5299 S214G7 ■ : ■| PR ssgasW?"'*""'" """'* , °°«'OJ'ean, a pastoral. 3 1924 013 543 362 The original of tiiis 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/cu31924013543362 GOWODEAN. D, Macnee, R8.A., Del. y. Adams, Sc Alice. If it be love to feel A new emotion through the bosom steal, Till, as tlie spring gives way to summer's gr?ice. We to a deai-er self oiirself give place. Then I hae lo'ed ! Page 6. aOWODEAN: A PASTORAL. JAMES SALMON, EDINBUEGH: EDMONSTON AND DOUGLAS. MDCCOLXVIll. GREENOCK : A. MACKENZm AND CO., PRINTERS. NOTE. The foUowmg contribution to our Scottish literature was not written with a view to publication. Being, the result of the spare evenings of many winters, the author's object was abundantly accomplished by his own pleasure in writing it, and the equal pleasure of the " follis at home," who received each scene as it issued from the portfolio with an ovation of applause. But the effort was not altogether confined to the fireside audience. Friends became acquainted with its exis- tence, and among these some, whose own success in literature gave them a right to advise, advised its publication. This was at length agreed to, but not without realising the proba- bility that, except by the few who can now either understand or appreciate " Dame song when garbed in hodden grey," the " Pastoral" would run the risk, apart from merit or demerit, of being " all but lost sight of" among the crowd of polished compeers who, there was no doubt, would share its advent. Still, if to this few " Gowodean" — and to them it is dedicated — should be welcome as bringing back yet again the sweet guffoi hayfield, hawthorn and heather, and the old melody " Of Mither Scotia's tender lays, Her hamewaid tongue and simple ways," the author's recompense wUl be complete, and nothing but the pleasantest of memories associated with its publication. It is perhaps unnecessary to add that though the " Pastoral," according to precedent and convenience, has been divided into acts and scenes, this has not been done with the intention of its ever being adapted to scenic representa- tion, a destiny, indeed, for which it is in no way suitable. A PEEFATOEY. Upon a day whose welcome morn UDlooked for rest to toil had borne, I sat where miles of sea and land Stretched round and round on every hand; And as I mused with saddened bent, And thought's strange motley came and went. My soul by langour, sweet, caressed. Lay gently back on memory's breast, And dreaming, fancy's power at length Controlling judgment's calmer strength. Spread, like a mist of spangled sheen, Her lightsome mantle o'er the scene. And e'en as juggler's mystic skill Seems to unmake or make at will. Or as at master's call irate " High art" is sponged from school-boy's slate. And in its stead, with startled haste, The " Eule of Three" is deftly placed, So was the strath that round me lay, VIU PEEFATOEY. Where factories smoked in long array And steam's swift heralds ploughed their way, And river on whose bosom wide Passed fifty ships from tide to tide. Swept bare of all, ship, factory, train. Which had but now clad stream and plain. And as they fade their place to fill The century past, with gladsome will. Calls back in aU their winsome truth. The rural offspring of its youth. And lo! agaiu behind the thorn The shepherd's pipe awakes the morn, And o'er the moor with gentle care The ewes are led by Peggie fair. While Netbstane Mill, none better named. Alike for grist and gossip famed. Again goes round, click, clapper, click. As hopper fills and empties quick. And hark! from corrie, rock, and hiU Winged echo leaps as pibrochs shrill Lead marshalled hosts of kilted men From silent wood and bosky glen. And, but as Spriag with sim and showers Hastes Summer forth half hid in flowers. So scene on scene in rival grace Finds eacb so swift its normal place. That tongue and hand alike would fail To paint the form or tell tbe tale Of forays rude and stern array. Of market town on market day, PEEFATOKY. IX Of lovers' not too shady dell, Of fairy's dance ty haunted well, Of ferry boat, a birling broad, That came and went with changing load. In whose rude sail and oar was shown Great commerce as it then was known; Of " wapen-schaw," and rustic game "Which twined with art the patriot's flame — But stay, dear land; soft, perfect, fair. The picture of thy past is there; There in the breeze that round me steals. Whose balmy breath again reveals, • In murmurs soft from lake and plain, Thine own old Doric's tuneful strain; There, and I gaze till wishes rise Ambitious, fond, much more than wise, That I, alas ! with harp ne'er strung. Might sing as men inspired have sung, Of thy past years, land of my sires ; Not as they sing whose practised lyres Are lit at fancy's glowing fires. But as they sing whose song portrays The scenes 'midst which they pass their days ; Scenes warm with nature, robed with truth. Limned in the freshness of their youth. And showing in their pictured grace, What mirror shows to beauteous face. Themselves in all but change of place; Themselves brought back a living throng Prom slumbering years transferred to song. PREFATORY. Such was my wish. Alack a day! " Keep it a wish" I hear thee say; " The Doric garb uncouth has grown, " The Doric tongue a tongue unknown, " And 'mid the songs whose sparkling lore " Now charms the land from shore to shore, " Thy Doric lay — ^how else wilt fare, " But old oblivion's shelf to share?" Too late, too late thy counsel kind. Already — as the startled hind Who sped for life at morning dun, Now panting lies, her covert won — I've rashly strung old Scotia's lyre With what seemed like a minstrel's fire. And, ere wise note from friendly tongue Could stay my hand, the song's been sung. CHAEACTEES EEPEESENTED. - Farmers and small Proprietors. gowodean, Kamshally, Gilbert Weir, LOUNRIG, Colonel Gowodean, Son of Gowodean. John Wtse, Town Clerk of Dunbritton. LoEBAiRN, the Parish Schoolmaster. Jack Brend, a Ferryman. Sergeant Gunn, Servant to Colonel Gowodean. Gilbert Gripanthreep, Laird and Lawyer. Tam Fell, a Scion of Gipsy blood. Glengyle, a Chieftain. Maud, Wife of Gowodean. Dame Halket, of Halket Dale. Alice, Daughter of Loebairn. Bess, Daughter of Gowodean. Maggie, of that Ilk. Kirst Gripanthreep, Sister to Gripanthreep. LucKiE Macomaut, of the Market Inn; and Jenny, her Niece. GOWODEAN: A PASTORAL IN THEEE ACTS. ACT I. Scene I. House of pominie Loebaien, the Parish Schoolmaster. Alice alone spinning. [Knocking without.} Alice. [As she rises to open the door] Who climbs Darucape so early ? It's but few Who care so soon to brush out o'er the dew ; Not surely my tormentor. [Opens the door and Bessie enters. Bessie ! pet, Wlio looked for you so early at the yett ? Bess. I'm for the Moss the day. Alice. The Moss, afoot ? Bess. Na, na, for that I'm here ; yon playfu' brute, Our dapple Mat, at her auld tricks, yestreen Flew nicheriu' aff wi' Tibby Grilston's wean, Doc Davie, just an imp for whuppin' horse. And tint him in the gait, and, what is worse, Twa shoon besides — 2 GOWODEAN. [act I. Alicb. But Davie ? Bess. Ne'er the waur ; Doc Davie's no to kill wi' coup or scaur. I'm thinkin' if he tumbled fra' the moon He'd but the langer stot ere settlin' down. This morn, for a' he got, the dorty tyke ; Cam' whumlin' headlang o'er our garden dyke, And nae way blate to speir, tho' I looked gruff, " Gif daddie's apples were nae ripe eneuch." Alice. dinna' speak him ill, the bauld-daur wean. He's just what we would like him if our ain. And as I doubtna' ye've cam' yont for Pate ? Bess. T'weel aye — Alice. I'll get him saddled for the gait. [Uxit. Bess. [Sola] Sweetest o' maidens, Patrick's dearest pride ! Where jouk the joes that you a maid abide ? In mind so peacefu', and in looks so rare. That might, divided, make sae mony fair, Yet left unwed ; it maun be true in part. That some auld fancy locks her gentle heart. Alice. [Untering] Pate's corned, and rubbed, and girthed wi' saddle new. And ready for our ain dear Pet-o'-doo. But as I've cautioned him, sae maun I you. That, favourites baith, ilk maun o' ilk tak' tent. And no be castin' out gaun owre the bent. For Pate, tho' mensfu' yad, can scarce be thought To prize his bonny rider as he ought. But there's a way to lead while least you pu'. As dames whiles rule at hame, if a' be true ; SCENE I.] GOWODEAN. Whilk makes our Pate sae eident, quiet, and fain, That while your gait he takes, lie think'st his ain. But, now I've time to speir, is't news, fair frien', That young Kamshaly crossed your way yestreen ? ISTa, never blush, or rather blush the mair. For wha would wyte what makes you look so fair ? Nae gallant wends the Braes, in mense or grace. That wi' Kamshaly bauds a higher place. An' happy lass am I sic news to hear, For baith your sakes, for baith to me are dear. Bess. Owre fast, dear Alice ; tho' the lad's been owre. At orra times, to chat awa' an hour, It's gane nae further ; 'deed our mother says That young Kamshaly, baith in wealth and place. Is far aboon us ; na, she frets and fears. As if sic courtship could but end in tears. Alice. Poor mother, deeply tried ; it's sma' surprise That maist things bode but sorrow in her eyes, That ae woe ever new — Bess. As new this hour As when yon gloomy morn first saw it pour Its misery on her head. Alice. [Weeping} It moves me sair ; But yet she mauna think Kamshaly's heir Owre guid for you, the sunshine o' the MUs, Whose winsome ways ilk heart wi' pleasure tills ; Whose beauty's to our Braes like summer flower WTien first it glints new gemmed frae summer shower.. Owre guid for you ! then whither shall he go ? But, weel I wat, Kamshaly thinks na so. 4 GOWODEAN. ACT I. Bess. Na, cousin dear ! e'en praise sae sweet frae thee Can ne'er make me forget wha bears the gree. Or wha to every thinkin' but her ain, Amang our mountain maidens stands alane. Were I a man, dear coz, I'd woo but thee, And, if refused, I think, do nought but dee. Alice. The menfolk think na sae ; and were you ane, Nae doubt, like them, you'd leave me here alane. Bess. Na, Alice lass, that cleuk's owre scant to hide What's lang been kent roun' a' the country side : Of Hinshaw o' the Howes that sought you lang, Or young Blaquhern that wooed wi' sigh and sang. Or bauld Tam Ord, who, when his courtin' failed. In dule and sadness frae the country sailed, Or Gripanthreep, who but the other day Gat for his proffered wealth, a saucy " nay." Alice. Weel, Bessie, weel, you'll make me feared to praise. If simple truth begets frae you sic fraise ; But, weel I ken, you wouldna hae me gie My maiden heart to Gripanthreep the slee. Bess. 'Tweel, Alice, no ; I'd rather see you wait Ance mair what Guid may send, as sae to mate. But, lass, is't true that a' this scorn o' thine Bests on a true love knot tied lang since syne, As mony say ? But you're sae calm and wise ; Had it been me, whom nae sic prudence ties, You would hae had it frora me lang ere noo ; I ne'er had ought t'would keep frae those I lo'e. Alice. Weel ken I that ; wi' neither guile nor art. Ilk kindly inmate o' your sunny heart sceSE 1.] GOWODBAN. Leaps to your tongue, aucl mautles on your clieek, Or frae your eyes in glitterin' pearlin's speak, And lang ere now you'd kent o' a' that's here, [Putting her hand on her heart.'] But^ Bess. Na, forgie, I was na blate to speir. For weel we ken maist lasses hide sic ware In some fey nook whilk they wi' few can share. Alice. It's that, whoe'er might seek that nook to sift ; But mair when I to you the screen maun lift. You, in whose every feature is recalled His image who my schoolday heart enthralled — Bess. Alice ! Alice. Yes, here now fifteen years agoiic. He spoke to me with voice so like your own. That yours now sounds, like echo's answering tone. And looked so like you that I now can trace His likeness there, as glass gives face for face. Bess. I canna' hear for thiiikin', Alice dear ! Alice. Na, guess the rest, sweet coz, it's surely clear. Bess. Guess ! fifteen years agone ; it seems sae wild. Guess ! fifteen years ! you then were but a child ; And he sae like to me ! ae guess, but ane, And it sae thrills wi' wonder, pleasure, pain. That words can scarcely own't. can it be ! But hoo ! my long lost brother? Alice. Even he. And noo you ha'e the tale. Bess. 'Deed, Alice dear, The wonder seems na less that tale to hear. 6 GOWODEAN. [aot I. You lo'e my brother ! who from us was torn, As I aye thought, short after you were born. Alice. Baith bom and bred, dear lass. Bess. Is't that you tell ? You whom I aye thought youthfu' as mysel'. Alice. Fair face awhile time's passin' years may shade, And hide wi' bloom the ruts his wheels hae made ; But whatsoe'er the gloss o' winsome cheek My thirtieth autumn passes as I speak. Bess. I maun believe't ; and yet, when Will was lost, "What could you be but fifteen at the most ? Alice. Fifteen. Bess. And lo'e ! Alice. If it be love to feel A new emotion through the bosom steal. Till, as the spring gives way to summer's grace. We to a dearer self ourself give place. Then I hae lo'ed, since at our father's school We side by side were posed wi' case and rule, And found sae mony things Uk day transpire That made the ane the other's hel]j require. Bess. If I could love you more than I hae done This tale o' our ain kin that love had won. But voimd so young a heart who could opine That love could ere sic lastin' fetters twine ? Alice. Nae fairlie, lass, had you your brother known. Bess. Sae have I heard at hame ; how deft and grown Beyond his years he was ; and now I hear That he had wit to wale a mate so dear Confirms it a'. had he lived, how blest SCENE I.] GOWODEAK. Would you and I hae been, and a' the rest. Alice. Lived, Bessie ! lived ! oh speak o' nought but life, Nor bring 'gainst strugglin' hope new doubts and strife. I live, hope's beadsnaan, on her bounty fed ; I live until you prove my Willie dead. Bess. Brave heart ! brave heart ! we canna prove him sae ; Then let sweet hope still cheer the passing day ; Tho' lang her withered boughs nae spring hae kent, Wha kens how soon they may wi' fruit be bent. Alice. Thanks, sister Bessy ! let me call you so, You've airt ane's heart to cheer in mirkest woe ; But noo, tiU. neist we meet, this crack maun rest. For though the theme wi' me's been lang a guest. It seems, when spoken o', sae curt and strange. That I'm weel pleased awhile the thought to change. Besides, you ken wha's late at tryst or fair Can neither mak' their price nor pick their ware; And in good time here's Pate, our stay to chide. As pleased, puir brute, to run as you're to ride. Bess. Indeed, dear coz, you're right ; there's muckle need, Mair ways than ane, e'en noo, that I should speed. For things at hame, as weel you ken, are nae Sae bien and fu' as they were ance a day. Wi' heavy hearts to clog the eident han', Wi' craps gaun gyte on every kind o' Ian', Wi' cattle deein', and, what's mair to dreed, Wi' borr9wed siUer hangin' o'er our head. And ane to watch like tod ahint the wa' Agog to spring when night begins to fa'. Alice. That's Gripanthreep ! '■8^ GOWODEAN. [act I. Bess. E'eu lie. Alice. - Ah, lass, there's Ane That e'en Laird Grippie's venom can restrain. Bess. That's true, and fills wi' hope our daily prayer, Tho' still a load remains that's hard to bear ; But I maun run, tho', tiU we meet again, O'er cracks like thae, ilk day will seem like ten ; And weel I ken it needs na' me to say Where best, meantime, our burden we may lay. * Fareweel, dear Alice. Alice. < Fareweel, Bessie sweet, I'll lans na less than voti till neist we meet. O 1/ Scene II. The Interior of the House o/^Gilbeet Gkipantheeep, Laird and Laimjer. GrRiPANTHttBBP and his sister Kikstuc are seen pa/rtahing of the mid-day meal. KlEST. A bonny cock-o'-crowdie place 'twill mak' Wi' kale before and gTosets at the back. When, for a word-o'-mouth, you might obtain A neuk to brag the shire. GliiP. 'Od Kirst, if ane Had wun' like yours I do believe he might. For few that could escape would stan' to fight. KiEST. That's you ! wi' clootie pack, as maist can tell. And fit to lime a girn to catch himsel'. Yet tremblin' like a lout to stretch your han' And bring the fish you've heukit to the Ian'. SCENE II.] - GOWODEAN. GlUP. Who's kemped wi' you, as I've done, years a score, Has little left I trow to tremble for. But in this case o' Gowodean's, how oft Have I not told you that the Hiphaugh croft Is Ian' that's no to get without the rest ? KiRST. Weel, just as aft as I in turn hae prest On you my slee and would-be wealthy brither, We dinna want the ane without the ither. GiiiP. Tak' a' and turn the auld folk to the moors ! KiEST. What's that to us if Gowodean be ours ? Gkip. Weel, Kirst, at least, or I hae tint my skiU, It canna' be anither's 'gainst my will. KiKST. And, wi' your will, can be your ain of course. Grip. Can be my aiu, na doubt, wi' legal force. ^ Were't no thae auld folk ! KiKST. Auld ! Can you forget, When we were coup an' creel in poortith's net, Wha then screwed up their sanctunonious mou's And waved us 'yont their door wi' frozen boo's. As if we'd drifted up frae Arran hoar Like fulsome waifs to taint their saintly shore ? Grip. Na, Kirst ! Kirst. Na, Gibbie ! will you really dare To scrape auld sarks to- cadis sic a sair ? Grip. But Kirstuc ! Kirst. Whisht, man ! would you noo draw back When you hae but to stretch your haun an' tak' ? See what a maihn' then would ca' you laird ; MUes every airt as smooth's the clippet swaird. Grip. 'Od, Kirstuc, lass, you're stieve. 10 GOWODEAN. [act l. KiEST. And what for no ? We canna' aye keep anger sweeled in snow. Grip. And would you turn them out 1 KiEST. As they did you ! Grip. The neighhours ? KiKST. Ilf eighbours ! what can neighbours do ? Gkip. Mair, Kirstuc, than we'd like to see them try, Tho', na doubt, right is right whae'er may cry ; We arena ever mair like fules to sit Outside a yett that we hae keys to fit. KiRST. That's sense at last, get out the Gowodean Ere something waur comes up than yet we've seen ; Look how they try, wi' cunning, fleech and snare. To cooter o'er Kamshaly's silly heir, That wi' his wealth, saffc cout ! their totterin' wa' May hang a wee while langer ere it fa'. My word, gin' he had wit a wife to wale. He'd ridden till his mare had tint her taU, Ere he to Gowodean had ta'en the gait. Or sought their starch'd up taupy for a mate. Grip. [Aside] Kirst ! Kirst ! you're in a bleeze o' jealous flame. And weel I see you'd like a lass to name That you think fitter for him nearer hame. [Alovd] Hae conscience, Kirst. Kirst. Wha has maist need to hae't ? As if you were na' first the hook to bait. Grip. [Aside] Deil than your tongue were hookit neb and root ; She's gaun demented. [Alotid] If we push the suit They'll a' be driven houseless to the bent. Kirst. Where lang before them better folk's been sent ; SCENE n.] GOWODEAN. 11 And if Kamslialy still maun hae his joe — We'll see ; ha ! ha ! but I would maist say no ! — He'll get her herding 'mang the breckans dry, Wi' horny loof, persuadin' sheep and kye. Sae let them gang, it's justice has the say As well as sense, and what mair would ye hae ? [Uxit. Gkip. A's sense and justice to a woman's mind That mak's the bools row just as she's inclined ; But when will Kirstuc sense or justice see In young Kamshaly courtin' Bessie G. ; For that's the cause o' a' this tirivee. No that she's wrang at a' about the Ian', For feint the better e'er was ploughed or sawn. But here comes Fell, and spite o' foe or frien' We've made the first advance on Gowodean. Weel, Thamus, have you gi'en the " charge" ? Fell. [JEnterincf] I have. Grip. What mak's you look sae glum ? Fell. The wark was grave. Gkip. The laird's been wroth. Fell. I only wish he had ; A breeze o' wrath would e'en hae made me glad. But when, wi' looks as calm as closin' day. To rest my hiU-worn feet, he bade me stay; And when besides, wi' hospitable care. The auld man gar'd me wait their meal to share. And led me ben where round the ingle-stane Sat wife and wean, like peace and thrift made ane, Spinnin' wi' eident han' the fleecy woo That was to keep them warm the winter through ; 12 GOWODEAN. [AOTt. And when a blessin' on tlie meat he sought, And prayed for me who had sic tidin's brought, I thought — Grip. Keep thought for things o' sense and lair, And ne'er on taivert clash its treasures ware. But, Tam, you'll lippen but to rotten waft T' expect ilk laird you poind to prove sae saft. I've kent a Cowal chief hang o'er his yett The chiel that gaed to 'reest his guids for debt. Fell. I ne'er heard sic a prayer ; he seemed to speak Wi' aue beside him 'twas so hushed and meek ; And then the auld dame's face, itsel' a prayer. Where sadness wed to peace looked out so fair. And where — Grip. Na, mak' the rest your ain, I ne'er Had time or thought on sic saft cracks to ware. Eneuch. And as for Gotvodean, Tam Fell, We hae but ae step mair, and that's to sell. Meantime, my man, you'd better in to Kirst ; Weel furnish' d aye for hunger and for thii'st, She'll cure this scud o' sentimental win' Wi' something o' a mair substantial kin' ; And when we meet belyve a' planned I'll hae How on this half done job the cope we'll lay. Fell. [Aside] That's weel; but yet to me, tho' great's the change, Since as a gipsy wean my daily range, Wi' empty kite and dirdums aft and dour, Was trampin' roun' the earth frae moor to moor, Till noo, weel fed wi' brose and sarked wi' ham. And like a king wi' bed aboon the barn, SCENE n.] GOWODEAN. 13 I feel their legal raids fra day to day Compellin' sinners puir to pine or pay, Sae pu' against the birse wi' grusome strain That ane looks wistfu' at the moors again. [Hxit. Grip. Now, there's a chiel, though caught by merest luck. While wadin' to the lugs in gipsy muck. Yet finds in pen and book such kindred yoke That lair wi' him — I trow there's few sic folk — Waits not on slow paced growth frae seed or root. But spreads at ance its branches bent wi' fruit. He reads, writes, counts, as if he'd found a spell To 'riest a' lair 'tween Lun'on and himsel ; But I can see he wavers ; tinkler bred. It's no in a' his beuk ae path to tread, But switherin' whiles 'tween Providence and skill, Or feein' now wi' good, and now wi' ill, Ane kens na whilk win' neist his sails will fill. But let him fling ; there's odds and ends twa three. That need baith ban's expert and judgment slee, And these to shape Tam Fell his help maun gi'e ; But here he comes. Weel, Tam, has Kirstuc's cheer 'Tween you and life ance mair made matters clear ? Fell. [JEntering] That life to ills maun e'en stieve batter'd be Whilk three-peck-yill and braxy winna' free. GKiP.^JWeel ! weel ! and now for wark. Auld Gowodean Maun a' be sold ere Wansday first at e'en. Fell. Sae soon ! E'en sae, for if it's true they tell That Gowodean's auld frien', John Wyse himsel', Has fee'd the case, we ilka chance maun seize, 14 GOWODEAN. " [aoti. Or I may get the shaup and John the pease. When heard you o' Glenyle ? Fell. Three weeks the day. Grip. Is Hance his henchman yet ? Fell. I'm thinkin' sae. Grip. Then you'll ha'e heard o' visit to be paid, For Heilan' ends, to Halket o' the Glade. Fell. I've heard and have na', for wha stress can gi'e To what ane hears but whistled fra' a tree ? Grip. Nae better carrier, and if frown or smile Can cox the Heilan' Fates to send Glenyle To herry Halket on the Tyesday night. For my sake do't. Fell. Unless the moon's o'er bright The Wansday's iixed ! Grip. But Wansday winna do ; Sae cross his gait some gipsy cantrips strew, And 'gainst the chiefs red tap my wig I'll wad He'll rather face the hangman 's cross Loch Fad. Fell. Maist like ! for superstitions new and hoar Mak' cringin' cuifs o' twenty in the score; But, laird, I tell you plain, na han' I'll bear In aught 'gainst Halket's dame or Halket's gear. Grip. Wha asks you ? but if fixed, the choice is fine 'Tween losing on the Tyesday thretty kine Or on the Wansday three and three-times nine. Fell. That far I yield— Grip. And but that far you're sought, And weel you ken I seek nae wark for nought ; And Tarn, in confidence, this hunt for pelf SCENE III.] GOWOUEAN. 15 I'll lay, this job ance snug, upon the shelf. And seek a smoother course through life to steer Wi' ane I have in view that course to cheer. Fell. Weel, weel, I'll o'er to Hance, na doubt but he Can tickle Heilan' lug wi' eldrich flea ; But how the change o' day for Heilan' raid Can help at Gowodean is — Geip. Eight weel laid. As you'U aUow the morn ; but now guid e'en. For baith hae wark ere new day-light is seen. [Uxit Fell. The change o' day for Heilan' raid. Tarn! Fell, WO drive John Wyse hot haste to Halket Dell ; And if he's there it's plain he'll no be here. And so the sale will end ere he appear. His ban's thus tied there's no in a' the shire Another that can keep me frae my hire. [Ustit. Scene III. Tlie Banks of the Biver Clutha. Time — Bvening. Colonel Gowodean enters as a stranger. Col. Dear river ! still thou flow'st as strong and fleet As when in thee I laved my infant feet. And thought how sweet upon thy breast 'twould be To sail far off and meet the western sea. And thou, Benlomond ! with thy lofty crest. And shoulders broad in autumn's foliage drest. Thou lookst as young as when it was my pride 16 GOWODEAN. [act I. To climb, and boast the feat, tliy steepest side. And thou too, ancient rock ! with battled crown Daring the foe on which thy ramparts frown ; And lo, the kine-clad strath and pastured braes Wliere passed the Eden of my boyhood's days. And where, as now, I've seen the sun-beams lie So ricHy bathed in evening's golden dye. They might have been, so judged my youthful eye, Gathered in handfuls from the grass and flowers. Or shaken from the trees in radiant showers. And see, where far the liills with giant grace Enclose the landscape in their wide embrace. Some boldly forward red with evening's ray, Some leaning back asleep in distant gTay. ! such the scenes which Scotia's bards inspire. And fan in patriot's soul the sacred fire. But where are they with whom I wont to roam, 'Tranced in the holy spell of boyhood's home ? Where are they ? my soul ! thy tumults stay ; They yet may live, and she, as well as they. But hark ! the sleugh-hound's growl, and see half shut Behind the coppice peeps the boatman's hut. Where peace, though bracken thatched and blanket bare. Yet finds contentment in three paces square. And hold ! as memory re-illumes the rays Long hidden 'neath tlie shade of distant days ; I know this hut, 'twas thine old Jack O'Brend, Thou king of ferrymen, my boyhood's fiiend, Wliose birling, like a scion of the tide. Conveyed its living freight from side to side, SCENE III.] GOWODEAN. 17 What had I known of nets, or oars, or guns, Or higher themes — of Scotland's patriot sons — Had'st thou not taught me witli a constant love, Too fond to tire, too patient to reprove. Long, long ere now, no doubt, thy labour's o'er, Thou'rt anchored safe on Lethe's peaceful shore. But I forget — if I'm to cross the tide, The boatman must be hailed from yonder side. Boat ! boat ahoy ! — ^my voice was wont to reach, Tho' 'tis a good half mile, fair Leven's beach. Ahoy ! ahoy ! — he answers ; hark ! Boatman. [From the other side of the river] Ahoy ! Col. That homely cry makes me once more a boy. And if old Brend could still, my ears I'll pledge. Be lingering here on life's remotest edge. That voice is his, which now so clear and grave, Chased by its echoes, wings across the wa,ve. And as I speak, lo ! round the jutting knowe The birhng shows her broad and homely prow ; And if dead men ere guide such skiffs ashore, 'Tis he indeed, none else so pulls an oar. She nears ! and now, as one can better trace The outline of the rower's stalwart grace. Doubt flies ; 'tis he ! Heaven bless thy frame of oak. Dame Nature ne'er made two from such a block. But see, he lands ; oh with what joyous haste I in his arms could all the past retaste. But that meanwhile, to ward from threatened woe, I must be neither known nor seem to know. Brend. You wish to cross. 18 GOWODEAN. [act I. Col. Indeed I do, old friend ' Brend. Old ! old ! Col. Forgive ; I meant not to offend. Bkend. The ship's not old which still can meet the gale And reach her port full found in spar and sail. So quick to boat ; for if old Abbot's neb But show its jagged form above the ebb, I red you, be your need whate'er it may, You'U reach no ferry -port till break of day. Col. Ha ! say you so ? that woiild right ill agree With one who must ere night Dunbritton see. Bkend. To boat, then, friend ; it waits not me to say That tides, like women-folk, must have their way. Now keep abaft — can'st steer ? Col. I'd rather ply The oars. Beend. And lose your passage. Col. Yet I'd try. Brend. Then thou'rt the skipper, I from blame am freed. Col. Well that's but fair, good friend ; agreed, agreed. And now how shape the course as runs the tide ? Beend. North, north by west — so, so, not quite so wide. Thou'st pulled before and well ; few hands, I trow. Could, tide or weather press'd, so hold her prow. A sailor I could vow ? Col. If to that name He who has crossed the seas has any claim, Then I'm a sailor; but beyond that chance I to the name smaU title ciJtn advance ; For while old ocean's charms oft stin-ed my mind j SOENJSIIT.] GO'WUDEAN'. 19 Dame Fortune still to land my fate confined. Though near my boyhood's home just such a stream As this, now gilt with twilight's purple gleam, Flowed slowly to the sea; and such a boat. As this in which thou'st been so long afloat, "Was there, like thine, at every traveller's call. To pull from beach to beach for tribute small; And just like thee, as skilful, frank, and bold, The boatman was, good friend, but not so old ; And there it was, of rudder, sail, aiid oar By him instructed, I obtained my lore, Tin to such skill, beneath his eye, I'd grown. He sometimes fondly praised it 'bove his own. Beend. I can believe't, now that thine art I see, But more because, though passing strange it be. Such boy as thou wert then, long years ago, I saw to ocean's lair beside me grow. Till from this shore to Cowal's rocky strand, His equal was not found by sea or land. Ah ! had he lived like thee ! Col. Thy child? thy son? Brend. No, not my child ; His will above be done, "Who fixed through youth and age that I should still At batch'lor's lonely hearth abide His will. Col. He died ! Brend. He died ! though that is scarce believed By some who live but while they're so deceived. His mother now — ■ Col. [Aside] Ah then, she lives, kind Heaven ! And with the deathless hope to mothers given. 20 GOWODEAN. ACT Waits my — husli ! hush ! this impiilse will betray. I must forbear — Brend. The wind chops eastward — stay ! AVe'll reef the mainsail ; such a fretful breeze So suddenly in strength one seldom sees. Let go the jib 1 See how the angiy spray Already veils in white the closing day. I like it not — be steady — Col. Have no fears. Danger and I've been friends for twenty years. Beend. Half ship the oars, but watch ! Col. Aye ! aye ! all right. Beend. [Hurriedlyl Oars ! oars ! back water, pull with all your might ! Yet ! yet ! astern ! we're on Clink Kate ; I feel The old tub kissing at her with its keel. Pidl, puU ; for, friend — so, so, — it's doubtful sport. With tide and twilight failing, Kate to court. CoL. Kate being flinty — Beend. As a rock — Col. But say, Is there no other danger in the way ? Is it or not, for thou canst teU, a dream That Mussel Bank still skirts our weather beam ? A shoal, which many, as I came along. Have cautioned me to dread ? Brend. Nor cautioned wrons : I've watched it since we sailed as one who twice Swam from it leaving aU but life, and thrice Saw gallant ships its storm-vexed bosom strew SCENE m.] GOWODEAN. 21 With masts, and ribs, and freight, and shrieking crew. Oars ! oars ! we're on it now ! ease jib and stay. Pull for a passage, starboard oar ; give way ! Starboard again ; few moments will decide Whether we anchor on or 'neath the tide. Stand by the halyard ! Heaven be praised — avast — We're in the channel and the danger's past. Col. Heav'n be praised indeed, not now nor here Would death be welcome; say, how lies tlie pier ? Beend. To leeward of the bluff we'll wear to south. Then on the short tack make the harbour's mouth. Warily, man the mainsail, now, let go ; Haul down the jib, ship oars, out boat'ok ; so. The winds and waves once more have stood our friends. Though 'tisn't always so a voyage ends. Col. Most true ; and one no doubt may well surmise You've steered through wider sea than round us lies. Brend Aye, aye ! for years, the best my life possessed, I fought our battles on old ocean's breast With Blake the brave, with Eodney wise and strong, Eeady alike with cutlass and with song, And chiefs less known who, fired by kindred aim, Met but to conquer foes, and spread our fame ; Till this old hull, from top to keel found short. Could scarce with towing make its cradle port. Where to the toil I left long years before I had, thus scuttled, even to take once more. Col. Nay, boatman, fear not; oft the ship that \\'ears In mists confusing veiled, and filled with fears, Finds, as she tacks in dread, the darkness fly, 22 GOWODEAN. [ACT i. And sees a smiling ocean round her lie, And, 'stead of ice-berg's crash or breaker's roar. Naught but a favouring wind and friendly shore. So you, long worn alike on sea and stream. May be more near Fair-Haven than you dream. Fear not, I say. Brend. All fear from me was driven Ere ten years to my sinews strength had given ; For it was then I first to venture woke. And from the homestead moorings rashly broke. Fear ! oaten cake as hunger's dainty fare. And country-plaiding, clouted thrice, good wear, Is wealth to me. Who thus contented sails Need little care what storm his birling hails. Nay, nay, no grumbler I — Col. Long may the zest Of such contentment fill thy thankful breast ; Yet hope for sunnier days ; [giviyig him gold] meanwhile I pay. Brend. I have no change for gold, kind master. Col. Nay ; You've earned it well in keeping me to date. And made the voyage cheap at thrice the freight. And now, adieu ! I see, as well I may. We'll meet again, and at no distant day. [Sxii GOL. Brend. He's boarded me, and carried off my heart, And made my stranded hull from 'ts sea-weed start, TiU, like old shallop caulked and rigged anew, I feel afloat with voyage fresh in view. Who can he be who kindles such a glow In my lone heart, that all its pulses flow SCENE III.] GOWODEAN. 23 With warmth sent back from fifteen years ago, Wlien, Willie Gowodean, I .spent with thee Such hours as made nie young at fifty-three ? Wlro can he be ? Hope fondles with a guess, Which, were it true, a hundred hearts would bless. No, no ; flee, fancy vain ! in death's vast hold With hatches nailed above him, stieve and cold, Lies Willie Gowodean ; and, till the day When death must hoist on deck those stowed away, We see him not again ; a-lack-a-day ! Yet has that stranger, motion, look, and word. With memories rigged to life, my spirit stirred. Heigho ! day past ; toil's destined tribute met. Freedom from which eild now might long to get. I'll boat no more till morn's restoring hand Brings these old bones new pith for day's demand. Gold from this stranger, hope from Mightier Friend, May, even to bracken-couch, refreshment send. 24 GOWODEAJSr. [act I. Scene IV. The Exterior of the Mailing of Govjodean. Various groups of friends and neighbours gattiered around. FlKST CouNTEYWOMAN. And maun our winsome Braes, o' peace the hame, Bear o' a deed like tliis the evil fame ? And maun the auldest family in the shire, Wha for sax generations, son and sire, Ha'e held the bonnie lan's o' Gowodean, Be harried out like gipsy horde at e'en ? Second Do. "Weel said, Jean Begg, it will disgrace the Ian' To breed the knave who dare such roguery plan. Thied Do. But whar's John Wyse, the family's ancient frieu', When sic a deed as tliis escapes his een ? His skill, his power has oft ere now, wi's lair, Kode justice at a gallop through sic snare. FouETH Do. Justice ! if you hae faith in Grij)ie's brag, He ne'er cuist leg on ony ither nag, And vows ilk quirk in law, ilk roup and raid. Are but reluctant steps in justice' aid. Second Do. Weel, weel, ne'er fash, though Wyse himsel' should fail To bring him to his hams by legal flail. He'll meet, in better man or bigger loun. His match and niair ere muckle time gaes roun' ; But dear-sakes, you in knowledge fardest ben. Let's hear what mair 'bout this sad case ye keii, SCENE IV.] GOWODBAN. 25 First Do. Mair sad than maist could guess, and doubly sae That this is no the first time Gow'dean brae Has been deep buried in a pack o' wae. Fifth Do. Owre true, owre true ; you mean that auld distress When Will, their son, through some unheard o' press, Gaed aff and ne'er on earth was heard o' mair. Third Do. I mind ; a mystery that was ne'er laid bare, And spread mair grief and wonder far and wide Than e'er was heard o' in a country-side. Second Do. Some said that he was stou'n — First Do. Stou'n ; Tibbie Stein ; Xa, Idmmer, stou'n ! they wanted wark, I ween. Who ettled e'er to steal young Gowodean. Though but a bairn in years, guid men were they Who wi' him held their ain at wark or play ; Braw in his beuk, and hamesome in his ways, He was "the pride and promise o' our Braes. Na, na, he wasna' stou'n. Third Do. But how was't then ? First Do. Sae muckle kenned I, a' I didna' ken. And aye 'twas said that yont their ain door cheek Nane could o' a' the story rightly speak. Second Do. As I've been told, the lad had been i'rae hanie, And, days delayed, came back in dule and shame. First Do. That's like the tale ; some business needin' care. Cattle to sell belike, and gowd to ware. His father, trustin' in his wit and lair, Gied Will to do; sae aff to Glasgow toun He rode — 26 GOWODEAN. [act I. Second Do. That's it ; and full five days gaed roun' Ere he came back — First Do. Na, since you ken sae weel, Gae tell't yoursel' ; it's something to reveal. Second Do. Hoots, kimmer, but you're syboe short the day, As if we kent na' that you've mair to say 0' kintra cracks than ony ither ten. First Do. Aweel, aweel, that may be sae, but when You whisk ane's words frae 'tween their very teeth — Fifth Do. Let that be nae mair cause o' ire or grief; We'se hand our tongues. First Do. Weel, he returned at last. That's Willie Gowodean ; but if a blast 0' mountain wrath had laid wi' sudden reel In dust before his een, baith barn an' beil, Auld Gowodean had felt far less dismay Than when he saw Will stagger up the brae ; Wi' een. that shone in drink's unholy light. And tongue that sprosed wi' drink's unholy might. His boy before him stood ; his pride, his a', The worship o' his heart, and thus to fa'. Fieth Do. Dear me, what niest? First Do. What niest ? wae last ! wae loud ! That night his father, countin' up the gowd The boy brought hame, e'en found sae little there That ire and giief, theirsel's sae iU to bear. Were noo mixed up wi' debt's appallin' care. Second Do. Na, help us, Kate, but that was trial fell, Owre sad to suffer, maist owre sad to tell. First Do. The mother noo, at Gowodean's distress SCENE IV.] GOWODBAN. 27 Felt than his ain a wrath but little less, And would hersel', wi' passions a' unchained, Ha'e used correction's rod had he refrained; But he did not refrain ; for scarce had day Wi' her first beams lit up Dunboignarch gray "When yon roof-tree, which had sae often dirled As WiUie's gladsome voice around it thirled, Eung wi' his cry as from unconscious sleep. Na, help us, friends, but guid folk's wrath is deep ; His father dragged hini, and wi' cruel lash Mangled his puir young frame wi' mony a gash. Third Do. Puir mother, sire, and son! Second Do. Was't then he fled >. First Do. E'en then ; wi' wild protest, and halflins clad, He frae their cruel hands in anguish flew, And ne'er was heard o' mair. Second Do. Alack, how true That human vengeance wrecks the gospel law. And on the hands that wield it miseries draw. First Do. His mother first relented. Eushin' out She sought to stay him in his hapless rout ; But lang ere she got o'er to Grumble's Shaw, He at a bound had cleared the sea-field wa'. She stood that morn just here by Balgry brow. And every morn' sin' syne, if a' be true. And saw her boy rush down wi' bitter speed. Nor coat nor hat his head or back to deed. And ! what pangs her mither's bosom rent. When, ere he vanished, she beheld him bent 28 GOWODEAiV. [act I. In prayer, as if upon his parents' head He heavenly blessin's craved before he fled. See where her knees since that black mornin's shock Ha'e smoothed, where daily bent, the very rock, As on this spot, where last her bairn was seen. She seeks in prayer dark sorrow's only frien'. FOTJETH Do. Grieved mother ! Second Do. And grieved father ! First Do. And that's true ; For though he better keeps his grief frae view. They who weel ken him, lovin', just and kind. Can guess how deep a gash is left beliind. But oh, they had a heavier stroke to bear. When, time being ta'en to search his claes wi' care, The missin' gowd, ilk plack and pun', they see. And wi't besides, coft wi' his han'sol fee, Twa keepsake gifts, for ilka parent ane, Wi' whilk for safety unco pains he'd ta'en. Third Do. Mysie Weir, 'twas mair than hiiman power That kept them, mind and mert, in sic an hour. First Do. Fra' that weird day the sun on Gowodean Fell wi' an ever cauld and fitful sheen. As if the heart were out o't. A' gaed gleet. And e'en the quean-bairn's hame-come, Bessie sweet, Sae like to WiUie that baith young and old Vowed it was him sent back in lassie mould. Scarce for a giiflfin stemmed the murky cloud That gathered round the mailin' like a shroud. The craps cam' short, the stock and graith gTew spare. SCENE IV.] GOWODEAN. 29 The cattle, as if witched, dee'cl pair by pair ; And then, when a' was coupit up and down, Cam' debt's deep waters ; and, the ball to croim, A traitor's kiss frae Gripanthreep the loun. Second Do. Whist, kimmers, see, the family leave the ha' ; Sweet Heaven befrien' them, it's a dowie ca'. {Enter from, the house Gowodean, Maud, Dominie, Kamsiialy, LouNEiG and Bess.] Dominie. My dear auld frien's, this is a gruesome strait; But yet bear up, 'tis Heaven that wails the gait. And we've lang proved in mony a bruise and blight That roads directed sae inaun end in light. And maun the mailin' gang ? Gowodean. That's sure eneuch ; 'Twas for the farm the villain lent the pleuch. When was't that Gripanthreep was kent to lose The flutterin' prey that panted in his noose ? Na, na, frae birkies forcin' gear by might. Or sleeir knaves that crouch for't in the night, We soon might leam to baud baith head and house, And keep our ain against them firm and crouse ; But 'gainst thae hempies on the Ian' let loose Who can frae law sic lawless meshes weave. And, parchment taught, learn legally to thieve. We've no defence. Eights o' twa hunder years. Made siccar by a line o' deft forbeirs. Prove in their ban's but rotten waft or waur, Swingin' the yetts wide open they should bar. A ban o' bitterness ! — Dominie, Old friend, refrain. 30 GOWODEiN. It's ne'er been better proved than by your ain That ills whilk from our hearts all comforts chase Oft bring, right handled, peace in all its grace. 1^0 ban, no ban ; if weapon you must wield. Let it be patience ; all to it must yield. Maud. ! had kind Heaven but sent my Willie back, It had ta'eu this twice o'er sic steer to mak' ; But when, wi' him awa, awa for aye, Sic sair distresses meet us ilka way, I feel at length I've reached that haugh and mair Where to live always would be unco sair. Gow. Na, Maud, my lass, to murmur so is sin ; You mair than me fling comfort to the win'. Maud. Whist, hinny, bide a blink, I may come roun' ; But at the minute a' seems tumblin' down. It's no the gear now gane, the hame our boast. Whose threshold for the last time we ha'e crossed ; We might ha'e been o' these and mair bereft. And yet found joy had our ain wean been left ; But left thus bairnless in a spate o' care Is mair, gudeman, than we are like to bear. DoM. Fie, Maud, you bairnless ! wi' a bairn so dear That but to see her brings Uk bosom cheer. Wi' folk in eild or poortith, wise an' wae; Wi' daffin' haflins, gayest o' the gay; At tryst the first, as first at market toun; At kirk sae douce that a' grow douce aroun'. You bairnless, Maud ! Maud. Indeed I meant na sae ; I ken she's guid ; but sic new drifts o' wae SCENE IV.] GOWODEAN. 31 Just ding nie doited. Willie was sae sweet, A very bairn in love though mensfu' wi't ; No growin' frae me, as maist laddies do. When, big and Strang, they blush at mither's mou' ; But at my chair still artless in his crack As when a stotin' wean he speeled its back. Gow. Your words remind us that we twa ha'e trod Than this a darker tho' a different road. And mind us too, as that road mirker grew, Wliat streaks o' heavenly light cam' blinkin' through ; And, when loud grief drowned a' baith out and in. Whose voice o' love cam' whisperin' down the din, And who, tho' now like owsen out we're cast. Will mind us in the howlin's o' the blast. DoM. But, Gowodean, and you, respected dame. Our Alice e'en would hold me sair to blame If I forgot the message to unfold With which at matin I came o'er the wold, E'en this, that, for a week back gane an' mair. With hands, heart-eident, labouring late and air. She's made all new, in, out, and butt and ben. That we may some sma' peace and comfort len' To you whom she expects this day to see, Guests, 'boon a' others welcome, at Muirlea. Gow. Auld frien,' it needed not this act to prove The true devotion o' your faithfu' love ; An' here we ha'e Kamshaly bien an' warm, An' Lounrig, too, frae out his scantier farm, To press Kke offers, and wi' manly tears Bebuke the sinnin' o' our faithless fears, 32 GOWOIVEA.N-. [act i. ! were it not for yoii, dear wife and bairn, Ane maist might tryst sic Avae sic love to learn. Blest frien'ship, hoveriu' thus in robes sae bright. You spread aroun' our hills a holy light, Till ev'n sic Ols but brukit good might seem As thus their blackness whitens 'neath thy beam. Maud. [Confused] "Whisht, Gowodean, it's Willie's voice I hear ; It comes ilk minute nearer and mair near. We didna' mean't, dear Will, we — [Falls sttddenly in a faint ^ Bess. ! she's gane ! DoM. [As he helps Gowodean to lift Maud] Na, na, it's but a faint ; run, Mysie Bain, Bring water quick. [One of the women goes and returns qyeedily u-ith water.] See ! see ! I told you so ; [Sprinkles mater on her face.] Life's strugghn' back again, but faint and low, As burns in June creep past wi' ripple slow. Maud. [Beeovering] My bairn ! my Willie ! no away again ! Gow. Dear wife ! dear wife ! — Maud. There on our ain dooi'-stane He sat this minute as in days lang gane; My hand, from resting on his head so fair, Yet feels the softness o' the silken hair, An' his warm breath seems fannin' yet my cheek As whisperin' " Mother" he cam' near to speak ; But now where is he ? ! was't but a dwaimi ! Gow. E'en sae, dear Maud, e'en sae ; but ! be calm. Maud. My bairn ! my bairn ! Bess. Am I nae bairn ? SCENE IV.] GOWODEAN. ."i?. Maud. [Emhracing her"] Al)- J'css ! The best who e'er cam' mother's heart to bless. Bess. ! mother, rouse; our father looks sae wae As if liis heart were broken — Maud. Say na sae ; I'll sacrifice na mair to this sad day. Come, Gowodean, we're no o' a' bereft. Na, what is a', when you and Bess are left? Come, let us gae ; a' here, ance our delight, Noo seems to say " in us you've lost a' right," And looks sae cauld that I feel pressed to flee Frae what, sae short sin' syne, filled iUia e'e. The very chair on whilk I've sat since e'er Our marriage made me wife and mistress here, On whilk I nursed dear Will, dear Will and Bess, Seemed, sorrow sae misled me wi' its stress. To tak' this morn' a gruesome shape, and say, " I'm nae mair yours, guidwife, rise up and gae." Sae come at once. And, frien's, fareweel to you ; May happy days and years still shed their dew On a' you ha'e, and wi' a rich increase Bring to your happy hames a heavenly peace. Gow. An' fare you weel, roof-tree o' Gowodean ! Where, as my fathers were, I should ha'e been; Where births and deaths for saxty years thrice run Ha'e made baith hame and hame-stead haly grun'. Fareweel, fareweel ; His blessed will be done. Mes Margaret of Halket {enteriTig] Say that, say that, and gie the foe na place. Thou remnant o' a bauld and saintly race, D 34 GOWODEAN. [act I. Gow. What! Mrs Margery o' the Halket Brae ! ' Wha could hae thought o' you this heavy day, Or hope again to see at Gowodean Its auldest, truest, wisest, dearest frien' ? Mrs Mae. Not I, I'm sure ; but down by Halket Hill There cam' frae Gowodean the sough o' ill. And my auld feet — I thought their walkin' done — Ance mair the gowans press wi' buckled shoon. Bess. 0, Mrs Margery, it your dead will be. Mes Mae. I think nae sae, sweet Bess ; but we shall see ; Tho' 'twould sma' fairley be, ayont fourscore, If death cam' tirlin' at the hallan door. Gow. To love like this what can we say, dear frien' 1 Mes Mae. Love's price is love, and that you aye hae gi'en ; Yet part o' this day's errand is to test Your auld affection wi' a sma' request. E'en that you turn your face to Halket gate, Your hame thrice welcome tiO. these griefs abate. Maud. Mistress — Mes Mae. Whist, you maunna say me nay ; My right's owre gude for ony thing to stay. Besides the claim I hae upon you three. That when but bairns I nursed you on my knee. Aye, Gowodean, though lyart now and gray, I've tent you as a laddie at your play. Your blythe young face that comin' worth foretold. And e'en that trysted love fra' young and old, And made my ain heart oft sae saft and fain. That whiles I grudged that you were no' my ain. Maud. Mistress Margery ! — SOBNEIV.] GOWODEAN. 35 Mes Mae. Hinney, whist awee; Bairns o' my ain Heav'n saw na fit to gie, And though nae good can e'er mak' full amen's For that strange grief the wife that's childless kens, Yet did your children's and your ain kind love To Halket House a heavenly blessin' prove. And weaned a heart, that often mourned alane. To patient peace fra' sair and weary pain. Maud. Gowodean, we maxmna say her nay. Gow. It's hard to haud when love resolves to hae. Mes Mae. Why should you haud ? There's room, you brawly ken. In Halket toun, spence, aumry, butt and ben. Meal in the girnels, cheeses three a raw, Merts newly killed, and owsen in the sta', And puddin's black and white ; na wha's to eat, I'm weary thinkin' on't, sic bings o' meat? Bess. My father yields, dear mistress, and for me It's just an answered prayer to gang wi' thee. Gow. I yield indeed, dear Bess — Maud. And sae do I ; His will aboon I can na mair deny. Mes Mae. Thanks, thanks, and come at ance ; nae peace I'll get TiU safe roun' Halket hearth I see you set. Gow. To you, dear frien's, who've come wi' loving speed To press sic generous offers on our need, E'en let me say, wi' my saul's thanks beside, Tak' na offence as we maun noo decide At whilk warm hearth we for the time abide. That Halket Brae our choice should claim. Na, ye Weel ken the claims 'tween Halket's dame and me j 36 GOWODEAN. [act I. Sib by our sires, and twice in marriage twined, The Gowodeans and Howes lia'e lang been joined, And best it fits that twa should tak' and gie Whom ties like these fra' pridefu' grudges free. Mes Mae. That's unco right. Not ane o' these dear frien's Will grudge that I should claim the Gowodeans : So let us trudge; [io Kamskaly] and you, my winsome joe, Na! at an auld wife's phraisin' blush na so ; I maist could guess she's no ayont the sea Who could lend brighter glow to cheek and e'e. E'en join the march, and spare your sturdy arm To keep auld Halket's steps gaun hame fra' harm ; For I can feel, noo that the need is past. That strength which cam' so qtuck seems gaun as fast. END OF ACT I. Col. Kind Heaven ! my Alice, whom I would have known Among ten thousand, O how lovely grown ! Fair morrow, mistress. Page 54. GOWODEAN. 37 ACT II. Scene I. Tlie Interior of the House of Dominie Loebaikn. Alice Lobbairn sola. Alice. So, Gowodean is not our beil to share, But gangs wi' Halket's dame to rowther fare ; And our wee house, new happet, brushed and clean. Maun ware its fairlies on familier een. But dear, our father's late; to Halket Brae He sped, scarce breaking fast, at early day. Anxious at heart to learn how frien's so dear Their &st night passed, alas ! on borrowed cheer. I would that he were hame, too frail and old To be sae lang alane in upland cold. The season breaks wi' an untimely ire That speaks o' ice ere thrift can light her iire ; The shepherd, startled, eyes the threatenin' lift. And wears the flock where loun-hiH keps the drift ; The farmer, as from ilka stook he shakes September snaw, wi' strange misgivin' quakes, And dreeds a winter that's sae early set To dirl wi' icy han' at autumn's yett, 38 GOWODEAN. [act ii. Presagin' hunger, dearth, and a' the ills That to the brim scant poortith's hicker fills. Maggie. [As she enters'] Eh, lass, 'mang sweets guid-luck's no ■warst to taste; See here I find you just when wanted maist. Alice. Maggy, queen! is't you? [Aside] A maiden blythe, A' heart and kindness, wit like ony scythe, Leapin' impulsive o'er ilk usual guard. That keeps us calmer folk in check and ward ; Haudin' wi' a' the lads sic merry war That few hill wooers care her wit to daur, And keepin' her ain joe, douce Gilbert Weir, In toastin' heat ilkTriday in the year. [Alovd] But what win's yont the wood when Maggie's here ? Mag. Speir that, and Gowodean sic wae to dree? Wha, that has heart to feel or ought to gie. Would hug wi' selfish greed their ain content When folk sae guid's cast houseless to the bent ? Alice. That's sure enough, but what would Maggie do ? Mag. Just what she can, as you've done life a' through. The Faulds, as weel you ken, is mine at last. Besides the nonage o'ercome, a' laid past, Whilk now I'm free, and law na mair can tease, I surely may dispose o' as I please. Alice. But you'd ne'er think o' giftin' gowd or gear Until your guardian uncle's leave you speir ? Mag. That will I e'en, and therefore cam' I yont. Ere right han' to the left put question on't. I ha'e the gowd, o' sense a rowth ha'e you, Sae weel supplied wha kens anither two ? SCENE I.] GOWODEAN. 39 Alice. Ah, Maggie lass, if aiie a' hearts could weed, And saw them o'er again wi' sample seed, Twa maidens then like us might tak' the wold, And for the injured strive like knights of old ; But— Mag. Just enow you'd rather that the men Were left as usual a' sic wark to ten' ; I've na sic reverence for our lords as you, (Besides they ha'ena' caught us yet, my doo,) And think a lassie's han' it sets as weel To help a frien' as if she were a chiel. Alice. And wha would wyte you walein' sic a road, In which so few o' ony sex ha'e trod ? But— Mag. "Weel — Alice. ' Wi' uncle and wi' cousins two, Beside, we hear, a nearer frien' in view. Young Drummel Lyn — Mag. Young Lyn, the mean and vain ! Weel that's a tap til't maist as gleet's his ain. Would you ha'e Drummel Lyn ? Alice. Weel, if the day E'er come that he should spier, I canna say ; But tochered maidens are 'the favoured few That joes, like Drummel, condescend to woo. Mag. You're only jeerin'. Alice. Weel, auld Lyn himsel' But seems to gang through carse and toun to tell Tliat you and Drum' are iUi for ither made. As sure as if the bridal vows were said. 40 GOWODEAN. [act ii. Mag. Heaven keep us a' fra' that auld miser's greed Who to sae mony can sic sorrow breed. I wed wi' him ! may nane o' us ere see The strait that would bring roun' sic misery. Alice. But Meg, it's no the auld ane you're to get. Mag. "Weel for a choice I kenna whilk I'd pet. Alice. He's big and buirdly, rich in gathered gear, And no like sic puir lairds as Gilbert Weir. Mag. Wha? Gilbert Weir ! would you compare the twa ? Alice. Weel, may be no, where ane's sae rich- and braw. And th' ither, you will no deny, sae sma'. Mag. Ca' Gilbert Weir sae sma' ! And this frae you. Who, aye tiU noo, I thought o' sense sae fu'. I wonder who was countit sma' that day When Blackdale Glen ran fu' fra' bank to brae . 0' wrathfu' waters, hurlin' wi' their shock The very housen fra' the rifted rock. And when baith man and beast amid the wave Were swept, and nane wi' hardihood to save ? AVho then thrice swam, and thrice wi' darin' hand Brought ane, about to perish, back to land ? And when again the cry rose far and wide, A bairn ! a bairn ! and, welterin' in the tide, Twa wee haun's raised, a wee head droopin' fast, A bonny bairn cam' roUin' swiftly past. Who then, half dead, renewed the generous strife. And snatched the drownin' laddie back to life ? E'en Gilbert Weir ; while far fra' wind and flood The rest, wi' Lyn, in selfish terror stood. Alice. Puir Gilbert, when about him ane can tell SCENE I.] gowodean. 41 Such good, it's hard he shouhl Ije I'orced to sell His bonuy hame, and lilce some weirdless wight Flee fra' the Braes where first he saw the light. MaCt. What, seU and flee ! this tell o' Gilbert Weir. You riddle, Alice, or I dinua' hear ; How e'er could ane sae douce become sae stark? Alice. That's easy told ; he loves abune his mark. Mag. That's mair o't ; 'bune his mark ! and wha is she, Unknown amang the Braes, wi' head so hie, As scorn the love for whilk sae mony plea? Alice. You weel may say't. The love o' Gilbert Weir Were jewel bright as onyqireen might wear, And she has less excuse whose thoughtless ways Ha'e crushed the manliest heart in a' the Braes. Mag. Alice! Alice. Nay, dear Meg — Mag. Are you meanin' me ? Alice. Who could I mean ? Nae courtier art has he. In feigned indifference manly love to hide, But showed it a' gait wi' a simple pride, Till a' your frien's rejoiced on every side, And thought our Maggy blessed to be secure In the affection o' a heart sae pure. Mag. And what for no, and what's come o'er't, I trow, That, then rejoicing, you should sorrow now? Alice. How speak you sae, and he but here so late To tell that you wi' Lyn's rich laird would mate ? Ah, Meg, that ane so leal you'd harrow so. Was cruel though you ne'er had been his jo. Mag. [ Weejiincf] 'Tis you that's cruel — 42 GOWODEAN. [act u. Alice. Maggy ! Mag. Weel, nae doubt, You mean na sae ; but what's a' this about ? Alice. About ! when a' can tell fra' Luss to Cove How you ha'e teazed him since he talked o' love. Mag. I thought maist lads to teazin' had a bent ; At least I'm sure he might ere now ha'e kent That lasses smile na aye where maist they're fain, Nor care for teazin' joes except their ain ; But wi' his faithfu' heart and thoughtfu' pate It's e'en a pity that the lad's sae blate. Alice. Blate ! Blate's the grace the leal heart ever shows. The veil that modest love o'er ardour throws. Mag. But yet there's courtin' needed, as you ken, And surely that comes better aff the men ; And sae it was, nae doubt, that whiles, when he Stood back sae woman-scared wi' baslifu' ee, I let baith tongue and een wi' saucy sten Speak things that had nae meanin' further ben. Alice. Ne'er speak them mair, that gown's a doubtfu' iit Wliich thoughtless maidens shape and fringe wi' wit. Mag. Nae doubt you're right; your sense sae seldom fails, Kept balanced aye in reason's canny scales ; Sae I maun try, if things ha'e come to this, When neist we meet that he sees less amiss ; But, Alice dear, he aye comes o'er the brook Wi' words sae wailed and wi' sae wise a look. And speaks to ane wi' sic a spate o' sense. As {laughing] spite a' effoits leads to new offence. Alice. Lang may thy gleesome heart, like scented bower, soKNKi] GOWODEAN. 43 Shed sunny blinks on every passiu' liouv; But 0, dear Meg, for sake o' witty saw Endanger not the peace — is't ane or twa ? Meg. It's twa indeed ; but you maun school him too To be less awfu' prim when he would woo ; And just to prove that I will counsel keep I'll e'en to uncle's hallin ere I sleep, And follow sic advice as may be gi'en How we may best defend dear Gowodean. [Uxit Maggie. Alice. Two paths o' love, ilk day gaim farther gleet Seem thus at length bent right ere lang to meet ; Though my ain path o' love frae year to year Still farther widens but to disappear, Bringrag nae change but where hope's fallin' leaf Prepares some mirker spot to nurse my gTief. [Mnter Gilbert Weir.] Gil. Fair day, dear Alice. Alice. Gilbert, this is kind ; [Aside] Ane might ha'e guessed that hart would follow hind. [Aloud] Ken you that Maggie has been here but now ? Gil. Meg o' the Faulds ? AxiCE. What other Meg, I trow. Have we to speak o', tell me, Gilbert Weir, But she who maim to you be ever dear ? Gil. That ance was true, how true let lieav'n declare. But weel you ken it can be true nae mair ; She's cast me frae her, how, I leave unsaid. As ane might shake a cleg frae aff his plaid. Alice. You men might sooner learn that lasses flout Gey often to keep in what would be out, 44 GOWODEAN. [act ii. And whiles but jeer that they frae joe may hide The wound love's dart has made frae side to side. Gil. Na, Alice, you're a wise and thoughtfu' queen, As a' the parish kens, baith man and wean; But far owre gude yoursel' the ways to ken By whilk mair egsome kimmers plague the men ; Na, Maggie's no like you. Alice. Am I as fair ? Gil. Weel, may be no, as folk in love compare. Alice. Or half as blythe ? Gil. Na, Maggie's blythe as day. Alice. Or can 1 dance Hke Meg ? Gil. I maun say nay ; There's no sic feet in Patrick ; like a fawn Her step scarce turns the gerss that cleads the lawn. And leaves the dew yet sparklin' on the flowers Aboun whose bonny heads she's danced for hours. Alice. Or wha like Maggie sings ? Gil. Nae ane atweel ; Her sang gars a' thing sing and a' thing feel. How oft I've heard her voice fill gloamin' calm Wi' ballad sad and sweet as ony psalm, Till ev'n the bird that poured his amorous strain. In listenin' to her sang, forgot his ain. Alice. And yet you'll leave her ? Gil. Would you have me stay To ride the bruise upon her bridal day ? And clap young Lyn, or ony coof as gleg, Upon the back, and wish him joy o' Meg ? Alice. Na, win the prize yoursel' and wear her too. SCENK I.] GOWODEAN, 45 Lad, if I lo'ed her as you seem to do, I'd ha'e her if as many coofs cam' roun' As raised on ithers' heads might reach the moon. Gil. So thought I ance, but mouths o' slight and scorn — Alice. [Starting] What's this ? [gazing upward] See ! see ! I've dreaded this since morn. Gil. See what, dear AUce ? Alice. Snow, again ! see, there ! And 0, if aught I ken o' mountain air. These flakes, sae broad that ane a goupin' fills. Foretell a fearfu' night amang the hills. Gil. Wliere graze the sheep ? Mine yesternight were brought Eound Ousel-head to graze at Auchtencroft, And so, praise Heaven, are safe. Alice. Few sheep ha'e we To graze on croft or common. Gilbert, see ! It falls in clouds, look, round the blackness coils As through the Pass o' Fern my father toils. Gil. Your father in the Pass ! Alice. At mornin' ear' He crossed to Halket, full of anxious care 'Bout Gowodean — Gil. And no yet hame ? Alice. No, no. Alas ! he'U hame nae mair ; smoored in the snow — Gil. Whist ! Alice, whist ! It's no like you to spurn At blessed hope, who can so deftly turn The bright side roun' when others doubt and mourn. Cheer, cheer ; nae livin' man amang the Braes WiU rest this night while our auld Maister strays. 46 GOWODEAN. [act n. We'll get the collies, ca' the ploughman lad, Let guid Tam. Owrditch mount the strongest yad. And cross to Lounrig, Woodtap, and the Fauld, Still rousin' as he rides baith young and auld; And rouse the women, Alice; life's in speed, Gae light the beacon on Dun-Bargie's head. There's yet twa hours o' day ; wi' Heavenly aid "We'll ha'e your father safe e'er day-light fade. Alice. Brave Gilbert, thanks, you mind me what I owe To Him above, and frien's He's gi'en below. O haste, then, haste; I feel that mair delay Would kni me wi' its fears, away ! away ! Scene II. Tims Evening. A wild Pass in the Patrick Hills. A heavy Snow Storm. Domime Lobbaikn enters weak and failing. DoM. All's well ; dear Father, love Thy counsels guide. And peacefully may I Thy will abide. My ward through life's long trials and alarms, Ev'n since at birth Thou kepp'st me in thine arms ; And if t be now my time to sleep mair soun', Thou'lt mak' the snow itsel' a bed o' doun. I feel its o'er; a frame lang nipt wi' age Can fecht nae langer wi' this tempest's rage. [Sinks down on a fragment of rock.] Dear Alice ! Image of a saint above, Last remnant fond of aU my earthly love. SOKNE 11.] GOWODEAN. 47 Is't thus we part ? Will not my hand once more Eest on thy head as in bright days of yore ? And with those eyes, where sense and beauty shine, Wilt thou not yet again bring light to mine ? No ; on, each other we have looked our last. And ev'n without farewell our parting's past. Sweet child ! I've seen, though this you scarcely guess'd. How long with one fond anguish you've been press'd. Well hid you thought, beneath the genial grace That sheds such charms around thy comely face. Alas ! thy Willie Gowodean again Will ne'er — ^but I must haste \cMempts to rise] ; what bauds ? a chain ! Silence, daft lasses, it's against a' rule To mak' such din in Patrick parish school — Gi'e him the book, sir. Alice, that's no right ; Let WiUie help you. Wha puts out the light ? Bed-time ; aweel, I nae mair vigils keep; Father above, Thou'lt watch me while I sleep. [Falls among the snov:.] [Colonel Gowodean enters weary and overcome.] Col. I make no speed, no speed ; march there, halt here. r faith good company were welcome cheer, Or light, or aught; or, hark, I'd almost say. Such freaks thus placed will troubled fancy play. That through the snow-choked air, like husky horn, A voice but now was o'er the beltan borne. Hark ! nay, my wish, so keen for friendly cry. Has conjured up a phantom to reply; The echo of a wish ; again, so near, It seems like groanings breathed into my ear. for one ray to cleave the gloom, one spark 48 GOWODEAN. [act ii. Ere 'neath this storm the soul itself grows dark. Ahoy, who art thou ? 'hoy, or rather where 1 Alas ! ere now all woven through thy hair The snow in burial sheets may o'er thee lie. And choke the struggling breath that would reply. Ahoy, ahoy! [groping about, he at length lays his hand upon Loebaien.] O Heavens ! a human form. Dead ! fitting relic of so fierce a storm. Not dead, not dead as yet; the chest is warm. This to thy lips, poor soul {applying a hottle to his mouthi] ; I've seen the charm It quickly wrought, eVn when life's closing sigh Seemed left bu.t strength to flutter, gasp and fly. Eouse, rouse ; aye groan [lifting Dominie], groan; stagger, start; Motion's the sun to thaw thy frozen heart. Nay, do not fear, I vow we shall not part ; [They move on together, the Colonel all hut carrying Dominie.] I'd not believed that I so weak had grown Till on me thus thy helpless weight was thrown. Nay, drink again ; so, so, now march we must ; Yea, hold me fast, for I am all thy trust. DoM. My all but Heaven. Col. Thou speak'st, then hope revives ; On every word there hangs a brace of lives. Then speak, and speak of heaven ; the warrior's soul Forgets in strife's red toil the higher goal. And well may seek that on his war-cased heart. Some holier hopes may rise and peace impart. Speak then ; ha, help ! he droops again, he dies ; Life called untimely back rebels and flies. aoENEiii.] QOWODEAK. 49 Yet will I bear thee, as some comrade oft, With shattered frame from murderous fight, I've brought. Expecting for him but a friendly grave, When, lo ! he rallied, deadlier fights to brave. So bear I thee, though now with staggering gait. And knowing not what further evils wait. Scene III. Another fart oftlu Hills; Day fast closing; the Storm still raging. Gilbert Wbte loith others carrying torches,