POOR. A WINTER-TIME APPEAL. Remember the Poor, — 'tis a duty most holy ; The terrors of winter are on them once more ; The cold winds abroad teach, with moan melancholy. That now is the time to remember the Poor. Remember the Poor, — not with needless deriding ; Enough, without this, are the griefs they endure : No good ever comes of too niggardly guiding ; The best way to wealth is rememb'ring the Poor. Remember the Poor,— all experience teaches "Who does so is always most blessed in his store. There's none half so wretched as he who has riches Yet misses the joy of rememb'ring the Poor. Remember the Poor, — nor delay till to-morrow The hallowed delight which to-day may procure ; 'Tis godlike to lessen life's great sum of sorrow : All good men rejoice in rememb'ring the Poor, Remember the Poor,— there's no rank or condition So high but misfortune upon it may low'r ; What theirs is to-day may be yet our position : He wrongs himself most who forgetteth the Poor. Remember the Poor, —the great Lord of Creation To him who gives freely will tenfold restore ; True charity is of no creed, race or station : God bless him and his who remembers the Poor I ' 11: .5 ■; MacColl's Poems. A GOOD-BYE. Though a wide sea, loved one, Soon shall me sever From thee and A.ray's glen, Haply forever, — Yet, wheresoe'er I go, Whether in weal or woe, Change shall I never know, , Never, Oh never 1 Light were life's hardest toils Wert tliou but near me ; Vain all, without thy smiles, Fortune can spare me, — Vain were a kingly crown, Vain a world-wide renown ; Till thou art all ray own Nothing can cheer me. TO A FAIR FRIEND IN A FOREIGN LAND. (Written in response to a Yule-time greeting received from her after a silence of many years. ) Of all good Yule-time glee, Mine ever most depends On the kind wishes wafted me From far-off, long-loved friends. ^' / .fT;' : Think, then, with what a joy I read thy greeting rare, — A joy caused loss by what my eye Than what my heart found there. MacColl's Poems. 239 Once more I seem to bo Watching thy tell-tale sigli ; Once more I mark with ecstasy The iove-light iu thine eye,— Thy wealth of golden hair, And 0, thy witching face ! — To me time makes no change whato'er In their exceeding grace. I own it net o'erwise To speak this way,— but then I ne'er forget the gulf tl^at lies Myself and theo between, — A gulf not yet o'erwide To make it sinful be To thus recall, with loving pride. All thou wert once to me ! TO THE SAME FRIEND ON A SIMILAR OCCASION. A GREETING waftcd o'cr the sea I always value dearly, Though only when 'tis one from thee The joy upsets me fairly. " " The long ago revives again, — I cannot help but feel That, spite of fate, not all in vain I loved thee -love thee still I 1' .,i - I''' ' t ' li 240 MacColl's Poems. Again I seem to hear that voice "Which once could so enthral me ; Again a thousand graces choice To love and rapture call me. Thus, basking in thy maiden charms, To crown my sum of blisses Fond fancy paints thee in my arms, Half- smothered by my kisses ! But I forget myself, I fear. Thus of past memories chiming ; So, lest my muse should further err, I now must end my rhyming. THE WELLINGTON ST. PEACOCK. A MIDNIGHT SOLILOQUY. If there's a torture one may deem Transcending Dante's wildest dream. It is to hear the horrid scream Of my next neighbour's Pe ,cock. I often wish that *' goblin damned " With poiso? to the throat was crammed. Or in some fox's jaws well jammed : The d 1 takG that Peacock I Sure they who own this midnight grief Must be most hopelessly stone-deaf, Else, to their neighbour's ^freat relief, They'd quickly cook that Poacook, MacColl's Poems. 241 Talk uot to me of shrieking ghoul, Or howling wolf or hooting owl ; Such noise were music to my soul Matched with this fiendish Peacock. Hark I there he comes I In vain I try To shut my ears that villain nigh ; As for the shutting of an eye None thinks of near that Peacock. From roof to roof, close o'er one's nose " Making night hideous " he goes ; Enough to break the dead's repose Were that unhallowed Peacock I Vain torturer ! he minds me well Of many a would-be-vocal swell Who thinks himself a nightingale When only but a Peacock. At dawning's hour 'tis no rare case To see the " Chief" and Mac a space Out in their night-gowns, in full chase. And swearing at that Peacock. For all the wealth of all the Jews I would not stand in that man's shoes O'er whose head hangs each curse they use, Stone-pelting that dread Peacock. 242 MacColl's Poems. for one hour where Maxwell* rare Doth law's dread thunderbolts prepare, And Jove-like hurls !— then quick nowhere Would be that wretched Peacock I May 6th, 1873. THE TANDYS. (The following poetical tribute to the Canadian vocalists popularly known as "The Tandy Brothers " was written for and read at a concert at which they were the leading singers. ) Earth's purest pleasure and, I trow, that of the worlds be- yond us Is music in its sweetest flow — such music as the Tandys'. To some, a joy— I know not why — the Babel of a band is, But give to me the ecstacy of listening to the Tandys. I love right well the Pipe's grand swell, as each true-hearted man does, Yet must I own, though ** Mac " may frown, 'tis nothing to the Tandys. What would our brightest concerts seem without the aid they l«nd us ? The play of Hamlet, wanting him, would be to miss the Tandvs. All will agree that Kennedy at Scotch songs extra grand is» But, for a feast of all things best, give me the matchless Tandys ! 'MaxweU Strange- the then City Magistrate of Kingston. MacColl's Poems. 243 With strains now like Apollo's lute, now sweet as when the swan dies, Our hearts, at will, they melt or thrill — such wizards are the Tandys ! Now, such the air, you'd think a-near Calypso's siren strand was, — Now, clear as bells, each proud note tells you're listening to the Tandys. * So much of heart, as well as art, is in each note they send as, One seems to hear the birds of Spriug whenever sing the xctndys ! Small wonder that on "Nichts" like this they in Elysium land us ; No thought uublest finds any rest in presence of the Tandys. To cure the taste for things of paste and paint, with names outlandish, The surest plan for maid or man is once to hear the Tandys. To feel due scorn for Nigger mpes, smut jokes, and strum- ming banjos, One needs but hear with half an eu^ such singers as the Tandys. From all such trash, ill worth our cash, may hea on in mercy fend us, And, when we would feel blest and good, give us ^,0 lioar the Tandys ! The ever, ever charming, clever, all-delighting Taudys ! Like ocean's roar be each encore this night we give the Tandys ! 244 MacColl's Poems. fi;f 1 CAPTAIN CREIGHTON. Let stout Cliabot be Gallia's boast ; Let Yankees their Paul Jones delight in ; A nobler name be mine to toast — Our own far-famous Captain Creighton ! Hip, hurrah for Captain Creighton ! True-blue aye is Captain Creighton ! Here's to the tar who sails the Star. — * A seaman rare is Captain Creighton I In vain 'mong Nelson's captains keen You'd look for one to match this bright one ; They could "blow up" a foe, but then, For i-unning down commend me Creigliton. Drouthy, dashing Captain Creighton I Stout, stramashing Captain Creighton ! Here's to the tar who sails the Star, — A seaman rare is Captain Creighton I The dread of wharves —'twould try your nerves To see him at them rush at night on ; The stoutest beam must yield to steam, — Good sport it seems to Captain Creighton 1 Ever-blazing Captain Creighton ! All-amazing Captain Creighton I Here's to the tar who sails the Star, — A seaman rare is Captain Creighton I *A once well-known steam ferry-boat plying l>etween Kingston and Cape Vincent, and of which the hero of these verses was for a time chief officer. "% MacColl's Poems. igston and for a time 245 If Ailsa Craig stood in his way, Our captain still would paddle right on I There's scarce a craft on lake or bay But has some mark of meeting Creighton. Spouting, yarning Captain Creighton ! Danger-scorning Captain Creighton ! Here's to the tar who sails the Star, — A seaman rare is Captain Creighton I Now comes he silent as a ghost, Now like some fateful storm-cloud straight on ; Leviathan upon our coast Were a less dreaded sight than Creighton ! Nothing-sparing Captain Creighton 1 Devil-daring Captain Creighton ! Here's to the tar who sails the Star, — A seaman rare is Captain Creighton ! With Stanley on Nyanza's Lake ilow would the Star its tenants frighten ! I think I see the hippos quake, As well they might, if meeting Creighton. Careless, fearless Captain Creighton ! Pushing, peerless Captain Creighton ! Here's to the tar who sails the Star, — A seaman rare is Captain Creighton ! The Devil-fish makes quick small bones Of all round whom its dread arms tighten ; But for short shift to Davie Jones Your surest way is crossing Creighton I I £ J__. :|l 246 MacColl's Poems. Moonlight-larking Captain Creighton ! Mermaid-sparking Captain Creighton I Here's to the tar who sails the Star, — A seaman rare is Captain Creighton ! If e'er the cracken we would catch, Or the sea-serpent's backbone straighten, 'Twill be when they their strengthen would match 'Gainst the all-crushing Star and Creighton. Nothing-daunting Captain Creighton I Gay, gallanting Captain Creighton! Here's to the tar who sails the Star, — A seaman rare is Captain Creighton ! That North-west passage, still unfound, If ever we are doomed to light on, 'Tis plain to all smart men around Our next explorer should be Creighton. Smashing, crashing Captain Creighton I Eam-stam-dashing Captain Creighton 1 Here's to the tar who sails the Star, — A seaman rare is Captain Creighton I f.' I Let's hope that yet this soaring soul The frost-king's furthest haunts may sighten, Climb proudly up the great North Pole, And write thereon, " Eureka ! Creighton !" Then hip, hurrah for Captain Creighton ! True blue aye is Captain Creighton ! Here's to the tar who sails the Star, — A seaman rare is Captain Creighton ! MacColl's Poems. 247 AHRAM LINCOLN. (Written immediately after the passage of the Act aboliahiug Slavery in the United States of America. ) Let whoso will think Washington Columbia's greatest patriot son, I think him fairly matched by one, And that is Abrara Lincoln. A Yankee witty, cute and smart, Yet tender, truthful, full of heart, — No man e'er played the patriot's part More nobly than does Lincoln. 1 What though in Abram's form and face You'd little of Apollo trace. Good sense makes up for what of grace Is lacking in Abe Lincoln. No Webster-flow of diction grand Is honest Abram's to command ; The simple, naked truth, off-hand. Suffices good old Lincoln. n The Chivalry of whips and chains Would widen slavery's domains ; " They'll soon sup sorrow for their pains," Quoth brave, right-loving Lincoln. And so they did : Lo, millions thralled At once to Freedom's banquet called ! The wluppc-f 's back is now the galled : •' That's tit for tat," quoth Lincoln I t 248 MacColl's Poems. Pray wg tliat soon, his work to crown, The South may find her Dagou down A blesshig in disguise, and own A God-sent Chief in Lincoln. And when— his foes all changed to friends- His upright rule auspicious ends, The joy that work well-done attends Be richly owned by Lincoln. A HIGHLAND HERO'S "CORONACH." (The following verses were occasioned by the death of Lieutenant Colonel Duncan Me Vicar, one of the many brave Scotsmen, bred to military life, who accepted commissions in the United States army at the commencement of the late civil war in that country. Returning from a reconnoitring ride into the country occupied by the Confederate army, on the day immediately preceding the battle of Chancellorville, Colonel McVicar found his passage suddenly intercepted by General Fitzhugh Lee, at the head of a largo body of the enemy, previously concealed in an adjoining wood. Determining, however, to break through the snare thus prepared for him, onward at a gallop, straight at the foe before him, he led his dev<»ted troop — the 6th New York Cavalry — and fell, mortally wounded by a rifle ball, while in the act of cutting his way through the enemy's ranks. Col. McVicar was a native of the Island of Islay. ) My friend so late my boast — My noble-hearted one I Alas, that he is lost To Freedom's battle-van I '{■ 4k TO jieutenant 1, bred to B army at Returning onfederate cellorville, (y General previously to break , straight ew York the act of las a native MacColl's Poems. 249 Far from his native shore — The bravest of the brave — Mid battle's storm and stour He found a soldier's grave. The land that gave him birth Taught hira the hate of wrong : To knaves o'er all the earth That hate was fierce and strong. He, round the Upas tree Of slavery abhorred, Saw warring hosts, and he Instinctive grasped his sword. What boots it now to sing How he, without a pause. Gave — welcome ofifering — That sword to Freedom's cause,- "What boots it to declare How danger's post he wooed, Till, all too frequent there. His star was quench'd in blood ! I think I see him where, His path by foeman crossed, He meets the shock of war, A handful to a host. I i Ojie moment, and but one — The lion in his mood — ■ r ■1 :il 250 MacColl's Poems. He scanned the foe, then on Dashed Hke a lava flood ! Well might Fitzhugh admire That spirit unabashed, As through a storm of fire His gory falchion flashed. If on stout hearts and steel Alone the issue lay. The sands of ytuartsville Had never clasped his clay 1 "What though, in that foul fray. Ordained his last to be, His spirit passed away Uncheered by victory, — Let no dull mortal think He perished all in vain ; Each patriot's death's a link Snapt off from Slavery's chain. Well may to those whom he Led, in his last dread ride, McVicar's memory be A glory and a pride. Well may Columbia strew Choice laurels o'er his grave,— A homage justly due The bravest of the brave ! MacColl's Poems. 251 MY WHERRY, "BRUNETTE." CANADIAN fisherman's SONG. Though my wherry, Brunette, and yon cot by the shore Are all I can boust of estate, Where others, with much, are aye craving for more, I thankfully take what I get ; And well may I ween that not many there be Who pass through this life with a heart so care-free — Getting all that I need from mj' good friend, the sea ; Then, hey for my wherry. Brunette! With my boys for a crew, off each evening I go Where oar train is soon cunningly set ; If only good luck be the fruit of the throw, What care we for wind or for wet ! Of some fish from our nets and a good oaten cake. All cooked there and then, a prime supper we make — Fond-hoping, meanwhile, for a bountiful take ; Then, hey for my wherry. Brunette! At morning returning, mayhap with a haul, The joy of my heart is complete ; My wife is all smiles, and there's nothing at all Thought too good for her boys and her mate ; The young ones contend who'll get first on my knee. And who shall next night go a-fishing with me ; 'ihuB I'm proud of my lot, as I right well may be ; Then, hey for my wherry, Brunette ! n !«.» 252 MacColl's Poems. THE LAND OF THE LAKES. (Written during the voyage of the Prince of Wales to British America, in 1860.) Air. — *' When the kye come harm.*' Safe may thy passage, Albert, Across the ocean be ! We all are almost dying ^ A living prince to see. Ho, for arches, flags and torches ! Hurry, hurry up the cakes I We will soon have famous feasting In the Land of the Lakes. In the Land of the Lakes, In the Land of the Lakes ; Hasten then, and make us happy in this Land of the Lakes I Though we cannot match with England In the perfume of our flowers, And the music of our woodlands Be not quite as rich as yours, We have swamps alive with bullfrogs That can ♦♦ in a brace of shakes " Get thee up a rousing concert In the Land of the Lakes. In the Land of the Lakes, In the Land of the Lakes, — Such the wonderful resources of this Land of the Lakes ! Though we leave to our smart neighbours Across the way to pufif Of mile-long alligators, Young mermaids, and such stuff, _ _' J ' I m I m 1 III! ! MacColl's Poems. 253 We have quite a liandsomo sample Of mosquitoes, skunks and snakes, As thou'lt find, to thy great comfort, In the Land of the Lakes. This nice Land of the Lakes, This choice Land of the Lakes ! Quite a paradise to Hve in is this Land of the Lakes I We of statesmen have a sample Quite expert in Walpole's ways ; We have corporation -suckers Right well worth a passing gaze ; We are anything but wanting In pimps, loafers, snobs and rakes. So we proudly bid thee welcome To the Land of the Lakes. This fast Land of the Lakes, This blest Land of the Lakes I Quite a promising youhg country is the Land of the Lakes ! Would'st thou see how " double-shuflae " May be practiced and extolled ? See the very seat of justice In the market bought and sold ? Would'st thou learn how humbug fattens, While his "pound" each Shylock takes, The right region for such studies Is the Land of the Lakes. This famed Land of the Lakes, This shamed Land of the Lakes I We are all smart people-very - in this Land of the Lakes. V ifl ..:H^;j,.-T^--,-i*^^i?;i :^^>rr^*i 254 MacColl's Poems. Yet withal, there's much to charm thee In our scenes of beauty rare ; Our yeomen are leal-hearted, Our maidens kind and fair. Thou might do worse than with us Kindly choose to fix thy stakes, — Helping us to make earth's grandest Of this Land of the Lakes. This fair Land of the Lakes, This rare Land cf the Lakes ; We would all be proud to keep thee in the Land of the Lakes. HOW LONG, O LORD, HOW LONG? (Sviggestetl|ff Hff »i ' *' *^ i 260 MacColl's Poems. ; .J MY MODEL HIGHLANDER. (Inscribed to John Murdoch, Esq., Editor of the " Ard-albannach," Inverness, on his having been prosecuted for a so-called libel on Captain Fraser of Uig, one of the Isle of Skye evicting landlords.) I SING not now of men who dou The Highland garb their limbs upon, Forgetting that such garb alone Ne'er constitutes a Highlander. Though well I wot the man I mean Delighteth in the tartan sheen, If that were all, he ne'er had been My chosen model Highlander. The Gael true alone is he Who what he thinks speaks frankly free, And to God only bends the knee. Like to my model Highlander, — One who in all things acts the man. No matter who his course would ban ; Step out, my Murdoch ! If there's one On earth, thou art that Highlander. I think I see thy manly form, Firm and unyielding as Cau'ngorm, The poor man's cause maintaining warm. Just like a true-aouled Highlander ; I see the scorn within thine eye As some evicting chief goes by — One whose forbears would sooner die Than dispossess a Highlander. MacColl's Poems. But shall those dastards have their way, And we stand by, unheeding ? Nay I Thy cause is ours :— No true man may Sole-fighting see my Highlander. Up, clansmen ! Why alone should he Do battle with the enemy ? 'Twere nothing less than infamy To let them crush our Highlander, 261 I Think of the heartless knaves who long To rob you of your mother tongue. And thankful be the craven throng Well watched are by my Highlander. When dies its speech a nation dies, No more to a new life to rise : Would you avert such fate, be wise And rally round my Highlander. Despoilers worse than Cumberland Are busy at it,— law in hand, Filling with forest beasts the grand Old country of the Highlanders, 'Tis time we tried to stop their game,— If need be, facing sword and flame. And, as our proper birthright, claim The Highlands for the Highlanders ! i 'U I ?' ft I jAjjUaiaJ.!.^ 262 MacColl's Poems. : I A WORD WITH THE FENIAN BROTHER- HOOD. (Suggested by the assassination of Ihomas D'Arcy McGee, in 1868.) " The Fenian Brotherhood" !— the phrase sounds well, But what's your right to such a title, tell ? Strangers alike to honour, truth, and shame — You well might blush to think of such a name. If truly sang the bard of Selma old. The Fenian race were of no cut-throat mould : Though sometimes they in Erin loved to roam, A land more north was their heroic home ; The " Cothrom F^inne ""• was their pride and boast ; Of all base things they scorned a braggart most ; Besides, 'twas not a custom in their day, Assassin -like, one's victim to way-lay And shoot, unseen — contented if, cash down, The price of blood were only half-a-crown ! Fenians, indeed ! all true men of that race Fraternity with you would deem disgrace ; Fenians, forsooth I renounce that honour'd name ; " Thugs " would more ntly suit your claim to fame ! +-r^- Poor souls ! I pity your demented state ; You loill be vicious if you can't be great ; Better for Erin any fate would be Than to be ruled by Bedlamites like ye : The war of the Kilkenny cats renewed She'd find, I think, a very doubtful good I *The equal combat. i< < =«"S MacColl's Poems. 263 wondrous-valiant, treason-hatching crew, If words were deeds, what great things might ye do ! Ye, who have left your country for her good — Ye talk of righting all her wrongs in blood I 'Tis laughable— the more so, that we feel Your necks were made for hemp, and not for steel ; At Britain's lion you ma,y spare your howls, — That noble beast is never scared by owls : 'Tis well for you, with all your vapouring frantic. You have 'tween him and you the broad Atlantic. Let no one think that he who now cries shame On your misdeeds, your Celtic blood would blame ; A Celt himself, his great grief is to see The land that nursed you cursed by such as ye ; So bright the record of her better days — So much to love she still to us displays — So rich her heritage of wit and song — So warm her heart, so eloquent her tongue, — He honours Erin ; — 'tis to fools like you Alone the tribute of his scorn is due. Union is strength. Soon may the nations three In heart as well as name united be — A loving sisterhood as great as free, — The first and foremost in fair freedom's van — An empire built upon the Shamrock plan — A seeming three and yet a perfect one ! w»"i"'r, ::t^-'^Fnmr;r\^j-''::-< " "i "J ■"■.'.%'''' ■":T'' 264 MacColl's Poems. Hi (k s !^ III ! I {{• r#i'M UP AND AT THEM! SPARE THEM NOT! (Verses occasioned by the threatened invasion of Canada by the "Fenians," in 1870.) Muster ! muster 1 On's the order ! On, then, Saxon, Celt, and Scot I Fenian fiends are on our border ; Up and at them 1 spare them not I Anarchists with hell in union Merit well reception hot : Cannucks all of this opinion. Up and at them I spare them not I On the soil they seek to plunder Give we their vilr ■ >nes to rot ; Sudden as the crash 1 thunder Up and at them I spare them not I At Fort Erie quite a tasting Of their flesh the kites have got ; Cornwall's crows will soon have feasting : Up and at them ' spare them not I Not alone the land that bore them, Earth were well rid of the lot : • Haste we, then, the doom before them ; Up and at them I spare them not ! Onward I onward I never ceasing Till their last you've lianged or shot, Earning thus all good men's blessing : Up and at them 1 spare them not I MacColl's Poems. 265 THE CADI HEN-BRAMMACH TO HIS BEAKS. A "JU8T1CK shop" LYRIC* HuniiAH for a dozen " drunks !" Hurrah for a regular haul Of suckers to skin, to-morrow, in The shop that maintains us all ! Look sharp, than, my hearties, look sharp Through back strei L, and front street, and square Nothing charms me so much as a "cove" in your clutch, And the smell of fat fines on the air. What would be the use of Jails, Of Magistrates or Police, Asylums or Orphans' Homes, Were the traffic in gr jg to cease ? Cease 1 mercy forfend, or else To us 'twere a bad lookout — No fun and no fee — and for "horns" going free, Think of quenching one's thirst at the spout 1 What matters to us with whom lie The fault that grog-shops so abound ? What matter to us who supply The cup in which reason is drown 'd ? Cities cannot get on without cash : Nor can I much blame them who think 'Twere no mighty evil to license the devil If he only came out with the " chink." ♦ At the time the above liiK's were penned. Police MugistratcK i Canada were allowed to pocket all the foes imposed by them ou all " the tiruuk and disorderly " brought before them. I! "t^ - 1 I I m J) 2G6 MacColl's Poems. t\ . 'Tiff well that our luwmakcrs wise lielievo not in Gougli or in Dow ; Elrio soon would no more greet my oyos Fresh " pigeons " to pluck in your tow ; My name to all top- heavy chaps A terror would quick cease to bo : Hurrah then, say I, for more power to Old Rye I Our good friend never-failing is he I I i TO JOHN CARRUTHERS, ESQ., ON Ills LKAVINO KINdSTON KOH A YEAR's SOJOURN IN IIIS NATIVE SCOTLAND. (Written as an acoompaniincnt to a Farewell Address from the Kingston St. Andrew's Souioty, of which Mr. Carruthers was then President. ) And shalt thoa take thy pui*posed way, Carruthers, o'er the ocean tide, And friendship's voice be silent ? Nay I We will speak of thee — smile or chide. If in this land there liveth one Than thou more worthy men's esteem, I own I'd like to see the man. And bring him blushing into fame. The patriot spirit staunch as steel — The manners manly, truth severe, — The hand ne'er shut to want's appeal — To give unseen its only care, — MacColl's Poems. 267 IS NATIVE Tlio foeliiigs warm, tlio judj^mout soiiiul, — Tho scorn of all tliat'a mean or base, — All, all combine to make thee owned An honour to thy name and race. Well may tho country of thy birth Rejoice to welcome back her son — Not for the thousands ho is worth. But for the worth that stamps the man. Farewell, our friend beloved, farewell I Thyself aiid us though ocean parts, Distance can never break the spell That binds us to each other's hearts. from the was then A BIT OF ADVICE. (Adtlrcsacd to a certain Common School teaclicr, famed for a cruel use of the tawse. ) The teacher of a Common School — Thou'rt yet a most n/t-commoii fool, Believing when a child goes wrong. The sovereign remedy's a thong : Could blows the least improve the dull, Nought needs them more than thy own skull ! Jack, burn thy birch without delay ; Try kindness, as the better way ; Rude applications of brute force No good does ever child or horse I That teacher least commends his art Who only makes the " bottom" smart: The rascal who believes in " stripping " Himself the most deserves a whipping. T I I )/--'r m^... I 268 MacColl's Poems. LORD LORNE AND THE LADY LOUISE. Am—" The Hills of Glenorchy." Hurrah for the nevs o'er the wide world just gone out ! The clans are all wild with delight to think on it : A son of the Mist (Up yet higher, my bonnet !) Has won the fair hand of Balmoral's Louise. Glad tidings to all save the Southerns who wanted To see that rare gift to some Saxon lord granted ; — Well might they look glum when young Lome, nothing daunted, Stept in, and walked off with the T ady Louise I Well, well may bright bonfires, its hill-tops all over, Turn night into day in the land of her lover. And "Islay" flow freely as A.ray'8 own river When home to its banks he brings Lady Louise. Though earth's greatest king might right glad be to wed her, She's far better matched — thanks to love 'mong the heather ; — A lad who can sport the MacCailean's proud feather Is just the right mate for the Lady Louise ! A gathering grand on my .ision is looming; The air is alive with " The Campbells are coming !" Dunquaich proudly echoes tiie " gunna cam"* boomiog Its own hearty welcome to Lome and Louise. Alas, that in fancy alone can I wend there. My welcome to give them, my homage to tender, And help happy thousands the welkin to rend there. Proud-toasting '• Lord Lome and the Lady Louise 1" ♦Tho cannon popularly known as the "gunna cam" is an old-fashioned pie»;e of artillery which most viHitors to the pleasure grounds around luveraraj CaBtle make a ]>(iint of aoeinf?. Although old as tho time of the Si^anish Armada —there beinn wood ground for believing it to have forinod a part of the arma- ment of the ill-fate I Florida, mink in Tobormorry Hay - it can still make itself be well heard ou occasiouu of special rejoicings to the House of Argyll. MacColl's Poems. 269 A PROLOGUE. (Written for a concert given in honour of the Marquis of Lome and Her Royal Highness the Princess Louise, on the occivsi(»n of theii- visit to Kingston, in 1879.) While crowds, outside, their jubila^^^ions vent 'Mid arches, torches, rockets skyward sent, Here are we met, on gentler pleasures bent. Ears often charmed by England's nightingales, Albion's sweet thrushes, and the larks of Wales, May in our "woodnotes wild' find meikle cause For kind forbear:^nce rather than applause; Yet here we are, j^esolved to do our best, — Leaving to you — and you— and you — the rest. With this bright audience fanning fond desire, Well may the wish to please our hearts inspire • Well may old Erin's, England's, Scotland's lays Be s'jng as ne'er before, to win your praise, — For, have we not in this bright corapanie A guest illustrious who can claim to be By right of blood linked to those nations three ! And thou, loved lady, whose fix'ir presence shows How sweetly blends the Thistle with the Eose, Will not, however partial to Argyll, List aught less pleased some lay c'' Erin's Isle. Daughter of our good Queen ! beloved by all, Not only for her sake : Heaven, prodigal, Has showered upon thyself such graces rare As well may claim men's homage everywhere ; Stars like to thee need no reflected light To magt-ify their native lustra bright. •^-#^^ 270 MacColl's Poems. If, therefore, here we, in our joy elate, The Princess in the woman may forget, It must bo owned we have a reason good In thine own gentle, perfect womanhood- - Thy winning ways — thy speech and look benign. Making all hearts in thy fair presence thine, — Just what we all were taught to hope for in The gifted daughter of our peerless Queen. Mac-Cailean's son ! 'twere strange indeed if we A greeting aught less loyal gave to thee — Thou whose bright promise well should make us all to Be proud to give thee a *• Giad mile failte '' '. — Long may this land, fair-spreading far away, Delight to boast of thy vice-regal sway. Too much inherits thou of patriot fire To make us doubt thy purpose to aspire Our welfare to advance -our love to win — No matter who the party, " out " or '• in," — Nor less to lead us all to keep in view That to be noble is to nobly do, — That truthful Hves are more than rank or station, — That righteousiH'ss alone exalts a nation. Thus — thus alone — a people truly free We, in " this Canada of ours," may be ; Thus may we lifted be to virtues Spartan 'Neath the congenial shadow of the Tartan ! So much by way of prologue : Ere away We bow ourselves, this further we would say, — If, after starting in a key so crouse, We may not just at once *• bring down the house," We trust it may be owned that, ne'ertheless, We are, upon the whole -••a great success " I MacColl's Poems. 271 THE WORLD AS IT GOES. This life has mysteries we may not hope To solve, or, trying, find we thrive but ill, — Things which, in our imperfect summing up, Seem scarce accordant with high Heaven's will. Talents God-given in the devil's pay, — Honesty crush'd where rascals make thqir " pile," — Knaves in high places wielding wicked sway, — Shams palace-housed and patriots in exile ; — The poor made by oppression still more poor, — The crust that might have saved a life denied Till, all too late, some rich man opes his door And finds his neighbour perishing outside ! — Loved ones, whose presence made our homes a heaven, Untimely carried to the silent tomb ; Friends, whose dear sight we would forever live in, Estranged, or doomed in foreign lands to roam ; — Fond hearts ne'er mated, or but mated ill ; — The good and true linked to the vile and base ; — Creatures as angels pure and beautiful Yielding to clowns what should be Love's embrace ! In vain we darkly grope, in vain surmise How such things can bo : Wise alone is he Who is content to let such mysteries Find ft solution in the life to be. i'lLli.t.eiA^-'il~ ..-.,\i-J. >'-V-!1Jif^. '-'>if'' ■ n. ^*^' .i.fi.tji«. iil, bovs^ li*]ioo ! E«i«! UMIiliLS MacColl's Poems. 273 ON RECEIVING AN ENGRAVING REPRESENTING INVERARAY CASTLE AND THE SCENERY SURKOUNDINO IT. All honored be the artist true Who bringeth thus, so cliarmingly, Thy woods and floods, and mountains bluo, My boyhood's home, to me. Scenes which from cliildhood's days have been Deep graven my heart's tablets on, Seem here before me fair as in Years now long, long agone. There have I lived and loved and sung My youthhood's happy time away ; There first ray rustic harp I sprung, No lark than I more gay. There, too, it was that Beauty's smile Taught me to feel love's pleasing pains, Some Meg or Mary all the while The theme of all mv strains. Oh but once more to wander free By Esachossain's " fairy ring I" Nor less the Lady's Linn to see Would cause my heart to sing. i ■={!i!i|| 274 MacColl's Poems. And tliou, Dunquaich, whose lofty brow Looms over all in pride sereno, My walks around thee to renew I'd feel a boy again ! Oft have I thought, when face to face With all thy charms, hero well outlined, One would need seeing Paradise A match for them to find ! i I I I I SONNET. (On visiting my native Highlands after long absence.) My own dear, long-lost, lovely Earraghael, How gladly to thy presence I return ! The tow'riug Ben, the far-retiring Vale, The deer-frequented corrie, torrent-worn, The wildwood green, the lone trout-teeming tarn, The gray crag mimicing tlie eiigle's scream. The breezy braes dear to the bro )ra and fern. And 0, the lakes that all so witching seem ! I love you all. "Whatever else of strange Or new my eyes, unwilling, here may see, Here shew ye still, defiant of all change, The old soul-charming graces dear to me — Graces w inch all who see may well declare To be, of all 'neath Heaven, the most fair. rmm^l^^^ mm MacColl's Poems. 275 A GATHERING CALL. (Written for the Kingston Caledonian Society's (Janiea of 1863.) On to our Gathering I Highlanders, on ! Sons of the Lowlands ! come, everv one : Let all who love Scotland the blue bonnet don, And joyfully come to our Gathering I The games styled Olympic were grand in their day. Yet nothing to match with onr coming display : In all manly pastimes the Scot leads the way ; Hurrah, then, hurrah for our Gatherijig ! Would you see kilted lads of the manliest frame, Would you hear the Pioh-mhor played in manner supreme. Would you see feats performed that would Hercules shame. Then take care that you miss not our Gathering ! Ye who deem the famed Feinne extinct as a race, Believe me that this is by no means the case ; — 'Neath the graceful " Glengarry " their features to trace You have only to come to our Gathering. Come Celt and come Saxon, come Teuton and Gaul ; A right Highland Welcome we offer you all : Each true Caledonian, proud of our call, Will exultantly join in our Gathering ! I; V 'M p 'i if ^ 276 MacColl's Poems. A ST. ANDREW'S NIGHT GREETING. (Telegraphed in the name of St. Andrew's Society of Kingston to their l)rethren in Montreal, dining there on St. Andrew's Night, 1809, and having Prince Arthur as one of their guests. ) Our britliers by Mount Royal braw, We gladly greet ye, ane an' a' — Wishing ye lochs o' uisgebaugh To wet your whistles, Made dry, nae doubt, by many a blaw 'Bout Kilts and Thistles ! What tho' we canna boast, like ye, A plaided prince trae Hieland Dee, We're quite contented o'er our bree. And wad be happy To pledge ye now, wi' three times three, That royal chappie. May he in due time be renown'd As Arthur of the Table Round, — In all that's noble, manly, found Without, a flaw, — A prince 'mang princes peerless own'd \ His health ! Hurrah ! MacColl's Poems. 277 TO MISS GOODALL, OP THE .SALVATION AUMY, ON HEK REMOVAL FROM KINGSTON. Thou of the fair Madonna face In all its matchless, rare completeness, Well may we grieve so soon to miss A girl of such angelic sweetness. Well may the friends who know thee best Be proud to live in thy esteem, And in their prayers to heaven addressed Remember oft thy happy name. Were Paul but here when " Abbie "* won Warm praise from Pulpit and from Press, He surely would not be the man To order silence in her case. Nor would he find in thee less zeal Our thought? and hopes to lieaveuward raise ; He loved his Master's cause too well To frown on thy soul-winning ways. To think with what persuasive grace The " old, old story," ever new, Came from thy lips, may well increase Our grief at bidding thee adieu. To-day thou leavest us, yet though Thy face no more we here may see, With much of love and blessing, too, Our thoughts shall often turn to thee. i Miss Abbie Thompson, a very popular Salvation Army "captain.' il. 1: 278 MacColl's Poems. A VOICE FROM THE DESK : OR, THE SOR ROWS OF MR. SNOOK. A PAU01>y. An Ottawa eraployea who Loathed work aiul believed in Sir John, Thus mourned an experience new In tones 'tween a growl and a groan : — " Toil— toil— toil, Nothing but toil for mo 1 Compared with this jarful turmoil 'Twere bliss in a treadmill to bo. 'Tis true that I wear no chains, 'Tis true I've no stripes on my back. Yet, never did slave to untimely grave Hurry down upon such a rack ! And it's work — work — work, Till ray body to dust is bent ! And it's work — work— work, Like a felon to Sydney sent ! With this and that els 3 to be done- No time left for loafing or play — No coming to dut> at ten. And leaving at noon for the day, — I feel how much better must be The life of a cabman's horse Than thus to be driven like me By men without ruth or remorse : To end all my care in the friendly Chaudiere Is plainly my last resource ! MacColl's Poems. 50R- 279 Well may our new raastcrs' broad grins '• Give proof of their wicked delight To see men at work like ina("hines Where once kilHng time was all riglit,. A.11 round 'tis the same " hurry on " From morn till the daylight's close ; Nor yet when the day is done To us Cometh reet or repose. Dread tliouglits of arrears to pull up Haunt even our sleeping hours. for the good ways of Sir John's golden days And the sinecure seats that were ours I" O'ercorae with the thought of lost bliss, He choked, when a friend near him spoke, " 'Tis shameful, egad, so it is, In this manner tr murder poor Snook 1 Were it only us horr,'>le Grits, 'Twero nothing !!,t all, I trow, But my bosom burns and bleeds by turns, My dear Snook, to think of you. That slaves cannot breathe 'neath the flag Of Britain, is all a farce !" Snook own'd with a sigh his case proved it a lie. Adding something less kind than coarse. " 'Tis a shame," his friend resumed, " A shame most foul, I say. That good fellows like you, fond of nothing to do, Must work if they would get pay !" ^The Mackenzie Governineut, then newly established. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I m PI S12 m iiiii^ 1.8 1.25 1-4 il.6 6" A 4^ 4f % m. >% ^c> ^■'^ '^ ^ o;^ .C^/ ^^r Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.V. 14580 (716) 873-4&03 'O •:^^ ■<> '% \ •51" 28o MacColl's Poems. Then again spoke Suook, — no swell Ever spoke in braver key : " J swear by book and bell That no slave henceforth I be 1 Better than what I endure Were the service of some Turk : Better being dead than more Of this work — work — workl" So, scarce knowing where to jog, The wide world once more faced Snook : Good for him ! the plucky prog, He is now a— shanty-cook ! 1879. i!^; THE BOLD CHIEF OF THE BRAVE "BRITISH WHIG." (Respectfully inscribed to E. J. Barker, Esq., the founder of the Brititsh Whig, and for many years its editor also.) Your Walters and Russells and Greeloys may be, As Knights of the Broadsheet, well worthy their fee ; But the man of all men for nifj homage is he, The bold chief of the brave BntUh Whi'j ! The Nestor revered of fair Canada's Press, Fair play is his motto, and aye will, I guess ; .- A falsehood to nail, or a wrong to redress, Ready aye is the bold British Whiy, MacColl's Poems. 28r ITISH :r of the ) The foe unrelenting of buncome and bosh, Few ever forget, who have ouce felt, his lash ; AH ritnal nonsense his joy is to squash, I'lke a sensible, wise British Whig. Let blockheads beware how they tread on his corns _ 8«h creatures soon iind they've the bull by the his 1 Not one ever tned it but helplessly mourns Jiver rousing the stern British Whig ! And yet, for all this, never lamb on the lea Has a nature more gentle, more loving than he • The pmk of politeness, you all will agree Is at all time the stout BritUh Whig'. With a record so bright in the times that are past 11 V.O. at h,s feet her next garter should cast. And ennoble the brave British WhigJ i; i ill; i> / 1 1 ''' 1 fi V # 1 1 8. ■; gy.<. i>^^ .^SONGS.^_ THE THISTLE. Air— « • Tlie Hills of Olenorchy. " John Bull, if he likes, may get smothered in roses,— The odour of leek give to Cambrian noses,— Let Pat praise the grace which the Shamrock discloses,- The bonnie blue Thistle of Scotland for me I Its stern " Nemo me impune lacessit " Has just the right ring for the race who caress it ; They aye come to grief who too rudely would press it : The bonnie blue Tbistle of Scotland for me I Fierce kings from far Loehliu, to break or to bend it. Oft tried all their might— vow'd by Odin to end it ; Let LoDcarty-Largs-show what luck them attended The bonnie blue Thistle of Scotland for me ! The Saxon next tried with the Eose to supplant it, But found a reception ne'er dreamed of or wanted ' Retreat, or a gra^re, was just all h-. was granted ! * The bonnie blue Thistle of Scotland for me. 284 MacColl's Poems. Our emblem, true blue as the Heaven above it— What bard worth the name would not proudly sing of it? "What patriot heart would not bless it and love it ? The bonnie blue Thistle of Scotland for me 1 Well, well may the sons of St. Andrew revere it, All Scotsmen delight m their bonnets to wear it, And proudly defy any symbol to peer it : The bonnie blue Thistle of Scotland for me I UPPER-TENDOM. Air — "Behave YourseV Before Folk." 'Tis fit that humbler folk should show Due reverence for the great High-low ; Hats ofif for Snooks ! Why, don't you know He's of our Upper-tendom ! Chorus — Sing hey for Upper-tendom ' Good luck to all who cherish it ! Though vulgar folk its claims may mock. Still great is Upper-tendom I What though the mother of Fitzfluke Once ivas where now she hm a cook, Let's all do homage to the — puke. He goes for Upper-tendom I Sing hey, &c. Poor Peg-tops nothing now can see Without an eyeglass ! Ten to three Peg purchased with a borrowed V That mark of Upper-tendom ! .^.-, ~ - , Sing hey, &c. ;.. ,^ _. MacColl's Poems. 285 gof it? Sir Snipp may well plain people slight — His sire was of The Goose a knight ; He now lias got a double right To top our Upper-tendora. Sing hey, &c. Who doubts the Dowds from kings have sprung Had better, near them, guard his tongue ; Folk just as lately from the dung Are of our Upper-tendom \ Sing hey, &c. The Smiths, as through our streets they go, Now never own their father Joe ; What right has iie, poor man, to know The Smythes of Upper-tendom ! Sing hey, &c. Commend me always to the Coys For grubs transformed to butterflies, And makmg food for mirth likewise To all save Upper-tendora I Sing hey, &c. Well may plain people laugh to see Such barber-block gentility. And pray for grace to aye keep free Of aping Upper-tendom I Sing hey, &c. Ml Wh 286 MacColl's Poems. EIGHT IN ONE ARE WE. (Words for a Canadian March. Written to the tune of an old Highland lilt beginning ' Dhannsadh-mid, ruidhle-mid" etc.) Ho for that land never Matched for lake and river ! Canada for ever, Boys, for you and mo I Living land so choice in, Who would not, rejoicing, Join us, proudly voicing, •* Eight in one are wo ! " Chorus — Cumrndos true, ready to Do or die united. Here we go, proud to show Eij^'lit in one are we 1 Though content to stay, boys, 'Neath the old Flag aye, boys, Yet, should come a day, boys. This no more may be, On we'd march, nought caring, A new banner airing. Its device declaring •• Eight in one are we I " Comrades true, etc. By our prairies flowering. By our mountains towering, By the woods embowering : - - . . Our loved homesteads free, 1 Highland ) MacColl's Poems. Swear we to abide, boys, Ever side by side, boys, Counting it our pride boya, Eight in one to bo. Comrades true, etc. 287 Let Ambition's story Tell of conq'iests gory, — Peaceful triumphs more we In our path would see : Still 'gainst wrong contending, Still the right defending,— Might with meekness blending. Reach we empire free. •Comrades true, etc. THE BONNET, KILT AND FEATHER. Air—" WhaHl he King hut Charlie /" When time was young, and Adam strung His leafy garb together. Then first were planned in fashion grand The bonnet, kilt and feather. Chorus— I dear to me as life can be The land where blooms the heather, And doubly dear the lads who wear The bonnet, kilt and feather. 288 MacColl's Poems. Your dandy vaunts his skin-tight pants, Just fit such things to tether, But give to me, all flowing free, Tlie bonnet, kilt and feather. I dear to me, etc. For lordly halL or courtly ball. Where all that's grand foregather, There's nothing seen to match the shoen Of bonnet, kilt and feather. I dear to me, &c. The gorgeousn':^ ^s of Solomon's dress Put Sheba's queen throu'-ither, — A proof to me his Majesty ■ Dressed in the kilt and feather I ! dear to me, &c. Let despots all, both great and small. Who wish to " save their leather," Beware how they come in the way Of bonnet, kilt and feather ! I dear to me, &c. Let Rome's proud ranks, on Carthon's banks Quick-scattered hither-thither, " Tell how, of old, their own could hold • The bonnet, kilt and feather. 01 dear to me, etc. MacColl's Poems. 289 Of Edward's turn at Bannockbnrn Just think, and answer whether Tlicre's aiiglit to fear for Freedom near The bonnet, kilt and feather ? O I dear to me, &c. If e'er in mood awe-stricken stood The Corsican blood-shedder. It was to scan in battle's van The bonnet, kilt and feather. I dear to me, &o. On Egypt's sands they taught his hands To rue they e'er went thither ; At Waterloo, immortal grew The bonnet, kilt and featiier ! ! dear to me, &c. garb renowned the whole world round ! What mortal man would swither To toast with me — now three times three •• The bonnet, kilt and feather I " I dear to me, &c. •-■J r '■ll 290 MacColl's Poems. - THE DAY AN' A' WHA HONOUR IT. (Tlie following lyric, as well as the four songs immediately succeed- ing it, appeared originally among the "bard's" quota of rhyme, contri- buted over a series of years to the St. Andrew's Night festivities cus- tomary with the Kingstonian Scots. ) What though we Scotsmen may agree To differ somewhat now and then, — Each in his own opinion free Unflinching as a Grampian Ben, — No Kirks or creeds divide us hero ; — Alike Conservative and Grit As one rejoice to toast and cheer •• The Day an' a' wha honour it ! " iJt' h ■:;| i! •• The Day an' a' wha honour it" — What magic in that simple phrase ! It fires my blood to fever heat, It minds me of far broomy braes : Fair Scotia's Forths and Clydes and Speys Seem gliding at my very feet : A patriot-ring exultant has •♦ The Day an' a' wha honour it !" It wafts me back to days long gone When grasped the Bruce his Carrick spear, And deeds eclipsing Marathon Made him to fame and freedom dear ; I fc;«!e the flash of broadswords bare, And Scotland's foes in full retreat ; — .Hurrah then for our slogan rare, " The Day an' a' wha honour it 1" [T. y succeed- ne, contri- vities ^U8- MacColl's Poems. St. Patrick — terror of the snakes — Old Erin's sons may well hold dear ; They got him from the Land of Cakes, And thus we too his name revere : St. George loved less the Cross than Spear,- Why sainted, puzzles quite my wit : Here's to St. Andrew's memory rare, •♦ The day an' a' wha honour it !" 291 Let niggard bodies count our joy A pleasure bought at too much cost, — The patriot flame to fan, say I, Is never love or labour lost. Then of our Day let's make the most ; — Time never travels half so fleet As when together Scotsmen toast " The Day an' a' wha honour it I" THE LAND EVER DEAREST TO ME. Air—" Coyadh no Silk" or, " Air Faillirinn, Illirinn " Who loves not the land of the plaid and piob-vihor, The gowan-gemraed carse and the heath-mantled moor,— The mother of heroes who ne'er met a foe Save to make them submit or in death be laid low I Chorus — Then here's to the land of the Bens and the Braes I • What bard would not proud be to sing in her praise ? The Scot's fatherland, so far-famous and free, — Oh, who would not toast it with honours thrice three I 1 Vv u that the damsel thus wooed allowed herself to be charmed away by her elfin lover into some near-by abode of the "good people," never again to revisit her own home ! In vain to me shews Beltane fair , Its wealth of song and flower, — The elves have wiled my Annie dear To Avich's fairy hower I Chorus — Ochoin a righ for Annie 0, Sweet Annie of Glendower ! Woe's me to think of Annie Within yon fairy bower ! They met her in the gloaming gray Near Dovan's warlock towei*, Syne witched her with their music gay To yonder fairy bower. Ochoin a righ, etc. iry ' luin- MacColl's Poems. 299 Wl»re oft together herding kye I in my plaid did row her, Alone I now may sing or sigh, Sad-thinking on yon bower. Ochoin a righ, etc. on not yet jtty mortal eginning of >rtion of the B waSy that by her elfin '^er again to To tempt her stay, the fay folk may A qutionly state allow her. And yet, withal, her heart be wae ; — The sorrow take yon bower I Ochoin a righ, etc. With endless youth and beauty both, 'Tis said they can endow her ; Small joy to me, who thinks she'd be More happy in Glengower. Ochoin a righ, etc. that some wizard magic key At my good service ?ioiv were ! Then would this night her latest be In Avich's fiury bower. Ochoin a righ, etc. 1^ «■ i 300 MacColl's Poems. I s ' PEGGIE BHAN OF DRIMALEE. Air — " Mo run Mairi mhin, mhodkailt Mo run Mairi mhodhail, mhin.*' Chorus— Oh 1 how I love yon maiden, Peggie bhan* of Drimalee ! Fairer far than any Eden Is her moorland home to me ! As a river resting never On its pathway to the sea, So my thoughts go ever, ever To the lass of Drimalee. Oh 1 how, etc. Blithesome, airy as a fairy Dancing 'neath the moou is she ; Yet as solemn as a priestess. When she likes, the lass can be. Oh ! how, etc. Tell me not of laughing Hebe, Venus, or the Graces three ; All that mortal beauty may be In my Peggie bhan I see. Oh I how, etc. Peggie bhan has wooers plenty At her feet ; but, faith, they'll see " ] Shira's river rolling upward .1 - ^^^ c ■ :* i Ere she breaks her troth to me ! - ! Oh 1 how, etc. Fair Peggie. I I MacColl's Poems. 301 THE HERO OF KARS. , Air—*' When the kye come hame" When mad Muscovite ambition Challenged Britain to the fight, And the bravest of the brave went forth To battle for the Right, There is none that you can name me Of those soldiers stout and tars "Who more nobly did his duty Than the Hero of Kars. ^ The born Hero of Kars I The stern Hero of Kare ! Never was a chief more gallant Than the Hero of Kars ! I Think of yon beleaguered city Where, like lion bold at bay. The more dread the odds against him, The more fierce he fronts the fray ; Where, beside the hostile Cossack, He with pest and famine wars, Till, in yielding, still a victor Seemed the Hero of Kars. The born Hero of Kars ! The stern Hero of Kars ! Never was a chief more gallant Than the Hero of Kars I 302 MacColl's Poems. Well may Nova Scotia proudly Boast the prowess of her son ; Long may chief so justly famous Wear the laurels he has won. Never did a grateful country Deck a truer knight with stars ; Never knight did more to win them Than the Hero of Kars. The born Hero of Kars ! The stern Hero of Kars ! Never lived a chief more gallant Than the Hero of Kars I MAGGIE MARTIN. Air — ** Nora Crina." Your flirting belle may look as gay ' " As silks and satins well can make her, /^^ And, in her own coquettish way, Of fools be quite a brisk heart-breaker ; — A fickle thing, all sham and show — None such will e'er my hand or heart win ; You would not wonder did you know That woodland fairy, Maggie Martin. Sweetly-smiling Maggie Martin 1 ' • / Winning, wiling Maggie Martin ! ~7 "" Fond and free, and fair is she ; The girl for me is Maggie Martin 1 MacColl's Poems. 303 In her combined, how sweet to find The charms of mind and form and feature I No praise she courts, yet wins all hearts By the mere force of sweet good nature. Let others task their wits to bask In fame or fortune's smiles uncertain, More happy far I'd count my star If mine were darling Maggie Martin. Sweetly-smiling Maggie Martin I Winning, wiling Maggie Martin I This Hfe would be no life for me If wanting thee, sweet Maggie Martn I ETHEL TYE. Let others in the wine cup seek The way to lift their spirits high ; Give me for care a cure more rare — The presence dear of Ethel Tye 1 Girls not a few of beauty rich Have charmed me much in days gone by, But my fond heart to quite bewitch Was left to thee, sweet Ethel Tye. Whoe'er would feel from head to heel A thrilling sense of perfect joy. Should hasten straight to win a sight Of bonnie, blithesome Ethel Tye. \i \ :i i 304 MacColl's Poems. Had Be.iuty's queon tJiy beauty seen It iveM might cause her pride a sigh,- With all her grace a second place She'd have to take near Ethel Tye. Could I but win this jewel rare, How would I all my life employ To make her weal my one great caro I So dearly love I Ethel Tye. TELL NOT TO ME OF SPRING'S RETURN. Air — "Jfary'« Dream." Tell not to mo of spring's return, Ye songstorn of the leafy grove. While here I wander, all forlorn, * Sad-thinkiiig of the maid I love I Woe to the laird who drove her kin To seek a homo far o'er yon sea. And make the glon she once lived in A very wilderness to me ! Vain for me now the skylark gay Has in her song the old-time ring ; Vain all the wild-flow'rs in my way Their sweetest odours round me fling ; Vain all things else, or fair or bright, • Thai speak of their own springtime glee, — With Jessie lost to my fond sight, 'Tis winter, winter still to me I . ; MacColl's Poems. RETURN. ee,- 305 THE HEIRESS. Thus counselled dame Jouos her vain daughter one dpy " Since 'tis time ye were wedded and frae us away, I've a plan in my mind which I think wad weel pay,- - 'Tis to hint of your being an heiress." *' A legacy good from some ane of our kin Just dead o'er the seas, is a card that micht win ; A big crock of gowd found concealed 'neath some stane Wad dae also right weel for an heiress." " There is Bess of the Glen, who, without ae baubee, Gat the name of the clink— a sly hissie was she, — Noo she's wed to a laird, as I doubtna may ye, Ance that folk come to think ye an heiress." Alas for dame Jones and her daughter as well ! Their plot was well laid, yet it somehow befel That people saw through it, and thus no love tale Has as yet reached the ears of our heiress. Poor lads would not have her— what could they do wi' One whose dreams were of carriages, courts, pedigree ? So they thought it as well to jnsi let her abee And as long as she liked play the heiress. The lairds that she looked for were just as unkind, The hook baited for them no nibble could find, — A warning to all silly girls thus inclined To avoid ever acting the heiress I 3o6 1 1 ! : ' MacColl's Poems. ETHEL. Air — " The Lasa o' Ooiorie." 'Tis said that angels in disguise Are sometimes found beneath the skies And, looking into thy dear eyes, I cannot doubt it, Ethel. The one thing sure is, that thy face So full is of angelic grace That all I once could love give place To thee, delightful Ethel ! That swain thrice happy must be owned Who with thy virgin love is crowned ; If I that chosen one were found, How would I bless thee, Ethel I Though living in a desei •' waste, I'd feel as if in Eden placed, Could I but there to my fond breast Enfold thee, lovely EtheL May thine, dear girl, thy whole life through, Be earth's best gifts, and with them too The loving care that seems thy due From all good angels, Ethel. Soon must I cease thy face to see, Vain-thinking of what cannot be. Yet ever shall fond thoughts of thee Dwell with me, darling Ethel ! MacColl's Poems. 307 JEANIE GREY. Come, busk thee up, darling, and hey for Gleu-fyne ! Though fair thy own home be, still fairer is mine ; They who would detain thee may yet come to ^ee 'Twas well their dispraise found nc favor with thee : As our hearts, so our home should be one, therefo: 9 say Thou wilt come to the Highlands, beloved Jeanie Grey. As never was bride so enohpntingly fair. So ne'er was such welcome as thine shall be there ; With a dad milefailte the hills shall resound, The song and the dance and the feast shall abound ; Oh, nought shall be wanting to make thy heart gay, — Then hey for the Highlands, beloved Jeanie Grey I Our walks shall be often by wood-skirted leas, Where the myrtle and birch fill with fragrance the breeze, Where the music of song-birds makes vocal the air. And the fleet-footed roe finds his eventide lair : *Tis mid scenes such as these true love knows no decay, — Come, then, come to the Higr.lands, beloved Jeanie Grey. 3o8 MacColl's Poems. I il EXTRACTS FROM A SERIES OF CARRIER BOYS' NEW YFAR'S DAY ADDRESSES. In some Canadian cities it is customary for most newspapers of any standing to have, each in its Nev»^-Year's-Day issue, "A Carrier Boy's Address " — a medley of rhymes chiefly ~iade up of reflections on the leading events of the year just ended. Copies oi these, ornamentally done up, are, on that day, handed by Carrier Boys to all city subscrib- ers accustomed to have their papers brought to their homes by these little lads — a Christmas-box reminder that seldom ir.lsses its object. The author, as the writer of not a few of these ephemera, made them often the medium of giving expression to feelings and opinions which he J3 vain enough to b'^lieve the majority of those who read ihis book will allow to be not unworthy of a place in its pages. Hence the fol- lowing extracts : FROM ADDRESS FOR 1860. Yes I — an eventful year has been the past : — The sky of Italy, long overcast With clouds portentous, saw at last descend The storm, and lo, the Frank and Hun contend, — The Hun to hold ItaUa as his prey, The Frank to free her from his clutch : Well may ; All genuine friends of freedom, looking on, Wish her quicK riddance of both Frank and Hun. Victor Immanuel — Garibaldi, hail ! By heaven's good help soon may your cause prevail ; The very Bruce and Wallace of our time — Fain would I with your deeds adorn my rhyme ; But space forbids, — so let the curtain drop ; The end not yet is ; — let us wait and hope. _j!!!uTiuK' "TWr^^ " *'~**' MacColl's Poems. 309 CARRIER lESSES. Bwspapers of any •A Carrier Boy's reflections on the Bse, ornamentally all city subscrib- r homes by these .r.Isses its object, jmera, made them id opinions which he read ihis book i. Hence the fol- d iteiid, — ^eli may » id Hun. ise prevail ; rhyme ; )e. Hark! 'tis the British Hon's angry roar, As, watchful, looks ho towards Gallia's shore. Whence, sudden sallying across the main. He fears his *• uncle's nephew," upstart vain, Means some dark midnight o'er the waves to creep And stab to death Britannia in her sleep ! * To plain John Bull the thought might well seem odd To have for king Gaul's mushroom demigod, And thus he standeth ready for the strife Which yet may cost the Corsican his hfe I Need I relate how, on far India's strand, Treason lies throttled,— thanks to that brave band Led by far-famed Sir Cohn, sword in band I Need I describe how China— treacherous still — For that heroic blood she late did spill; Is just about to " catch it " with a will 1 Since nothing else to common sense may win her, What better can befall that hoary sinner ? * * * * * ik FROM ADDRESS FOR 1863. Old Sixty- two, now folded in thy shroud, Thine was to leave us much of which we're proud ; And yet what saddening memories ! — Albert gone — Albert the Good, whom millions mourn as ( ne I Thine was to bring us o'er th' Atlantic's roar The wail of want from England's distant shore ; Fit punishment for industry misled ; — ' 7 Her rural hamlets changed to factories dread — * A threatened French invasion was one of the "sensations " of 1859. II I I 310 MacColl's Poems. Cotton and Cash accounting Earth's sole good — She took to spinning, and she now lacks food ! Thine was to mark a king who owes a crown And kingdom to his victim, huutiug down The wounded Garibaldi, —Italy, Blush at the thought, and haste to set him free I A sight still sadder, Sixty-Two, was thine ; — Lo, in the name of Liberty divine, Millions in arms, for freedom shouting high — A freedom which to others they deny I Had Lee and Jackson but a better cause. Well might tljeir prowess win the world's applause : Would that, while here we at their bliiidness rail, We could forget our own sight once as frail : Heaven haste the issue— let the Eight prevail ! See where, in contrast bright to scenes like these, Beauty brings Albert Edward to his knees. And Denmark's daughter, good as she is fair, Is wooed and won ! — may heaven bless the pair I Lo, Eussia's serfs, long centuries enthrall'd. Up from the dust to freedom's banquet called ! A monarch speaks, and the ignoble yoke '" Q Of ages is, as if by magic, broke. Mean were thy triumphs, Macedonia's lord. Matched with such deed. Nor thine, nor Caesar's sword E'er won a claim to greatness such as he Attains by this magnanimous decree, '' Which will throughout all oime keep green his memory. MacColl's Poems. 3" So far so well : yet ere I say good-bye, Here goes a song— more truth than poetry Dl THE CABRIEB BOY. Or all the rat-tats folks are happy to hear — A knock ever welcome through all the long year I trow there is none that occasions such joy As that of the newspaper Carrier Boy. luse : 1, The knock of her lover, expected, may be To Maud, fondly waiting, sweet music— yet she Takes very good care not so swiftly to fly To the door as when knocks there the Carrier Boy. beso, Well may he oft laugh at the jealous ado Begot of his presence— each one trying to Be first at the paper to cast a glad eye— All blessing, meanwhile, the smart Carrier Boy. 0, who would not gladly, this first of the year. Do all they can well do, his ycung heart to cheer ? No one can well value his merits too high, Or welcome too kindly the Carrier Boy. •'s sword Qemory. * Methinks I hear thousands glad-shouting, Amen I That's right ! You shall see him right shortly, and then You shall all have a chance, while you praise him skyhigh. To put gv^ia in the fist of the Carrier Boy ! 312 MacColl's Poems. FROM ADDRESS FOR 1867. Scene. — A snug Editonal Sanctum — Black Jack sitting in an easy chair, with writing materials at hand. Time — New Yearns Eve, approaching midnight (1866-67). Hebe sit I racking my poor brain, yet not One bright idea can I get to jot ; My powers poetic, like all else around, In Winter's icy manacles seem bound. This will not do — a glass of good hot " Morton" May thaw my frozen fancy — Here's to fortune ! U \ Bless me ! that bumper worketh like a charm ; The past returns — I see a motley swarm Of coriimon cut-throats land upon our soil, Hoping to make this country fair their spoil.* I see our yeomen rising in their might, And send the howling miscreants quick to flight ; Knaves more akin ^o Mercary than Mars, Wondrously valiant over whiskey jars ; The worst Canadians fear from such blacklegs Are hen-roosts harried, and a dearth of eggs ! - -^-— ^--..--.. Invaders worthier far now greet my view ; Two mighty ships their way o'er ocean plough ; For far Columbia '/estward straight they sweep. Giving in keeping to the stormy deep That cord by which two worlds in one are bound. And Science wins a triumph most profound ; Well may she pride herself that thus they're brought To greet each other with the speed of thought ! * The Fenian invasion of 1866. V ^ ing tn an easy ew Yearns Eve, a" )! m; MacColl's Poems. 313 Tlie scene is changed. Lo I to my joyful sight The ship Confederation,* strong and tight, Looms through the fog that late her path obscured ;- Her quick arrival is a fact assured : Let us but have her safely once in port, Of Fenians and their friends we can make sport. What though cute Jonathan looks rather glum To think of missing a long-envied plum, Let him take heart, — we have no wish to vex him, And promise in due season to "annex" him I ' ht nd, trought ! FROM ADDRESS FOR 1869. Again comes round to you the happy day I so much dread :— My tributary lay May fail to please :— If so, I cannot help it ; Ehymes you must have, and while my best I skelp out, You must not yawn, should they seem somewhat tame',- 'Tis oft the same with bards of deathless fame. O for a B e or S n's ready style ! Then might this screed be measured by the mile ; Then might I proudly on my forehead label, " A rhyme for sixpence,— length, Atlantic cable I " But being not thus gifted, well I wot You must forgive me if my muse should not Show better pacns than the old jog-trot. [ bein; cr^umrt^^^^^ ''' ''^""^'^ ^^^--1 Union, ^hen very nigh to Ife 314 MacColl's Pokms. Men worthy freedom never long remain Content to live in fetters. See how Spain, Roused from her sleep 'neath priestcraft's Upas tree, "Walks forth into the air of Liberty, Where the base yoke by her so lately worn She casteth off with a befitciog scorn 1 No friend to Freedom's cause can well do less Than wish her and her Castellar success, And thou too. Prim ! without whose courage rare The vampires at her throat might still be there. Let's hope that with her Jezebel exiled Her court with such a quean shall be no more defiled. Now turn we north to where the Sphynx of France With Prussia's Bismarck longs to break a lance. And nightly finds how, spite the softest down, " Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown." Well may the knavo be troubled with the thought That far too dearly his with blood was bought ~ A heartless deed for which he may, anon, Be made with his own base blood to atone. But hush, my muse, — he's Britain's ally tried. Nor found much wanting : Let the fellow slide ! Lo, on the Adriatic, Greek and Turk, Their sabres whetting, threaten bloody work ! Shall Moslem hordes ne'er from their grasp release The land of Homer and of Pericles ? Shall o'er the Cross again the Crescent wave. And Freedom find in Greece once more a grave ? Forbid it, Heaven ! — to Grecia's hands restore The sword that won Therraopylaj of yore, "". "^" MacColl's Poems. 315 And let the Moslem know, to his dismay, How sharp it strikes— how vainly would ho stay The hour foretold that shall his sceptre see Forever broken. Quickly may it be ! Joy to thee, Erin I Land of love and song. Thy night departs— a weary night and long ! O'er thy green hills a day-dawn glad I mark, — That day long promised ! Quickly may thou hark The shouts that shall reveal the robber sway 3y thee so long endured, forever swept away. Would that thy son, whose loss we all deplore. Had lived to see the land he loved once more Eejoicing in the reign of Peace and Right I How would Us spirit gladden at the sight ! But he is not,— 0, misery to think His star so bright should all so sudden sink! Woe to the hand accursed which sped the ball That left him lifeless ! Long yon Senate Hall Shall miss the voice that charmed all list'ners there With wisdom, wit and eloquence so rare : Well may his country's caoine bitter be— She lost her noblest son when fell beloved McGee ! * Highlanders, up ! determined not to pause Till ye havo made your own the same good laws Now promised Erin : "Tis high time that ye Ceased asking for your rights on bended knee. »T Thomas D'Arcy Mc(iee, poet, orator and historian, assassinated while on his way from the House of Commons, Ottawa, on the niaht of April 7th, 1868. ^., -M, 11 > ii;ii ! 316 MacColl's Poems. Too long on lands in Heaven's sight your own Others have reaped what you alone have sown ; Up, then ! Speak out ! nor fear the upshot just Will be, your spoilers made to lick the dust I A growing murmur from besouth the Tweed Shews that there too is felt oppression's tread : The '* merry England " of old minstrel rhymes Has quite evanished — leaving for our times A land where gold is god, and, face to face, Splendour and squalor — Dives pnd Lazarus ; Toil, toil, and little for it being now The sole, sad portion to the sweating brow Her heartless Mammon-worshippers allow : What need they care, where flesh is cheap aa dirt, How many sing the sad ** Song of the Shirt 1 " Let well alone, quoth suppie Disraeli ; Let Eight prevail, shouts Gladstone, in reply, Indignant at the brazen pow'r of nerve That calls that land well ruled where thousands starve I FBOM ADDRESS EOK 1878. *f^ 'f* T* •!» Cast we a glance where Russian legions are 'Gainst Moslem hosts barbaric waging war. And Osman,* with a pluck that wins applause E'en' from his foes, his sword undaunted draws, *The Commander-in-Chief of the Turkish Army. . MacColl's Poems. 317 irt, Till, overpowered, he yields in such a way As makes us almost grieve his star's decay. For such sad work the Russ mav blameful bo, Yet may we hope, withal, in him to see The heavoa-appointed sword ordained ere long To chase the Moslem back to whence ho sprung,- A sword beneath whose strong, protecting sheen May happen tliji.t in Patmos long foreseen — A dried Euphrates, o'er which Israel may Turn Zion-ward once more her joyful way I But, leaving wiser heads to solve that quest, Let's turn to France, where patriot and priest Seem fierce-contending who that land shall rule, And would-be-wise MacMahon acts the fool. 'Tis no slight joy for Freedom's friends to know His plans all baffled, and his pride laid low, While France to her Gambetta proudly brings A loving homage seldom earned by kings. s starve 1 * h What of Britannia ? Has she really sold Her proud place 'mong earth's powers through greed of gold ? I fear it much— and yet there is some hope While she has men like Bright 'gainst knaves to cope ; And thou too, Gladstone, bravely girding on Thine armour where fresh laurels may be won ; A war 'gainst Wrong, long sheltered 'neath the shield Of " vested rights," thou'rt just the man to wield. Let magnates, on "class privileges" who stand Beware the thunderbolts in thy right hand,. _ And cease of their just rights to baulk or foil Their betters far — the " pedigree of toil." .!iii:.i I" I ^?i 318 MacColl's Poems. Fain would my muBo do liomngo fit to him, Tho noblest yet of an illustrious naa.c, Stanley ! who to the sea from its far source Tho mighty Congo did so bravely course ; A grand achievement, seeming, all alone, Enough t' immortalize the year just gone ! Glad would I be to sing of Dufferin bright, That graceful Ariel, full of life and light. Who late, on slopes Pacific far away. Like to some grand Aurora in full play. Aired his rare eloquence in such a mood As charmed the very ** stoic of the wood," And leaving those who there would discord brew Ashamed their tactics further to pursue. But time forbids that on such topics tempting I here should dwell, the Whig alone exempting — Our own brave Whig ! who, witty as he's wise. Ne'er fails '* to shoot at folly as it flies." Armed with the Truth— that true Ithuriel spear— He crowds wit^iin the space of one brief year Such triumphs as may make us fondly deem His well-earned fame, like to some noble stream Ever increasing in its seaward flow. Shall, year by year, from great to greater grow. * MacColl's Poems. 319 >w tr- n FHOM ADLUE8.S FOU 1882. Hark ! 'tis the tolling of tho midniglit bell : Old Year of scones eventful, fare thoe well 1 Despite some ugly wrinkles on thy face, To us, Canadians, great has been thy grace : — Barns full to overflowing,- -that's a fact, — " Hums " in abundance by great Tilley''= tracked, •' Tall chimneys" gladdening the Mail's horizon, Tho Globe vain-asking for a sight of one, — Blake to applauding thousands by the sea Airing his eloquence triumphantly, — Lornes in the land whore bisons breed and browse. With crowds of red men holding grand pow-wows,- Wild 'mong the "lost tribes" finding himself lost, Yet bound to play the fool at any cost, — Vennor triumphant in his prophecies, — Comets in couples racing through our skies, — Sea serpents of our own, and no mistake. Found quite convenient down in Rideau Lake, — B e and the bard of famed Niagara river Food for our laughter quite as much as ever, — Grip's humour, too, as you right well may ween. The ne plus ultra it has always been I ^s Alas to think that, with so much to please, There should be found some saddening memories,- Alas, that of those stains, thy skirts around, The blood of martyred Garfield should be found ! The then Canadian Minister of Finance. ¥, '1 320 MacColl's Poems. Alas, f.oo, that crazed Russia's noblest Czar Should, dying as he did. Old Year, much mar The record left ua of thy vanished star ! To right the wrongs endured by any nation, Fiends only could suggest assassination ! The world is moving I See in Cuba's isle The bondsman casting off his fetters vile ; See, in the East— a sign of glorious hope — The symbolled Euphrates quick drying up, — Greece bravely striving to prove hers once more The patriot spirits of iier sons of yore ; In France, Gambet'a — Castelar, in Spain Fast circumscribing bigotry's domain, — Italy, too, witii no unworthy pride, MedinBval fett(Ms throwing quite aside ! Where'er we tarn our gaze, the whole earth through, Dagons, long worshipped, prostrate meet our view. When such Truth's triumphs now, how grand the sight When the poor pagan feels its fuller might. And all the earth is filled with Gospel light I Cast we a glance now on that honoured Isle Whose flag waves proudly o'er our own fair soil, And lo, great Gladstone leading still the van Of patriots toiling for the rights of man ! Disraelian tactics, scornful, set aside — The law of righteousness alone his guide, — That spirit full of Demosthenic fire. That wondrous worker whom no task can tire, — MacColl's Poems. 321 ore throngli, r view. id the sight That scholar great as any on earth's ball, That statesman in whose presence kings look small,- That Christian God-fearing above all, — Small wonder is it that he stands confessed - Of all Britannia's sons the noblest, best ! If all his toils for Erin's good had been His only claim to honour, well I ween It were enough to make his much-loved name Be handed down to everlasting fame. Here we might aptly throw a brief glance critical At our own somewhat muddy state political, — Viewing, much grieved, the mischief and the muss Created by our " beasts at Ephesus," — The loaves and fishes of official life Too oft the only cause of all their strife, — But let them at each other tear away, Kilkenny-cat-like, in the doubtful fray ; To most of us, who are the " Outs " or " Ins " Is a concern not worth a row of pins, Believing it a truth as any sure. That •' few of all the ills that men endure Are those which laws or kings can cause or euro." sle soil, n ire, — And now, gentle readers Of every degree. Who oft have glad-listened Jack's roundelays free, The least he can do Ero he ends his rude rhyme Is to wish you all joy Of this glad Christmas-time. 322 MacColl's Poems. May kisses be plenty 'Neath mistletoe boughs — No damsel too dainty Such boon to refuse, — While matrons, rememb'ring Their own happy prime. Think it all quite K At this gay Christmas-time I May men more than ever Be led to believe How greater the bliss is To give than receive, And none having wealth ;j> C junt it less than a criuij To forget poorer folk At this blest Christmas-time. Self-praise is no honour — ^ - : Yet still vou must own The boys of the Wmo '■ Quite a pride to the town. No citizen good Can well grudge them big hauls i Of dollars, while making * Their New- Year's- Day calls. Black Jack o' the Whig. EXTRACTS FROM NOTES -OF A- TOUR mra IE MM OF SCOMND, IN 1838-39. lO. Oct. 23. — At Inverness. — Spent the evening with Mr. Maclnnes, a self-taught artist of great merit. A very lovely girl, just entering her teens, his only child. Addressed a complimentary verse to her picture — one painted by her father, and in which she is represented in the attitude of caressing a favorite dog. Maclnnes is an enthusiast in his art, and one of the most intelligent men I ever met with. Oct. 24. — Visited the Moor of Culloden, on my way to Nairn. Grieved to find the graves in which rests the dust of so many heroic spirits most shamefully desecrated by burrowing tour'sts. It seemed as if a herd of swine had been lately digging there. Nearly as bad is the " reclaiming" work going on all around, and threatening soon to bring the whole battle-field under the dominion of the plough — graves and all! Oct. 25. — At the Manse of Croy. My reverend host, a warm- hearted, hospitable soul ; his wife, a very superior woman and an enthusiast in Celtic literature. Oct. 26. — Visited Kilravock Castle and also that of Calder in company with Miss Campbell, their daughter. Calder Burn, exquisitely romantic. According to ?. tradition very prevalent in the north, Calder Castle is the scene of King Duncan's death. The room where he is said to have slept, and where Macbeth slew him, is yet shown to visitors ; so is also a curiously concealed chamber, in which the unfortunate Lord 324 Tour Through the North of Scotland. Lovat secreted himself for six weeks during the reign of terror succeed- i tig the battle of CuUodeu. Some of the rooms are hung with tapestry, ill which several scriptural characters are very artistically pourtrayed. Oct. 28. — At Nairn. Had an interview with Mrs. Grant, of Duthil, a moat intelligent, venerable lady — the author of a work on education and also of several poetical " flights " in the Osaianic style. Oct. 30. — Met the Nairnshire poet, William Gordon — the most self-i nportant, egotistical specimen of the doggerel class of rhymers ever seen by me. V - .^ ■ - 1 November 4. — Attended a little evening party at the house of the Misses Carmichael — three delightful maiden ladies from Stvathspey, and occupying the very house in which Prince Charles is said to have slept on the night preceding the battle of CuUoden. In a fit of Jacobite enthusiasm I proposed, and was cordially welcomed, to sleep in the identical room where Charlie stretched his own ro^al limbs — a privilege of which I gladly availed myself. Nov. 6. — Met Mr. Priest, gardener at Kinsterrie, the author of several clever poems and songs in the Scottish dialect. Nov. 8. — Left Nairn for Forres. Village of Auldearn on the way. Quite close to it the celebrated Blar Ault-Eirinn of our Celtic bards was fought — Montrose and Alastair MacCoUa, with 1,600 men, gaining a complete victory over the Covenanting clans, 3,000 strong. Of the latter, about one half the number were slain, while Montrose is said to have lost only twenty men ! In the village churchyard sre the tombs of many of the principal m'3n who fell on that day. Over one pious tenant of the tomb is erected a dial with a suitable inscription — per- haps the very one that suggested Hugh Miller's beautiful address "To a Dial in a Churchyard." There it indeed stands, "in mockery o'er the dead ! the stone that measures time." Three miles further east is the "Har-Moor," where the " Weird Sisters" met Macbeth. Here stands, preserved by the good taste of Lord Murray, as a mark and memorial of the scene, a clump of fir trees, the sole remnant left now of a once extensive fir wood lately given to the axe. The road to Forres passes within gunshot distance of the very spot where that celebrated meeting is said to have taken place. In selling the wood in question. Lord Murray forgot to make an exception as to these trees ; and I have been told that it was not till that nobleman had agreed to pay the mean- Bouled purchaser thrice their value did he consent to spare them. )TLAND. of terror succeed- ng with tapestry, cally poiirtrayefl. Mrs. Grant, of lor of a work on I Osaianic style, ordon — the most class of rhymers the house of the from Strathspey, 3S is said to have len. In a fit of welcomed, to sleep vn rojjal limbs — a •ie, the author of learn on the way. our Celtic bards ,500 men, gaining strong. Of the fontrose is said to ard are the tombs Over one pious inscription — per- iful address "To a mockery o'er the further east is the ith. Here stands, lark and memorial eft now of a once ,d to Forres passes ;elebrated meeting in question. Lord ; and I have been to pay the mean- tt to spare them. Tour Through the North of Scotland. 325 Visited, a little further on, Brodic House, a very interesting mansion. Beautiful suspension oridge over the Findhorn, which I crossed on my way to Forres, where 1 took up my quarters for the night. Nov. 9. — Visited the Cluny Hills in the vicinity of Forres. On one of these stands Nelson's tower, built by the spirited people of Forres in commemoration of that naval hero's victories over the French, etc. Most extensive view from it ot the surrounding country — the Moray Frith with the "Sutors" of Cromarty seen in the distance, and Ben Wyvis, further off, rising in cloudy grandeur to terminate the westward prospect. Mr ny other hills of lesser note, from Benvaichard, in Strathglass, to Morvern, in Caithness, conspire to make the view al- together a magnificent one. Nov. 15. — Dine with the Macleans of North Cottage — a fine family from my own native county. Gaelic — music — very happy. Nov. 16. — An excursion up the banks of the Findhorn to Relugai^ — lately the property and favourite residence of Sir Thomas Dick Lauder, who here wrote liis "Wolf of Badenoch," and who, by a happy blending of art with nature, left Relugais a scene altogether worthy of fairyland. Immediately below the house, the river Devine joins the Findhorn, where they embrace, like lovers in the greenwood, never more to part company till lost in the Moray Frith. Near by, are the remains of a vitrified fort. Two miles further up the Devine is seen Dunphail, the charming home of Major Cumming-Bruce. An old roman- tic ruin — once a feudal residence of great strength, and connected with much that is wild in the traditions of the country — overlooks the river, at a few hundred yards' distance from the Major's house. Called on him — had a very kind reception and the pleasure of being introduced to his wife, a great-grand-daughter of Bruce, the celebrated traveller. Dined at the house of a very worthy gentlem.an, Mr. Simpson, of Out- law-well — one of Sir William Gordon Cumming's sons being the only other guest present. Had a distant view of Daruaway Castie and its surroundings on my way back to Forres. Nov. 17. — Waited on Lady and Sir William Gordon Gumming, of Altyre — an invitation to dine ut Altyte House next Monday, the con- sequence of the interview. Sunday, Nov. 18. — Attended parish church. Heard a good discourse from the Rev. Duncan Grant. Dined with him at the Manse after- i I ■ i ill 326 Tour Through the North of Scotland. wards. Mr. Grant is the author of several pretty hymns and other pieces of poetry. Nov. 19.— Dined and passed the night at Altyre House. Sit \Vi\- Ham a most humorous man, a strange compound of great good sense and drollery. Lady Gumming a very charming woman, supremely accomplished, and even talented — paints beautifully, sings well, and is a splendid player on the piano. Miss Gumming and her younger sisters all very graceful. Sir VV^illiam's son and heir dressed in the Highland garb and looking every inch a chief, Nov. 21. — Accompanied Gaptain Maclean (North Gottage) to Bur- gle House, the seat of General Macpherson, the Gaptain's brother-in- law, and a very worthy man. Partridge shooting — good sport. Dine and paas the night at the General's. Nov. 22. — Visited a remarkable plane-tree in the General's garden ; ascended the old tower in the vicinity — splendid view of land and sea ; and, after diverging two miles off the road to have a peep at the ruins of Kinloss Abbey, return in the evening to Forres. Nov. 23. — Visited the "Sands of Gulbin," a bank of that material extending to a considerable distance from the mouth of the Findhorn, and covering (as ti'adition has it) several hundred acres of what was one hundred years ago the best arable land in Morayshire. It was then the property of some "wicked Laird of Gulbin," who in one tem- pestuous night lost both his life and estate in these sands driven by wind and wave over his head ! Dined in the evening at Altyre House, where I had the honor of being introduced to the Hon. Golonel Grant, M.P. for Morayshire, and also his accomplished daughter, — Major Cumming-Bruce, his wife and daughter, — Mr. Macleod of Dalvey, and other notables also present. Sir William a most genial host, full of life and doul, and making all around him happy. Miss Gumming-Bruce a very delightful girl, an exquisite singer, and having the good sense to prefer Scottish airs to any foreign music. Nov. 24. — Dined again at Altyre House, Golonel Grant, his wife and daughter, still there. Nov. 27. — Dined at Dalvey House. Bonfires all over the country in course of the evening, on account of Brodie of Brodie's marriage. Wrote a song for the occasion at Mr. Macleod's recjuest. Nov. 30. — Proo«'oded to Elgin. Magnificent catliedral in ruhie. It was stripped two hundred years ago of oil the lead on its roof, by i^mns and other I rant, hia wife ' Tour Through THE North OF Scotland. 327 the then Town Council of Elgin, with the mean object of making a V"<,]e money by its sale! The Lossie, a rathtr sluggish stream, flows ly its walls. Its precincts were for a long time a favourite place of sepulture with the chiefs of the Clan Cordon and many other once dis- tinguished northern chiefs "of high and warlike name." Elgin's other principal buildings are a huge barn-like church, surmounted, however, by a rather elegant dome, an infirmary or hosj^ ital, and an academy — the two last-named being both very handsome structures. Dec. 2. — Visited, in company with Mr. Brown, editor of the Elym Gourant, the Lady's Hill, a little "cnoc" rising immediately behind the town to the west. It was at one time sui mounted by a castle, part of the walls of which are still seen. A nunnery once stood close by it. A monumental column in honor of the late Duke of Gordon is intended soon to ornament this little Calton Hill of the north. Dined at Mr. Forsyth's, the bookseller, a brother to Forsyth whose "Travels in Italy" has gone throuijh seven or eight editions, and whose remarks upon the Fine Arts in that country have drawn high encomiums from Lord Byron and other distinguished critics. Dec. 5. — Dined at the house of Mr. Shearer, late Postmaster-Gen- eral of the North of Scotland, a worthy, hospitable old gentleman. His wife a very intellectual woman, and must have once been quite a beauty. She is a daughter of the "Black Captain" of Badenoch, whose death in a snow-storm, when on a hunting excursion, is connected by his countrymen with so much of the marvellous and mysterious, and by the Ettrick Shepherd made the foundation of one of his mobt romantic tales. Dec. 6. — Read Mr. Brown's "Poetical Ephemeras." Love and friendship almost entirely his themes. Melancholy the prevailing tone of his lyre — very delicate health the probable cause of this. His rhymes are always harmonious, yet, being all pitched in the same sombre key, they are to me rather dull reading — a mere "monotony of eweet sounds." Dec. 1G. — Went to hear Mr. McLaren, of the Episcopalian Chapel. Sliown many of his poetic productions in MS., and tliought them beau- tiful. He is an occasional contril)utor to li/arkwootVs Magazine — a great Jacobite and a good singer. Dec. 17. — Breakfasted with Mr. Maclaren, and went with him afterwards to see one of the only two existing original portraits of ■ .•.-,■ ;*■■ * ll^f** 328 Tour Through the Ncrth of Scotland. Claverhouao. It is, along with another of the great Montrose, in the possession of a maiden hwly living in the vicinity of the town. Deo. 24. — Visited the old Priory of Pluscardine. The devastation made on it by the hand of time is scarcely more to be regretted than is a wretched attempt on the part of its proprietor. Colonel Grant, at something like a renovation, with a view to its being used as a school- house, I believe. The effect is to greatly mar the veneration and interest with which we always gaze on real ruins. It was once tenant- ed by a colony of White Friars, but is now the favourite haunt of a colony ol crows. Had an interview with the venerable father of the Church of Scotland, Mr. Lesslie. He is ninety-two years old, and yet hale and hearty. He walks to Elgin, a distance of three miles, every other day, and preaches long and loud twice every Pabbath in the year ! Dec. 26. — Bade adieu to Elgin ; and after passing by the castle and lake, or rather marsh, of Swiney, reached Lossiemouth at night. Fine new harbor — much needed. Speymouth and the woods around Castle Gordon seen in the distance. Dec. 27. — Set out for Burghead, the most northerly Roman station in Britain. Called at the Manse of Drynie, on the way,— visiting after- wards a field close by it, where, amidst the foundations of what some conjecture to have once been a bishop's palace, and others a fortifica- tion, the Rev. Dr. Rose lately discovered a stone coffin and some urns, fragments of both of which were shown me. Three miles further west, on a mound forming at one time an islet in the now drained Lake of Spynie, stand the ruins of the Castle of Duffus. Reached Burghead in the evening. Find it a most shabby -looking village, and determine upon leaving it ; not, however, until having a look at the Roman well discovered there, deep hid in earth (or rather sand), about twenty years ago. Till then the inhabitants of this sterile little promontory must have been very ill off for water. The well is well worthy of the anti- quarian's notice. Made my way back to Forres, arriving there about 8 p.m. Dec. 28. — Left for Grantown, Strathspey, which I reached about 10 P.M., weary enough, and much needing a good glass of "Glenlivet" afcer so long a walk. Dec. 29. — Visited the celebrated "Haughs of Cromdale," four miles down, on the east bank of the river Spey. Kindly invited to pass LAND. introse, in the 3wn. le devastation [retted than is nel Grant, at d as a school- sneration and I once tenant- te haunt of a father of the i old, and yet ! miles, every bhath in the >y the castle uth at night, i^oods around Oman station visiting after- jf what some 's a fortlfica- d some urns, further west, ined Lake of Burghead in d determine Roman well ;wenty years ontory must of the anti- there about ached about "Glenlivet" idale," four i^ited to pass Tour Through the North of Scotland. 329 the Sabbath at the manse with Mr. Grant, which I declined doing owing to a prior engagement. Dko. 30.— Heard Peter Grant, autlior of the "Dain Spioradail," preach. His discourse most edifying, and wondrously well arranged, though delivered extempore. His diction and delivery are alike poor, but he is rich in matter, and argues his point with great clearness. Without much mental power, but with a deep religious feeling, and persevering industry to make the most of the talent given him, he has been enabled to take a deup hold of the minds of hii; Gaelic-speak- ing countrymen, both as a jjoet and a preacher. He is fifty years old, has a numerous family, and lives on the very farm on which his father and grandfather lived before him. Jan. 1, 1839.— Had an interview with Mrs. Mackay, a grand- daughter of the celebrated Flora Macdonald, lately come from Nairn to Grantown. Here I was presented with a breastpin worn by her mother (Flora's daughter) — a gift which I am proud to possess. Mrs. Mackay is a widow with three daughters, and enjoys a pension from the Government of £50 a year. It was procured her through the interest of Sir Walter Scott, when George IV. was at Edinburgh in 1822. There never was a farthing of public money more worthily bestowed. Mrs. Mackay had been a widow for many years previously ; her husband, a respectable shop-keeper in Nairn, having been drowned while bathing, and that in her own sight. It was a brother of hers— a particularly fine young fellow, b .Idiug a lieutenant's commission in the army — who was killed many years ago in a duel forced on him by the then Chief of Glengarry. The affair arose from a tiifling misunderstanding between them at one of the Northern M eeting balls. Elizabeth, her youngest daughter, has set up a sewing and reading school, which is attended by several pretty little girls. She is a very pious, amiable girl, and is the author of several sweet pieces of poetry. Jan. 2. — I this day received the very highest compliment ever paid me as a minstrel. This was in the shape of a visit from a young ^ad who came several ir^iles through the snow to see me and solicit a lock of my hair, bringing with him, as an offering, a ccpy of the "Lay of the Last Minstrel." He came three several days upon the same errand, but having no one to introduce him, he went home twice with- out having seen me. On the third occasion of his coming, his courage was equal to a self-introduction. Though so young and modest, there ■ 330 Tour Through the North of Scotland. seems to be scarcely a poem in the English language that he has not contrived to read, and, to u very great degree, committed to memory.* Having '(uickly undecived him as to the awful dignity with wliich his imagination had invested mo, we soon learned to enjoy each other's company immensely. Jan. 3.— Dined and spent the night with the Rev. Mr. Stewart of ^ibernothy, a most kind-hearted gentleman, and the author of two or three capital bits of English poetry. A splendid group of hills, amid which Cairngorm stands the chief, seen from the manse. Jan. 4. — Proceeded up Speyside to Rothiemurchus. The scenery here charming beyond description, its beauties being chiefly of an Alpine character, with forests of pine and birch spread in the most splendid profusion far over hill and dell. Nature herself is the only planter, and nobly does she accomplish her task ! Between the river and the hills that rise sublimely grand to the south and south-east, Loch-an-Eilein sleeps in its mountain cradle. Beautiful it is, with its little castellated islet, and its banks thickly studded with pine trees of gigantic stature gazing upon their own dark forms in its ever placid bosom. Jan. 6. — Left Rothiemurchus early this morning. Road muhc blocked by snow. Visited the Rev. Mr. Macdonald, of the Parish of Alvie, on my way further 'vest. Mr. Macdonald has written some pretty fair poetry in his younger days. His manse and church are most picturea<]uely situated on the banks of a little lake whose name I forget, and close by Kinrara, long a summer residence of the late Duchess of Gordon. Seven miles still further west is Belleville, the romantic birthplace of Macpherson, the celebrated translator of Ossian's poems. A monument on the north side of the road reminds the travel- ler that he is on classic ground ; and base is he indeed who cau pass by it and bless not the memory of the man who had done so much to wrest from oblivion these glorious productions. Two miles further on is Kingussie, M'here I now write, and from the wintlow of my room can gaze on the Castle of Ruthven, a very pictur^quc ruin on the opposite side of the river. It was here that the little hurricane cloud which, in the IForty-fiue, gathced in Glenfinnan, and carried distraction and dis- ♦John Grant Macintosh — afterwards for some time an employee in the In- verness "Courier" office, and more recently an oflBcer of excise— was the lad here alluded to. LAND. ihat he has not 3(1 to memory.* with which hia jy each other's Mr. Stewart of uthor of two or p of hills, amid IS. The scenery g chiefly of an 3ad in the most irself is the only etween the river and south-east, tul it is, with its rith pine trees of n its ever placid ig. Road muhc of the Parish of as written some and church are ke whose name I ence of the late is Belleville, the islator of Ossian's minds the travel- who can pass by so much to wrest es further on is of my room can n on the opposite e cloud which, in istraction and dis- jmployeo in the In- axcise— was the lad Tour Through the North of Scotland. 331 may in its course towards England, Viieltod at last into "thin air." After the battle of CuUoden, the muster of scattered clans at the Castle of Ruthven might amount to about 8,000. Althougli in tliis gatl»ering there was found many a chief whose voice was "still for war," it was ultimately agreed upon that any further attempt on their part to pro- long hostilities would be altogether in vain. Jan. 8. — Proceeded towards Laggan. Snow very deep. A lake on the left hand side ; its scenery about the most romantically beautiful I have ever gazed upon. Ic was night, but the waste of snow around, with a star here and there peeping through the skirts of the snow- clouds hanging over-head, made it appear less like night than a "day in absence of the sun." It required no small effort to tear myself away from a spot so very bewitching, notwithstanding all that Mrs. Grant, the author of "Letters from the Mountains," has told us of its haunted character ! About two miles farther on, on the right, is Cluny Castle, the residence of the chief of the Clan MacPherson. Two miles still farther on, stand the manse and church of Laggan, which I passed, making my way, "weary and worn," to the little inn near to them, on the south side of the river (Spey), where I took up my quarters for the night. Jan. 9. — Visited the parish minister, the Rov. Mr. Cameron, by whom I was hospitably received, and much blamed for daring to pass his manse on the pi'cceding night to take up my abode in less comfort- able quarters. But a promise to pass a whole week of next summer with him made matters all right. After suiliciently admiring this region of grace and grandeur l)oth, and amid which the gifted Mrs. Grant lived so long and sung so sweetly, I bade farewell to Badenoch ; and after breasting the hill of Druniuachdrach, spent the night at Dal- whinnie, on the road to Perth. Capital inn ; very kind landlord. Scenery around wildly grand beyond description. Close by, is the eastern termination of the far-famed Loch-firrochd, which, before the arrival of the mail of to-morrow morning for the south, I am determin- ed to visit. In the meantime, however, I shall t;o and dream of its beauties in bed. Jan. 10. — It was scarcely dawn this morning when the mail arriv- ed, and I was forced to leave Loch-Errochd unseen. Why should I, or how can I, describe my journey to the "Fair City ?" It was done in too much hurry, and the snow all along far too deep to admit of my li . 1 i ill 1 332 Tour Through the North of Scotland. "takiir notes" with any degree of comfort or eorrcctiiess. Suffice it, in the mcantiiiio to say that our road hiy through scenes of such wonder- ful beauty as I can scarcely ever expect to see e(|ualled. Reached Perth late at night minium my portmanteau, whi'.'h I found to have Keen taken off the coach during our halt at Dunkeld, likely through a mistake on the part of 8omelM)dy. Jan. 11. — Traversed the city. Think it hardly worthy of its flat- tering title. Its suburhs, however, are sufficiently fair and romantic. The Tay glides, or rather rushes, by it — a majestic flood which, taken all in all, has not its nuitcit in Scotland. \Vaited the arrival of the evening mail, and traced my portnuinteau to safe hands. Started about eleven o'clock at night with the mail for (llasgow, where I arrived safe- ly this morning (Jan. 12) at ten o'clock. ^ . .c 'LAND. I. Suffice it, in )f such womlor- Roachud Perth lavc been taken n\gh a niintake >rthy of its fliit- • and romantic. il which, taken arrival of the Started about I arrived safe-