Part 6

So Viscount Edwin sat and dreamed bright dreams of after hours When the curate's winsome daughter should reign at Crawfurd towers; And a new, sweet peace stole o'er him as he thought of all the scorn With which the Earl had spoken of the maiden lowly born.

How he had pointed to their sires, and reasoned of disgrace, While bitter disappointment had paled his noble face; Then how, relenting for the sake of her long since in heaven, He'd ta'en his boy unto his heart, and seeming wrong forgiven.

Then o'er the dreamer's youthful face there stooped a passing cloud; But an angel voice made whisper beyond the satin shroud, As a gentle hand pressed tenderly upon the smooth, white brow, "I loved thee, Oh my little one!--I love and bless thee now."

II.

"Dear Cousin Ida! on this day I crave thy special grace!" The red tide surged in angry force; deep flushed the comely face. "I may not wish you well," she said, "it cannot come to me That aught could ever bridge the gulf 'twixt such as her--and thee."

Lord Edwin proffered no reply; she was his childhood's friend; "Come Fido!" to his faithful hound, "our cheerful way we'll wend Across the park, adown the mead, on to the river's side Where, 'neath the jasmine's fragrant shade, the glad hours quickly glide."

Oh! lightly o'er the heart of youth life's scathing breezes blow; To vanish, as 'fore noonday sun, the first, soft flakes of snow; And smiles the buoyant hope of youth as smiles the tranquil shore When Ocean, having spent his wrath, retreats with sullen roar.

At early morn the nuptial peals rang forth full merrily; Before the lark sang matin song the village stirred with glee;

The agèd church looked young again, in arch and pillar green, As through the quaint, old diamond panes peeped in the rising sheen.

A joyous crowd hath filled the pews; along the sacred walls, Even as a benediction, the orient glory falls; The choir within the chancel sit, the organ swell expands, The clergyman who baptized both will link the lovers' hands.

Why cometh not the maiden in her crown of orange flowers? Why linger Earl and bridegroom gay amid their haughty towers?-- Bring hither cypress garnishing! nor bay nor orange bloom; For music and for marriage-feast are silence and the tomb.

With song and voice of cheering the barque doth hoist her sails, But who shall tell if into port she'll glide with favouring gales; The golden chalice of the years with joy may overflow; Drink whilst ye will the sweetened draught, the end ye may not know.

Upon his couch at morning tide the noble bridegroom lies;

Nor wedding peal will break his rest, nor dawn will ope his eyes; The violets shall bloom and fade, the river sing its rhyme, That ear attuned to echoes sweet, is closed to notes of time.

Still robed in richest evening dress, within her tiring-room The Lady Ida sitteth, but her soul hath passed to doom; One line to solve the mystery; one only line, which read: "She wiled from me the living! she cannot part the dead!"

* * * * *

Oh! saddest note in saddening song! The fair, unwedded bride With reason fled, might oft be seen Near by the river side.

Now plaiting wreaths of sweet, wild flowers To rhythms light and gay; Now listening for the manly step She hailed in former day.

Till the Father, in His mercy, Sent an angel from above To tend her guileless spirit up Into the haven of love.

Earl Crawfurd, crushed with shame and woe Bent low his stately head; And, ere the forest leaves were strewn, He slumbered with his dead.

His mansion, with ancestral lands, Rich farms and pastures fair; A vast and goodly heritage, Passed to a distant heir.

So now, in its kingly grandeur Of terrace, arch and tower, Stands Crawfurd Castle, mute and lone As hermit in his bower.

SONGS OF SCOTIA.

THE SCOTCH GATHERING.

Hurrah for Scotland's ancient flag! Now floating on the breeze; Its every wave in vision paints A clime beyond the seas.

And, as that music fills the air Which breathes of mountain-steep, Our spirits wander back again To where our fathers sleep.

Again we hear the dashing foam Which plunges down the dell; Or ramble o'er the broomy knowes, Or cull the sweet bluebell.

Or sit in restful gloaming-tide, 'Neath honeysuckle porch, And watch the tewhits winging low Beyond the old, grey church,

As balmy breath of briar and thyme Comes wafted o'er the moor, And sheds the gold, laburnum fringe Upon its grassy floor.

Or linger by the martyrs' grave; Or tread the hallowed sod Where Hope and Valour stoutly fought For country and for God.

The Cora Lynn yet sings the dirge And deeds of Wallace wight; Whilst Bannockburn still echoes forth Who bravely died for right.

Oh! beauteous, tender mountain land! Where'er thy children roam, Along their lives the heartstrings thrill To tune of "Home! sweet Home!"

Thy halls of learning grace the earth, And dignify the name Which side by side hath ever stood With honor, truth and fame.

Thy sons, who now with strong, right arm The stone and hammer wield, Type well the sires who glory gained, Or perished on the field.

Now, three cheers for our Highland Chief! Three more for the Macneill![Note] Three for all those who fondly prize The land we love _sae weel_!

And three cheers for our noble Queen! Who from the Bruce descends; Whose life, attuned to sympathy, A nation's love defends.

SKYE.

Hail to the clime of the mist and the mountain! Of cataract foaming in boisterous glee; Hail to Cuchullin! proud-peering through cloudland, In red, rocky grandeur, from sea unto sea. Fair isle of the patriot, the sage and the songster! Thou shrine of the deeds of the noble and brave! Who lived for their kinsmen, who died for their country; Whose ashes repose in a far, foreign grave.

Of spirit undaunted, of intellect bright As the glistening lakes in thy bosom which lie; The archives of learning, the annals of might Shall lustre for ever the heroes of Skye.[Note] Injustice may scathe thee, deep gloom thee surround, Thy night shall yet vanish, bright dawn to restore; When peace and fair plenty once more shall abound, From Macleod's sea-girt castle to Armadale's shore.

"BONNIE DUNDEE."

Whene'er I hear the well-kent tune My heart gangs ower the sea And communes with the loved o' yore In the dear auld countrie.

Ance mair I run, wi' lichtsome step And spirits fu' o' glee

Ane o' a joyous, childish group To school, in fair Dundee.

Ah! many a year has come and gane Yet, time's long bridge atween I overstep, and live the past As if it happed yestreen.

Though mony a hand is cauld in death, And mony a grave grows green O' those that made the Yule-tide bricht And hanselled Hallowe'en.

But, sometimes from the music creeps A sicht that blurs the sang;-- 'Twould discord sweetest tones e'er sung, And put the minstrel wrang.

It is the picture o' a hame O' Scotland's peasantry; In front stands Graeme of Claverhouse The _braw_ Viscount Dundee.

The troopers rein their panting steeds Their General's will to bide; As, clinging to their mother's gown The frightened bairnies hide.

I hear the haughty "Where is he?" But--Oh, she answers well! Her faithful heart love fortified, "That same I will na tell."

Dark grew his scowl; as fierce wild beast Defrauded of its prey, With thirst of blood insatiate, He gave his passions play.

"Then, woman, thou shalt surely die Who darest me to my face!" The husband heard these words of doom And left his hiding place.

Alack, the courtly cavalier! _The bonnie, braw_[Note] Dundee! What odium of saintly blood Must ever cling to thee.

He stood his human target up, He gave the order "Fire!" Yet, every gun was mute, for ance His veterans braved his ire.

He raised aloft a coward hand And shot his victim down;-- But lang in Scotia's heart will live The memory o' John Brown.

The widowed knelt upon the sward, Her apron she unbound; And tenderly, her loved dead In reddening shroud she wound;

"What think ye o' your husband now?" The murderer demands Of the humble woman, in her woe Clasped firm by bairnies' hands.

She raised the head upon her lap, She kissed the yet warm brow; "_I aye thocht muckle o'm_," she said "_But mair than ever now_."

Oh, woe for Scotland when her king Stept 'twixt her and her God! And baptized in her martyrs' gore Each cave and moorland sod.

And woe to every servile hand O' persecution's slaves! Who load their weakling souls wi' guilt At beck o' deeper knaves.

Beyond a' creeds and rites o' rule; True faith shall never fail; As lighthouse built on solid rock 'Twill weather every gale.

And though, unto the powers that be A loyal lay she'll sing, Auld Scotland's soul will bend to nane Save Heaven's own glorious King.

THE HEATHERBELL.

Old England wreathes her gorgeous rose With minstrelsy sublime; The flower to Highland hearts most dear, I fain would praise in rhyme.

It bloometh not in palace grounds, But on the rough hillside; It boasteth no patrician birth, It is a people's pride.

Where streamlet leaves its rocky bed To warble o'er the plain; Where cataract leaps forth in foam, On to the seething main.

Down-trampled on the serried field Where love from love was riven; Where patriot soul was offered up As incense unto Heaven.

Where young hearts meet at eventide, The old, old tale to tell; In shady nooks, by purling brooks, There blooms the sweet harebell.

Where cadence of the martyrs' hymn Bright seraphim revoiced, As e'en from moorland, fen and cave Old Scotia's saints rejoiced.

Where ruin mocks those hoary towers In which mailed knight held sway;

Beside the peaceful cottage door, Type of this better day.

Bright silvery lochs! dark frowning crags! Which Scotia's history tell; Ye impress on my heart of hearts The land I love so well.

And, through the golden glory-glist O'er mount, and rock and fell, There smileth up to Memory's eyes The dear, Scotch Heatherbell.

BONNIER.

Oh! bonnie is the tender licht Within the lovers' een; But, bonnier a soul that's bricht, A conscience ever clean. And braw the form o' manly youth, Wi' bearing firm and free; Yet, grander far the lip o' truth, And heart o' constancy.

Oh! radiant gleam the marble halls And mausoleums o' pride; But kindlier the love-licht falls Around mine ain fireside. And blithe the merry mavis' sang Ower copse, an' clover lea; Yet, cheerier tones I'll lilt ere lang, Through a' eternity.

THE DOCTORS FEE.

It was a dazzling equipage That drove up to the door; It was a note with lordly crest The liveried footman bore. A note for Doctor Harrington From Lady Cecil Grey; It told of sickness at the Hall And begged for no delay.

The young physician pondered If luck his path had found; Meanwhile the highly-mettled steeds Impatient paw the ground. "'Tis passing strange her ladyship Though odd, should summon me;"-- High hung the omen of success, Bright gleamed the golden fee.

Two miles along the country road, Two miles of avenue And, 'yond the lily-bordered lake, Fair turrets rise to view. Oh! common ills of base-born life How could ye venture near? Why should your breath, Oh foul disease! Pollute such atmosphere?

Deep sadness broodeth o'er the Hall, Scent-laden breezes sigh, Though linnets pipe their tuneful song, And cushat-doves reply.

The menials walk with noiseless tread Across the French-tiled floor; And, on its glittering hinges Swings back the oaken door.

"Oh doctor!" quoth the Lady Grey With outstretched jeweled hand, "I am in depths of sore distress But--you will understand. It comforts me, that to my wish The answer came so quick; See!" and she drew the screen aside;-- "_My favorite cat is sick._"

Well was it that the patient lay Within a darkened room; The sunlight on the doctor's face Had sunk in sudden gloom. 'Twas but a moment; skilled, acute And witty too, withal, With sober and respectful mien He kept his thoughts in thrall.

What were those thoughts? upon that couch By rarest art compiled, Lay soulless brute, while o'er the wilds Strayed many a starving child. But wealth oft nurseth foibles To fill its empty day; And workers cater for its will Who hope for handsome pay.

With solemn guise he lent his ear For quite a lengthened space;

Then, with a grave obsequiousness, He diagnosed the case. "His stomach is, for sure, deranged; No appetite hath he; Yet time and care effect a change, Wilt thou trust him with me?"

A maiden, on a cushion soft, The precious tabby bore To the escutcheoned carriage which Soon halted as before. And the doctor raised his patient And stroked his shiny pate, Then--in the pantry, 'neath a tub, Consigned him to his fate.

Withhold thy censure! rude this course Yet savoring keen insight; Four days of prison treatment brought Luxurious Tabby right. Mote all the victims of excess Be held in durance vile A wholesome world would bloom apace, And peace and plenty smile.

The proverb reads "'Tis an ill wind That bloweth no one good" And in the sequel of this tale Be that fact understood. For the fancies of a weakling And over-pampered mind Were ladders by which highest aim Could fairer prospect find.

Back came dear Tabby to the Hall With appetite restored; Glad to devour the meanest crumb He hitherto ignored, To Lady Cecil's wonderment. With generous courtesy She poured from out her silken purse The shining golden fee,

She placed it in the doctor's hand. "Five hundred pounds a year As my physician you may claim;"-- She praised him far and near. He gained the best of patronage Through all the country side; He wooed a baron's daughter fair, And won her for his bride.

No more chagrin, nor vexed delays; No plodding up the hill; Life's current flowed as peaceful stream Which works the well-set mill. The noble Countess and her cat Have long since passed away; But the witty doctor lives and thrives In green old age this day.

THE VISION.

I dreamt that I culled the wild flowers on the moorland, And roamed o'er the hills which my forefathers trod, Ere their life-blood empurpled the fields of Hispania; Ere their souls soared on high to the patriot's God. I saw, to the call of the pibroch, advancing O'er mountain, o'er river, o'er blossoming plain, The strength of strong manhood, the youthful in daring; The thousands who went, but who came not again.

The many moons passed as a breath, in bright dreamland, I looked from lone valley to sea-beaten shore; Two frigates,[Note] full-manned with a nation's defenders, Britannia's proud ensign defiantly bore. Then up from the shadows came voices long silenced; "Oh Britain! thou boast of the free and the brave; We fought, and we died for thy honor, thy freedom, Thou yieldest our offspring no boon but the grave."

Dark visions rolled off with the mists of the morning; High o'er the green larches white smoke-wreaths had curled; And the tender sun beaming from out the clear ether, Was the hopefuller sun of an opening world. And over wide ocean a warbler came winging, Who sang, as he dropped a heathbell by our door, "The shadows are flitting, the day-dawn is breaking, The long night of sorrow will darken no more."

LOCH KATRINE.

Loch Katrine's bonnie banks an' braes, Though lang I've left them a', laddie, 'Thochts o' them, an' ither days Maist break my heart in twa, laddie. Fu' thretty years o' storm an' shine Sin' first we crossed the ocean's brine, Yet closely roond oor hearts entwine The mem'ries o' lang syne, laddie.

Oh! mind ye o' the leafy bowers Within the sylvan shade, laddie, Where aft we pu'd the wild-wood flowers, As warblers stirred the glade, laddie? Wi' step sae buoyant, firm an' free I hurried tae the trystin' tree;-- Sae sacred then tae Love an' thee; To love, an' thee, an' me, laddie.

In school, at sport, in whirlin' dance, Thy rival was nae seen, laddie, Nae ither suitor won a glance Frae me, the village queen, laddie. Then ebon was my glossy hair, Thy crown o' curls was gowden fair; Now time--wha rich nor puir will spare-- Has bleached oor locks to sna, laddie.

Nae mair upon auld Scotia's shore Wi' willing feet we'll stray, laddie, Nor greet the freens we loved o' yore, The yore sae far away, laddie.

Nae mair we'll see the sunbeams rest Upon Ben Ledi's haughty crest, As, reddening a' the distant west, Sol sinks aneath the wave, laddie.

Nae mair we'll watch the rushin' tide Sweep ower the yellow sands, laddie, But far ayont the ither side We'll clasp the lang missed hands, laddie. Yes! far ayont the mist an' rain, An' days of toil, an' nichts o' pain, Wide scattered flocks will meet again Nae mair to part for aye, laddie.

As frost dispels 'fore kindly thaw When Spring's saft breezes blow, laddie, So gently may we slip awa' To joys nae mortals know, laddie. For as the sun clears aff the dew, Our withered lives will bloom anew, When this fause world shall fade frae view In fairer worlds abune, laddie.

CONTENT.

In splendour of an Eastern night, Where Luna softly smiles, I've sailed along the shimmering tide Which laves the Classic Isles. Or led the dance in courtly hall, 'Mid gayest of the throng; Or listed to rare _artistes_ pour Their witchery of song. And 'yond the murky Tiber's wave Have strolled 'neath Pincian shade; As sunlight streamed o'er Saxon fair, Or dark-eyed Roman maid.

In dreamland oft our Highland hills Forth from the shadows spring, All radiant in their purple bloom; Meet haunts of forest king. And up the green-arched avenue, And o'er the daisied lawn Troop faces bright, and hearts as light As step of mountain fawn. And artless voices drown in mirth The sighing of the breeze;-- But memory opes, the vision fades; Wail not _their_ fate; Oh Seas!

Though former scenes in Time's rough blast Have drifted far away; And halls wherein our fathers ruled Lie mouldering in decay, Though ne'er again, o'er heathery wild, I'll see the storm-clouds fly; Or watch the golden glory creep O'er lake, and mount and sky. Though never more, from castle tower I'll scan the pebbly shore; Or hark the lovèd brother's lays Chime with the plashing oar.

Yet, where no floweret ever fades, Nor weeping wakes the morn; Where every heart, with sorrow fraught, To joy shall be re-born. Within the great orchestral band Glad anthems we'll prolong; Nor sickness shall discord our praise, Nor death disturb our song. Nor ocean wide shall e'er divide, Nor years nor space will sever; In realm of health's immortal bloom We'll live in love for ever.

What though my hope-fraught argosy Ne'er reached a halcyon strand; Though winds and waves have rudely tossed; I know the Pilot's hand

Will steer me safe 'yond shifting-sands, Dense fogs and chilling rime, To anchorage within that haven, Beyond the ridge of time. Where crowns of pearl, and harps of gold In holy radiance beam; Where halos from the great White Throne Dispel earth's fitful dream.

MISCELLANEOUS.

COLUMBUS.

Down in the darkness till earth-crust doth part, Is the gold of the unwrought mine; Deep in recess of the lowliest heart Rare diamonds of genius may shine. And as from its earth-bed pure gold is revealed, To work out the projects of man, So promptings of genius, unraveled, unsealed, Are but links in eternity's plan.

Onward, aye on o'er the fathomless brine, From the far Castilian land; 'Neath an ardent sun, 'neath a pale moonshine, With prow to the halcyon strand. On from the jeers of a skeptical crowd To the goal of his long life dream; On, on from the taunts of the wisdom-proud To the summit of vast brain scheme.

On with the aid of a womanly wit, Which served the high-set purpose well; For the squadron's glittering sails were lit Through fair Hispania's Isabel. Who had stooped her head, with its regal crown, And soothed with pity's shapely hand, As to grim Suspicion's withering frown She raised the sceptre of the land.

Onward, aye on, though the night shadows lower, Though star lamps burn low in the sky, Onward through hurricane, cloud-rift and shower; Still onward, whate'er may defy. Calming, controlling a mutinous crew, The victims of loneness and fear; Deftly explaining phenomena new With voicings of courage and cheer.

Shifting of compass, strange lights in the sky, Strange birds on a wandering wing; "On, Oh my comrades! the guerdon is nigh; Fresh life to my pulses doth spring. Trust me, my comrades! nor wild water-wraith, Nor phantom his passage e'er bars Whose rudder is set with a firm-bound faith In that Power who created the stars."

On through the drift-weed; Lo! tranquil blue seas; With breath of a balmier air; On, hoisting their sails to the landward breeze, On, ridding their spirits of care. Light through the darkness! bright beacons ahead! And the mariner's sails are furled, For the errand of genius hath aptly sped, On the rim of a great New World.

In raiment of splendor the ground he hath trod; He looks from the sky to the main; He planteth the Cross in the name of his God, His standard in token of Spain. And on through the cycles, in Temple of Fame, Though nations and systems decay,

The laurels which lustre Columbus' proud name In freshness shall blossom for aye.

TIME AND ETERNITY.

Time! Ocean of boundless unrest! Upheaving with tumult of life; While, as foam on the billowy crest, Floats he who is first in the strife. First in the van of courage and right, Or foremost in daring to wrong; Time bendeth low to the monarch of might, Embalms him in story and song.

Yet lives there be which the giddy hours Tinge lightly, as onward they wing; Rough winds may scatter Hope's fairest flowers, The dreamer awaketh to sing. And sweet seraph tones, borne from on high, Enliven the faltering strain; Till a golden rift streaks the dark sky, And sunlight illumines again.

Eternity! prospect sublime! Blessed Faith holdeth forth unto view, Where the fleeting illusions of time Yield place to the lasting and true, Where the song never dies in a wail, Nor sun ever sinks into gloom; Nor bright life in its splendor doth fail 'Fore darkness of death and the tomb.

When the glare and the glitter shall wane In glow of the chrysolite sea, For leal hearts that now struggle in vain Shall the crown of the victor be. And sorrow-dimmed lives shall relight With warmth from an heavenly ray; And flowerets nipped by an early blight Shall re-bloom through an endless day.

THE TREE.

WRITTEN FOR ARBOR DAY.

Thou! noblest of all nature's growth! Where'er thy foliage falls, Thy beauty, wed to matchless worth The willing heart enthralls.