Cornell University Library PR 4129.B5L8 Lyrical poems. 3 1924 013 435 619 Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 343561 9 ical latniB, LYEICAL POEMS. JOHN STTJAET B^LACKIE, PROPZaSOH. or ORKEK IH THB UHIVHIISITT Off BDINBtjaOH. EDINBURGH: SUTHERLAND AND KNOX. LONDOS : SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, & CO. MDCCCLX. MURRAY AND GIBB, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH. THE EEV. THOMAS GUTHKIE, D.D., A FAITHFOL PASTOR, AN ACTIVE PHILANTHROPIST, A LAESE-HEARTED MAN, AND A POET AMONG PREACHERS, ARE DEDICATED BY HIS SINCERE FRIEND, THE AUTHOR. Wie nimmt ein leidmschaftHch Stammeln Geschrielen sich so seltsam aus ! Nim soil ick gar von Ham zu Hans Die losen Blaetter alle sammeln. Was eine lange weite Sireche Im Leben von eiiumder standi Das kommt nun unter Einer Decke Dem guten Leser in die Hand, Dock scliaeme dich nicht dcr Gebrechen, VoUende scknell das kleine Buck ; Die Welt ist voUer Widerspnich, Und soUte sich 'a nicht widersprechen. ? Goethe. CONTENTS. BOOK I.-CLIO. J'atkick Hamilton, The Two Meek Maegabets, James Eenwick, WlGTON CmntCHTABD, Caedinal Beaton, Waxtek Mti,n, Thomas Boston, John Ebazee, Scottish Heeoes, Stock Geill, Jbnnt Geddbs, Page 3 6 10 15 18 21 33 36 41 44 49 b:ook ii.-polyhymnia. Htmn to Helios, John the Baptist, . Bbautiful Woeld, TBe Wood-Sokeel, . Sabbath Evenino in Etteiok, The Cottage Manse, 55 72 78 81 84 86 CONTENTS. Ellisland, . The Jungfeau of the Ltjklei, The Covenakter's Lament, SosG or the Winds, Moments, The Scotsman's Vocation, Tkust in God, The Sabbath-DAT, . Sabbath Morning Hymn, . Advice to a Favoukitb Student, An Gott, Odi 1'kofanum Vulgus, BOOK III.-EEATO. The Bow-Window, My Love is like A Flowering Tree, Like to Like, Dora, hast thou ever seen ? When a Wandering me Listeth to go. Lovely Dora, hast thou seen ? . Let me Look into thine Eye ! O Blessed Atmosphere or Love ! My Fanny ! Fanny Macmdrdoch, O Stanehivb is a Bonnie Toun ! . Love's Lullaby, Invitation, .... Wherefore now nor Song nor Sonnet ? I've made a Covenant with mine Eyes, CONTENTS. Spoei not with Love, Page 165 Janet, ..... 167 DiNKA MIBD MY GrET HaIR.S, 171 Jbhnt's Souloqut, . 173 The Bkown Gown, . 176 Who's there, Janet ? . . . 179 The Metamorphosis of Plants, . 190 BOOK lY.-EUTERPE. Mt Vocation, .... 201 My Wish, ..... 204 The Wee Herd Laddie, . 214 The Old Soldier, . 217 May Song, ..... 220 PouB roKiH THE Wine, . • 222 A Song of Glen Lui Beg, . 224 Australian Emigrant's Song, 226 Work Away, 229 Poor Crow, ... 232 The Cricket on the Tree, 234 Jumping Janet, 237 Student's Vacation Song, 241 The Working Man's Song, 243 May Song, ..... 246 April Song, ..... 248 ToTorquatus, .... 2.50 The Glens op Nithsdale, . 253 Deeaming Davie, .... 255 Confession op Faith for all Men, 258 CONTENTS. BOOK V.-CAMENA. In Janhm, Amoeis Philosophia, Preces Noctden^, . Est Deus in Nobis, Deo Optimo Maximo, Tu MiHi AuBS, LUTHERI HtMN0S, MusA Teutonica, Elegi Goethiani, . EfIGBAMMATA SCHIIiLERIANA, Maexini Tabekn a, . Vebsictjli Satusnales, Heebahum Metamorphosis, Page 265 268 270 272 274 277 279 281 283 285 289 291 292 BOOK I, CLIO. Tuv iraAiTwn o^iirot teXas i;^oiiv rod fiieu spyot l?,sipyaffiivoi xosXa iyxufiiuv ai/Tous Tuyp^aivSiv xpWov av sj"*). — PlaTO. The solemn League and Covenant Cost Scotland blood, cost Scotland tears .' But Faith sealed Freedom's sacred cause ; Ifthou'rt a slave indulge thy sneers. — ^Bcbns. PATRICK HAMILTON.^ In St Andrew's grey-towered city Once was done a deed unholy, When the harsh and haughty churchman Crushed the martyr meek and lowly. Young was he, and gentle-thoughted, Blood of kings flowed in his veins ; But with manly mild endurance Stout he bore the fiery pains. And he gave his life a priceless Kansom, to make Scotland free. By the faith which scorns the faggot, Bloody priest of Rome, from thee. Hoar St Andrews, thou didst witness. When the dark-stoled priestly crew Came swift trooping, whei'e the trumpet Of the far-feared Beaton blew. CLIO. Thou didst see the mitred council Sit, and, with a ghastly prayer, Pray the God who loves his creatures To make foulest murder fair "With holy names ; and thou didst hear it When, instead of reasons true. Age gave grace to doting dogma, Truth was damned because 'twas new. And for buriing words heart-kindliag. Soulless creeds were grimly read From books, that with a monstrous learning Slaved the living to the dead. They with sounding pomp disputed. Meekly he, and calmly wise ; They with curious deft manoeuvre, He with short plain text replies. Forth then went that calm refuter, While they muttered spiteful wrath. And the mob, with senseless clamour, Hooted round his guiltless path. To the place of doom they led him. In his hand the holiest book ; Bright the .noon-day sun was shining, Brighter shone the martyr's look. PATRICK HAMILTON. 5 To the bloody stake they bound him With strong bonds, who needed none : Freely to the fiery torture Marched the noble Hamilton. Blessings for their hateful curses He returned ; his voice implored Pardon to his stone-eyed murderers, While the blazing billet roared. God was with him in his anguish, Jesus gave him strength divine ; He, like Stephen, saw the glory Through the wreathed darkness shine. And a glorious light behind him Shone — and shines — whose death made free Scotland, spite of fire and faggot. Bloody priest of Rome, from thee ! And the towers of grey St Andrews, By the roaring German wave. While we name his name, shall teach us To be gentle, true, and brave. THE TWO MEEK lAEGAEETS.^ It fell on a day in the blooming month of May, When the trees were greenly growing, That a captain grim went down to the brim O' the sea, when the tide wag flowing. Twa maidens he led, that captain grim, Wi' his red-coat loons behind him, Twa meek-faced maids, and he sware that he In the salt sea-swell should bind them. And a' the burghers o' Wigton town • Came down, full sad and cheerless, To see that ruthless captain drown These maidens meek, but fearless. THE TWO MEEK MAEGAEETS. 7 O what had they done, these maidens meek, What crime all crimes excelling. That they should be staked on the ribbed sea-sand, And drowned, where the tide was swelling '^ O wae's me, wae ! but the truth I maun say ! Their crime was the crime of beHeving Not man, but God, when the last false Stuart His Popish plot was weaving. O spare them ! spare them ! thou captain grim ! No ! no ! — ^to a stake he hath bound them. Where the floods as they flow, and the waves as they grow. Shall soon be deepening round them. The one had threescore years and three ; Far out on the sand they bound her. Where the first dark flow of the waves as they grow Is quickly swirling round her. The other was a maiden fresh and fair ; More near to the land they bound her, That she might see by slow degree The grim waves creeping round her. CLIO. captain, spare that maiden grey, She's deep in the deepening water ! No ! no !-^she's lifted her hands to pray. And the choking billow caught her ! See, see, yoimg maid, cried the captain grim. The wave shall soon ride o'er thee ! She's swamped in the brine whose sin was like thine ; See that same fate before thee ! 1 see the Christ who hung on a tree When His life for sins He offered ; In one of His members, even He With that meek maid hath suffered. captain, save that meek young maid ; She's a loyal farmer's daughter ! Well, well ! let her swear to good King James, And I'll hale her out from the water ! 1 will not swear to Popish James, But I pray for the head of the nation, That he and all, both great and small, May know God's great salvation ! THE TWO MEEK MAEGARETS. She spoke ; and lifted her hands to pray, And felt the greedy water, Deep and more deep, around her creep, Till the choking biUow caught her ! O Wigton, Wigton ! I'm wae to sing The truth o' this waesome story ; But God win sinners to judgment bring, And His saints shall reign in glory. ELEaY ON THE DEATH OE JAMES EENWICK.= Weep, Scotland, weep I Thy hills are sad to-day. But not with mist or rack that skirs the sky. The violent rule ; the godless man holds sway ; The young, the pure, the innocent must die ! Weep, Scotland, weep ! thy moors are sad to-day, Thy plaided people walk with tearful eye. For why ? He dies upon a gallows-tree Who boldly blew God's trump for Freedoih and for thee ! 'Tis a known tale ; it hath been so of old. And wiU be so again ; yet must we weep ! High on red thrones the blushless and the bold Hold state ; the meek are bound in dungeons deep. Wolves watch the pen ; the lion robs the fold, Whi]^ on soft down the hireling shepherds sleep. ELEGY ON JAMES EENWICK. U God's holy church becomes a mart, where lies Pass free from knave to fool, but Christ's true prophet dies. A youth was Renwick, gentle, fair, and fine ; In aspect meek, but firm as rock in soul ; By pious parents nursed, and holy Hne, To steer by truth, as seamen by the pole. In Holland's learned haUs the word divine He read, which to proclaim he made the whole Theme of his life ; then back to Scotland came, At danger's call, to preach in blessed Jesus' name. They watched his coming, and the coast with spies Planted to trap him ; but he 'scaped their snare. To the brovm hiUs and glens of Kyle he hies. And with a stedfast few finds refuge there. On the black bogs, and 'neath the inclement skies. In rocky caves, on mist-wreathed mountains bare. The youthful prophet voiced God's tidings good, As free as Baptist John by Jordan's sacred flood. Fierce fumed the ruthless king. By statute law. To sing God's praise upon a purple hill 12 CLIO. "Was treason. Courtly slaves with envy saw One Tinbought soul assert a manly will, And with, his own hands from those fountains draw^, Which sophists troubled with pretentious skiU To make them clearer ; as if God's own plan For fining human dross must beg a stamp from Wide o'er the moors now tramp the red dragoons, To hunt God's plaided saints from every nook ; And from a court of bravoes and poltroons Goes forth the law which takes the blessed book From the free shepherds' hands, that hireling loons May spell it to a sense that kings may brook. Far raged o'er heath and hill the despot's sword, But faithful Renwick preached, and owned no human lord. Bold as when Peter in the temple stood With John, and, at the gate called Beautiful, Healed the lame man, and stirred the spiteful mood Of priest and high-priest, holding haughty rule ; Witless I who weened that God's apostles should With human law and lawyers go to school : ELEGY ON JAMES EENWICK. 13 So boldly Renwick stood ; and, undismayed, With firm imf altering faith, God and not man obeyed. And faithful people loved him. From green Ayr, Nithsdale, Glencairn, Sanquhar, and founts of Ken, Free pilgrim feet o'er perilous pathways fare. To hear young Renwick preach in treeless glen ; And mothers bring their new-born babes, to bear Baptismal blessings from his touch ; and when Fearless he flings the glowing word abroad, Full many a noble soul is winged with fire from God. Yet must he die ! The fangs of Law are keen ; False Law, the smooth pretender of the Right, That stiU to knaves a sharp-edged tool hath been. To give a fair name to usurping Might ! By Law round noble Hamilton, I ween, The faggot blazed to feed proud Beaton's spite ; And now when Scotland's best, to please the Pope And Romish James, must die — ^"tis Law that knots the rope ! Let loose your hounds, cold-blooded lawyers ! pay The knave to trap the saint ! Your work is done. 14 CLIO. Young Renwick falls, to venal spies a prey, And lawless Law kills Scotland's purest son. The grey Grassmarket heard him preach to-day, On the red scaffold's floor. His race is run. Now kings and priests, with brave light-hearted joy. May drain their cups, nor fear that bold truth- speaking boy ! Weep ! Scotland, weep ! but only for a day ; Frail stands the throne, whose props are glued with gore ; For a short hour the godless man holds sway, And Justice whets her knife at Murder's door. Weep, Scotland ! but let noble Pride this day Beam through thine eye with sorrow streaming o'er; For why ? — Thy Renwick's dead, whose noble crime Gave Freedom's trumpet breath, an hour before the time ! LINES WRITTEN IN WIGTON CHUECHYAED. Brave brother Scot, who in that name Nnrsest the pride that worth may claim, Come here ; and let no Southron blame Thy free-shed sorrow O'er martyrs' graves, whence our true fame And strength we borrow ! No pillared pomp enroof s the dead, Who for their country's freedom bled ; No bannered hatchments overspread These grave-stones hoary ; But tears with sacred virtue shed Keep green their glory. 16 CLIO. Look on ttose granite hills around, Strong, but more strong Scotch hearts were found, "When to the cruel stake were bound Stout Galloway's daughters, And for dear Christ, his love, were drowned In briny waters. Meek womanhood, how strong art thou, When truth thee binds and holy vow ! For thee no trumpet blows, I trow. Nor chariot rattles ; But Love, throned on thy constant brow. Wins blameless battles. A curse dwell with your evil name, Strachan and Winram, Grierson, Graham ! On hangman's best unblest ye came To Wigton waters. And staked i' the swelling tide — O shame ! Her high-souled daughters ! Torn from sweet life, so young, so good, And cast to the devouring flood, LINES WRITTEN IN WIGTON CHURCHYAED. 17 For that your independent mood The Pope's crowned minion Spumed, when imcalled he dared intrude On Christ's dominion ! Weep ! — it is well to weep ; for why ? Not for their sakes who so did die, But, 'fore the righteous God on high. To find expression, For burning hate of tyranny, And damned oppression ! Such tears make men. Let foplings sigh For pomp of dainty prelacy ; But, while we read with streaming eye These grave-stones hoary, We'll train stout hearts to live and die For Christ, His glory. WlGTON 1859. A SONG OF GAEDINAL BEATON.' The Cardinal slept in St Andrew's tower, 'Twixt the morning grey, and the midnight hour. And he dreamt of his leman, a lady fine, Who mingled sweet phrase with the sparkling wine. Whispering, whispering, daintily so — " Cardinal Beaton to Rome shall go, And wear the tiara, my priestly joe !" The Cardinal heard her sweet Hps' flow, But he did not hear the chorus wild, That moaned through the night, vnth words not mild. Saying, Ddwn to hell! — for so 'tis right — With Cardinal Beaton, the Pope's proud knight, Who murdered Wishart, the godly wight ! Down — down — down — to hell With the Pope and Cardinal Beaton ! The Cardinal slept in his strong sea^tower, When the sun rose bright in the morning hour, A SONa OF CAEUISTAL BEATON. 19 And he dreamt no more of his lady fine, But he heard strange sounds through the fumes of his wine. He heard a clatter, he heard a fall. He heard a clink, and an angry call. He heard a shout that rent the air, And he heard the tramp of a foot on the stair : But he did not hear the words of Fate, Deep-muttered from hell's black yawning gate. Saying, Down to hell! — for so 'tis right — With Cardinal Beaton, whose haughty spite Murdered Wishart, the godly wight ! Down — down — down — to hell With the Pope and Cardinal Beaton ! The Cardinal rose ; from the window he cried, Who's there ? — They've ta'en thy palace of pride ! He ran to the postern-gate ; but, lo ! It was bolted and barred, and watched by the foe ! Behind his chamber-door he made With chests and benches a barricade ; But with smoking coals and wreathed flame They stormed the door, — and in they came ! 20 CLIO. Ah ! then he heard, but he heard too late, The grim death-chant of the vengeful Fate, Saying, Down to hell! — for so 'tis right — With blood-stained Beaton, whose haughty spite Murdered Wishart, the godly toight ! Down — down — down — to hell With the Pope and Cardinal Beaton ! The Cardinal staggered, and back in his chah He fell. They held their daggers bare. O spare me ! spare my life ! Shall I, A priest, be butchered 1 — fie ! fie ! fie ! Full well we know that thou art a priest, A murderer foul, and a lecherous beast ! They stabbed him once, and they stabbed him twice, And his soul went out, when they stabbed him thrice : And he heard in his ears, as in darkness he fell, The Chorus of judgment with rending yell, Saying, Blood for blood! for so 'tis right. Thou hlood-stained Beaton, whose hand did smite The gentle Wishart, the godly wight ! Blood cries for blood, in the nethermost hell. With the Pope and Cardinal Beaton ! Mat 1859. ' WALTEE lYLN." Non nostra impietas, aut actm cnmina vitce Armarunt hostes in meafata truces, Solajides Christi, sacris signata libellis, Qucn vitce causa est, est mihi causa necis. — Epitaph on Myln by Patkick Adamson, Archbishop of St Andrews. One breezy day, when all the sea was white With hoary crests, that rose upon the brine, Like ruffled plumes upon a fretted bird, Behind St Andrew's old grey towers I stood, And paced with pensive foot the high-raised walk. Which northward looks across the bay, to where The far red headland, eastward stretching, flouts 22 CLIO. The keen dry blast. As I was musing there Of ancient times and new, bishops and priegts, Martyrs and saints, and sage philosophers, And bright-eyed dames, who shine in learning's halls. Like gay birds flitting through a dusky grove ; There comes before my path a little man. Smooth and close shaven, very trig and smug, And well-appointed, not a speck of dust On all his long black coat, which down beneath His slender hams, near to his ankle fell ; A snow-white neckcloth with a dainty tie Embraced his neck, whose skin was fair and fine As any damsel's : — ^with a simpering lisp He spake, and asked me — Pray, Sir, can you tell What man was Walter Myln ? I, like a Scot, Replied — Why ask you that ? I read, quoth he. That name upon the obelisk, which stands High-perched above the benty golfing ground. And, being here a stranger, fain would know What names you honour in this Northern land ; Our saints in Oxford have a larger fame, And sound through time, their own interpreter. O yes ! I said, you Southern Square-caps know As much of Scotland, as a fly that's bred WALTER MYLN. 23 In a grocer's sugax-cask may comprehend Of honeyed heather and of mountain bees. Our glens, you deem, are pleasant hunting-ground For London brewers and ducal debauchees, And our fair lochs and mountams a rare show To salve blear eyes, sick with a six months' view Of peevish faces in a hot saloon ! But, since your question hints some stray regard For Scottish worthies, and the sacred blood That glued the stones of our stout Scottish Kirk, rU teU you what I know, — though, in good sooth, Not much is known of Myln, and even that little By flippant wits is mostly overskipped. Whose eye is all for courts and cavaliers. Crowns, mitres, coronets, and gaudy -crests. Stars, crosses, ribbons, painted heraldries, The pomp and flare of life ; but quiet worth In strong-souled martyr, or meek-suffering saint, Like some fair flower in hollow glen remote. Finds not their wanton eye. So said, I drew A circle round my thoughts, and them adjured To do their master's will ; and to the smug, Smooth-lipped Oxonian thus my tale began : 24 CLIO. Myln, like most men, in those unbookish days, Who had no taste for arms, was bred to the church ; And as our Scotland lies remote, a small Creek in the wide sea of the world, where tides Are latest felt, he sailed abroad, and spread The germing blossoms of his youthful thought. To burst before the doctors of Almayne, Most learned and subtle. There, belike, his ear Caught the first stirrings of the God-sent gale. Which, blown tempestuous from the shrilKng trump Of a poor Saxon monk, smote branchy Rome With dwindling fear, and from the roots uptore Her pride o'er half the world. Thence he returned. Stirred by new thoughts, and thrilled by poignant doubts. To his dear Scotland, where for many years The daily offices of the church he used. And pHed the faithful round of priestly service, In Lunan's sandy bay. The outward man Long time was calm ; but stiU the ferment worked Of the new doctrine, which the times had imped Into his budding soul, and his heart swayed With strange discomfort ; till his ripened thoughts Grew larger than his place, and he must burst WALTER MYLN. 25 Old bonds of life. Then, like an embryo bird, One day — he knew not how, but God that morn Had pricked his soul — ^he burst his shelly case, Claimed his due portion in a larger life, And stood a freeman in a land of slaves. Like as a man, who, in some dusty nook Of an old lumber-room, amid a heap Of yellowed papers, lavishly bescrawled With silly records of ephemeral loves. And trivial sorrows, suddenly hath spied A parchment signed and sealed, whose stamp revives Lost claims, his rusted right refurbishes. And makes him lord of long mislorded roods ; Into new Kf e he starts, surveys the world With bolder scope, breathes a more ample breath. And stands a peer, who late had crouched a slave : Even so this simple priest, before the power Of misvouched creeds and a mistutored church, Stood, with the new-found Bible in his hand. Which God's own finger wrote. — Forthwith he went, And preached the precious truth he knew to all. As free as he had found it ; but not all Would gladly hear it. Few had wit to know ; And of these few, the fewest with strong nerve 26 CLIO. Could bear the radiant truth, but dubious lived, Fearing the dark, and blinking at the day. Who flings broad truth into a falsM age Must count his foes by thousands, and his friends By units. So, indeed, the priesthood raised About poor Myln a clattering hue and cry. As he were known a thief, and rent the ears O' the fever' d time with fretful bickerment ; And him at length in Dysart town — a place More bruited then than now — ^they rudely seized, And to St Andrew's hoary castle haled, And barred him in yon tower beside the sea, Whose dungeon yet smelt rank with innocent blood Of Wishart, and the noble Hamilton. There first with baits of fleshly lure they tipped Their sensual hooks, and promised him a stall In rich Dunfermline's abbey, there to live In fatted comfort, and to slide at ease Into a cushioned grave. But not such man Such straw might tickle. So, from prison dragged. Before the assembly of the priests he stood, Even in the pulpit of the Bishop's church Impeached of heresy ; and fearless there With meek aspect fronted the proud array WALTER MTLN. 27 Of priests and bishops, priors, provosts, all The knighthood of the Pope, with motley troops Of friars, black, and white, and grey, as thick As flies, that on a sweltering summer day Have scented carrion in a clover field — Even in the great church metropolitan He in the pulpit stood, a weak old man, But firm, with face serene, and shaded soft With the mild dignity of fourscore years, To answer for his faith. They on a bench Sate lofty-throned, and with full lofty looks Surveyed the people, or with face composed To meek devotion, while high-vaulting pride Housed in their hearts ; some only fat and dull, And gross with swinish habitude of soul, That made them grunt, when any cleanly foot Intruded on their sty. Before such court Sworn in God's name, and to their murtherous work Invoking Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, Stood Walter Myln. How they accused him, what The counts of his offending, you may read In Foxe's book of gospel witnesses ; How he had dared, as any creature dares, To find a mate, and mingle with his like ; 28 CLIO. How he had said that bread was bread, not flesh, And wine plain wine, not very blood of God ; How he declared that bishops were no bishops, Who marketed in holy things, to feed Not Christ's dear flock, but their own pride ; and how Prom land to land he pilgrimed, not to kiss The bones of maundering monks, and patter prayers To swart-faced Maries prink' d with trumperies. But with free power to preach the eternal law Of truth and love, and righteousness to men ! All this he patient heard, and inly wept To think that reasoning men should reason use. To lift flat nonsense into attitudes Of lofty sense, strutting on learned stilts, And weaving curious webs of twisted phrase. Not to reveal, but to conceal the truth. Then, when their talk was done, he rose, and flung Their trivial charges from his swelling soul. Like straw before the wind ; for God inspired The old man's heart with breath of truth, that he, His hot youth boUing in his aged breast. Made nave and choir to ring and sound again, So stoutly he protested. Wflt thou recant ? Quoth Oliphant — so hight the questioning clerk — WALTER MTLK. 29 If not, the fire is waiting ; thou shalt die. Then calmly thus the old man spake : I stai^d Accused of life. I know that I must die, Some day not distant. Theeefoee what you DO, Do quickly. Prove me. I will not recant God's truth ; for I am corn ; I am no chaff. Neither with wind shall I be blown away, Nor burst by flail ; but I will both abide. And so he made his brave confession, words Worth libraries of tinkling rhetoric. Words that made Scotland free, and eftsoons drave The tyrannous Pope and all his company Of mitred hirelings from our ransomed land. But first he gave, like Socrates, his Hfe To pledge his words ; and so with gore they shent His silvery locks, and for a winding-sheet Swathed him in flaming pitch ; yet not without Deep grudge of honest men. The people's heart Was sick of blood, nor wished the old man dead. The minions of the priesthood were constrained — For none would lend a rope- — to cut the cords Of their own tents, to bind him to the stake ; Where being fixed, he stood like one entranced 30 CLIO. With holy rapture and serene discourse. Yet not with dumb suhmission died ; once more, While life remained, and the keen-crackling blaze. Choked not his utterance, his free voice he raised For truth and right, and God and Christ. And all The people's hearts were moved ; and many wept — Though tears were perilous then — and inly curst The priestly bonds they had no strength to break. And so my tale was told. I saw my smooth Oxonian friend had only half a mind To hear my story out ; for these Square-caps Give their free right hand to the Pope, to us With grudging grace their left ; but I was pleased To blurt a dash of broad-cast Scottish truth. Against his lisping lips. Well, well ! he says. You Scotsmen are a pertinacious brood. And have that harsh-grained stuff in you, which makes Bigots and martyrs, democrats and bores ; Fitly you wear the thistle in your cap, As in your grimtheologj' ! I laughed. O we're not all so fierce I God knows, you'll find Well-combed and smooth-licked gentlemen enough In our saloons, who will rejoice with you. "WALTER MTIN. 31 To sneer at massive Calvin's close-wedged creed, Who think John Knox a boor, who dared to speak Truth to a pretty face topped with a crown ; Who hold that preachers should, like peers, avouch Their right to preach, by links of pedigree From Paul or Peter ; whom a fervid prayer. Or a bold word turns to nice squeamishness ; Who sigh for liturgies and surplices. And all the frippery of your silken church ! Fear not I — the memory of our iron times Frets the fine nerves of this too gentle age. Our very streets are prankt with Prelacy ; The squares of breezy Edinburgh show Statues to perjured princes, men who lived Chief captains of a swinish court, and died With rotten souls embalmed in Popery. Proud monuments are piled to eternise Lawyers with supple conscience and glib tongue, And frizzled kings, with never a deeper thought Than their rolled waistcoats — ^but yoii'U beat in vain Those streets, to find one stone to memorise Dauntless John Knox, or faithful Walter Myln. So my Scotch bile I vented ; and our ways 32 CLIO. We parted : he across the golfing ground, "Whence blew the railway's screeching whistle ; I To hold discourse with sage philosophers Of knowing and of being, and to feed Mine eyes with pleasant play of kindly looks From bright-eyed dames, who shine in learning's halls, Like gay birds flitting through a dusky grove. August 1859. SUNDAY AT ETTEICK KIEK. Who has not heard of Boston ? I, When I was young, and hved on books, Upon his grave theology, With earnest heart and sober lool?;s. Would pore long hours, while lighter youths Drew out the sleepy morn ; nor now Hold cheap that form of close-hnked truths. Which I did meekly then allow For sole true gospel. Flippant wits Sneer, and will sneer; but Calvin's plan With Scottish temper nicely fits, To form the iron-purposed man, c 34 CLIO. Who fights for God, when God commands, Feaxing nor frowns, nor smiles, nor tears Of man, and to Kght Pleasure's bands Who sternly stops his practised ears. So may it be ! — soft Southern airs Belike may breed soft faiths ; but, while The thistle in his cap he wears. For Calvin's creed on Scottish soil No Scotsman blush ! — ^In Ettrick glen I'll pray this day with faith sincere. And worship with the plaided men. Who Boston's godly fame revere. What though no gilded domes uprise, Quaint arch, and curious-pillared tower. No painted lights to charm the eyes ; Here men both preach and pray with power. What though no organ's skilful chimes EoU through long aisle or vaulted hall. The broad-browed shepherd, with grave rhymes From lusty heart on God doth call. SUNDAY AT ETTEICK KIEK. ' 35 No nice luxurious faith is here ; No cushioned creed for ladies fine ; No silken priest, in dainty ear Smoothly to lisp the sleepy line. Here let me worship. Mighty God ! Whom our firm Fathers knew with fear, Make thou my heart the chaste abode Of faith, strong, manly, and severe ! JOflN-rKAZEE." John Frazee was a piotis man, Who dwelt in lone Dalquhaim, WLere huge hills feed the fovuits of Ken, 'Twist Sanquhar and Carsphaim. King Charles, he was a despot f eU ; With harlots and buffoons He filled his court, and scoured the hills With troopers and dragoons. For he hated all the godly men, When, free on heather braes, Their hearts would brim with an holy hymn To their great Maker's praise. JOHN FRAZER. 37 And he hated good John Frazer, And he hade his troopers ride Up dale and dell, by crag and fell, And snow-wreathed moiuitain side. One night in bleak December, When the snow was drifting down, John Frazer sate by his ingle-side With his good wife Marion. And they spake, as godly folk will speak, O' the kirk, and the kirk's concerns, Of hair-breadth 'scapes in thousand shapes, And they spake o' their bonnie baims. Tramp, tramp I — Who's there? — 'Tis they, O Heaven! The Devil's own errand loons ! They've lifted the latch, and there they stand. Six striding stark dragoons ! Too late, too late, thou crop-eared Whig ! Too late to turn and flee ! To-morrow thou'lt dance thy latest jig, High on a gallows-tree ! 38 CLIO. They bound his arms and legs with thongs, , As hard as they were able : Then took him where their horses stood, And locked him in the stable. Then back to the house they came, and bade The sorrowful gudewife pour The stout brown ale — for well they knew She kept a goodly store. The gudewife was a prudent dame : The stout brown ale brought she ; They filled and quaffed, and quaffed and filled, And talked with boisterous glee. And many a ribald song they sang, And told in jeering strain How God's dear saints were seized and bormd. And hounded o'er the main. And many an ugly oath they swore, That made the gudewife turn pale ; But she smoothed her face with a decent grace, And still she poured the ale. JOHN FEAZEE. 39 And still they drank, and still they sang, And still they cursed and swore : The clock struck twelve ! the clock struck one ! And still they cried for more. The gudewif e was a prudent dame, She broached her ripest store : The clock struck two ! the clock struck three ! And still the gudewife did pour. Then up and spake the first dragoon ; Now mount and grip the reins, boys ! It suits not well that a bold dragoon Should drink away his brains, boys ! Then up they rose, and, with an oath. Went reeling to the stable ; Their steeds bestrode, and off they rode As fast as they were able. With lamp in hand the gudewife rose And to the stable ran, And looked, and looked, till in a nook She found her own gudeman ! 40 CLIO. " Now God be praised ! — ^he's fresli and hale ! A mighty -work this day The Lord hath done ! — the stout brown ale Hath stol'n their wits away." Eftsoons she brought a huge sharp knife, And cut the thongs in tway ; " Now run, gudeman, and save thy life ! They'll be back by break o' day !" And off he ran, like a practised man — For oft for his life ran he — And lurked in the lulls, till Grod cast down King Charles and his company. And lived to tell, when over the wave Went James with his Popish loons. How God by stout brown ale did save His life from the drunk dragoons. A SONa OP SCOTTISH HEEOES.' (Tube— TSe Garb of Old Gaul.) I'll sing you a song, if you'll hear me like men, Of the land of the mountain, the rock, and the glen, T^id the heroes who bled for the old Scottish cause, When the Southron insulted our kirk and our laws ; For we'll make a stand for Scotland yet, the Wallace and the Bruce, Though frosty wits may sneer at home, and Cockneys pour abuse ! With the fire of Kobert Bums, and the faith of stout John Knox, We'U be more than a match for the smooth Enghsh folks ! In the moor and the mountain, the strath, and the glen. Every rock tells a tale of the brave Scottish men. 42 CLIO. Of the high-hearted martyrs, who made the king pause, When he swindled our freedom, and tramped on our laws. For we'll make, etc. The king lost his head — ^fools may whimper and whine; But he lost it, believe me, by judgment divine, When he came, a crowned traitor, to pick wicked flaws In the Covenant, the bond of our old Scottish cause. For we'll make, etc. Our kings were the godly, the grey-plaided men. Who preached on the mountains, and prayed in the glen. When the weak shuffling Charles, who swore false to the cause. Sent his troopers to tramp on the old Scottish laws ! For we'll make, etc. There are prigs who will sneer, there are snobs who will laugh. There are fools who will frown, when this bumper I A SONG OF SCOTTISH HEROES. 43 But here's to the men, who, like grey granite wa's, Stood firm, when the Stuart down trampled our laws. For we'll make, etc. ' They bled on the bleak moor, they hung on a ^tree. They pined in black dungeons, were drowned in the sea; But their blood was the cement that soldered our When they bled for their faith in the old Scottish cause. For we'll make, etc. Then here's to the men, who made monarchs to quail, Cargill and Cameron, Guthrie, M'Kail ; Their fame shall be sounded with deathless applause, Who fought, bled, and died for our kirk and our laws ! For we'll make, etc. THE MEEEY BALLAD OE STOCK GEILL." Good lords and ladies, who refuse to bend before a I'll teU you of a merry gest, that gave the Pope a shog; A gest that chanced in Embro' town, and in the High Street old, Where WiUock taught, and stout John Knox, that f aithfid preacher bold. Sing hey Stock Geill ! and ho Stock GeiU ! the tale I tell is true ; We dashed his bones against the stones, and his stump in flinders flew ! 'Twas the first day of September, and the priests were aU agog, All through the town, with pomp to bear the newly- painted log ; THE MEEEY BALLAD OF STOCK GEILL. 45 For the old Stock Geill, the silly god, was in the North Loch drowned, And they have beaten about about, till a new one they have found. Sing hey Stock GeiU ! and ho Stock Geill ! the old god and the new ! We dashed his bones against the stones, and his stump in flinders flew ! There goes a stir through all the streets, a buzz through all the town ; With banners, flags, and crosses they are walking up and down ; The Eegent queen, the wily Guise, put on her proudest smile. And busked her in her brawest gown, to march with the young Stock Geill. Sing hey Stock Geill ! and ho Stock Geill ! the old god and the new ! We'U dash his bones against the stones, and shame the shaveling crew ! A marmoset! a marmoset! the Devil work them sorrow ! 4B OLIO. They've brought him from the Grey Friars, and nailed him to a harrow ! Then on their heads they Hft him, and with sounding pomp they come, With Latin rant, and snivelling chant, and pipe, and fife, and drum. Sing hey Stock Geill ! and ho Stock Geill ! this day the priests shall rue ! Against the stones we'll dash the bones o' the idol painted new ! A marmoset ! a marmoset ! the puppet-god to show. West about, and East about, and round about they go ; Along the Luckenbooths they trail, and down to big . Jack's Close, And the bone of his arm, to work a charm, they kiss at the Abbey Cross ! Sing hey Stock Geill ! and ho Stock Geill ! this kissing ye shall rue ! We'll dash your bones against the stones, though you're painted fresh and new ! Now hold your god, ye shaveling loons ! — for the queen she's gone to dine. THE MERRY BALLAD OF STOCK GEILL. 47 Full weary from the maxch, I ween, with Sandy Carpentine ; There brews a storm betwixt the Bows — the crowd looks black and grim ! They rush ! — they spring ! — ^hold fast your god 1 they'U tear him hmb from limb ! Sing hey Stock Geill ! and ho Stock GeUl ! this dainty godHng new ! They mass their bands, and with strong hands they'U do ! the/H do ! they'U do ! They rived the nails, they seized him by the feet, — I teU thee true — They dashed his head against the stones — his stump in flinders flew ! Thou young Stock Geill, and wilt thou die, poor imp, and give no token ? Thy father had a stouter skull, was not so Ughtly broken ! Sing hey Stock GeUl ! and ho Stock Geill ! the siUy godling new ! We dashed his bones against the stones, and his stump in flinders flew ! 48 CLIO. Then hurly burly ! light as straw the priests were blown asunder ; They puffed and blew, they panted hot, they gaped with foolish wonder ; Down go their crosses ! up their skirts ! their caps fly in the air ; Their surplice flaps ; they run as fast as them their legs can bear ! Like crows at pop of gun, the grey anfl black- , stoled friars flew. Mid curse and sneer, and gibe and jeer, and merry wild halloo ! And so this gest was bravely done that gave the Pope a shog, That now no stout Scotch knee might bend before a painted log ! The Devil's lumber-room we swept — for thus John Knox did say : Pull down the rookery, and the rooks will quickly fiy away ! We left no trappings of Stock Geill ; that day we ne'er shall rue. When we dashed his bones against the stones, and his stump in flinders flew ! THE SONG OP lES JENNY GEDDES." (Tune — British Grenadiers.^ Some praise the fair Queen Mary, and some the good Queen Bess, And some the wise Aspasia, beloved by Pericles ; But o'er all the world's brave women, there's one that bears the rule, The vahant Jenny Geddes, that flung the three- legged stool. With a row-dow — at them now ! — Jenny fling the stool ! 'Twas the twenty-third of July, in the sixteen thirty- seven. On Sabbath mom from high St Giles', the solemn peal was given : D 50 CLIO. King Charles had sworn that Scottish men should pray by printed rule ; Pie sent a book, but never dreamt of danger from a stool. With a row-dow — yes, I trow! — there's danger in a stool! The Council and the Judges, with ermined pomp elate, The Provost and the BaiHes in gold and crimson state. Fair silken-vested ladies, grave Doctors of the school, Were there to please the King, and learn the virtue of a stool. With a row-dow — yes, I trow! — there's virtue in a stool ! The Bishop and the Dean came in wi' mickle gravity, Eight smooth and sleek, but lordly pride was lurking in their e'e ; Their full lawn sleeves were blown and big, like seals in briny pool ; They bore a book, but little thought they soon should feel a stool. With a row-dow — yes, I trow ! — they'll feel a three legged stool ! THE SONG OF MRS JENNT GEDDES. 51 The Dean he to the altar went, and, with a solemn look, He cast his eyes to heaven, and read the curious- printed book : In Jenny's heart the tlood upwelled with bitter anguish full ; Sudden she started to her legs, and stoutly grasped the stool ! With a row-dow — at them now ! firmly grasp the stool ! As when a mountain wild-cat springs on a rabbit small. So Jenny on the Dean springs, with gush of holy gall ; Wilt thou say the mass at my lug, thou Popish-puling fool? No ! no ! she said, and at his head she flung the three- legged stool. With a row-dow — at them now! — Jenny fling the stool! A bump, a thump ! a smash, a crash ! now gentle folks beware ! Stool after stool, hke rattling hail, came tirling through the air, With, Well done, Jenny ! bravo, Jenny ! that's the proper tool ! 52 CLIO. When the Deil will out, and shows his snout, just meet him with a stool ! With a row-dow — at them now ! — iheris nothing like a stool I The Council and the Judges were smitten with strange fear, The ladies and the Bailies their seats did deftly clear, The Bishop and the Dean went, in sorrow and in dool. And all the Popish flummery fled, when Jenny showed the stool ! With a row-dow — at them now! — Jenny show the stool ! And thus a mighty deed was done by Jenny's valiant handj Black Prelacy and Popery she drave from Scottish land ; King Charles he was a shuffling knave, priest Laud a meddling fool. But J^nny was a woman wise, who beat them with a stool ! With a roio-dow — yes, I trow ! — she conquered by the stool ! BOOK II. POLYHYMNIA. — PiNDAK. Odi profamtm vulgus et arceo. — Horace. HYMN TO HELIOS. Beautiful orb, that rulest the sky, bright joy of creation, Helios ! oldest of gods, when earth, with divinity teeming, Spake to the eye and the heart of a race that be- lieved in their feelings Now they call thee a globe, a fiery sphere in the welkin. Blindly wheeled, the causer of light, but wheeling in blindness ; Blindly wheeled by a law, with might despotic, compelling Atoms, and suns, and moons, the dust that tumeth the balance, 56 POLYHYMNIA. Clouds that float in the sky, and waves that swell in the ocean. Beautiful Sun ! whom miUions worshipped, bright joy of creation ! Still let me deem thee a god ! — or, if potent Science deny me This heart-worship, which lived when men had faith in their f eehngs, I from Philosophy borrow a name to baptize thee — ^be greeted, Light-giving eye of the God, whose soul is the life of the Cosmos ! Eye not seeing, like vision of men, with tamely re- cipient Organ, but causing to see, creative, procreant, plastic ; Eye in which Plato believed, and the broad-viewed thinkers of Hellas, Ere mechanical men, with curious lines and triangles, Measured the skies, and mapped the bald ungodded ' creation ; Eye of the welkin, I praise thee ! the glory that waked in the Persian Hymns of awful delight, and sent the Pelasgic Apollo HYMN TO HELIOS. 67 Forth, a glorioiis youth, with golden locks down-flowing Over the shoulders that bore the quiver with arrows resounding : Me that glory inspires in the chme of the mist- wreathed mountain ; Me thy deity stirs in the land, where a jealous theology Watches the words of the wise, and grudges free thought to the thinker. I will praise thee ; inspire my heart with flooding emotion ! Fill me with thoughts as rich as the leafy tree, which redundant " Shakes her tresses around, and waves her beauty before me ! Teach me to praise thee with skill, that whoso hears may adore thee, Helios ! beautiful orb, the plastic eye of creation ! Beautiful Sun ! when the procreant breath on the primal waters Brooded, divinely stirring the crude and weltering Chaos, Water, and earth, and air, and flre, in dim elemental 58 POLYHYMNIA. Strife inorganic convolved, and rolling in huge con- fusion, Then thou wert not, beautiful Sun ! but evident darkness Struggled with fitf ullest fire, in dismal yawning abysses Joyless. Forth from the thought of the all-creative Jehovah Walked thy luminous round with iateUigential clear- ness. Chaos before thee fled; the vast convolutions of darkness Rolled away ; the elements, freed from tangled em- broilment. Grouped their atoms, and sought in Idndred classes to mingle. Thou, bright eye of the world, didst order the infinite discord. Thou, first servant of God, the Supreme Causer of order ! Moulded by thee ia the slimy swathes of mud primeval, Struggled the formative life in the plant ; thy ray calorific Fashioned the germs of growth, and shapes of exu- berant beauty HYMN TO HELIOS. 59 Sprang from the bursting clod with leafy splendour enfolden. Gently the blade of the grass came creeping over the meadow ; Stately rose the tree ; and in graceful rings sym- metric, Spread the fresh-green fern its fan to the zephyr gigantic. Beautiful world ! from year to year in gladness I greet thee ; Yearly the power of the Spring, and the ray of the life-dispensing Glorious Sun invests the old and hoary creation Fresh in juvenile green ; and yearly my heart within me Beats to the pulses that stirred, when Helios moulded the Cosmos. Beautiful trees ! that with far-sent fangs securely rooted. Clasp the rock, and with rounded stems, erect and stable, Rise to the light ; then swinging your arms with opulent leafage Broadly tufted, or finely needled, drooping or spreading. 60 POLYHYMNIA. Sway to the breeze : ye forests, that wave with various grandeur, Dark with the veteran pine, or light with the taper- ing larch-tree, Stout with the bunchy plane, or soft with the fine- leaved linden. Smooth with beech, or rough with the large-flowered spears of the chestnut. Fragrant with pendulous birch, the white-stemmed pride of the dark brown Mountain torrent, that scoops the shelvybedof themica: Praised be the beauty of trees ! them Helios brought from the darkness. Cherished their seeds -in the rift of the rock, and lustily reared them, Richly with verdure to clothe the old grey sides of the mountain. Beautiful flowers I the joy of the meadow, the grace of the garden, Triumph of genial light, disparted in colour, and scattered Wide o'er the verdure of earth, with beneficent. wild profusion, Wonderful ! filHng the eye with continuous feasts, and the heart with HYMN TO HELIOS. 61 Thrills of dainty delight ! Full oft in your quest I have wandered Deep into murkiest woods, and high where the pin- nacled granite Shelters the snow through the summer, and far where the cataract thunders Over the storm-seamed brow of the grim-indented mountain : There the bell, and the cup, and the purple star have foimd me, Beautiful, crowning with life the forehead of bleak desolation, Smiling, like children's eyes, with miraculous hght from the deep black Yawning chasm, that seemed an abode for barrenness only. Beautiful flowers ! or gemming the snow-wreathed hiUs, or at random Spotting with vegetive gold the broad fat fields of the lowland, Nodding in airy clusters aloft, or broad as a buckler, Floating in lazy pride on the bosom of deep slow waters, 'Neath hot tropical suns ; in lowliest guise, like the sorrel 62 POLYHYMNIA. Shading its delicate tints 'neath the moss-grown stumps of the forest, Or in magnificent globes high-blown, with petal on petal, Closely-massed, and cunningly cut into curious splen- dour. Looking in face of the Sun with the vermeil pomp of the Summer ; Lovely parade of beautiful growth, divinely unfolden World of colour, I bless thee, and praise the Creator who gave me Eyes to drink in the Ught, and share thy magical fountain, Helios, beautiful orb, the plastic ,eye of creation ! Beautiful Earth ! in vesture of various light en- veloped, Grlorious ! ever to me thy beauty has been as a garden Gemmed with flowery delight, and breathing odorous sweetness ! Ever new wonder hath thrilled my wondering eye, beholding Each soft line of thy grace, each ample front of thy grandeur. HYMN TO HELIOS. 63 Oft with vagabond foot thy fields I have traversed at random, Free, with savage dehght, by modes and fashions un- cumbered. Nourishing thoughts as light as the gull that floats o'er the billow. Breezy and fresh as the Zephyr that tosses the green and plumy Glory of trees in the light, and pouring unsought and unhindered Hymns of vital delight ! I praise thee, God, and thy sunHt Earth, the garden of man, as abroad I wander in fancy. Viewing again and again thy wealth of wonderful pictures. Hung in the halls of the soul by thy magical many- hued mirror. Memory, mother of Thought ! And now my fantasy lifts me Far to the lands of the South, where Light, like a queen majestic, Sways with sovereign strength, and smiles with broad, diffusive, 64 POLYHYMNIA. Liberal brightness unsullied ; and there the bluff rock-forehead Stands ia the flash of the sea, high-crowned with the nicely-measured Marble piUars, as white as the flower which bursts ia the morning, Hung with memories of worship as fair as the light which surrounds them, Dian, or radiant Apollo, or she, the blue-eyed virgin, Daughter of Jove, strong-fathered, with weighiy spear and buckler Bright, far-glancing, a sign to the worn sear-wandering sailor. There my fantasy lifts me, and there on sun-woven pictures Feeds and fattens with joy. Or me, with a turn of my musing. Suddenly thought transports to the castled crags of the Rhine stream. Terraced with vines, and brewing by mystic brewst of the sun -light Wine, which gladdens the heart : and there I see in the arbour HYMN TO HELIOS. 65 Knots of men and women, the gentle, the kind, and the thoughtful, Feasting on sunny delights, and the sportive freak of the moment, Harmless-bubbling ; or wandering far through mazes of leafy Copse-wood wild, and making the old grey ruin re- echo Free with songs, the voice of an easy sweet-blooded people, Plain, unbribed by the cumbersome pride which fetters the Briton. These thy pictures, O Sun ! the living, the varied, the changing Ever, but ever the same, wide-spread in magnificent fulness Wonderful ! Who can declare the wealth of lumi- nous glory. Flowing in radiant oceans, where stars are wheeling in mazes Vast, uncounted, unscanned by the glass of the far- sighted gazer ? Me such glory confounds. I rather, with wise limi- tation, E 66 POLYHYMNIA Feed on. the shows of truth, and chiefly the sights of my dear-loved Strong Caledonian home, the land of the flood and the mountain. Beautiful Scotland ! or where thy hroad hiUs, smooth, green-mantledj- Sink to the vale, far fringed with the pomp of man- sion and villa, Rich, well-gardened; or where the might of thy Grampian rises High, far-sweeping, majestic, and flushing far with the purple Springy heather, deer-trodden. How blest to the foot is the labour. High from thy breezy heath to brush the dew, Cale- donia ! Whether pursuing the stag to his haunt on the lone, rock-girdled Mountain tarn, or regaling the eye with grandeur of high-piled Peak on peak, and feasting the ear with music of waters Rushing adown birch-glens, where the trout in the amber caldron HYMN TO HELIOS. 07 Shoots as swift as a fresh young thought from the hrain of the thinker. Here thy glories, O Sun, in the shifting play of the shadow. Thousandfold varied, appear, when the skirt of the delicate-floating Mist now rests on a crag, now round ablack tremendous Precipice skirs, as swift as the rush of dreams in a dreamer. Oft on a broad bare mount, Bencleugh, or lofty Muicdhui, Sombre hangs a paJl of dark dense cloud from the welkin; Sombre the traveller looks, the unwearied chmber of mountains. All his prospect is dimmed, the glory of hills is de- parted. Sudden the curtain uprises ; beneath the rim of the dark cloud Luminous shines the carpeted plain ; the silvery land- scape Glorious glistens along the line of the shimmering river ; Castle and crag gleam out ; the old grey-centuried turret 68 POLTHTMNIA. Rises over the wood ; the white-washed cottage is glinting Far through the dark-blue pine; the spire in the village is twinkling Bright in the Sun; the vents of the populous far- spreading city Shoot their white-blue fumes in beautiful scrolls to the welkin, Telling of labour and power, and thought, the mighty magician. , Such thy glories, O Light, on the broad brown moun- tains of Scotland ! Such thy wonderful sleight on the pictured face of the high-land, Helios, beautiful orb, the plastic eye of creation ! Beautiful Light ! the child from the rayless womb of its mother Sudden emerging, and claiming his lot in a larger existence^ Free, self -rooted, self-centred, from .thee, thou centre of gladness, Knows the beneficent thrill that quickens the sensuous nervlets, HYMN TO HELIOS. 69 Delicate, timorous, soon to embrace with miraculous grasping Realms of measureless knowledge. By thee the full- grown thinker Nurses his ken, and learns to \1 , / ^0 J^ Ai 0^ >;' ; ^1 1 I?