1 FROM THE LIBRARY OF REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON, D. D BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO THE LIBRARY OF PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY ■in - " j*% Am**"* ■-■. •**..,*-. IHS&i THE BISHOP'S WALK A \ 1 1 THE BISHOP'S TIMES. FEINTED BY R, AND R. CLARK FOR EDMONSTON AND DOUGLAS, EDINBURGH, AND MACMILLAN AND CO. CAMBRIDGE, AND BENRIETTA STREET, LONDON. THE P. I SHOP'S WALK AND THE BISHOP'S TIMES BY OEWELL (Sambribge M ACM ILLA X AN J) CO. \ N D 23 II EN R I KIT \ BTREET, CO VENT GARDEN bonbon. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2013 http://archive.org/details/wabishoOOsmit DEDICATION. TO .K) UN II LTNTER, ESQ. CRAIG< ROOK. My friend, I bring this little offering To thee, assured, how small soe'er its worth, Thai for the love which prompts me thou wilt Love it, And with thy love will make it beautiful. For oft among thy flower-beds we had held Free converse, where the budding yellow rose. Prolific of its gifts the long year through, Breaks Into beauty, or the myrtle rare With orient perfume scents the nimble bn Now in the spring, when faint-sweet violets Peep with their dim eyes, coy, amid the leav< . Breathing forth raptures ; in the Autumn now, When tin' red creeper flushes all the housi . Save where tin* ivy clasps around tin* tower. VI DEDICATION. » Or trails, with wandering shoots, about the eaves And gargoyles grim fantastic, — fearless homes Held by old swallows on a lease of love Unbroken, immemorial. And at times, When Summer rain pattered upon the leaves, In the green cloisters of the ivy-walk We mused, with ample range of large discourse ; — Of science broadening from phenomena Diverse, to the great Unity which is God ; Of forces correlate, forecasting dim Presages of a new philosophy Concrete \ of history made meaningless, And lacking human interest, for lack Of its diviner import, waiting still The Epic soul. And ever with our speech Mingled the interval of silent thought, Not without reason, and the blithesome ring Of cheery laughter, which had reason too, And nimble wit and repartee, and apt Quotation from the poets who have sung Unchanging wisdom to a changeful world. Then, by and bye, along the breezy heights And lichened crags orange and grey and brown, We strolled, where mountain ash and sombre pine DEDICATION. Vll Crest willi their various plumage thy Loved hill; Whence looking we could spy the far off May Dim in the sea, the Lomonds' shadowy heights Crowning the winding shores of kingly Fife, Berwick's blue cone, the gray sea-withered scalp ( If Bass (where the wild sea-mew wings amidst Heroic memories of a nation's sorrow- Still haunting there), and nearer Arthur seat Shouldering the dingy surge of mist and smoke From his great flanks, while the old Castle loom- Darkly ahove the city roofs and spires, And pillared Calton veils amid the dusk His monumental forms, and at our feet NTestL - among the chestnuts and the elms Jeffrey's green turret and thy happy home. S » as we walked amid the beautiful, And shaped our speech about the beautiful In art or nature, evermore we found, Though years of ripened wisdom lay between And varied rich experience, rare i ment And vision eye to eye; like instruments Of diverse form and substance which record An unexpected harmony, each to other Filling the chord, to make a perfect strain. Ylll DEDICATION. And when the Winter early closed the day, And the log crackled, and the lamp was lit, And the long wind howled through the groaning trees, And the great arm-chair to the fireside drawn Allured to mild repose, which yet the glass Of golden sack, or generous claret purpling The quaint old flask of Venice- work, forbade To become vacant idleness ; then we Held high discourse of God and Destiny, And the dear Christ of human love and hope Gathering the weary wandering ages round The throne which was a cross, and conquering By His meek passion ; till Theology Stript off its sorrowful garb again, and grew An impotent scholastic. Or at times We talked of those whose songs had charmed our youth ; Who of them were forgot, and who were still Daily companions, faring on the road With us, and with a deeper meaning speaking Unto our deepening wants : Of Wordsworth doing A tuneful ministry of love to all ( rod's, common creatures, till the hedgerows sung With choiring seraphim at cottage doors; ( M' Coleridge dreaming, and discoursing words DEDICATION. I Mystic and musical — formative fire-mist Luminous, with a star or two in it. Deeper in heaven than any star we know, And sweeping over vaster breadths of space: Of Keats whose senses were a kind of soul, Living at every point of his fine frann Ami clothing subtlest thought in imagery Tinted and perfumed and melodiou Of Shelley, with th< i skylark singing, »aring, And now in cloud invisible, and now Without a cloud invisible, but still Throbbing with passionate music, when the sen Gurgled but half-articulate: Of Hunt, Playing with lambent lightnings innocent About life's surface, cheerily singii nial And very human, and yet dow and then [Jnconscious, childlike, lifting up the veil, And glancing at the holiest with wonder — S 'ii lost among the pictures and the pathod ( M our familiar life : of Tennyson, Dropping calmly down a quiet stream — A witched river, yet an English stream — Mong the broad lilies and the whisperiB Musing and singing, noting thoughtfully X DEDICATION. The passionate throbbings of a troubled heart, And passionate struggles of a wondrous age. These all we canvassed, having sympathies With all. Nor lacked discourse of nobler still — Of people's Epic, and the learned muse Of Milton ; of the tragic sock, and eke Of tragic symbol, tracking through the maze Of sorrow and temptation the footprints Mingled of God and man. So Goethe sang His Faust; and so in Eunic strain, unmeasured, Guttural, yet with rarest tones of beauty, Wailing the broken idols and the shrines Even while he hurls them down, our modern Titan Essays his vision of life's mystery. Thus having shared thy fellowship, and heard Manifold wisdom, truth profound, and pure Utterance of taste ; which I delightedly Eecall and treasure, and delightedly Look forward to, making a threefold joy Of hope and memory and present gladness ; I, grateful, bring mine offering to thee, Assured thy love will scan it lovingly. PREFACE. Nobodi reads a preface now-a-days; and I can scarcely hope that mine will escape the common fate of its kindred. But whether it be read or not, there are excellent reasons why it should be written. I will, however, be merciful so far; for while I must inflict the preface, I will spare the reasons f<»r it. "The Bishop's Walk" is the name of a shady avenue at tin- west end of Dunblane Cathedral, leading from the ruins of the Episcopal palace to nowhere in particular. It is a pleasant walk, just long enough for a sedentary .-indent, because he can think from end to end of it 411111- a- well as if he were pacing t<> and fro in his study, and at the same time gel all the benefit of those horrid con* stitutionaU wh _ : md object is to walk aw Xll PREFACE. from thought into an appetite. We do not wonder, therefore, at the tradition which ascribes to Arch- bishop Leighton a great fondness for this spot. It is a special favourite of our own, and we had often sauntered there, musing about the good bishop and his times, and trying to imagine what his thoughts and feelings must have been, as he looked away through the green ash-leaves to the troubled and stormy age in which he found himself so lament- ably out of place. Thus the substance of this book gradually rose into form and clearness before the mind's eye, and at length urgently demanded some kind of utterance. For had not Leighton, alas ! received precisely the honour and the justice which prophets proverbially obtain in their own country % In England, indeed, he was rightly and highly esteemed. In England one great thinker had associated with his Commentary on St. Peter one of the most profoundly suggestive volumes these latter days have seen. But here in Scotland, while we were strenuously calling attention to some of his compeers hj the republication of their works — works mainly characterised by the original sin PBEFACE, xi 11 of a Look, viz., thai they are quite faultless and entirely unreadable — all this time, the cold shade of ecclesiastical polemics lay on the honoured name of Leighton, and alrnosl nothing was done to open to his countrymen the rich and pious stores of the good Bishop of Dunblane. It seemed good, therefore, and surely high time, to say a word in behalf of our Scottish Fenelon. At any rate, it is fit that we should try to understand him, so as not to be unjust to his memory. For in the intensity of that polemical earnestness, which lias always distinguished the national character, we are apt to make little or no allowance for those who are constitutionally avei from those contendings in which " we live, and mov and have our being." We rarely try to look at things from their point of view, or to exerci towards them the "charity which thinketh no evil." [ndeed, that sort of charity is in Scotland generally viewed with suspicion; it is certainly no longer koned among the cardinal virtues, if it has not fallen from the catalogue of virtues altogether. For here, as soon as any one begins to talk much of XXV PREFACE. charity, it is commonly thought he is going to turn an Anglican, or a Socinian, or something or other which he should not be. It may be useless, then, to ask for a charitable construction of Leighton's conduct ; but I would fain hope that among a people famed for their psychological studies, it will not at any rate be found uninteresting to try to solve the problem of this good bishop's life. Here was a servant of God who found himself strangely ranged on the devil's side in the great conflict of the age, though fully minded all the while to fight the battle of the Lord. That is the problem, settle it as we may. For, that the struggle of those days involved constitutional government, liberty of con- science and true religion in this land, is surely past all question now among men who think, or who have any tolerable capacity for thinking. I am no mere eulogist of the popular party, as will appear fully by and bye ; but I know no men in history who could be more fitlv described as " The Wicked," than Charles and James ; Lauderdale and Melfort ; Fairfoul, Sydserf and Claverhouse, et hoc genus omne. Yet, side by side with them, we find honour- PREFACE. w able statesmen like Tweeddale, and Murray the founder of the royal society \ a bishop like Leighton, and pious divines like Burnett, Charteris, and Forbes of Corse — all men of blameless repute and high moral purpose. Now, it does seem but fair that we should endeavour to get some little insight into their character, and to understand how they came to play the part which they did. For the present, however, we are only concerned about one them. In the Bishop's Walk, then, my object has been to place Leighton clearly before the reader; not putting my own opinions into his mouth, but saying for him what, far as I understand him, he would have said for himself. I do not hold myseli responsible for all he is made here to utter; but only for the truth of my conception of his character. To me lie appears indeed about as beautiful a spirit as evei- lighted on this earth — an angel whom we entertained quite unawares, and certainly not with an an. .' atertainment. X t I do uot defend all his conduct, nor do I think it we] .1 if all tli id were like him. Greatly moi n to ;ulati< XVI PREFACE. •" than to action, he was, like all such men, a lover of peace, and shrunk with instinctive repugnance from the scholastic polemics of the time. Hence, while he profoundly sympathized with men like Samuel Eutherford in their purely religious opinions and feelings, yet, in ecclesiastical polemics, between him and them there lay a great gulf through which surged the noisy waters of contention. For Leighton was not only contemplative and peace-loving, which some of them were too, but he was also touched with that mystic spiritualism which is apt to look on religion as something above and apart from every-day life and duty. Always there has existed in Scotland an element of this kind — strong enough to give the higher circles of piety among us a sickly and shadowy hue, yet not sufficiently energetic to aifect materially our general ecclesiastical conduct. Such mystic spiritualism has its private region of emotion and sensibility from which it is loth to be dislodged, even at the call of urgent duty, and to which it ever returns, feeling that its contact with these very duties of common life has in some measure marred the delicate down upon the wings PREFACE. \ \ 1 1 which would fain be soaring to heaven. Leighton, it seems to me, partook of this spirit. Besides these qualities, his mind appears also to have had thai peculiar historical conformation which latterly is again appearing to revive and influence the world. The recoil from Romanism and Church authority had in Scotland given rise to an intense individualism, which, of course, has its advantages and its danger-, just as much as the opposite tendency. To this spirit Leighton, from the very nature of his mind, could not entirely give in. He could not believe that the continuity of the Church had ever been completely broken. He could not think, as men appeared generally to think, that there had been no Church history before the Reformation, but only a history of Anti-Christ. Therefore, while in all essential matters of theology thoroughly Protestant and ralvinist, he allowed in minor points of order a higher authority to continuous ecclesiastical tradi- tion than at all accorded with the notions of his brethren. This, with the otherwise fine poetic nature of the man, awakened in th" minds of the more narrow and rigid docrmati-:- of the age the XV111 PREFACE. groundless suspicion of a tendency to Eomanisni ; which found also a shadow of greater likelihood from the conduct of his brother, and from his own frequent visits to certain Jansenist priests then residing at Douay. Yet nothing could be more utterly destitute of solid foundation. It was, however, largely believed, for it suited a party to have it believed ; and parties rarely scruple to sacrifice a good man for what they think a good cause. Such is my conception of Leighton' s character. To break the monotony of a prolonged reflection, I have introduced also an imaginary personage, and a fictitious incident. But though fictitious, it is perfectly historical. And, lest the critic should puzzle at such a statement, let me explain, that it is an incident which I have no reason to believe happened to Leighton, but which might have done so, as the like happened to many in those days, when, for mere opinion, the excellent of the earth were given up to the tender mercies of a soldiery brutalized already by the ferocities of civil war. So much for Leighton personally ; and his portraiture \$as the chief aim of this book. But PREFACE. xi.x when that had been realized, so far at least as lay in me to do it, there appeared yet further need of setting the picture in its proper frann — presenting the man in the midst of his age. Bence the minor poems of lli" volume, about which also I may be permitted to say a word here. Latterly, among the more cultivated classes, especially in England, this part of Scottish history lias grown to he extremely distasteful. What we, north of the Tweed, look to as verily our heroic age, educated Englishmen turn from with nausea. And for my part I do not greatly wonder at this. Those times have never yet found a historian. Clear and honest insight into the meaning of them is hardly to he discovered anywhere in existing lite- rature, if we except the imperfect though truthful picture of Lord Macaulay. For Burnet, while he tells faithfully what he saw, yet lived but a bustling superficial kind of life, and did not see much beneath that surface. Wodrow, a diligent colL of materials, lias not perhaps been always careful to sift tin- true from the false ; and at any rate a mere gathering of incidents is no more history than a XX PREFACE. bundle of facts and experiments constitutes a science. Laing, Brodie, Stephenson, Kirkton, and Mr. Mark Napier, have all laboured on this field industriously, and not unprofitably ; yet, with all deference, we submit that the history of those times has still to be written. Quite lately, Mr. Dodds has published a series of lectures on The Fifty Years' Struggle. They contain not a little graphic description, and some suggestive thoughts, which the historian, when we get him, will not overlook • but they partake of the inevitable defects of the lecture form, and besides, are rather a defence of the Covenanters than the story of the age. Such a defence I believe was needed, but it has only proved our need of something better still. Scott, indeed, with his won- derful imagination, in spite of counteracting preju- dices, gave on the whole a truer picture, at least of one aspect of the time, than perhaps any historian has done. Nor do I forget that my friend Professor Blackie has touched on it in his Lyrical Poems ; and that Professor Aytoun has written excellent verses about Claverhouse and Montrose. But while I am deeply sensible of the manifold gifts and brilliancies PREFACE. XX] of Professor Blackie, .some of whose other poems, I venture to think, have got but scant justice : and while I am ready to acknowledge the fine faculty oi Mr, Aytoun; I cannot think that their writings on this subject have given us any real insight into those times. I can sympathize with the generous 1< >ve of liberty in which the former sings of the Cove- nanters • I can admire heartily the spirited versi in which the latter glorifies the cavaliers ; but I am not led to say : — "Xow I understand those men a little better than I did." Blackie and Aytoun I do under ^ uid better, but neither Peden, nor Claverhouse, nor any of their compeers. We could not, therefore, direct any one where to find a clear and honesl picture of the age; if we except, indeed, Mr. Chambers' Domestic Annals of Scotland, which provide at least the materials, honestly and amply, for all who can provide the mind to fashion them into shape and clearness. On the whole, then, it is really no wondei if Englishmen are weary of this theme. They have been led to regard the Scottish struggle of tie times as a mere dreary polemic of no living interest XX11 PREFACE. or power in these days, and from whose uncouth formulas they instinctively recoil. And yet the contest was in both kingdoms identical, though its form was in the one political, in the other ecclesias- tical. And this difference arose most naturally from the historical position of the two countries. In England liberty depended on a free Parliament, in Scotland its foundation was a free Assembly. While the great statesmen of the south, therefore, con- tended for the privileges of the Lower House ; in the north the patriot party fought for the rights of the Ecclesiastical Courts ; both having precisely the same end in view. Eor in Scotland there never was a Parliament, in the English sense of the word. We had a thing, indeed, of the same name, as they had in France, from which ours was borrowed ; but it was a mere court for registering the royal decrees. The people never looked to it for help. No free debate there ever discussed a national grievance. Constituted as it was, and restricted by the Lords of the Articles, it never could be anything but a tool of the party in power. The only free popular assembly in which the people were repre- PREFACE. xxiii ttted, was the Supreme Court of tlic Church ; and accordingly, the patriot party felt that to sacrifice this, was to give up the only Legal means they had of expressing the will of tlic people; which being gone, no man might open his mouth without be- coming liable to a charge of Leze-Majeste. Let this he remembered, and the ecclesiastical character of our Scottish struggle will appear to the English mind less strange and repulsive ; and its formul will be seen in their true significance and value, as the ensigns of an army, every one of which is precious, not for its inherent worth, but for what it represen I must not, however, dwell upon this, for of course these poems do not enter on that field. That is the region of historical dissertation ; and all I attempt here is a little historical portraiture. Nor is this less needed than the other. For, as already hinted, the history of this period is very much a mere Lrhost storv, so shadowy and unreal its characters appear. Now, while there was no great commanding mind, either among the stati men or the clergy, there was wonderful variety and XXIV PREFACE. force of character in the country. The manifold elements of human life were seething and boiling, as in all revolutionary periods ; now casting up horrible crimes, and by and bye the noblest heroisms, and nowise dealing in mere vague shadows. Good or bad, they were men who lived then, and no more abstractions than men are now. In these shorter poems, then, I have sought to give an idea of Leighton's times by clear portraiture of some of the elements of character amid which he lived, making each person speak for himself, in what Eobert Browning would perhaps call a series of Dramatic Lyrics. I believe they are faithful historical pic- tures ; and, as the artist, who has painted a gallery of portraits, is not required to write under them that this is an ugly fellow, and the other a manifest villain, so without expressing any opinion I have left each to tell his own tale. And even the worst and most grotesque of these portraits, if it be true, has its historical significance and value. It may seem absurd enough, now-a- days, to record the monomaniacal confessions of a reputed witch. Yet at the time such things were PREFACE. x.w believed by good Christians \ and it was one of the charges againsl the government that it was growi remiss in the punishment of these offenders. Would thai this had been the worst crime of which it was guilty ! Now, apart from its bearing on a very curious page of human history and psychological inquiry, this witch clement in the seventeenth century lias its interest for all times, as an illustration of the relation subsisting between science and Christianity. For while the Church clung to the belief in Black Art, resting on a mistaken interpretation of texts, the progress of scientific truth gradually established its absurdity and impossibility. And the remarkable thing is that Christianity nevertheless remained firm as ever. Any other religion would have fallen before 3uch an exposure, because other religions are identified with their scientific errors ; but thoucrh whole generations of Christian men may involve themselves in similar delusions and mistakes, the Gospel itself stands clear of all impeachment. Would that Churches only Learnt t«> have more confidence in Christianity, and to Let science fearlessly follow <»ut its researches, assured that their results XXVI PREFACE. will be no more injurious in other matters than they have been in regard to witchcraft ! Then again, as to characters like Eothes and Deacon Birse, some may be disposed to quarrel with an author for attempting to delineate such worthless individuals. But here, too, we must remember, not only that such unprincipled men existed in those times, as they no doubt do in our own, but that, for some thirty years, they had it all their own way, and controlled the destinies of the nation. As the Psalmist says, " The wicked walk on every side, when the vilest men are exalted." No picture of the age therefore could be complete without them. And besides, it must be remembered that bad as they were, they were the natural product of the intolerance and over-government of the previous times. It is painful to write this ; but the truth is that the extraordinary outburst of reckless wickedness that immediately succeeded a period of apparent decency and piety, can be accounted for only on the principle that the systematic compulsion, exercised by the popular party, produced merely a hypocritical conformity, under which there lurked such baseness and hate PBEFACE. XXV11 as I have attempted to portray in the Aberdeen burgess. The Restoration removed this constraint, and revealed whai had long been festering beneath, as when you lift a stone from an old damp mos wall, and discover the vilest creeping things thriving below it. Nor can we wonder at this demoraliza- tion when we remember that, under the severest penalties, all men were required to take the covenant, and at the same time wen 1 told that they must do it with a good conscience, in all sincerity of heart. When will men learn that we tan be drawn to (lod only with "cords of low Set, with all this, the S >ttish Covenanters were noble and right-hearted men; nor could any thing be more absurd than the prevailing opinion that they were a set of enthusiastic fanatics. Lch fanatics doubtless there were about the out- skirts of the party, as there are more or less con- nected with all great reforming movemenl 5Te1 he would understand little of our later Reform timi . who should identify Brougham, and 1 1 wand Russell with the Birmingham rioters and Glasgow weavers ; and as little does he comprehend the seventeenth XXV111 PREFACE. century, who classes its great men in the same category with those whom its long oppression had driven mad. As a party, indeed, we have reason to rejoice that neither they nor their opponents absolutely succeeded in carrying out their ideas ; but that out of the struggle a civil government emerged, free alike from feudal and from ecclesiastical traditions, and strong enough to enforce both liberty and order for the good of all. Yet at the same time, it were ungrateful to forget that, but for the long struggle and unbroken determination and heroism of the Covenanters, we might never have achieved the freedom we now enjoy. I hope my readers will excuse this long preface. It seemed necessaiy both for the sake of those of whom I was writing, and also for personal reasons in order to avoid possible misunderstandings. Here and there in the minor poems I have used pretty freely Scottish words and idioms where they seemed most suitable ; and English readers will excuse this, perhaps, for the sake of the Scotchmen who will like the book all the better. Edinburcjii, January 1861. CONTENTS. — ▼ THE BISHOP'S WALK. P Pari I. The ( Jathedral 'Town 1 Taut 11. The Walk . - Part [II. The Bishop 13 Pake IV. The Meditation . 18 Part V. The Incident 38 Part VI. Peside the Dead . 54 Part VII. The Conclusion . 63 MINOR POEMS ON THE BI SHOT'S TI M I I. From the Bass ....... •_'. Rothes [solus) ....... 3. Burley 4. Pedes the Prophet . . ... 5. ( >ld ( rreyfriars ....... 6. The Confession of Annaple Gowdie, Witch . 7. The Complaint of Deacon Birse, Burgess, Aberdeen B. Marion Prow n"> Lament ..... 9. M -Kail's Farewell 89 99 103 115 119 125 129 133 Notes to the Bishop's Wale Notes to Minor. Poems i:;t i to 4 THE BISHOP'S WALK. PART I. THE CATHEDRAL TOWN. 1 1. A gray oil Minster on the height Towers o'er the trees and in the light ; A gray old town along tin- ridge Slopes, winding downward to the bridge A quaint, old, gabled ]>lace, With Church stamped on its i i; 2 THE BISHOP'S WALK. 2. The quiet Close, secluded, dim, The lettered scroll, the pillar slim, The armorial bearings on the wall, The very air you breathe, are all Full of Church memories, And the old sanctities. 3. And beautiful the gray old place With characters of antique grace, That tell the tale of pious work Eeneath the spire and round the kirk, And growth of Law and Eight Where Christ had come with light. L Begrimed with smoke, a monotone Of equal streets in brick or stone, With squalid lane, and flaunting Hall, Infrequent spire, and chimneys tall ; You know the place wherein The weary toil and spin. •» THE CATHEDRAL TOWN. 5. Willi jalousie and portico, And oriel large, where sea-winds blow. And light parade, and ample streets, Where idler with the idler meets ; You know the haunt of pleasure, ( lr sick resort of leisure. G. Far otherwise the old church town, With the gray minster for its crown : Its tide of work has ebbed away ; Its pleasuring was never gay; Yet there the morning broke, And the new world awoke. 7. And it is well, amid the whirr ( )f restless wheels and busy stir, To find a quiet spot where live Fond pious thoughts conservative, That ring to an old chime, And bear the moss of time. THE BISHOP'S WALK. 8. Like ivy clasping ruin gray, And greenly clothing its decay ; Like garden haunted to this hour With smell of some old-fashioned flower ; So sweet the dim old town Still with its minster crown. 9. There is a strange philosophy 2 Among the wondrous things that he ; Even that the path which man has trod Progresses still away from God, And that we flourish most As piety is lost. 10. As sacred turns to secular, As worship wanes, and temples are Unvisited and voiceless grown, And only rigid law is known : Even so, they say, do we Achieve our destiny. THE CATHEDRAL TOWN. 5 11. Alas ! and must the deep divine Impress of God, and the grand line Of our high parentage be lost, To reach the meagre winning-post Of modern social saw, And economic law ? 12 Nay, hut in this quaint place I see The nobler thought of history; The birth of civil right and peace, And progress that shall never cease, Amid the chaunt and hymn In cloistered alley dim. 13. And sweeter far and grander too The ancient civilization grew, With holy war and busy work Beneath the spirt 1 and round the kirk. Than miles of brick and stone In godless monoton*-. 6 THE BISHOP'S WALK. 14. For here, in wild and lawless days, The Culdee waked a psalm of praise 8 For Gospel light and liberty, And help of man's great misery ; And Darkness from its throne Fled at the Cross alone. 15. So was it then — so is it now, And will for ever be, I trow : The only spell of might is He, The watchword and the victory; And thou shalt suffer loss, But conquer in the Cross. 16. Back rolls the Darkness, as they come, The victor griefs of Christendom ; Omnipotent sorrows only heal The evils of the common weal ; And dim and ever dimmer All other lights shall glimmer. THE CATHEDRAL TOWN. 17. The good monk had his working day, The good priest also passed away, The mitre laded, and the crook, And chanted hymn, and lettered Look; But in this quiet place They left a natural grace. 18. A quaint old place — a minster gray, And may old town that winds away, Through gardens, down the sloping ridge To river's brim and ancient bridge, Where the still waters How To the deep pool below. 8 THE BISHOP'S WALK. PART II. THE WALK. 19. Where looks the western window far Unto the liquid evening star, And can Benledi dimly view, And the gray mists on Benvenue, And long brown uplands, felt In distant air to melt ; 20. There where the green ash interweaves Irregular branch and slender leaves, For umbrage soft — a pale green shade With broken sunlights in the glade, There lies a pleasant way In gloaming all the day. THE WALK. 21. And far below the waters clear Murmur their presence on the car, S tree seen for dipping boughs that seek The light, or only when a streak Of sunshine corueth home Upon the crisp white loam. 22. A pleasant walk, when singing bird Upon the bending twig is heard, And rustling leaf that bids you hush ! And hear the slow still waters gush Far d<>wn below unseen, Beneath the branches green. 23. A pleasant path at noonday bright, With arching boughs to screen the light : A plt-a-ant walk at close of day, With red lights glancing on the way, And golden showers that tall Through seeding hemlocks tall. 10 THE BISHOP'S WALK. 24. Here swell the Ochils green ; and there The Cromlex melts in distant air ; Benledi and Benlomond far Front the rude crags of U-am-var ; And by the shady way Still towers the minster gray. 25. The many-pillared western gate With rounded arch elaborate, But weather-worn, you partly see : — A net-work of fine tracery ; A cunning antique lace Draping a vacant space. 26. And high above the churchyard wall Springs the light western window tall, With almond shape, in simple skill Clasping unequal lances still, While art its trefoil places High in the interspaces. THE WALK. 11 27 And through the window you can s Lofty light-pillared gallery In vista long, and windows still < If lances clasped with simple skill, And fern and lichen doing Their work of graceful ruin. 28. Nor gargoyle lacks, grotesque and quaint, Nor saintly niche without its saint, Nor buttress lightsome, nor the tower Where the bell marks the passing hour, And peals out with our mirth, And tolls our earth to earth. 29. And o'er the dim old centuries The minster bridges, unto these Dull times of cant and commonplai . From days of chivalry and gra< Spanning the vague abyss With memories of bliss. 12 THE BISHOP'S WALK. 30. Oft Leighton's subtle fancy sped Far back unto its youth, and read, In sculptured forms and texts and rhymes, The secret of the ancient times, And their divinest sense Of mystic reverence. 31. And in its Cross the Christ he saw ; And in its pillars stedfast law ; Its dim light bade with awe admire ; And thought soared heavenward on the spire, Urged onwards by the chime That told the fleeting time. THE BISHOP. 13 PART III. THE BISHOP. 32. Two hundred years have come and gone, Since that fin** spirit mused alone On the dim walk, with faint green shade By the light-quivering ash-leaves made, And saw the sun go down Beyond the mountains brown. 33. Slow-pacing, with a lowly look, ( >]• gazing on the lettered book I >f Tauler, or a-Kempis, or Meek Herbert with his dulcimer, 4 In quaintly pious vein Rehearsing a deep strain : 14 THE BISHOP'S WALK. 34. Or in the Gold-mouthed Greek he read High rhetoric, or what was said Of Augustine's experience, Or of the Gospel's grand defence Before assembled lords, In Luther's battle-words. 35. Slow-pacing, with a downcast eye, Which yet, in rapt devotion high, Sometimes its great dark orb would lift, And pierced the veil, and caught the swift Glance of an angel's wing, That of the Lamb did sing ; 36. And with the line pale shadow, wrought Upon his cheek by years of thought, And lines of weariness and pain, And looks that long for home again ; So went he to and fro With step infirm and slow. THE BISHOP. 15 37. A frail, slight form — no temple he, Grand, for abode of Deity; Rather a bush, inflamed with grace, And trembling in a desert place, And unconsumed with fire, Though burning high and higher 38. A frail, slight form, and pale with care, And paler from the raven hair That folded from a forehead free, Godlike of breadth and majesty — A bn >\v of thought supreme And mystic, glorious dream. 39. And over all that noble face Lay somewhat of soft pensivriies- In a fine golden haze of thought, That seemed to waver light, and float This way and that way still, With no linn bent of wilL 16 THE BISHOP'S WALK. 40. God made him beautiful, to be Drawn to all beauty tenderly, And conscious of all beauty, whether In things of earth or heaven or neither ; So to rude men he seemed Often as one that dreamed. 41. But true it was that, in his soul, The needle pointed to the pole, Yet trembled as it pointed, still' Conscious alike of good and ill ; In his infirmity Looking, Lord, to thee. 42. Beautiful spirit ! fallen, alas, On times when little beauty was ; Still seeking peace amid the strife, Still working, weary of thy life, Toiling in holy love, Panting for heaven above : THE BISHOP. 43. I mark thee, in an evil day, Alone upon a lonely way ; More sad-companionless thy fate, Thy heart more truly desolate, Than even the misty glen Of persecuted men. 44. For none so lone on earth as he Whose way of thought is high and free, Beyond the mist, beyond the cloud, Bevond the clamour of the crowd, Moving; where Jesus trod, In the lone walk with God. c 18 THE BISHOP'S WALK. PART IV THE MEDITATION. 45. So musing in the dim green way, Beside the minster old and gray, Beside the river murmuring slow Far down the dipping boughs below, As sunk the evening sun Amid the shadows dun ; 46. So musing to and fro he went, Dreaming of law and government, And civil broil, and discontent That struggled to have scope and vent, And of a nation sick Of crafty politick. THE MEDITATION. 19 47. "Alas!" he said, "an evil time, 6 When simple truth is civil crime, And God's anointed goes in quest Of foolish mirth and ribald jesl ; And the high task of rule Falls or to knave or fool. 48. •' A king that only cares for pleasure, A court that dances t<> his measur A policy of passing shifts, A parliament that, thoughtless, drifts With any tide to-day On any evil way ! 49. *• And strange, alas ! the work they plan ; For, without faith in (i<>d or man. In human worth, or truth divine, < )r holy priest, or sacred shrine, Or aught the wise rei I >r aughl tlie lowly fear. 20 THE BISHOPS WALK. 50. " They care not for thy kirk, Lord, They reck not of thy blessed Word, Alike the mitre and the rood, Alike to them the cap and hood, Their only wish on earth The foam upon its mirth : 51. " And yet they persecute and slay For mere opinion day by day; As if they had a zeal for truth That stilled the pitiful voice of ruth, And bade them quench in death The enemies of faith. 52. " Ay me ! ay me ! I cannot tell How on such hapless times I fell, That they should cloak the wrong they do With my poor name, and call it too A work of God, a work Of Christ and holy kirk. THE MEDITATION. 2] 53. "The wolf La ravening in the fold, The robber prowling for the gold, The wheat is trampled for the tares, The vineyard sown with hate and cai Nor prayer nor psalm is heard. Nor ever a holy word. 54. "The trooper with the curate swear-. The curate cadis it troopers' prayers, And subtle craft and cruel deed 3 w broadcast o'er the land a seed That shall be reaped in sorrow- Tor many a dark to-morrow. 55. " And God's dear saints, alas ! are dead, Or to the misty moorlands tied, Or, with oppression mad, they come To battle with the trump and drum, To be trampled by the fore.. < >!' the rider and his hoi - 22 THE BISHOP'S WALK. 56. " And all for what ? alas, the while ! Those deal in wrath, and hate, and guile, And these to sorrow bow them, all For forms ecclesiastical; And for the seed of grace We but the husk embrace. 57. " Ay me ! ay me ! I seem to see An angry God look down on me ; The fleece is dewy on the hills ; But dry and dewless now all else ; Nor reverence, nor fear, Nor grace of God is here. 58. > " weary time ! dreary age Of mine unhappy pilgrimage ! A nation brooding discontent, And Christ's fair garment soiled and rent, A king in folly sunk, His lords in madness drunk ! THE MEDITATION. 23 59. " And I — alas ! I was nut meant For these great cares of government \ To moderate the angry stir < )f troubled kirk and presbyter, And settle wordy jars Of harsh polemic wars. 60. " I have no gift that way ; I think At good men's errors I would wink ; A good man's foible should be borne : Set shall I get but double scorn From those the wrong that do, And those that suffer too. 61. " Yet that were light, if I might sen The blessed ( "hrist, and never swerve ; Nor do I grudge the sacrifice Of all that I esteem of pri To do thy will, ( I Lord, According to thv Word. 24 THE BISHOPS WALK. 62. " I care not for the weary care, I heed not of the hate I share, I would not murmur or complain At cruel wrong or bitter pain ; For thou, O Lamb of God, This way thyself hast trod. 63. " But Lord, I pray thee, send thou him Whom thou wilt send; mine eyes are dim For lack of faith and hope : and see Thy work will suffer now in me; For I am all alone, Trusted and loved by none. 64. " Alone, like one untimely born, And wandering through his age forlorn, Too early he, or else too late, His heritage a common hate, Looking for sympathy But in Eternity. THE MEDITATION. 25 G~>. " The men I love my way deploi The men I loathe do hate me more; With whom I live I have no ties; With whom I left, sad memories; With none have I the power To help this evil hour. GG. "And doubtless all the blame is mine; Set, Lord, let not the scaith be Thine; They love me not; and yet I love Them all, all earthly things above; And I eould almost be Accursed for them and Thee. 67. 11 ( ) weary heart ! < ) hapless fete ! < ) evil times of strife and hate ! Th»- raves finds a carcass then . The poor dove flutters in the air, And longs again to flee Into the ark and Th< 26 THE BISHOP'S WALK. 68. "Lord, take me hence; what profit I In this great flood of misery ? I am but tempted to repine At mine own doings, Lord, and Thine ; I have no heart to live, Having no help to give. 69. " brother, loving, gentle, true,' I thought not to be scorned of you, Who, from the prison and the grief, Expressed the balm of sweet relief For troubled hearts and weary Whose life w r as sad and dreary. 70. "And thou who, breathing faith and love, All earthly treasures far above, Still pantest for the diadem Of c mother dear Jerusalem ; ' I thought not to be parted From thee thus broken-hearted. THE MEDITATION. 27 71. "We have one God, one Christ, one home, One love ; and lighter than the foam Is the one element of strife That separates our way of life; And I love you still Through all the good and ill. 72. " And to be joined with him— ah me ! The Judas of apostacy, The man of craft and blood and gold, Bitter Ahitophel and cold; ( ) cursed fate to be Linked with such company! 73. " I heed not much of forms ; I thought 'Twere well indeed it we were Brought From our lax ways and sects and hai To primitive episcopate, And prayers lisped of old By infants in the fold. 28 THE BISHOP'S WALK. 74. " Yet reck I not of forms ; full well I know the pearl gives to the shell Some beauty and virtue like its own, And shining hue and gorgeous tone ; And the old forms to me Gleam with old sanctity. 75. " Yet what boot they ? And what boots all Our garb ecclesiastical, The white-stoled priest, the altar high, If we do err from charity ? O God, all Gods above, Knit us with cords of love. 76. "I think there was a Church of Christ, That this poor earth of ours rejoiced, Ere Luther championed the high truth, Or Calvin taught our eager youth To scorn the ancient ways And all the former days. THE MEDITATION. 29 i 7. " Perliapa I err; but such a break With the old faith I could hot make — Such prayers I thought the saints had breathed, Such hymns apostles had bequeathed, Such customs spake to uie I >f Christ in Bethany. 78. " What, if the ages could espy More truth than either you or I ] What, if their wants discovered gold, And treasures rare and manifold, Which do not often fall To mere art logical I 79. "We arc not single ; age with age I- linked; and truth's high heritage Is the slow fruit of bended kne< Through the long growth of centuries ; Nor La it yet complete, Nor vet all counterfeit. 30 THE BISHOP'S WALK. 80. " 0, I would purge the holy kirk Of poor device, and heathen work, And idol carved, and idol hymn, And Jove and Thor and Odin grim, Which tinge our thoughts, I fear, More than doth well appear. 81, " Yet would I leave the altar high, And the old chanted melody, The virgin-mother on the wall, The apostle-crowned capital, And Bishop minister To faithful presbyter. 82. a There surely was a church of old, With pious customs manifold, That ruled the savage in the wild, And brought him to the Lord a child, And reared the structure high Of noblest chivalry. TIIK MEDITATION. 31 83. "Christ was not buried in the tomb All those long centuries of gloom ; Nor do the ages drift ashore Nought but loose waifs upon the hoar Old billows, as they chime God's doings through all time. 84. " Yet I love not man's device ( )f policy and statecraft nic Nor would 1 plant what I love moSt 3 Christ's very Gospel, at the cost ( )i hate and blood which we Bequeath to history, 85. " And 1 had been content to try This or the other. What care I For priest or presbyter, or lawn And mitre i I am nowise drawn By words and names and shows, But what they do enclose 32 THE BISHOP'S WALK. 86. " But men of crafty policy, That neither love the land nor me, !Nor God, nor Christ, nor prayer, nor praise, Have dragged me on their evil ways, And torn my heart from them That love Jerusalem. 87. " Ay me ! ay me ! that I should be The tool of this great perjury, For Lauderdale and Middleton And Sharpe to wreak their fury on The pasture-sheep of Christ, Inveigled and enticed ! 88. " that I were in meek Douay, 10 Among the quiet priests that pray In chapel low or chancel dim, Chanting the plain-song or the hymn, Or the ' Stabat Mater/ Or ' Veni Creator. 5 THE MEDITATION, 33 89. *• I may not bind me with their creed, Though some of them arc free indeed, ( lr only thrall to heaven above, And 1 1 they bind me by their love To J I iiu whose name on earth Is ointment poured forth. 90. " Nor can 1 say but vesper hymn, And the old cliaunt in chapel dim, Sound to me as an infant's voice When Faith is young, and doth rej< And goeth all day Ion Singing a quiet song: — 91. •• A voice that lingers on mine ear From bride, whose Bridegroom still is near; In her mysterious mirthfulness. And trembling joy, and wondering grace, A tender music sighing LTpou his bosom 1 \ i : D o 4 THE BISHOP'S WALK. 92. " But yet they wrong me much who say That I have erred, and gone astray From Christ, the Way, the Truth, the Life, Because I shrink from civil strife, And schoolmen's quirks, and faint Cobwebs of argument. 93. "I love the kirk, with ages hoar; I love old ways, but Christ far more; I love the fold, I love the flock, But more my Shepherd and my Rock, And the great Book of grace That mirrors His dear face. 94. " sweet the story and the psalm, And prophecy is healing balm, Like virgin-comb apostle's lips, Like fate the grand Apocalypse ; But sweet, above all other, Thou Saviour, Friend, and Brother. THE MEDITATION. 35 "Once my soul wandered; but it was Another, darker way, alas ! 5Tet not my heart erred, but my head, For still my fainting spirit Lied To think that, day by day. I rod seemed to fade away. 9G. " I fain had clung to Thee, < ) Lord ; I fain had kepi Thy holy Word: I did not seek to 'scape from Thi Bui Thou didst lade away from me; And all Thy glory seemed A dream which men had dreamed. 07. Dark thoughts were these— a weary tini< . Father, impute it nol for crime, Thai in his fever Thy poor child Raved wildly in his fancies wild ; Fot -till I found no rest Save lying on thy brea 36 THE BISHOP'S WALK. 98 " Ay me ! ay me ! would I might be In old Ulshaven 12 by the sea, To dream beside the dreamy wave, And choose me out a quiet grave, Where the long ocean chime Tells the long march of time. 99. " just to seat me by the tide Of life, and see its galleys glide, With every sail on every yard, And speculate their whitherward Upon the shoreless sea, Dim with man's destiny ! 100. " To stand apart, and set my heart Alone upon the better part, And hear afar the idle din Of evil tongues that bruit their sin, And soar to Thee, Lord, High on Thy holy Word ! THE MEDITATION. 37 101. " I was not meant for action; I lake wind-harp in the window sigh, When breath of Heaven is passing by: lUit from a rudei finger fly 'Hie long-drawn notes, and fall Harsh and unmusical. 102. "Lord, place me where Thy breath may b< Tremulous all day long on me; So shalt Thou get my little worth, So shall my use be to the earth ; For this is all of me — A voice that cries to Thee. 103. "0 weary heart ! ( I weary years ! troubled thoughts, and doubts, and fears O sorrow I cannot redress ! cruel sense of helplessness '. I 'an it be wrong to weary Of life so sad and dreary ?" 38 THE BISHOP'S WALK. PART V. THE INCIDENT. 104. Thus musing to and fro he went, Dreaming of kirk and government ; While cawing rooks were homeward winging, And bird on leafy bough was singing, And Allan far below Was rippling soft and slow ; 105. And kine stood listless in the stream Where the red lights of evening gleam, And whispering winds were tripping free Down the high pillared gallery, Or sighing as they j)ass Over the churchyard grass. Till; INCIDENT. 106. Still was the hour — the evening still : Peace Blumbered on the distant hill; Peace, dreaming, smiled upon the cloud ; And earth seemed whispering Peace! aloud. When any voice awoke And that deep silence broke. 107. And in the calm of such an hour Old memories have a witching power, < ml times come hack, old laces look Up to us from the unread book ; The very grave seems made To yield us hack our dead. 108. So dreaming now, there seemed to rise A certain form hefore his eyes, Personal, real; and yet he knew 'Twas but the mind'- fine shadow grew Prom dimness into clearness, With a strange sense of nearness. 40 THE BISHOP'S WALK. 109. They had been friends, when friendship is A passion and a blessedness ; And in a tender sacrament Unto the house of God they went, And plighted love, caressing The same dear cup of blessing. 110. They had been friends in youth, most dear ; In studious night, and mirthful cheer, And high discourse, and large debate, Unmixed by bitterness or hate — Their fellowship I ween, A pleasant thing had been. 111. He in Dalkeith a guide of men ; And he in old JSewbattle then Pastured the flock of Christ ; and they Like children had made holiday, In old light-hearted times, Under the elms and limes. THE [NCIDENT. 41 112. But parted by unhappy late In sorrow deep, disconsolate, I Ine bore the mitr< — one the rod ( )i persecution for his God ; And both had suffered loss, Carrying a bitter cross. 113. Alas ! if you look back and see Friendship's old pictured gallery, Where some are gone, and some are changed, And some embittered and estranged, And some you wronged, perchance, Upbraid you with a glance. 114. A sadder strain you shall not find In all the measures of the mind, Than these remembered faces wake, When, silent as the falling flake, Ghostly and pale and dumb, In twilight dim they come. 42 THE BISHOP'S WALK. 115. bitter grief ! (J vain regret ! O ye, if ye were living yet ! foolish youth, and cursed pride, That kept me from a brother's side ! What is there of such price Worth so great sacrifice ] 116. Seemed now at hand that friend of youth, Who loved God, and man, and truth — He knew it but an empty shade, An image which the mind had made ; Yet shook with hope and fear, As if he might be near. 117. Then said the Bishop ; " Where is he ? In lettered Utrecht ; neath the sea ? Among the wilds of Annandale 1 Or where the Mayflower dropt her sail, And dusky savage flew Past in the light canoe ? THE [NCIDENT. 43 118. " \<> man of blood, ot craft, or trick ( >f cunning art and politic, < h hair-brained dreaming fanatic ; But lull of thought and calm ami meek, A king of men wert thou Of the great eye and brow. 119. "And where art thou I we need thee still : Thine own folk need thee on the hill For counsel and courage to meet their fate ; And thou art needed in the state — < ) for but one like thee To guide our destiny. 120. " But woe's me ! such as thou are driven To loathe the earth and long for heaven : And well for you aspiring thus ; Bui ill for our poor world and us ; Without the salt we rot, Alas ! and heed it not." 44 THE BISHOP'S WALK. 121. Even as he spoke, a sudden shot Jarred on the tenor of his thought, With a strange sense of pain and fear, Assured of some great sorrow near, And waiting breathless till Time should the dread fulfil : 122. Nor waited long ; for, staggering through The wild-rose white with blossoms new, With tottering step, and panting breath, And blood upon his lips, and death Pale on his cheek and dim, Stood one confronting him. 123. They stood a moment face to face ; He tall and with a stately grace ; A thin gray man, with thin gray hairs, And weather-worn, and worn with cares ; And the good bishop shook, As his lean hand he took. THE INCIDENT. 15 124. "My brother! my brother !" More He could not; but the stranger wore A gentle smile upon his face That softened with a stately grace ; And the old years of love Bent, Learning from above. 125. "I came to seek thee in my need, Robert, as to a friend indeed ; A moment more, it had been well ; Yet better so ; for who can tell What a weak heart may do For lit'.', and live to rue I 126. •• For davs they have been limiting mi For days my thoughts have been of the< With a great longing jusl to s Thy face before the end should be ; And even now it seemed Almosl as if I dreamed ; 46 THE BISHOP'S WALK. 127. " So plain I saw thee on the hill, My friend, mine own good Eobert still ; As when we went in happier times, Ey old Newbattle, 'neath the limes — A sorry ending this To my fond dream of bliss. 128. " Yet if I might have chosen where My death should hap, it had been here, With thee to speed me on my flight, And trim my lamp for gathering night ; Though I had wished to be A twilight hour with thee. 129. " No matter — all is well ; thou art Still mine old friend, still in my heart ; My journey ended, home is near; And, as we part, the lights appear, Flashing from sapphire floor Through heaven's open door. II 1 1: [NCIDENT. 17 130. '•And grieve not, Kobert; would'st thou weep To see the sick child drop asleep, Rushed ona mother's loving breast, And gently sobbing into rest ; Now from all sorrow fre< . Pain and anxiety '. 131. *■ And all is well; and we are well; And thou wilt toll tin- passing bell Fot a poor brother, who hath run A weary race that now is don . And with thine own hands lav Me gently in the day. 132. "That was .air covenant ; and you Promised beneath the dark old yew, Whose branch r my Mary wav . Whose shadow sweeps my children's grav . That dying before thee Tla-iv thou would'st bury me. 48 THE BISHOP'S WALK. 133. "And, Kobert, hear me ere I die; I know thy clear sincerity, Thine old love of the old Church ways, And the old ritual of praise, And that thy fancy still Dwelt pure amid the ill. 134. " I never doubted thee ; when some Would have it thou wert almost come, In feebleness and false compliance, To seek with Eome a base alliance, I held their words but light, Knowing thy heart was right. 1 35. " Yet, Eobert, hear me ere I die ; The mitre sits uneasily Upon a lowly head like thine, Eetrinketing a gift divine ; And there is blood below Its vain and empty show. THE INCIDENT. L9 136. "Think, brother, of the crimes they do, And consecrate th