Cornell University Library PR5159.P73C8 Crambo clink (doggrel verses; Burns 3 1924 013 533 967 Cornell University Library The original of tliis bool< 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/cu31924013533967 CRAMBO CLINK. CRAMBO CLINK (DOGGREL VERSES— BURNS) " On'some fond breast the parting; soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires ; E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires." — Gray. LONDON : SAUNDERS, OTLEY, AND CO., CONDUIT STREET. 1859. CONTENTS. PAOE Written on the margin of Swift's Bathos 1 Sung at a Dance in a School-room . . . . ib. Epitaph on J. J. Cleaver ...... 3 Lines slipt into Miss Clark's prayer book 4 To Miss Charlotte Scott 5 To Miss Emily Warre 7 Sung at Clumber Bridge ib. On Lady Adelaide Forbes, written in her Album . . 10 An Enigma ....... . 12 Another addressed to a Lady .... ib. Left in Miss S ^"s Garden Retreat . . 13 The Vicar and his Curate . 14 Sung on a Sail down the Wye .... . 15 Mrs. Chaworth's Soliloquy . 18 On Mr. Grove's Marriage with Bessy Hill . . 19 VI CONTENTS. PAGE Sung on Miss Ellen Story's Birthday . . . .20 Written in Georgina Gordon's Album . . . .21 Lines in Reply to John Daniel 22 On Changing Home ....... 23 The Cricketer's claims to a Lady's favour . . . 2fi Epitaph on John MilUngton 27 The Warning. On leaving Fleurs . . . . ib. Life a Dream ........ 30 Lines to my two Daughters . . . . .32 To Ellin Jane Peach. With some ancient coins . . ib. To-day 33 A Morning Hymn ....... 34 An Evening Hymn . . . . • . . .35 To the Nightingale ....... 36 To Memory 37 (^mwibo ^lini WRITTEN ON THE MAEGIN OF SWIFT'S BATHOS, OE THE AET OF SINKING. The gallant Nelson, hating to confine The " Bathos " only to the British line. Shews with good will and equal complaisance The " art of sinking" to the line of France. A SONG, TO THE TUNE OF DEEEY DOWN, SUNG AT A DANCE GIVEN IN A SCHOOL-EOOM. That all nature is fond of her changes we know. From the wandering moon to the things here below, But the change of all changes, it must be confess'd. Of a school to a ball-room is surely the best. Derry down, &c. 2 CRAMBO CLINK. Here, where formerly nothing at all could be seen But blubbering boys, and a sorrowful mien. Merry faces, and laughter, and frolic abound, Whilst Venus herself scatters pleasures around. - Derry down, &c. Poets tell us that Orpheus could fiddle so well, That he brought all around, e'en his dearie from hell, But his fiddle with our 's who will ever compare ? That makes goddesses dance in this mansion of care ! Derry down, &c. Here oft have we read of the mirth-loving graces, But never till now saw their sweet pretty faces ; Then how charming dull lectures to leave in the lurch. And be circled with myrtle, instead of thfe birch ! Derry down, &c. Yet again do we bleed, but rejoice in the wound. When we 're lashed by bright eyes, darting havoc around, For how sweet is the pain, and transporting the smart ! Which at once is transferr'd from the tail to the heart ! Derry down, &c. CEAMBO CLINK. 6 To learn somewhat of love over Ovid we pore. But old, dull Latin rules turn delight to a bore ; Then how sweet in the dance with fair tutors to move, And to learn in plain English the lesson of love ! Derry down, &c. Then adieu to dull care and the fusty old rules. And the fables of old, so long taught in our schools. Now Venus presides, and we vow that hereafter. No tutor we '11 own, but "the goddess of laughter." Derry down, &c. AN EPITAPH. Made by himself, this cedar shell contains AH that of J. J. Cleaver now remains, A parson carpenter, mechanic priest, From aU his various toils at length releas'd ; Who, when alive, would work with equal zeal To smoothe a knotty text, or knotty deal ; Would do his utmost with his hands, or lips. Surrounded by his hearers, or his chips. Warm with devotion now, and now with labour. He 'd try to mend a table — or his neighbour. B 2 CEAMBO CLINK. Ever employ'd would join, with chequer'd care, A box (in dove-tail) ' or a loving pair. His mind from these two objects naught could wrench, The bench of bishops, and his working bench. For much he strove to gain the varied point Of mitred dignity and mitred joint. The worms will eat his body and his wood, On this he work'd with little harm or good. But trusts the God of Mercy may reward . The humblest labourers in Bis vineyard ! LINES SLIPT INTO MISS CLARK'S PRAYER BOOK. Each parson, 't is said, whether mitred or no, StiU prowls for preferment, a clerical shark, For me, I 'd refuse all the king could bestow, To gain but this treasure — the choice of a clerk. Ah, then there's a pray V' I would urge on my knees, Which granted would make me the richest of men; For, mitres and croziers, how paltry are these ! When compar'd to one Clark's softly-whisper'd — Amen ! ^ The two joints in a cabinet makers vocabulary, are termed the dove-tail and mitre. CEAMBO CLINK. t TO MISS CHARLOTTE SCOTT. WHITFIELD. 'Twixt Stawert-peel and Plunkie mill. Girt a' aboon wi' monie a hill, "Where heughs ' and braes, wi' wood o'erspread In tnuckle pride erect the head ; Upon a spot o' velvet green A hather'd cannie cot is seen. While just below, the stanes amang, The burn curmurring ^ scrieves ^ alang. Here dwells a kimmer,^ braw * and free, Wi' black een blinking bonnily. And though a southern lass, I wot, She aye is ca'd " the bonny Scott." Sae douce,' yet fond of clishmaclaver,* Ane dinna ken which way to have her, O' pliskies ^ now and wigmaleries/ Now fu' o' sense as onie seer is. Her sonsie ^ face, sae fu' o' glee, Frae a' the lasses bears the gree.' Though nae a wife, in breeks astride, ' Crags and precipice. ^ Murmuring. ^ Glides swiftly. * Pretty girl. 5 Wise. ^ Light conversation. 7 Tricks and jokes. ^ Sweet. 9 The bell is victor. b CRAMBO CLINK. A cadjer ponie oft she '11 ride, Beneath the rocks and lofty woods. Oft murmuring hoarse wi' Allen's floods. There hirpling ' slow, wi' raptur'd ee She '11 view the witching scenery, Admire the gifts from heaven that fa', Herself the sweetest of o' them a'. Or sitting near her cottage door. Whose porch the woodbines wanton o'er. What time the sun begins to set. She '11 sowth ^ her cantie ' flageolet, Wi' merry tunes, and muckle glee. She '11 witch your heart wi' melody. But how to roose * her should I think Wi' rhymes nae mare than " crambo clink." ^ Kind Heav'n protect this kimmer braw, And tent a' sorrow far awa' ! May care nae find this bless'd retreat, Nae skaith ^ a breast sae simply sweet : And, if to smooth some chielie's life. This lovely maid become a wife. Oh, let him ken to treasure weel Those charms that mak' a' senses reel. ' Creeping lazily. ^ Try over a tune. ^ Lively. * Praise. ^ Doggrel verses. ^ Injure. CRAMBO CLINK. TO MISS EMILY WAERE. THORSBET PARK, 1805. Whilst thoughts on peace and war perplex The busy minds of either sex, And cloud each brow with care, My wish may seem, perhaps, to all Most strange, most par'doxical, " That peace may dwell with Warre." SUNG AT A FISHING PAETY AT CLUM- BER BEIDGE, SHORTLY BEFORE THE DUKE OF NEWCASTLE'S MARRIAGE WITH MISS MUNDY. A party was merrily met. Though with murderous views, it is true. To catch all the fish of the flood. Ay, and cook and devour them too ; When, sad to relate, it is said. Whilst preparing their tackle and dishes, A goddess stepp'd out of the flood. And turn'd the whole party to fishes. 8 CEAMBO CLINK. First, the Major and young Master Brooke, Who such terrible havoc had made. And revell'd, alas! on the charms Of many a heart-broken maid, Now turn'd to two ravenous pike Incessantly watching for food, Still prey on poor innocent fish. The tyrannous lords of the flood. Then the Vicar, so round and well fed. To crimp and to cook >so well able, Transform'd to a fine noble carp, That would grace e'en an alderman's table ; Despising all commoner food Still retaining his natural taste. Would you lure this fine fish to your hook. You must bait with a delicate paste. And his brother, accustomed to rove, From place ever fiying to place, For why ? if he stay'd but a week. Not a soul, but was sick of his face, A swift-darting ombre ' become. His motions you follow in vain, Like a shadow he flits from the view And 't is odd if you see him again. ' The grayling, from umbra — a shadow. CRAMBO CLINK. But next a voluptuous maid, Miss Oakes with her languishing eyes. Who long had seduced all the men. Sighing deep for so timpting a prize, Transform'd to a silvery dace. Yet avoiding each fisherman's hook. Still glitters a delicate bait. And wantonly glides to her Brook — e. And last, a fair maid and her mother. Far famed for their sweet smiling faces. The nymphs of a neighbouring stream. In beauty surpassing the Graces, Transform'd to the pride of aU fish. That man 's an insensible lout Who would not plunge heels over head To tickle such beautiful trout. MOEAL. Then ladies, in future beware. Be contented with fishing for mens For hook them as oft as you please They '11 nibble again and again. And we '11 hope that the Newcastle Duke When transported to heaven with Mundy, Will petition the Gods for this folk. Or a fish out of water am I. 1807. 10 , CRAMBO CLINK. TO ONE WHO LAMENTED THAT THE BEAUTIFUL LADY ADELADE FOEBES WAS SO SHOETSIGHTED. Lament not for a maid so fair, So peerless in each beauty rare Of face, of feature, heart, and mind. All that we love in woman-kind, That bounteous nature should deny The far-discerning eagle eye. In kindness, sure, the visual ray Here holds, 't is true, contracted sway. Kindness to us, to the fair maid. The lovely Lady Adelaide. To us — who unobserv'd can trace The beauties of that heav'nly face, Unseen by her can freely gaze, Nor fear the ready blush to raise ; For whilst our raptur'd eyes confess This maid's transcendent loveliness, Yet she, unconscious all the while, WiU sweetly look, and sweetly smile. Blind to the charms a saint might woo As the fam'd statue they outdo ; Kind then to us is He who made The eye of Lady Adelaide. CRAMBO CLINK. 11 Yet more this kindness to enhance, Could this sweet maid with ready glance Discern "the blots In you and me. Should we not fear the scrutiny ? Whilst now we 'II hope that in her sight We stand array'd In borrow'd light, Transform'd as by some fairy elf. Seen through the medium of herself. For she, as charm 'd by Oberon, Thinks fair whate'er she looks upon. Then kind to us is He who made The eye of Lady Adelaide. Kind to herself — for whilst with ken Quick and severe, of other men The faults and foibles we descry. The mote that 's in our brother's eye. O'er distant objects widely roam. Ever o'erlooking those at home. This maid contemplates what is near. Looks most within, lest stealing there Some serpent-form in sly disguise Disturb that peaceful paradise. Kind then to all is He who made The eye of Lady Adelaide. 12 CRAJMBO CLINK. AN ENIGMA. To fifty and one add a letter, when told 'T will bring a soft feature to view, That abounds in more sweets than fam'd Hybla of old. But is sweetest when smiling in you. ENIGMA ADDEESSED TO A LADY. Within my nature surely lies A host of contrarieties. I 'm old as Adam upon earth. Yet young as at my very birth, When he, in nature's earliest hour. First own'd through me sweet woman's pow'r. Human I am, yet immaterial. Not e'en the air is more ethereal. Yet you have mark'd my heaving breast, Perchance my tell-tale lip have press'd. And heard, with sweetest sympathy. My tale of love or agony. For though sans tongue, yet to the sense I tell, with matchless eloquence. CRAMBO CLINK. 18 Of all the passions that arise. More speaking than your very eyes. Of love, of hate, of hope, despair. I breathe the Christian's inward pray'r. Yet name me not, but softly give One note responsive and I live. LEFT IN MISS S 's GAEDEN EETKEAT. Whose steps are those that dare intrude Unbidden on this solitude. This calm retreat, where far from noise. From idle forms, and empty joys, A maiden dwells, with purer mind Than e'er a lovely form enshrined. Whose modest merit seeks to fly The world's and folly's curious eye. To bid those nobler thoughts arise. That lift her to her kindred skies. Go, stranger, check thy footsteps rude, For sacred this to solitude. But if, with not unhallow'd feet You seek this peaceful, bless'd retreat, If loathing fashion's jaded eye, Her falsehood and hypocrisy. 14 CRAMBO CLINK. If tired of life's unmeaning round You seek where virtue may be found. Where goodness, modesty, and sense. The virgin-blush of innocence, A heart with friendship beating high, Each throb of sensibility A heart with ev'ry grace endued. They blossom in this — solitude. THE VICAE AND HIS CURATE. An active curate bent to save His vicar trouble, kindly gave His ready aid to overlook The parish and the farming-book. His wits dividing (where 's the harm?) Between the pulpit and the farm. Proud of his talents either way, This pious shepherd talk'd each day Of great success in both vocations, Of stock increas'd and congregations ; Of sheep brought back to either fold. Four legg'd and two, both young and old : Would boast how well his crops succeed From seeds of grace, or turnip seed. CEAMHO CLINK. 15 Thus roved the curate's wilder'd brain 'Twixt church and markets, souls and grain. It chanced one day the vicar stood Close by his side in thoughtful mood, And with th' account-book in his hand. Declared, " I do not understand (Thinking of naught but sheep and stock) Where 't is you 've added to my flock, And looking for, in way of profit. The surplus, I see nothing of it." The curate's mind was in the pulpit, Just heard th' attack and could not gulp it. " Flock not increas'd ! Why, from the meeting I 've drawn Will Jones, and Martha Sweeting, Old Peatfield, and full fifty more. The surplice, sir 's behind the door." SUNG ON A SAIL DOWN THE WYE WITH THE MISSES PEACH, 1811. Let the miller in pots of good ale Drown the voice of his musical wife. And Cloe all blubber'd with tears. Fling a cloud o'er the sunshine of life. Dismissing old subjects like these. Ye curious attend to my song, lb CEAMBO CLINK. For dame Nature has joined in a Peach All charms that to mortals belong. For let some love the pine, and others the vine, the Generous vine, I sing of the Tockington Peach. For freshness, for sweetness, and taste With these not a garden may vie. So bloomingly tempting the touch. So witchingly charming the eye. But no words can their merits convey. Their singular beauties bespeak. No velvet so smooth as the skin. No rose like the blush on the cheek. Then let some love, &c. Though keen blow the wintry blast That howls o'er the grave of the year. And robs of its honours each bough, "While the leaves become wither 'd and sere. Yet enrich'd by such culture are these. Each season fresh vigour unfolds. New bloom from the midsummer heats, Matured through the wintry colds. Then let some love, &c. Let the toper his sorrow beguile. And delight in the juice of the vine, CRAMBO CLINK. 1? How swiftly his joys fade away Like the flow'rs which his forehead entwine. But press this sweet Peach to your lips How thrilling the bliss they impart. To the soul the soft influence extends And swells with emotion the heart; Then let some love, &c. 'T is said that on Ida of old Three rivals descended from heav'n ; When the apple, of beauty the meed. To Venus, dear Venus, was giv'n. Had the prize been a Tockington Peach, Unheard had the question remain'd. For Paris, despising their charms. Himself the sweet prize had retained. For let some love, &c. Though tempting the fruit that beguil'd. And the centre of Paradise graced. Yet fraught were its beauties with pain. And death even foUow'd the taste. Not so is the Tockington Peach, Its cheek is the pillow of bliss. There 's heav'n itself in the touch. And life may ensue from the kiss. Then let some love, &c. c 18 • CKAMBO CL,INK. Ye sylphs that o'er gardens preside, And watch o'er the fruits as they grow. From each canker these blossoms defend. For sweeter ye never shall know. Oh, guard them with tenderest care From each insect that flutters around. Nor suffer such sweets to decay And untasted to fall to the ground. For let some love, &c. MES. CHAWORTH'S SOLILOQUY UPON OPENING A BOX AT CHRISTMAS, TURNED AND PRESENTED BY J. J. C. A box, a paltry box ! why send So poor a token, to a friend ? Here 's nothing of the turner's art ! I 'm sick of boxes from my heart. On coach-box Chaworth gives me fears. And chatter-boxes stun my ears ; Each sauce-box says, that ev'ry grace Beams in my aU-bewitching face. That opera-box ne'er held a fair With half my sweetness, grace, and air. CEAMBO CLINK. 19 That country box, however mean, A palace is with me its queen ; That box and holly, without me, Lose half their Christmas revelry ; This jack-in-box starts up to view With opening lid and swears so too. That box the compass all around. My equal 's nowhere to be found. I '11 box his ears, and say it shocks — And yet, 't is but a Chrismas-box. ON MR. GEOVE'S MARRIAGE WITH BESSY HILL, 1824. That Burnham wood by moor and lane Came marching down to Dunsinane, Sings the fam'd bard of Avon's rill, And now from Wiltshire speeds a Grove To Severn's banks, led on by love E'en to the foot of yon sweet Hill. But faith, we 're told, can mountains move. And strong as faith all-pow'rful love • Takes back to Wilts both HiU and Grove. c2 20 CRAMBO CLINK. MISS ELLEN STORY. SUNG ON HER BIRTHDAY, JANUARY 7, 1826, BY J. W., AT BRAZEN NOSE COLLEGE. Boys of the Nose come sing and shout. Drink deep my toast, I 've tidings for ye. Sweet Ellen Story is come out, She 's sweet sixteen, dear Ellen Story. Some go abroad to seek the fair And search for beauty in its glory. But naught with England can compare — Doubt ye ? go look at EUen Story. Some talk of beauties long pass'd by. And sing their praises till they bore ye. But talk to me of Ellen's eye. And I will wish no other story. Some dream of measures politic. And think of naught but Whig and Tory, They 'd wish both parties at old Nick Had they one look at Ellen Story. To civic feasts let gourmands haste. On turtle revel and John Dory, CEAMBO CLINK. 21 Far other things I 'd love to taste — The honey'd lips of EUen Story. Proud stately mansions some have mind to. And building houses floor on floor high. My dearest wishes are confined to A cottage and a single Story. Then he 's indeed a stupid lout. That drinks not deep the toast before ye. Dear Ellen Story is come out. She 's sweet sixteen, dear Ellen Story. WEITTEN IN GEORGINA GOEDON'S ALBUM, 1833. Write in this album ! what a pity ! And spoil the page with rhyming ditty ! But Tiny bids, and here we find Some emblems of the owner's mind. Till now, this page from blemish free Was like its spotless purity. Again those lines together brought With sterling sense or fancy fraught, Your varied pleasing thoughts portray, Now gravely wise, now Jightly gay. 22 CRAMBO CLINK. And as that drawing's touch and shade Paint some fair work which God has made. In your dear image we may scan The last best gift he gave to man. ■ But whatsoe'er their emblems be. They 're signs of love, dear girl, to thee. And if these lines — this crambo clink — Or could, or might say what I think Of all those traits of modest worth I 've mark'd and loved from Tiny's birth. Could paint but half the treasure rare Of female virtues ripening there. You 'd only blush and bid me end. And call me flatterer, not A Friend. A REPLY TO SOME LINES BY J. DANIEL IN REFERENCE TO THE ABOVE. " A Daniel come to judgment, a Daniel, O wise young judge. — Merchant op Venice. " Praise undeserv'd is censure in disguise." And what is censure which true worth belies ? Which is the flatterer here and which the friend ? D. seeks to blame, C. duly to commend. CEAMBO CLINK. 23 But don't D. flatter ? Tells he not a tale Of incense sweet, who seeking something frail, ' ■; Some fault in seeming candour to correct. Finds none in truth, so feigns th' ascribed defect ? Writes a soft libel in poetic vein, Yet fain would please professing stiU to pain. He chides in semblance, but with honied tongue. The whip hurts not, where " withers are unwrung." Oh, sly accuser, forger of sweet lies. Blame undeserv'd is flattery in disguise. ON CHANGING HOME. At length the promis'd time is come. When we, my Ellin, change our home. That home which long has been to me A real hoAe, a home with thee. For as that tenement of clay, The body knows no warmth nor day. Unless the soul give life and light. But all is one unbroken night, A home is void of soul and life. Till cheer'd and sweeten'd by a wife, A wife at least so sweet, so kind. With warmest heart, with purest mind. 24 CRAMBO CLINK. As gracious God to me has giv'n, To make my humble home a heaven. That home is gone, man's ruthless hand Has swept it from its ancient stand, But ev'ry shrub that marks the spot Where you have shar'd my happy lot. Each holly and bright evergreen Which oft our mutual charge has been, Those days of sunshine shall renew. That owed their brightest tints to you. We change our home, and change you know Is one great object here below. Where every one of each degree Still pants for dear variety. But 'mid this general keen pursuit I urge to heaven a different suit. And pray that you at least may be Unchanged in every point to me ; For oh, what change could ere improve A mind that 's fraught with all we love, A temper sweet beyond compare. That richest gem in wedlock's wear; A heart, whose every pulse beats high With love, and truth, and charity. And all those nameless qualities Which gives to home its dearest ties; CEAMBO CLINK. 25 So shall this home which now is giv'n. Prove like the last — an earthly heaven. Here, happy as the day is long, We '11 think of Him to whom belong Hearts tuned to gratitude and praise. Those pious thoughts which tend to raise The Christian's soul with fervent love To Him, who from His throne above Delights his creatures here to bless. And fill their homes with happiness ; Yet bids them live, as taught to know Man's real home is not below. That " here there 's no continuing city ;" Yet blessed to all eternity May we, my Ellin, hope to be With joy untold, without alloy, If rightly we His gifts enjoy. Thus gilding this our present home With brighter thoughts on that to come. We '11 hope to share together bless'd, The mansions of eternal rest, No more to change our bless'd abode. But dwell for ever with our God. 26 CEAMBO CLINK. THE CRICKETEE'S CLAIMS TO A LADY'S FAVOUR, ADDRESSED TO MISS MASTER, 1858. As cricket just now is the life and the soul Of all this fair county, and cherish'd at Knole, The cricketer's talents we 'U try to review. And his claims, my dear Minie, to favour from you. For the cricketer true is the man for the ladies. And for their sweet commands more especially made is. He 's graceful, he 's active, and the better if tall. And of all things devotedly fond of a ball ; He runs at an instant, and runs with despatch. Not a common-place man for he must be a catch. One oi fashion he is, you will readily say. For he 's good at a hit, and is giv'n to play. That a statesman he is no one ever can doubt. For he 's cautiously guarded and ne'er would be out. Puts his men as a soldier in battle array. Tries to keep a good field, and to carry the day. As a lover experienc'd, the cricketer knows Now to keep at a distance, now eagerly close. To be quick on his knees, and each opening improve. Is the science of cricket as well as of love. CRAMBO CLINK. 27 Then if talents like these can find favour from you. Oh, think of a neighbour so faithful and true. Let him win but one game, and he ever wiU be ', Till death us shall part. Yours devotedly, P. ! EPITAPH ON JOHN MILLINGTON. I DEOWNET) IN THE TEENT, NOVEMBER, 1842, AND FOUND, MAECH, 1844. ' The waters robbed me of my life. And were awhile my liquid grave ; Shun thou the streams of sin and strife. And seek the waters giVn to save. THE WARNING. ON LEAVING FLEUES, THE DTTKE OF EOXBUEGHE'S. Haud your hauns, baud your hauns, fling your rods rath awa'. Your flies, ye fine fishers, your tackle and a'. Whiles ye ettle ' peer saumonts '-' to wyle wi' your heuk, 1 Try. * Salmons. 28 CRAMBO CLINK. Ye nae think o' the kimmers • who kill wi' a leuk, Ah, those warlocks'-' sae braw ^ wi' their glamour * and spells r a gliffing/ peer gowks/ will a' cleket ^ yoursels, Shank ^ awa', shank awa', or ye '11 pay for your screed.' Unco'" slee are the kelpies," that haunt by the Tweed. Though your heuks be a' kiver'd wi' gowd '^ and wi' feather. And Jamieson-help, jimp '' a gilse can ye tether. But these bonnie giglets,'^ sae sonsie,'^ sae strappan,'^ Wi' their pliskies '7 an' briefs '* are fu' certain to trap an' For ye '11 rise at sic heuks be they ever sae bare. Nor break fra' the line though but held by a hair. Then dinna ye tarry, seek your Trent wi' a' speed. Ye 're tint '' i' ye stay, i' the spates ^^ of the Tweed. ' Young girls. * Wizards. ^ Handsome. * Witching. ^ Twinkling of an eye. ® Silly fools. ' Caught. 8 Be off. ^ Frolic. '° Very great. " Mischievous spirits. '^ Gold. '* Scarcely. " Laughing girls. '^ Engaging. '° Handsome and tall. '7 Tricks. '' Spells. '» Lost. '» Swollen stream. CRAMBO CLINK. 29 Now arm'd wi' your leister/ ye gang bleezing ^ a' night. For mirkie's ' the gloaming,* the burn ' clear and bright, Though gleck ^ are your witters,^ though ye try a' your art Nae saumonts are struck, but yoursels through the heart. Fling awa', fling awa' then your tackle and gear. For compared to their een, what's your lunt ^ and your spear ? A wee candle your roughies,* your leister a reed, Hame, hame, ye doilt '" gowks, or ye die i' the Tweed. Nae clase months do they heed, winds, weather nor hours. Though ye 're auld, fish, and gray, though ye 're pettled " at Fleurs, Though ye skulk 'neath Mackerstoun,'* or dive an ye wUl Eighty fathom fu' deep under Pinnacle '^ Hill, ' Pish spear. 2 Blazing. ^ Dark. ■* Evening. * Brook. ^ Sharp. ' Barbs of spear. " Blaze. 9 Rude torch. '° Doating. " Cherished. " Sir H. McDougal's. ^' Miss Davidson's. 30 CRAMBO CLINK. Fient ' a' haet can ye escape now, nae hav'rels ^ are they, These winsome' sweetjinkers* ha' a'ready their prey, Gang swiftly, gang swiftly, oh, I 'm sure ye ha' need. For auld Clootie " hissell be nae safe by the Tweed. LIFE A DREAM. WRITTEN ON THE THIRD OF JANUARY, 1846. Yes, three score years and ten ! how deeply fraught With gravest lessons is the solemn thought Of how those years have past ! th' indulgent span Of life's frail limits to forgetful man ! How swiftly these have flown ! how like a dream All that the memory can recall ! a theme Bursting like thunder on the ears of men. Who wake at length to think at three score years and ten. The world 's pronounc'd a stage,- but it would seem All that 's enacted there is but a dream : Mere shadowy pleasures, unsubstantial joys Delude both young and old — successive toys : I Deuce a bit. ^ gjuy blunderers. ' Pleasing. * Sprightly girls. s The Devil. CRAMBO CLINK. 31 Infants but live to sleep ; and these awake To chase the roving butterfly, and make With quaint device, the daisy wreath, nor ken The thorns along the path to three score years and ten. Then come youth's visions with each new delight, Hope's meteor Will-o'-wisps, that mock the sight. And lead astray ! All things are fresh and new, Yet deem'd too old ; and in its riper view The world itself has slumber'd, and should wake To brighter scenes, perhaps, to overtake Yon rainbow's arch ! one glorious sigh- to men Of hopes beyond this life of three score years and ten. But time moves on : yet bubbles, worldly schemes Of pleasures, profit, honours — futile dreams ! Quench wiser, better thoughts at ev'ry age; But, Lord, at length let heav'nly truths engage My heart and mind ; arouse each slumb'ring sense To real wisdom, let Thy excellence Be the one theme. So may I live again A life renew'd with Thee though three score years and ten. 32 CRAMBO CLINK. LINES SENT TO MY TWO DAUGHTERS, MARY AND ELLIN. OCCASIONED BY THEIR PRESENT OF A BOOK OF PRINTS. That age — the winter of man's fleeting hours — Benumbs with ioy touch his waning pow'rs Of mind and body, and with these destroys Youth's glowing raptures, all his summer joys The stoutest yet must own, whose lengthen'd years Have reach'd man's limit in this vale of tears ! But winter has its suns ; and many a ray Of brightest pleasure gilds the old man's day : The world's light vanities have pass'd away. But time-bought wisdom laughs at their decay. 'Mid heav'nly thoughts how sweet his earthly bliss ? The dear wife's tender care, the child's fond kiss. Each heartfelt oflfring of domestic love Sheds o'er his happy home the joys of heav'n above. December, 1844, TO ELLIN JANE PEACH. WITH SOME ANCIENT COINS, 1856. Whilst on each treasur'd coin the curious trace A nation's arms, a king's or hero's face. CRAMBO CLINK. 33 Some with a noble's or an angel's name. On Ellin's face, on Ellin's purest breast A father's partial eye can see impress'd That Maker's image, from whose hands she came. TO-DAY. TOCKINGTON, 1853. To-day, to-day ! oh, throw not, fool, away The untold wealth of that one gift, to-day ! If rightly used, what riches can compare With half the blessings God has giv'n there ? Short as it is, yet to the Christian's eye That speck of time points to eternity. To-day's best works, best hopes for ever last. Embracing time to come, and all that 's past. The hour 's at hand, when each will have to say All that he's done of old, and what to-day. This day's thine own for happiness or sorrow, Improve it then, and wait not for the morrow — There is no morrow in those realms of bliss. Where time like God the same for ever is. No darkness there to tell of day and night. No sun, no moon.' One flood of heav'nly light Beams brightly o'er the realms of endless space ' Kevelation, xxi., 23. D 34 ' CRAMBO CLINK, From that pure fount, the Lamb's benignant face. 'Tis one to-day ! that God may please to bless Thy struggles here with endless happiness. Each minute seize. Pray Him to teach thee how To seek his blessings with a ceaseless Now ; Ere the night cometh, haste to watch and pray. For this may be on earth thy last to-day. A MORNING HYMN. The rising sun wakes man to bless His God and " Sun of Righteousness." For mercies. Lord, so oft renew'd Accept my praise and gratitude. Give me my depth of sin to see, Truei,,sorrow for offending Thee ; And fill my heart and mind, O Lord, With grace and wisdom through Thy Word. Make me to think, and speak, and do Whate'er is holy, just, and true. Rightly thy talents to employ, Thy blessings thankfully enjoy. My soul and body guard from evil. From sin, the world, and, oh ! the devil. CRAMBO CLINK. 35 And in this warfare give to me • The shield and sword of victory. That this life ended, I may rest Through Thee, my Saviour, with the bless'd. AN EVENING HYMN. Once more, O Lord, the setting sun Bids me to think of all I. 've done. To feel that Thou this day has seen Wheree'er and whatsoe'er I 've been. All that I 've done, or thought, or said. And wilt be still about my bed. Oh, nightly make me think of this, And mourn for all I 've done amiss, For all offensive to the eye Of Thine own spotless purity. Let holy thoughts now drive away The worthless cares of busy day. To dwell on Thee in time to come, And view in hope my heav'nly home. To bless that Saviour on my bed. Who had not where to lay his head. On Him to rest, through Him to rise, The all-atoning sacrifice. D 2 36 CRAMBO CLINK. TO THE NIGHTINGALE. SEPTEMBER 24, 1856. Sweet bird of thrilling song ! whose note sublime Have witch'd man's raptur'd ears in many a clime, Though bless'd thy visits to this isle of ours. When spring returning greets thee with its flow'rs. Though through the day and night thy foreign strains Echo sweet music o'er our groves and plains ; Yet has this happy isle been taught to hail With tenfold rapture its own Nightingale, That heav'nly minstrel, who on wings of love Flew to thine Eastern haunts, a very dove Of heav'nly peace and rest, to sooth the pains Of dying heroes on those bloody plains. By day and night to smooth the sick man's bed. And cheer the aching heart and aching head ; With voice divine the sinking soul to raise To seek his Saviour's aid and whisper praise, To woo the soldier's breast from mortal strife ; And fight the battle of immortal life Under His flag — omnipotent to save And share with him the victory o'er the grave. CRAMBO CLINK. 37 TO MEMORY. written by mary cleaver (afterwards m. new- bery) at the age of twelve and a half years. Hail, Memory, fairest of bright reason's train. Who oft hast charm'd me with thy visions gay. Like the faint echo of some distant strain, Xow soft, and softer 'till it melts away. Oh ! on my ear prolong the pleasing sound. Still, still protract the dear melodious lay. And fling new pleasures on the scenes around By many a thought on each departed day. For thou canst renovate each former scene Of childhood's pleasures, and its short-liv'd grief, Canst bring with rapture back those years serene, When sorrow never came without relief. Canst tell how blithsome I arose at morn. How frolic mirth the cheerful time beguil'd — How childhood play'd — the rose without the thorn. Till setting Evening saw the sport, and smiled. Or when dim night had drawn her dusky veil. Devoid of care I raised my untaught song. Or watch'd each glimmering ray of moonlight pale. And thought it travell'd, as I went along. 38 CRAMBO CLINK. But now these scenes have lost their former charm, 'Tis memory's tints alone can make them please. More useful studies now my bosom warm, And graver joys at reason's just decrees. Oh, when relentless Time's unsparing hand Shall silver-o'er this head with care-fraught years. When Death approaching shakes his ebon wand. And fills the guilty goul with conscious fears. At that dread moment, oh, be still my friend ! May my past actions sooth each .painful hour. Let no regret disturb my latter end. But may I dying bless Thy tranquil pow'r. And let me hope that His all-seeing eye. To whom I go, in whom I look for rest, Pardons my errors with a pitying sigh. And takes me to Him as a welcome guest.' 1791. ' These Lines were received by her father, when "the" Edmund Burke was on a visit to him, who pronounced them "superior to anything written by Pope so early in life." THE END. F. Shoberl, Printer, 51, Rupert Street, Haymarket, W.