Part 6

ON THE INFANT SON AND DAUGHTER OF THE HON. COL. MONTAGUE.

HOW fair is childhood; like the ray Of summer morn, the blush of day. Bright scions of a noble race, Blooming in love and youthful grace, In innocence and beauty's pride! As rosebuds blossoming at ease, Showering their beauties on the breeze, On some green mountain's side.

High thoughts are with that lovely boy, In whose dark eye beams radiant joy; May blessings on his years attend, And Heaven its choicest favours send! Hope of an honourable line, With feeling heart and mind endued, May health, and peace, and every good, And length of life, be thine.

Oh! love it is a blessed thing, And to the heart doth comfort bring; But the fond throb that for a brother A sister feels, excels all other, Save only that by parents known: Sweet maid, a pure affection cheers Thy gentle heart, and still endears Thy very smile and tone.

No cares upon those brows of light, Round which the tresses cluster bright, Like mossy flowers 'mong sunshine blended, Have yet, with envious trace, descended: But all is happiness and mirth,-- Ye look like cherubs sent from Heaven, With hope, and joy, and beauty given, To cheer this weary earth.

1838.

THE MARTYRS.

FAITHFUL to God, 'mid persecutions dire, The lion-hearts of old still firmly stood, Unawed by terrors of the block or fire, For truth and freedom freely gave their blood; The path of duty lay before them plain, And boldly they advanced, nor turned again.

A throne cast down, erected was once more, An exiled king, a nation, welcomed back; Planted in blood it was, and tears, and gore, Its only props the scaffold and the rack; And there the brave and good did nobly fall, That Christ the Saviour might be all in all,

Calmly the martyr Guthrie met his fate, A victim to oppression's cruel laws, Nor would, for proudest prelate's form and state, A traitor turn to his dear Master's cause; With him no joy on earth so great could be, As thus to die for Christ's supremacy.

On the lone mountains of their native land, Where blooms the heather fragrantly and fair, In the green valleys waved by breezes bland, Struck mercilessly down while met in prayer, Lie Scotland's martyrs in their nameless moulds, Sustained by Him who the great worlds upholds. (8)

CALEDONIA, MY COUNTRY!

CALEDONIA, my country! How bright is the fame, Like a halo of glory, that circles thy name; When thy children remember their fathers' renown, Can they, faithless, consent e'er to sully thy crown?

In the battles of freedom, the hot fields of fight, Thy great men of old stoutly fought for the right; By their conquering swords, blessed and aided by Heaven, The hosts of the foe from our country were driven.

In the fair realms of song thy sons also excel, Midst the gifted of earth do their memories dwell; And of praise of thy minstrels, from nations around, Still the echo returns, with a flattering sound.

But purer, and brighter, and higher, by far, Than of those that have triumphed in song or in war, Are the names,--never breathed but with love they are heard,-- Of thy fearless Reformers, thy Martyrs revered.

Now thy sword is at rest, and thy harp is laid by, But the sword of the Spirit still waves from on high, And the harp of the Lord sounds in majesty forth, As of yore it was heard from the lands of the north.

Again, oh, my country! on thy hills of renown, Oppression, relentless, has darkly come down-- On the breeze of the mountain is borne the loud wail, And the lowlands reply to the wrongs of the Gael.

From the dark page of history shadows are cast, And the woes of the future loom out from the past; There are omens of evil, enshrouded in blood, But in midst of them all, there are tokens of good.

I CANNA SLEEP.

_Written in 1833. Contributed to the Book of Scottish Song._

I CANNA sleep a wink, lassie, When I gang to bed at night, But still o' thee I think, lassie, Till morning sheds its light. I lie an' think o' thee, lassie, And I toss frae side to side, Like a vessel on the sea, lassie, When stormy is the tide.

My heart is no my ain, lassie, It winna bide wi' me, Like a birdie it has gane, lassie, To nestle saft wi' thee. I canna lure it back, lassie, Sae keep it to yoursel'; But oh! it sune will brak, lassie, If you dinna use it well.

Where the treasure is they say, lassie, The spirit lingers there, An' mine has fled away, lassie, You needna' ask me where. I marvel oft if rest, lassie, On my eyes and heart wad bide, If I thy troth possessed, lassie, And thou wert at my side.

YONDER SUNNY BRAE.

ON yonder sunny brae we met, Amid the summer flowers; And never can my heart forget The rapture of those hours, When she I loved forsook her home And there with me did stray, Oh! oft delighted did we roam On yonder sunny brae.

The gushing of the waterfall, The sunshine of the sky, The bloom, the balm, and, more than all, The sparkle of her eye, Brought to my heart a blissful tide That drove all care away, And I was happy at her side, On yonder sunny brae.

'Twas there I breathed my fondest vow, Nor told my love in vain; And I am happy with her now, Though years have passed since then. No sweeter scene my eyes shall see Though far my steps should stray: There's not a spot so dear to me As yonder sunny brae.

THE EAGLE'S NEST, AND OTHER POEMS.

HERE FIRST PRINTED.

THE EAGLE'S NEST.

GRACE ADAM was a farmer's daughter, Her youth in the far west was spent, Where Mississippi's mighty water Rolls like a flood that will have vent.

She was a blooming country maiden, Like those one sees in market towns, With egg and butter baskets laden, Dressed in their smartest hats and gowns.

In household work and dairy labours Her time passed pleasantly away, A pattern she to all the neighbours, Healthy and cheerful as the day.

Grace Adam was a farmer's daughter,-- Some share of beauty she could boast, And lovers, near and far off, sought her, Each striving who could flatter most.

From 'mong them all her heart selected One gentle youth who seemed sincere, He was by every one respected, And more it needs not saying here.

Within an outfield stood an only Old beech-tree, lightning-smote, and dead,-- Its branches bare, and bleached, and lonely, An eagle built its nest amid.

Forsook the mountain's summit hoary, The beetling cliff above the sea, Sought not the forests of Missouri, But sheltered on this shattered tree.

And oft to see this noble creature, Many there came from parts thereby, Training its young, as is its nature, To spread their wings and upward fly.

Among the rest a student, rambling In woods and meadows, also came, In search of useful knowledge scrambling, Wherever he could find the same.

Grace Adam was a farmer's daughter,-- Her father had approved her choice; For duty and her feelings taught her 'Twere best to have her parents' voice.

Oft as the summer sunset glowing Came down in splendour o'er the west, The lovers forth together going, Would wander to the eagle's nest.

And there in courtship sweet and prudent The happy hours fast slipt away;-- And often there, too, came the student, To watch the birds at close of day.

And so they soon became acquainted, He knew they were betrothed before; But while their future bliss _they_ painted, _His_ object still was to explore.

The marriage-day, longed for yet dreaded By maidens fair, at last came round, Grace Adam and her love were wedded, With hope and every blessing crowned.

Their home was in a distant city Far, far from where her youth was spent, Where Mississippi's water mighty Pours like a flood that will have vent.

And never more the lordly river, Or its green banks, was Grace to see, The dear-loved farm, no more, and never The lonely shattered eagle's tree.

New duties claimed now her attention, New feelings rose at name of wife, And as time passed, she ceased to mention The loved scenes of her early life.

Some years had gone, and she could gather Her children round about her knee,-- Long since in churchyard lay her father, And fallen was the eagle's tree.

And now in course of worldly changes Another town their home became; For business oft-times turns the hinges Of man's condition and his aim.

And there they settled, growing older, But Grace aright years passing read; For the grey hairs appearing told her Time left its shadow on her head.

Years twenty since the farmer's daughter Left the scenes where her youth was spent, Where Mississippi's mighty water Rolls like a flood that will have vent.

Within that town broke out a fever, Smiting alike the rich and poor; 'Twas typhus, grim Death's surest lever To turn the churchyards o'er and o'er.

Many, o'erborne with grief and watching At couch of those oppressed with pains, A hurried hour of slumber snatching, Woke with the fever in their veins.

Spared not the children or the father, Passed not the anxious mother by, In one swift grave the parents gather Their offspring with them as they lie.

Lamented many a one his dearest Borne to the house whence no retrace, Mourned high and low for friends the nearest Soon carried to their resting place.

A time of gloom, and doubt, and terror, A time of sorrow and dismay; The breath of death upon life's mirror All ghastly and infectious lay.

A time of judgment, when God's dealings Make the most careless cry to Him,-- A time to try the human feelings,-- When even Hope grows faint and dim.

Just at the last, when near expending Its baleful force ere sped away, Grace caught the fever while attending A smitten neighbour as she lay.

Grief in the house but late so cheerful, Pain on the heart but late so light, Her husband and her children tearful Watched o'er her sickbed day and night.

Beat low the pulse with languid movement, And stopped the functions of the brain, No sign her eye gave of improvement As day and night return again.

Hastened the Doctor, if yet human Aid might avail to save her life, He saw and knew the suffering woman, Although not as a wedded wife.

Years twenty since the farmer's daughter Had met the student at the tree, Where Mississippi's mighty water Rolls like a full flood to the sea.

Bent near the Doctor then, and laid he His hand upon her wasted breast, And with low cheerful whisper said he No more words than "the eagle's nest!"

The change was sudden and amazing,-- Opened her eyes and closed again, And like the keel of vessel grazing The ground, grated her teeth in twain.

Gasped a long breath, as if a struggle Were going on, as night with morn, No sound made but a low faint guggle, Like cry of infant newly born.

A smile passed o'er her features sunken, Grasped she the hand beside her then, Remembrance, just as one half-drunken, Strove to retrace its course again.

Ah! then came back the well-known faces Of her young days upon her mind, The scenes of long ago, in traces All clear and full and well defined.

She saw her father as he taught her Her youthful lessons at his knee, Where Mississippi's mighty water Rolls like a full flood to the sea.

She saw her mother too beside her Long, long since taken to her rest, And then, as opened Memory wider, She stood beneath the eagle's nest,

With him she loved, in courtship prudent, And of love's sweetest cup she drank, She saw again the youthful student,-- All that came after was a blank.

Thus ever Memory touched can bring time, With its past feelings into light, And thus the sweet joys of her spring-time Came rushing thickly on her sight.

Thus, too, doth roused Imagination Vibrate the tender chords that bind The wide links of Association Within the chambers of the mind.

Then turned the fever, as the meeting Of the free air upon her brain, Her pulse resumed a quickened beating, Revolved the wheels of life again.

And day by day she gained new strength then Beneath the Doctor's care and skill, Able to quit her bed at length then, 'Twas this she loved to talk of still,

That when Death's dart did o'er her hover, And she could find no sleep or rest, 'Twas this that made her to recover, The simple words, "the eagle's nest!" (9)

THE ADVENT OF TRUTH.

A time there is, though far its dawn may be, And shadows thick are brooding on the main, When, like the sun upspringing from the sea, Truth shall arise, with Freedom in its train;

And Light upon its forehead, as a star Upon the brow of heaven, to shed its rays Among all people, wheresoe'er they are, And shower upon them calm and happy days.

As sunshine comes with healing on its wing, After long nights of sorrow and unrest, Solace and peace, and sympathy to bring To the grieved spirit and unquiet breast.

No more shall then be heard the slave's deep groan, Nor man man's inhumanity deplore, All strife shall cease and war shall be unknown, And the world's golden age return once more.

And nations now that, with Oppression's hand, Are to the dust of Earth with sorrow bowed, Shall then erect, in fearless vigour, stand, And with recovered freedom shout aloud.

Along with Truth, Wisdom, her sister-twin, Shall come--they two are never far apart,-- At their approach, to some lone cavern Sin Shall cowering flee, as stricken to the heart.

Right shall then temper Justice, as 'tis meet It should, and Justice give to Right its own; Might shall its sword throw underneath its feet, And Tyranny, unkinged, fall off its throne.

Then let us live in hope, and still prepare Us and our children for the end, that they Instruct may those who after them shall heir, To watch and wait the coming of that day.

LINES,

SUGGESTED BY A WALK IN A GARDEN.

BALMY as the dew from its own blossoms, And soothing as the fragrance it creates, Comes the sweet influence of this summer eve To my o'erchargëd heart--there is a breeze Moving amid the foliage, soft and low, As cradled murmur from a babe asleep. It is a time for holy thoughts to spring, And contemplation fill the awakened mind.

Lo! a bright sunbeam stands 'tween heaven and earth, Taking its farewell look ere day departs, And seeking still to light the gloom below, As Hope,--even when the darkness comes, and Joy Hath fled,--to cheer the heart, still lingering, smiles: And when it goes,--ah! no, it ne'er all goes:-- The sunbeam fades, a moment, and its light, All shed, dies still-born, swiftly shone and o'er; But Hope, blest Hope, ev'n when it seems away, Is near, evermore near, it cannot live Apart, 'tis wedded to the soul for aye,-- God joined them twain, and nought can sunder them,-- Near, ever near, and ever bringing peace, Groping among the dark things of man's spirit, And shedding o'er the troubled mind its light, As a stray ray of sunshine wanders 'mong The shattered arches of a fallen ruin.

Ere sunset leaves the world, and sinks behind The illumined ocean, let me muse awhile.

'Twas in a garden that that hideous thing, Sin, first was born accurst, and now all through The wide wide universe it ranges fierce. Where man has placed his foot its trace is seen. The serpent's slimy trail is everywhere, Disfiguring, polluting, and destroying, Death following in its track inseparably.

But oh! my soul be humbled, yet rejoice;-- It was, too, in a garden that the great, The only all-sufficient, all-atoning Propitiatory sacrifice for sin Commenced its consummation, when the Man Christ Jesus swat for thee great drops of blood, (Even he, the Second Person of the Godhead,) And prayed in agony that the cup might pass, If so his Father willed; but none on earth Or yet in Heaven could drink it, none save Him; And when the sacrifice was all complete On Calvary, and satisfied was Justice, Mercy and Hope held out their hands to man, And, in Christ's name, showed him redemption's way. The shame and misery that Adam felt In Eden's garden, when the first great sin Was challenged, was as nothing to compare With the deep agony which on that night,-- That dreadful night in which he was betrayed,-- Our Surety felt, when in Gethsemane He took upon himself to pay the full Ransom and penalty of that first sin Which Adam sinned, and all his race in him.

Of that first sin did Adam put the blame On Eve, "the woman whom thou gavest me." Eve on the serpent shifted it, and proud Was he that he had circumvented both, Doomed on his womb to crawl in dust, and bruised His head by woman's seed, short-lived his pride.-- Christ took upon Himself the sin and all Its anguish, nor like Adam vainly strove To shift it to another, knowing well No other could redeem it but Himself. Sinless, a sacrifice for sin, that sin Might from the souls of men be washed away. 'Twas for that sin, and its infeftments wide That Jesus died, that its entail cut off Might be from Adam and his lineage, far As generations yet to come extend, And man restored to his lost paradise. No flaming sword waves at its portals now, Entrance to bar to the redeemed on earth; No angels guard the gates to keep them shut, But open ever are they to the elect, And there bright angels stand, with joy To welcome all who come in Christ's name in.

But now the sun hath bade the world good night, And gathering darkness warns me to my home.

SONNET.

SUNSHINE.

ON the old forest, bright the sunrays play, And from the boughs hang, tinging the green leaves With golden light that downward interweaves, Past branch and stem finding itself a way; And on the greensward, and among the fern, Some trace of sunshine still we can discern, A sunbeam's scattered droppings gone astray Among the wild-flowers, where they nestle close Within the long grass, or the woodland moss, Making for Earth a dress with colours gay. Oh! on our pathway thus may sunshine fall, And like the little flowers, our hopes still bloom,-- A share of it at least, if not it all,-- To light the darkness and to cheer the gloom.

SONG.

AT E'ENING, WHAN THE KYE WAR IN.

AT e'ening whan the kye war in, An' lasses milking thrang, A neebour laird cam ben the byre, The busy maids amang. He stood ahint the routin' kye An' round him glowered a wee, Then stole to whar young Peggy sat, The milkpail at her knee.

"Sweet Peggy, lass," thus spoke the laird, "Wilt listen to my tale?" "Stan' out the gate, laird," Peggy cried, "Or you will coup the pail: "Mind, Hawkie here's a timorous beast, An' no acquent wi you." "Ne'er fash," quo' he, "the milking time's The sweetest time to woo.

"Ye ken, I've aften tauld ye that I've thretty kye and mair, "An' ye'd be better owning them Than sittin' milkin' there. "My house is bein, and stocket weel In hadden and in ha', "An' ye've but just to sae the word Tae leddy be o' a'."

"Wheesht, laird," quo Peggy, "dinna mak' Yersel a fule an' me, "I thank ye, for yer offer kind, But sae it canna be. "Maybe yer weel stocked house and farm, An' thretty lowing kine, "May win some ither lassie's heart, They hae nae charms for mine;

"For in the kirk I hae been cried, My troth is pledged and sworn, "An' tae the man I like mysel', I'll married be the morn'." The laird, dumfoundered at her words, Had nae mair will to try'r; But turned, and gaed far faster out, Than he'd come in the byre.

STANZAS

ON A BUST OF MARSHAL NEY,

_Presented by the Prince De Moskwa to Donald Sinclair, Esq. Edinburgh._

THERE stands the hero, "bravest of the brave," A name well earned, that he to whom alone NEY, second, scarce to him, in glory shone, After a hard fought day in honour gave: And ever shall his laurels greenly wave,-- Still flourishing with time, for time can ne'er Blight his deserved renown not even _there_,-- Over his bloody and untimely grave.

Where flew the Eagle in its wide domain, There was he ever foremost in the fight, Leading his band of heroes, strong in might, To conquest still,--In Switzerland and Spain, And where the Rhine, majestic to the main, Through many fertile lands, doth proudly flow, His prowess won applause, even from the foe, Midst blood and carnage on each battle plain.

High rose his genius with the tide of war, His country's annals of his valour tell, Impetuous as the torrent, when the swell Of waters fierce pours onward from afar, And sweeps before it every stop and bar: Where'er his sword flashed, with its sunlike ray, There victory followed closely on the way, And danger's track was marked by many a scar.

Rednitz and Neuwied well his courage knew, When yet his early deeds foretold the fame That soon would throw a halo round his name; Manheim and Hohenlinden felt it too, And Elchingen and Jena found him true, Eylau and Friedland, names of high renown, Moscow and its retreat, his glory crown, Which paled not even at bloody Waterloo!

Immortal warrior, could France reward Thy mighty deeds but with a traitor's death? The shame is hers, not thine; thy latest breath Was for thy country, and as one prepared Thou met'st thy fate, as soldier should on guard: And still shall time, with every rolling year The more thy memory to France endear, And mourned thy fate shall be by patriot and bard.

Thy death has left a blot upon the fame Of Wellington and England, ne'er to be Removed or justified,--alas! that he, Who with a word thy safety could proclaim, With callous heart refused to speak the same. The deed, like that which stained, with blackest ray, Great Nelson's honour in Palermo's bay, Our history records "with sorrow and with shame." (10)

WINTER.

_Written at Two-Waters, Herts, 11th January 1840, for a Lady's Album._