Front ispiec 
 
 • JUST AT THE MARGIN OF THE WOOD 
 A FAIR YOUNG LASSIE COYLY STOOD." 
 
 Page 13. 
 
SIR RAE. 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 ^?w. Ina^ /^' 
 
 3^ 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
 
 1877- 
 
 '\ 
 

 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1876, by 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 
 

 AKFECTIONATELY DEDICATED TO 
 
 THE MISSES GLASSELL, 
 
 OF LOS ANGELES, 
 
 FOR WHOSE AMUSEMENT THE POEM WAS WRITTEN 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
 San Francisco, April 17, 1876. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 This poem was commenced nearly a year ago. The 
 first canto I recited to the late Mrs. C. L. Ford, of this 
 city, a lady of great literary taste and refinement. She 
 encouraged me to finish the story ; said she liked the 
 rhythm and plot, but advised me to take off the shoes 
 and stockings from Maidee's feet, as no lassie raised 
 in a Highland hut indulged in that luxury. I thanked 
 my dear friend for the advice, which I promised to follow. 
 
 On my return, however, I placed the manuscript in 
 my portfolio, with many other unfinished writings, and 
 left it with little care for its future. Last winter, two 
 young ladies who were visiting me drew it from its 
 
8 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 lurking-place, and insisted on my finishing it for their 
 amusement. 
 
 I have endeavored to gratify them ; and if the public 
 shall prove half as kind and lenient in its criticism of 
 my poor effort, I shall be well satisfied. 
 
 San Francisco, Cal., 1876. 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Just at the margin of the wood 
 A fair young lassie coyly stood" . 
 
 In Highland kilt, on foaming steed" 
 
 The humble cot of old Dame Jean" 
 
 The mountain bird would plume his wing' 
 
 Beneath a sultry southern sky" 
 
 ' Here in this box on which I sit 
 Is her rich trousseau pack'd away" 
 
 ' Thus many days they journeyed through, 
 Ere the old castle came in view" . 
 
 2 
 
 Frontispiece. 
 
 . 15 . 
 
 . - . 25/ 
 
 • 33 
 . 37 
 
 • 43/ 
 
 • 514/ 
 
PAGE 
 
 lO J-^ST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 " A structure grand, of mossy stone" 57 
 
 " It is thy master I would see" cq j 
 
 " The sporting season was advanced" 65 
 
 " Standing alone was Lady Clare'.' . ....... 71V 
 
 " A groom led forward Dapple Gray" -75 
 
SIR R A E. 
 
^^^ 
 
 a 
 
 ^M 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 ^^ 
 
 
 ^^^1 
 
 CANTO FIRST. 
 
 'TwAS early morn in Highland glen, 
 
 Where rocks and heather, fern and fen, 
 
 Bordered the brooklets, plashing through 
 
 Tall forests, bright with sun-tipped dew. 
 
 Just at the margin of the wood 
 
 A fair young lassie coyly stood. 
 
 Her dress, a faded, outgrown blue, 
 
 With dimpled elbows peeping through ; 
 
 An old straw hat coquettish laid 
 
 O'er sunny, laughing eyes to shade ; 
 
 And fondly o'er her shoulders fair 
 
 Twined many a golden tress of hair. 
 
 In rose-tint contrast with the green, 
 
 Two little feet could well be seen, — 
 
 Feet that oft kiss the mountain dews. 
 
 All free alike from socks and shoes. 
 
 13 
 
M 
 
 5/A' RAE. 
 II. 
 
 Her face was radiant with joy 
 As a tall lad, more man than boy, 
 In Highland kilt, on foamino; steed. 
 Pranced to her side with bated speed. 
 His brow was damp with exercise ; 
 His ruddy cheeks, his dark-blue eyes, 
 Earnest of health and youthful glee, 
 Bespoke a heart from sorrow free. 
 
 III. 
 
 " Maidee !" he cried, " none e'er so true 
 As this bright day I've proved to you ; 
 Lord Duncan planned such sport this morn, 
 That, but for you, with hound and horn 
 I'd lead with him a merry race. 
 Hunting the wild deer in the chase." 
 She answered, with a child-like grace. 
 Warm blushes mantling o'er her face, 
 " I'm almost sorry you should choose 
 For me such royal sport to lose. 
 Of late I've suffered doubt and fear, 
 Lest it be wrong, our meeting here. 
 
IN HIGHLAND KIL'l, ON FUA.MING STi-ED. 
 
 ra^c M. 
 
SJR RAE. 
 
 Jean's glances grow suspicious, cold ; 
 She says I'm getting forward, bold : 
 Leaving my books to tramp the wood 
 With you will never end in good. 
 And, Rae, she has an evil eye 
 While watching you, I know not why. 
 She says your friends will all despise 
 The one so lovely in your eyes." 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Oh, fie ! fie ! fie ! My Maidee fair, 
 What high-born lass could e'er compare 
 With half the goodness, half the grace, 
 Or half the beauty of your face? 
 It seems to perfect every hour, 
 Like dawning bud to opening flower. 
 Maidee ! an angel must have given 
 Dame Jean the fairest out of heaven. 
 You seem no part of that old crone ; 
 The violet, by jagged stone, 
 Oft thrives in sweetness 'neath its frown ; 
 And yet no kindred they have known 
 Of each to each. Her learning great 
 Is all that e'er could compensate 
 
 17 
 
SIR RAE. 
 
 For ugliness so like a curse 
 
 Old Satan could not make it worse." 
 
 V. 
 
 Thrice as he spake, her finger shook 
 In warning gesture ; bade him look 
 At the gaunt figure drawing near, 
 While her own heart stood still with fear. 
 Slowly she came, the withered crone, 
 In towering rage toward the stone 
 Where leaned the youthful lovers true. 
 At her approach young Rae withdrew. 
 In eager haste to get away, 
 He quickly mounted Dapple Gray ; 
 For well he knew he could not tame. 
 And might provoke, the surly dame. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But not so fast ; for gliding through 
 A nearer pass, hidden from view. 
 She sprang before him, bade him " Stay, 
 Proud hawk ! or vulture thou ! Sir Rae ! 
 
 More cruel in thy dangerous love 
 Than beast of wild-wood, bird of prey, 
 
 Winning the heart of this poor dove. 
 
SIR RAE. 
 
 Go ! seek thine equal in a mate ! 
 
 Dream not of that which cannot be, 
 Nor longer tempt the curse of fate, 
 
 By meeting here clandestinely. 
 This child knows nothing- of the wrong- 
 
 Thy honeyed words to her will bring ; 
 She listens to their sweetest song. 
 
 But little kens the future sting. 
 Therefore begone ! I'll not endure 
 
 Thy presence longer. She could claim 
 Blood as your own as good and pure, 
 
 And she could boast as proud a name." 
 
 VII. 
 
 Scarce had she finished, when there came 
 
 Lord Duncan, dashing on his way. 
 He halted near the angry dame. 
 
 And cast a lowering glance at Rae. 
 " So ! This the game that brings you here, 
 
 That every other sport you pass, 
 To hunt the fawn, but not the deer. 
 
 Who is yon gawky mountain lass?" 
 
 19 
 
20 SIR RAE. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The flashing light in Rae's dark eyes 
 Lord Duncan's haughty glance defies. 
 Dismounting, quickly to her side 
 He springs, and, in his boyish pride, 
 Claims her, his first and only love. 
 " A fawn, but not a gawk, I'll prove. 
 Uncle ! this litde Maidee fair 
 Is dear to me as light and air ; 
 And, when to my estates I come, 
 I'll take this treasure to my home." 
 His bonnet doffed, dark chestnut hair 
 Played in the breeze, o'er brow as fair 
 As Maidee's own, yet broad and high, 
 While deep, dark brows o'erarch each eye. 
 A noble head, a manly face. 
 Where intellect and cultured grace 
 Gave promise to the future man 
 As worthy chieftain of his clan. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Poor Maidee, fluttering like a bird, 
 Her brave, defiant lover heard ; 
 
S/J? RAE. 21 
 
 Yet unprepared was she, or he, 
 
 To hear a loud laugh echo free 
 
 Through canyons deep, from crag to plain, 
 
 As if exulting in her pain. 
 
 Lord Duncan's laugh, in mocking jest, 
 
 Sunk like a daesfer in her breast. 
 
 " Take me away !" she cried. " I know 
 
 This is all wrong ; it must be so. 
 
 Go with his Lordship, noble Rae, 
 
 And think not I'll forget this day, 
 
 But in its memory only live. 
 
 Lord Duncan, will you please forgive ? 
 
 You are so wise you must be right, 
 
 Rae, he has put your fawn to flight !" 
 
 X. 
 
 Seizing Jean's arm, who lingered near. 
 Boiling with rage, restrained by fear, 
 Lest speaking she might there reveal 
 A secret she would fain conceal, 
 She hurried her within the wood, 
 While all in dazed amazement stood. 
 
22 -S^^ I<AE. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Lord Duncan's laugh was silenced there 
 By her heart pleading as in prayer. 
 Her eloquence, refined and pure, 
 Proudly to suffer and endure. 
 Gave to his cheek a deeper glow, 
 As if his conscience felt a blow. 
 Rae stood in doubt one moment, when 
 The sportsmen, prancing o'er the glen. 
 Reined up to wait Lord Duncan's will. 
 And he, all other thoughts to kill. 
 Gave Rae the hounds to lead the way. 
 And finish up the sport that day. 
 
CANTO SECOND. 
 
 I. 
 
 Near a bleak mountain-cliff there stood 
 
 The humble cot of old Dame Jean, 
 Scarce sheltered by the dark wild-wood 
 
 That threw its shadows o'er the plain. 
 Eccentric in her strange recluse, 
 
 Her neighbors never ventured near. 
 But at their distance gave abuse 
 
 Such as 'twas well escaped her ear. 
 Some said her learning great she got 
 
 From Satan, in her league with him ; 
 That his black imps around her cot 
 
 Would dance until the stars erew dim ; 
 And that they bro't, one stormy night. 
 To her a little elfin sprite. 
 
 23 
 
24 
 
 SIR RAE. 
 II. 
 
 And some said they remembered well 
 
 The day die old wife came herself, 
 With strange, strong boxes ; none could tell 
 
 If she was witch or fairy elf. 
 She spoke no word to lad or lass, 
 
 But the two cartmen who had bro't 
 Her with her boxes up the pass, 
 
 To take possession of the cot, 
 Said she was ever croonino- o'er 
 
 A bundle on her scrawny arm. 
 As 'twere a wee born bairn she bore. 
 
 And feared that it would come to harm. 
 She heeded not their words or thoueht, 
 Protected by that haunted spot. 
 
 in. 
 
 There Maidee grew, her friends the flowers. 
 
 By grand old crag or mossy stone. 
 Or by the pebbled brook, for hours 
 
 She'd play, nor dream she was alone. ' 
 The mountain bird would plume his wing. 
 
 And bathe within the rippling tide ; 
 
S/I? RAE. 
 
 His sweetest songs for her he'd sing, 
 Perched on a hawthorn by her side. 
 
 Then on a summer day there came, 
 Riding a splendid dapple gray. 
 
 25 
 
 "THE HUMBLE COT OF OLD DAME JEAN." /'"i'c 23. 
 
 A brave young lad ; his horse was lame 
 
 From stones and brambles on his way. 
 
 Jean welcomed him, a little guest, 
 
 His horse's wounds with balsam dressed. 
 4 
 
26 SIR RAE. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Often he came, and Maidee's joy 
 
 Was lovely in its artless glee. 
 She learned to love the brave, strange boy, 
 
 Who rode about so fearlessly. 
 He'd give the rein to Dapple Gray, 
 
 And let him wander off alone. 
 Or watch himself and Maidee play 
 
 The merry games to children known. 
 Rae, in his youthful ardor, thought 
 
 The old wife, rich in classic lore, 
 Which she the litde Maidee taught 
 
 With lessons hard, an ample store, — 
 Was some old fairy queen, who tried 
 In that strange, ugly form to hide. 
 
 So time rolled on, until they grew 
 To love, as only children can. 
 
 Unselfish, genial, pure, and true. 
 
 The dawning years from youth to man. 
 
 Her form, in pliant, lithesome grace, 
 Developed from the chubby child. 
 
SIR RAE. 
 
 And true refinement took the place 
 Of romping girlhood running wild. 
 
 Her mind had been Jean's greatest care ; 
 A firm, strict teacher, cold, severe. 
 
 Rae longed her lessons hard to share, 
 Yet of old Jean felt dread and fear. 
 
 She scowled on him with jealous eye, 
 
 And hated him, he knew not why. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But still they met ; they knew no wrong ; 
 
 Twining their fates as wild spring flowers. 
 She listened to the old, old song, 
 
 And heeded not the fleeting hours. 
 The rippling brooklet wandered o'er 
 
 Its pebbled bed by moss and fern, 
 While sweet dissolving views it bore 
 
 Of tableaux never to return, — 
 The pure in heart, that knew no guile, 
 
 To whom all things were good and true. 
 Rae prized as life each dimpled smile, 
 
 And she such joy before ne'er knew 
 As when, on that May morn, they met, 
 Before their sun of gladness set. 
 
 27 
 
28 -S"//? RAE. 
 
 VII, 
 
 Three days had passed since Maidee woke 
 
 So sadly from her heart's first dream. 
 Lord Duncan's scorn, hke a rude stroke, 
 
 Had troubled all life's placid stream, 
 " I am a gawkie, Jean !" she cried, 
 
 " Such scanty garb ill suits my years. 
 This faded gown will scarcely hide 
 
 My form, and must provoke men's jeers. 
 Oh, woe is me ! I should have known 
 
 'Twas wronof to think of lovingf him, 
 And in this plight meet him alone. 
 
 With tears of shame my eyes are dim. 
 Oh, would that we had never met. 
 Or all the past I could forget !" 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Sullenly silent Jean had been, 
 
 Nor deigned to notice Maidee's grief. 
 
 She knew the child was free from sin, 
 And hoped that time would bring relief. 
 
 Maidee at last all fear o'ercame. 
 
 And asked, " Who am I, Jean ? My blood 
 
S//i RAE. 
 
 You said to Rae was pure ; my name 
 As Scotland's very proudest, — good." 
 
 The old crone scarcely changed her mood ; 
 Her wrinkled, ugly, evil face 
 
 Looked strangely sad as Maidee stood 
 Before her with such pleading grace. 
 
 Long time she sat with wavering eye. 
 
 Then said, " I'll tell thy history. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " Thou hast the right to know, and yet 
 
 My heart is wrung 'tween doubt and fear. 
 Oh, would that I could still forget, 
 
 As I have oft foro^otten here ! 
 There stands a castle by the sea, 
 
 Where dwelt a noble Scottish earl. 
 Broad lands and power great had he. 
 
 And one fair lass, a priceless pearl 
 To his fond heart, the Lady Clare ; 
 
 My foster-sister, lovely, true, 
 So beautiful and graceful. There 
 
 Was contrast strange between us two, 
 For I was very ugly, poor, 
 Born just to live and to endure. 
 
 29 
 
30 SIR RAE. 
 
 X. 
 
 " Her gentleness, her genial heart 
 
 Soon found my sentiments refined. 
 Of all her joys I shared a part, 
 
 E'en to the culture of her mind. 
 Her birthday ball, on her debut, 
 
 Was gorgeous in its grand display. 
 While courtly guests were marshal'd through 
 
 The halls with garland flowers gay. 
 Dressed in a robe of fleecy white. 
 
 Her unbound wealth of golden hair. 
 That seemed ablaze with radiant light, 
 
 Made her the star of beauty there. 
 So young, but soon to be a wife, 
 And share a warrior's dangerous life. 
 
 XI. 
 
 " Of noble birth and valor great, 
 Of form and face like gods of yore. 
 
 For him she left her high estate, 
 
 And with him sailed for India's shore. 
 
 Her father's heart was sorely tried 
 At parting with his only child ; 
 
S/J? RAE. oj 
 
 He long embraced the bonny bride, 
 
 And kissed the tears through which she smiled. 
 Thy lady mother gave thee birth 
 
 Beneath a sultry southern sky, 
 And, as one angel came on earth, 
 
 Another left for God on high. 
 I was her friend, her nurse ; and when 
 
 She, dying, left thee to my care, 
 I brought thee to this Highland glen. 
 
 To raise thee in its genial air. 
 
 XII. 
 
 " She thought I'd take thee to her sire, 
 
 I knew it well ; but loved him not. 
 As she expressed no such desire, 
 
 I came instead to this lone spot. 
 Since that last kiss thy father pressed 
 
 Upon thy little infant face, 
 With tearful voice his dauo-hter blessed, 
 
 Of him I've lost e'en every trace. 
 That he was wounded ere we left 
 
 I knew, and then I heard no more. 
 And felt that thou hadst been bereft 
 
 Of all save me. Thy heart is sore, 
 
32 
 
 S/J? RAE. 
 
 Poor Maidee ! I have ever tried 
 
 To be a mother unto thee. 
 My selfish heart hath bade me hide 
 
 All knowledge of thy pedigree. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " Here in this box on which I sit 
 
 Is her rich trousseau pack'd away. 
 I will unlock it ; some will fit, 
 
 For thou art tall as she to-day." 
 She stooped, and fi-om a hidden nook 
 
 Produced a key of rusty steel. 
 Opened the box, bade Maidee look. 
 
 Aladdin's lamp could not reveal 
 To her dazed sight a richer store. 
 
 Her woman's instinct well could feel 
 Their contrast to the garb she wore. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Rich lace, like morning's misty breath, 
 Like fleecy clouds on azure sky, 
 
 Like cobwebs spanning broom and heath, 
 With other treasures, caught her eye. 
 
S/I? RAE. 
 
 A double locket, rich and rare, 
 With miniature on either side, 
 
 Jean handed her with tender care. 
 The first, a face with manly pride. 
 
 ZZ 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN BIRD WOULD PLUME HIS WING." Page 2a,. 
 
 She whispered, softly, " This is he, 
 
 Thy father, noble, brave, and great ;" 
 
 Then turned the other, " This is she 
 
 Who shared with him her heart and fate. 
 5 
 
34 
 
 SIR RAE. 
 
 Ah ! beautiful was Lady Clare ; 
 
 More lovely in maternal pride ; 
 The light of Heaven made her fair 
 
 As an immortal when she died." 
 
 XV. 
 
 Long Maidee sat, with yearning heart, 
 
 And gazed upon the pictures still ; 
 With other things she took no part: 
 
 Her every thought they seemed to fill. 
 " Sweet, sainted mother ! bless thy child, 
 
 Watch o'er me with thy holy light ; 
 Let no dark thought, no passion wild. 
 
 Thy daughter's conscience ever blight." 
 Then kissed those lips that seemed to smile 
 
 In innocence and beauty rare ; 
 With heart enraptured all the while. 
 
 Kept murmuring that virgin prayer. 
 Again her father's picture she 
 Turned, and embraced it fervently. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " Oh, Jean, he lives ! I feel his breath 
 Upon my lips in warmer glow ! 
 
SM RAE. 
 
 So different from the calm of death. 
 
 Oh, Jean, he Hves ! It must be so !" 
 New light of joy illumed her eyes 
 
 One moment, as the settingr sun 
 Illuminates the western skies 
 
 Before its day of light is done. 
 " A father's love I yet may know, 
 
 Jean, don't look sad, and thus destroy 
 The hope that animates me so ; 
 
 New life seems given me on earth, 
 
 And all my sorrow changed to mirth." 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Jean shook her head, but waiting stood, 
 
 To place the pictures back again. 
 "'Tis wrong to hope. Oh, would I could 
 
 Give thee that comfort 'mid thy pain ! 
 Thou hast been christened — for I bowed 
 
 With thee beside thy mother's bed — 
 The names of both — Clare Pierre St. Cloud, 
 
 But Maidee I have called instead ; 
 It suited better our poor state, 
 
 While I, despised and shunned by all. 
 Claimed no alliance with the great. 
 
 To dare high-sounding names to call. 
 
 35 
 
36 SIR RAE. 
 
 But thou canst wear it from this day. 
 We must from here at once away." 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 New impulse sprang in Maidee's heart, 
 
 Unknown before for poor old Jean ; 
 Who of her life had formed a part 
 
 In struggling years of toil and pain. 
 She clasped her in a fond embrace, 
 
 With loving, filial gratitude ; 
 Kissing her cold, hard, wrinkled face. 
 
 The while her own all tear-bedewed. 
 " Dear, generous Jean ! I love thee now 
 
 Forgive my wayward girlishness. 
 No cloud of sorrow to thy brow, 
 
 Or aught that ever can distress 
 Thee in the future. Thou hast given 
 
 Of all thy scanty store to me; 
 With wisdom's precepts thou hast striven 
 
 To train my mind as it should be, 
 Friend of my sainted mother, who 
 Hast proved so generous, noble, true!" 
 
SIR RAE. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Zl 
 
 Jean struggled with a conscious wrong, 
 
 And answered, " I should have made known 
 
 That great estates to thee belong. 
 
 Which but for me had been thine own," 
 
 " BENEATH A SULTRY SOUTHERN SKY." 
 
 Page 31. 
 
 She took a suit of gray complete 
 
 From out the box for Maidee's wear, 
 
 Some shoes to cover those wee feet 
 
 Which never more should wander bare. 
 
38 
 
 SIR RAE. 
 
 She helped her doff the worn cocoon, 
 
 And from its lowly fetters hie, 
 Saying she feared that all too soon 
 
 She'd turn into a butterfly. 
 It sounded strange for Jean to joke, 
 With trembling voice e'en as she spoke. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Costumed as hiorh-born maiden, then 
 
 She whispered, "Jean, I'd like to go 
 Once more to visit Hawthorn Glen ; 
 
 Those scenes I ne'er again may know." 
 '* Yes, go, protected by the prayer 
 
 I heard thee murmur, and take heed 
 Thy stay be short. Be this thy care, 
 
 That none may yet thy secret read." 
 Through hawthorn bloom and heather sweet 
 
 She hurried on with blushing face, 
 Crushing the harebells 'neath her feet. 
 
 Until she reached the trysting-place. 
 There was one missing. Now, alone. 
 She leaned beside the mossy stone. 
 
S/J^ RAE. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 39 
 
 Tears, all unbidden, yet as true 
 As mountain-shower, her eyes bedew. 
 She sighed, " He will not come again, 
 And yet I see the foot-prints plain 
 Of — yes, his own and Dapple Gray ! 
 He surely has been here to-day. 
 Perhaps some trophy he has left ; 
 I'll seek for it within the cleft 
 Of rocks, where I would place a flower 
 When he had missed our trysting-hour. 
 Ah, yes ! 'tis here." Unfolding there 
 A crumpled leaf, a tress of hair 
 Twined through a little ring of gold. 
 Set round with rubies, then a fold 
 Of paper, written hastily : 
 "Maidee, my darling, must this be? 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " I've sought this morn to meet you here, 
 
 And now, alas ! I sadly fear 
 
 I must depart before again 
 
 We meet ; the thought is cruel pain, 
 
40 
 
 Sm RAE. 
 
 That I must leave, and live to prove 
 Long years, ere I can claim your love 
 Till then adieu ; I must not wait. 
 May all good angels guard your fate ! 
 I could not leave before a friend 
 For you I'd found. You can depend 
 Upon the one who seeks you here. 
 I've told her all ; you need not fear. 
 The Lady Margery will take 
 You to her heart for my poor sake. 
 Go with her, Maidee; that will be 
 The only thought to comfort me. 
 Farewell again ! Imagine this 
 Prophetic of our future bliss." 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Spell-bound she sat, she could not move 
 While conning o'er those words of love ; 
 The pattering feet of Dapple Gray 
 She seemed to hear in mocking play 
 Upon her poor heart all unstrung. 
 When out from the tall grass among 
 She saw him prancing up the hill, 
 More at his own than rider's will, — 
 
5/A' RAE. 
 
 A Stately lady, in whose face 
 Was the proud calm of noble race. 
 A mounted groom behind her rode, 
 But halted where the brooklet flowed. 
 Maidee, surprised, no ease could feel, 
 The lady's heart seemed cased in steel ; 
 While true to Rae, she could not hide 
 Her cold reserve, reluctant pride. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Not e'en the tear-stained, lovely face, 
 That blushing- shrank, with timid grace, 
 Could win one smile of greeting there. 
 The sight of one so very fair. 
 So dangerous to the absent Rae, 
 The lady deigned slight courtesy. 
 "The mountain Maidee, I presume? 
 By promise to Sir Rae I've come. 
 How generous of my cousin Rae 
 To think of you, when sent away 
 To cure him of his boyish love. 
 Which we, of course, do not approve ! 
 He told me all: your lowly lot. 
 Your poverty, the haunted cot; 
 
 6 
 
 41 
 
42 
 
 SIR RAE. 
 
 The witch, your mother ; but I've come 
 To offer you a pleasant home. 
 One of my maids is now quite ill, 
 I think that you her place can fill." 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Hot blushes flushed o'er Maidee's face, 
 Then deathly pallor took their place ; 
 Her wounded feelings she would hide, 
 As, with a trembling voice, replied, 
 " Sir Rae was kind to think of me. 
 But what you offer cannot be. 
 I thank you, lady, all the same. 
 And blush that I have been to blame. 
 As children we have met each day. 
 
 And grown to love, as children love. 
 For this he has been sent away ; 
 
 And, your forgiving heart to prove. 
 You offer me a servant's place. 
 
 I'll prove as noble in my strength. 
 And lift the shadow, that no trace 
 
 Of my existence may at length 
 Restore Sir Rae, for I shall go 
 Where he nor his may ever know." 
 
" HERE IN THIS BOX ON WHICH I SIT 
 IS HER RICH TROUSSEAU PACK'D AWAY." 
 
 Page 32. 
 
5/Ji RAE. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 45 
 
 The lady urged up Dapple Gray, 
 
 But he refused to go away. 
 
 Quickly to Maidee's side he sped, 
 
 Laid on her arm his graceful head, 
 
 While with his soft, brown, gazelle eyes 
 
 Looked into hers with pained surprise. 
 
 What wonder, then, her wounded pride 
 
 Yielded to love, and by his side 
 
 She fondly stood caressing him. 
 
 The Lady Margery's eyes grew dim 
 
 In sympathy, while watching there 
 
 The fond caress of that strange pair. 
 
 " Lady, excuse me ; Dapple Gray 
 
 I've seen and petted every day. 
 
 Would you object that I should twine 
 
 Around his neck this flowering vine ? 
 
 I thank you, lady ; now good-by. 
 
 Sweet pet, whose love and sympathy 
 
 Have warmed my heart, once more adieu." 
 
 Gathering her dress from falling dew, 
 
 She left the glen and hurried on. 
 
 As if the day and life were one. 
 
CANTO THIRD. 
 
 I. 
 
 Rae was descendant of a noble clan, 
 
 Such as we read of in old Scodand's glory, 
 When casdes, marshal'd on a warlike plan, 
 
 Furnished the theme for many a thrilling story 
 The same warm blood that kindled in his sire. 
 
 Making him foremost in the ranks of old, 
 Glowed in Rae's heart, an ever-living fire. 
 
 And made his love as chivalrous as bold. 
 Long was the struggle that eventful day. 
 
 After the meetincr on the mountain-side. 
 His uncle ne'er before could say him nay. 
 
 But now he felt that it was due his pride 
 
 To check the callant in his wild career, 
 
 And crush at once the hope to him so dear. 
 46 
 
S//^ RAE. 
 
 II. 
 
 47 
 
 With partial fondness every fault to hide, 
 
 Watching the lad develop to the man, 
 He felt for him more than a father's pride, 
 
 As the next heir and chieftain of his clan. 
 Himself as free, in his wild sporting life, 
 
 As mountain eagle soaring o'er the world, 
 A bachelor, unfettered by a wife, 
 
 He through the vortex of his fancy whirled. 
 Leaving young Rae to tutors he could rule. 
 
 His pet, a noble hunter. Dapple Gray, 
 Named for his color, and when free from school 
 
 He'd gallop o'er the crags and cliffs away. 
 'Twas well for him to breathe the mountain air, 
 But no one dreamed the danofer lurkine there. 
 
 III. 
 
 Fleet as the wind was his gay, noble steed, 
 His soft, brown eyes alight with fervent glow, 
 
 The very purest of Arabian breed. 
 
 His master's every wish he seemed to know. 
 
 'Mid starry broom and tufted heather sweet, 
 Up, up, the winding, cragged steep he'd go, 
 
4S 
 
 S/JH RAE. 
 
 lentil he halted hi that wild retreat, 
 Nor any sign of weariness he'd show. 
 
 Maidee would twine his neck with garland tlowers, 
 While he would watch them in their merry play. 
 
 Or tumble down their mimic pebble towers, 
 Until the setting of the god of day 
 
 Lengthened the shadows : then he'd let them know. 
 
 Bv cunnino- aestures, it was time to s^o. 
 
 ^ IV. 
 
 Lord Duncan, with a strong opposing will, 
 
 Bade Rae forget his love, to ne'er again 
 Indulge such visions wild, at once to kill 
 
 His hopes in life ; and it was all in vain 
 Rae urged that she was wonderfully fair. 
 
 That she was beautiful, was more refined 
 Than any high-born lass ; none could compare 
 
 In the rich culture of her noble mind. 
 What if her costume were not quite complete? 
 
 That old dame was not blessed with goodh- store. 
 It suited well that wild and lone retreat, 
 
 The scantv varments that his goddess wore. 
 She needed not the ornaments of wealth, 
 Rich in her youthful loveliness and health. 
 
SJR RAE. Ag 
 
 V. 
 
 The proud old lord but laughed in cold disdain. 
 
 No sympathy had he with words of love. 
 Rae's earnest pleading had been all in vain, 
 
 And his attempt that haughty heart to move. 
 He said, "Young callant, it will do you good 
 
 To change the scene, and you must go away." 
 This stern command was quickly understood, 
 
 And preparation made to start next day. 
 None but felt sad to miss the jovial glee, 
 
 Such as the lad had meted to them all. 
 With tear-dimmed eyes they gathered round to see 
 
 The young heir leave his old ancestral hall ; 
 And oft a yearning glance he cast 
 When by the cliff and burn he passed. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But when the Lady Margery returned, 
 And told Lord Duncan all the lassie said, 
 
 He for his banished nephew sadly yearned, 
 As with him all his social cheer had fled. 
 
 A few days after, when the witch had flown, 
 He sent with haste to call Rae back again. 
 
50 
 
 S/J? RAE. 
 
 With foaming steed, his mission to make known, 
 The cadie* sped o'er mountain-pass and plain. 
 
 Right glad was Rae his uncle to obey. 
 Impelled with hope of a still greater joy, 
 
 In eager haste, impatient of delay. 
 
 Dreaming that naught in future should annoy. 
 
 'Twas like a crushing blow when they 
 
 Told him the elves had flown away. 
 
 * Messenger. 
 
v^^X^.^^'^^H-^^; ^-^ 
 
 THUS MANY DAYS THEY JOURNEYED THROUGH, 
 ERE THE OLD CASTLE CAME IN VIEW." 
 
 Page 55- 
 
^vW^'^^^^^w^^^^M^^'^M 
 
 ^^^^S 
 
 
 ^^M 
 
 CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 'TwAS at the early dawn of day 
 Jean started on her dreary way. 
 Two cartmen came, and quickly stowed 
 Boxes and traps into one load. 
 Together with the dame and lass 
 They jolted down the mountain-pass. 
 One cartman suncr an old, rude sone 
 As their poor beasties gaed along, 
 And as he sung, the other tried 
 To tease the lass ; he leering eyed 
 With insolence and rougher jeer, 
 Only restrained by dread and fear 
 Of the old dame as witch, which she 
 
 Could plainly see, and added more 
 By whispering to each nodding tree. 
 
 In language they ne'er heard before. 
 
 53 
 
54 
 
 SIR RAE, 
 
 11. 
 
 Poor Maidee, grieved and sore at heart, 
 
 Of her surroundings had no care ; 
 And she felt sad thus to depart 
 
 From highland scenes and mountain air. 
 Down the steep sides of crags they went ; 
 
 The dame had planned her journey well : 
 The strength of men and beast was spent 
 
 When they had reached the rude hotel. 
 Some words the cartmen told the host 
 
 Of the witch-wife and bonny lass. 
 Horse-shoes soon gleamed from every post 
 
 Through which the two were forced to pass. 
 Wearied and shaken, Maidee slept. 
 While Jean her watchful vigils kept. 
 
 III. 
 
 Fair lay the sleeper when the morn 
 Gave its first tints of misty gray, 
 
 Jean watched her thus, for she had borne 
 The trials well of yesterday. 
 
 "Haste, child! the hours are speeding on, 
 The wild birds sing their roundelay. 
 
SIR RAE. 
 
 We must make ready and begone, 
 Nor longer waste the light of day." 
 
 Then quickly from her couch she sprung, 
 With eager haste prepared to go, 
 
 Boxes and household traps among, 
 Like gypsies going to a show. 
 
 Their quaint old style of years gone by 
 
 Attracted many a vulgar eye. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Jean, scowling, muttered jargon worse 
 
 Than she herself could well explain. 
 The rabble thought it was a curse. 
 
 And did not venture near again. 
 Maidee, her hat drawn o'er her face. 
 
 Was hidden in the cumbrous load, 
 Until they reached their halting-place, 
 
 Upon a broad, well-traveled road. 
 Thus many days they journeyed through, 
 Ere the old castle came in view. 
 
 V. 
 
 But now, at last, they stopped before 
 A structure grand, of mossy stone. 
 
 55 
 
56 
 
 SIR RAE. 
 
 Where Jean had lived in days of yore 
 
 And all its luxuries had known. 
 The cartmen crossed themselves agfain 
 
 With mingled fear and blank surprise. 
 The dame was Fairy Queen, 'twas plain ; 
 
 Her castle stood before their eyes, 
 In all its ancient beauty great, 
 
 Draped in its ivy, tartan green. 
 While its broad wealth of land, estate, 
 
 O'er mount and plain could far be seen, 
 " Maidee ! Be firm ! Come in with me, 
 For this thy future home shall be." 
 
 VI. 
 
 A haughty porter, not inclined 
 
 Such doubtful guests to entertain, 
 Bade them some other lodging find. 
 
 Jean answered, " It is very plain 
 Thou dost not know me ; just as well. 
 
 It is thy master I would see, 
 For I have many things to tell 
 
 That he will gladly welcome me. 
 Say to him, Jean would speak to him. 
 
 The old earl must be quite infirm, 
 
S/J? RAE. 
 
 For when I left, his eyes were dim ; 
 
 I scarcely thought he'd last this term. 
 Haste thee ! for I have that to tell 
 Will make his heart with gladness swell." 
 
 57 
 
 A STRUCTURE GRAND, OF MOSSY STONE. Page 55- 
 
 VII. 
 
 To disobey he did not dare, 
 
 But ushered them within the hall, 
 
58 
 
 SIR RAE. 
 
 Where knightly armor gHttered there 
 
 In bold relief against the wall. 
 " Two gypsy tramps, my lord, are here, 
 
 Craving an audience. They say 
 They've that to tell your heart will cheer, 
 
 And make you bless this happy day." 
 The one addressed was carelessly 
 
 Reclining on a Turkish chair; 
 He answered, " Bring the tramps to me, 
 
 But of their doing-s have a care." 
 One moment more, two glances met, 
 Such as in life they'd ne'er forget. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 "General St. Cloud ! living, and well !" 
 
 "Jean!" shrieked the general. " Where is she, 
 My child, you took with you to dwell ? 
 
 Speak ! Have you brought her back to me ?" 
 " Yes. Clare, thy father ! Answer him ; 
 
 I cannot, for my failing breath, 
 So heavy now, my eyes are dim. 
 
 He lives for thee ! For me is — death." 
 Slowly she sank upon a seat. 
 
 Her journey o'er, her mission done. 
 

 ■'"'fllllllll'lf^^^^ 
 
 IT IS THY MASTER I WOULD SEE." Page '^6. 
 
SIR RAE. 5 1 
 
 " Father and child, farewell ! I meet 
 The Lady Clare, the sainted one !" 
 Her last words as she passed away 
 With closing light of setting day. 
 
 IX. 
 
 In bitter grief poor Maidee cried, 
 
 " My more than mother, live for me !" 
 She kneeled in horror by her side. 
 
 Clasping her waist in agony. 
 The old straw hat fell to the floor, 
 
 Freeincr a flood of Qrolden hair; 
 Even amid her ofrief she bore 
 
 Such likeness to the Lady Clare. 
 The general caught her to his breast. 
 In wild delio-ht his child caressed. 
 
 'Twas little more she knew that night; 
 
 With tender hands on downy bed 
 They fondly laid her. Visions light 
 
 Their soothine influence o'er her shed: 
 Sweet sounds of music, low and clear, 
 
 Blendino- the murmur of sea-shells. 
 
52 SIR RAE. 
 
 Or warblino- birds when hoverine near. 
 In dreams she saw the headier-bells, 
 
 The Highland crags, the fern, the brook, 
 Her childhood's friend, the noble Rae. 
 
 She turned the leaves of memory's book, 
 Where pictured all before her lay. 
 
 With Dapple Gray among the flowers. 
 
 Biding the lovers' trysting hours. 
 
 XI. 
 
 " Is this a dream ? Am I awake ? 
 
 Jean, are you sleeping? Are you near? 
 Oh, what a journey for my sake 
 
 You took In pain to bring me here !" 
 The morninof sun shone clear and brioht. 
 
 The grand old chamber where she lay 
 Was all aglow with warmth and light; 
 
 Her confused memory cleared away. 
 A gentle matron, near the bed. 
 
 Placed her cool hand upon her brow. 
 "Please don't disturb yourself," she said ; 
 
 " But take the rest so needed now." 
 Then silently she watched her there, 
 As infant in a mother's care. 
 
S/J? RAE. 
 XII. 
 
 Then all the past came back again, — 
 
 The journey rough, the scoffs, the jeers, 
 The sudden death of faithful Jean. 
 
 Her heart, as eyes, seemed drowned in tears. 
 Could she believe, 'mid the alloy 
 
 Of bitter grief, this was her home ? 
 Her father's warm embrace, his joy ; 
 
 No more a vagrant waif to roam ? 
 'Twas well within her curtained bed 
 
 She there could still her troubled breast 
 And clear her poor, bewildered head, 
 
 As well as take the needed rest. 
 Till the sad mourning rites were paid, 
 And Jean within the tomb was laid. 
 
 ^Z 
 
M 
 
 M 
 
 ^^^i 
 
 ^^^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 ^^ 
 
 ^^ 
 
 ^f^^M 
 
 CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 A HAPPY man was Pierre St. Cloud, 
 
 The brave old warrior honored great. 
 Of Maidee he was justly proud, 
 
 As mistress of the old estate ; 
 And as a duteous daughter she 
 
 Clung to him with a love sincere, 
 In the glad change of destiny, 
 
 His now declining years to cheer. 
 A gentle sadness all the while 
 
 Was blended with her happiness ; 
 It cast its shadow o'er each smile. 
 
 Each look of love, and fond caress. 
 So much had they to ask and say, 
 That time too quickly pass'd each day. 
 
 64 
 
SIR RAE. 
 
 65 
 
 II. 
 
 " Jean taught you all that you should know 
 Up in her little Highland nest. 
 
 I thought not, when we bade her go, 
 That with your love I'd e'er be bless'd. 
 
 "THE SPORTING SEASON WAS ADVANCED." /'a^'t' 69. 
 
 Poor Jean ! You had no other friend ? 
 
 They called her witch, you elf and fay. 
 Was there no child to cheer your hours ? 
 
 No little mate with you to play ?" 
 
56 '^■/y? RAE. 
 
 She answered, " I had birds and flowers, 
 And by the pebbled brook each day, 
 
 Widi its bright gem-Hke stones, for hours 
 I'd play and plash, or wander o'er 
 
 The steepest crags where mosses grew. 
 And from their jagged depths they bore 
 
 The treasured bells of lovely blue." 
 
 III. 
 
 " Then you grew up alone ; no mate 
 
 To play and plash the burn with you. 
 My darling Clare ! I bless the fate 
 
 That bade old Jean at last prove true." 
 Thus they would talk ; he questions ask, 
 
 So she from him could scarcely hide 
 Her heart's deep secret ; hard the task, 
 
 When in her trust he took such pride. 
 One day he asked had she e'er seen 
 
 Lord Duncan, on the mountain-side. 
 Since to his glen he oft had been. 
 
 And joined in many a sporting ride. 
 
SIR RAE. 
 IV. 
 
 With blushing face, confusion deep, 
 
 She could not hide in pebbled brooks 
 The secret she had tried to keep. 
 
 Her father read the tell-tale looks 
 Ere yet her lips betrayed to him 
 
 Her early love, confessed at last, 
 Which caused his eyes with tears to dim ; 
 
 The trials sad through which she'd pass'd. 
 "'Twas you, then, robbed the eagle's nest!" 
 
 He, laughing, caught her blushing face. 
 And fondly there his child caress'd, 
 
 Rewarding her confiding grace. 
 " The misalliance gossip said 
 
 Sir Rae had made with mountain lass. 
 And that the bonny witch had fled. 
 
 How strange that this should come to pass ! 
 
 " And he was sent away, poor lad ! 
 
 Imagine all his sorrow, pain." 
 Then glancing at her face so sad. 
 
 He clasped her to his heart again. 
 
 67 
 
58 sm RAE. 
 
 " I understand all now ! 'Tis plain 
 
 'Twas that which roused in Jean the ire 
 That made her seek at last to gain 
 
 For you the castle of your sire. 
 The laddie wore a tartan gay. 
 
 How looks he ? Is he strong and brave ? 
 He asked you for his wife, you say ? 
 
 And love for love the chieftain gave. 
 Dry up thy tears ; thy blushes keep. 
 I'll write to Duncan ere I sleep." 
 
CANTO SIXTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 The sporting season was advanced ; 
 
 The hounds bay'd deep, the hunters pranced ; 
 
 The forests rung with horn and shout 
 
 From sportsmen flitting in and out. 
 
 The castle thronged with many a guest, 
 
 Who in admiring terms expressed 
 
 Their compliments to Lady Clare, 
 
 The lovely, genial hostess fair. 
 
 Lord Duncan's greeting was sincere. 
 
 " St. Cloud ! your glorious daughter here, 
 
 With youth and every grace combined. 
 
 Touches my heart ; at last I find 
 
 I have one. By your leave I'll prove 
 
 Worthy to win her pure, young love." 
 
 69 
 
^o 
 
 SIR RAE. 
 
 II. 
 
 " I thank you, Duncan, that my prize 
 
 Has found such favor in your eyes ; 
 
 But I propose another mate, — 
 
 One of your blood and Hneage great, — 
 
 The young Sir Rae, whose youth would be 
 
 A fitter mate for such as she." 
 
 Duncan replied, " The witch's spell 
 
 O'er that poor lad will ever dwell. 
 
 He shuns all gay society. 
 
 And would not have been here with me 
 
 But that he thoug-ht no one but men 
 
 He'd meet here in this quiet glen. 
 
 III. 
 
 " Regard him, general ! There he stands. 
 
 In noble form our chief expands. 
 
 But note his sad and anxious brow ; 
 
 The witch's spell is on him now." 
 
 " Present him, Duncan ! I would know 
 
 The valiant Troubadour ; for so 
 
 They died of love in olden time ; 
 
 I've read it oft in songs and rhyme." 
 
"STANDING ALONE WAS LADY CLARE. 
 
 Page 73. 
 
SIR RAE. 
 
 Lord Duncan then presented Rae. 
 The courteous host soon led the way 
 Within the hall, where gathered near 
 The blazing fire, in social cheer. 
 Were lady guests, who talked awa)' 
 As if they'd very much to say. 
 Of little nothings that so please 
 When rendered with a graceful ease. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Standing alone was Lady Clare ; 
 Her wealth of tiowing, golden hair 
 Unbound, save by a snood of blue, 
 Its wavy tresses blended through. 
 Her dress of white, so simply made, 
 The symmetry of form displayed. 
 In stately dignity and grace. 
 Crowned by the beauty of her face. 
 Her glorious eyes with fringes deep, 
 Half veiled, as if in check to keep 
 Expectant joy, for her in store ; 
 She could but hope, yet dared no more. 
 She stood beside an antique stand, 
 Twinine the vines with one fair hand. 
 
 Th 
 
74 
 
 S//^ RAE. 
 
 The other pressed against her side, 
 The beating of her heart to hide. 
 
 " Sir Rae ! my daughter, Lady Clare !'' 
 Bewildered, Rae could only stare 
 In Maidee's earnest, lovely eyes. 
 Mute with great wonder and surprise. 
 Until the guests were all as naught. 
 As drinking in her glance he sought 
 Her answerinor love ; for it was she. 
 Who could explain such mystery? 
 In great surprise Lord Duncan said, 
 "The bonny witch hath surely fled, 
 St. Cloud ! I cannot understand 
 Such hearts as Rae has at command. 
 This morning he was in such mood 
 That, by the saints of Holy Rood, 
 I feared that he a vow had ta'en 
 A hermit ever to remain." 
 
 VI. 
 
 The general, laughing, then explained 
 How he his long-lost daughter gained. 
 
67A' RAE. 
 
 " To gain and yet again to lose ; 
 For such true love I can't refuse." 
 He cast a merry glance at Rae, 
 Who answered, " At an early day, 
 
 75 
 
 " A GROOM LED FORWARD DAPPLE GRAY." 
 
 So please my uncle, by your grace, 
 I pray our nuptials may take place." 
 " This is the Maidee ! Then no more 
 I'll doubt the witchery she bore," 
 Lord Duncan said. " No fay more fair. 
 Embrace thy uncle, Lady Clare ! 
 
 Pa^e 76. 
 
76 -S"/^ R^F^- 
 
 Lady, forgive my rougher mood, 
 For all is well that ends in p-ood." 
 
 o 
 
 VII. 
 
 There was joy in the Highlands, 
 
 Joy in the hall; 
 Bright garlands were decking the 
 
 Old chapel wall. 
 And brilliant the guests in their 
 
 Grandest array. 
 For the chief of their clan was 
 
 Wedded that day. 
 The bride in her flowing lace was fair 
 As the beautiful dreams of angels are. 
 Costly and precious the gifts from all, 
 Until at last, with neigh and call, 
 In white and gold his trappings gay, 
 A groom led forward Dapple Gray. 
 No veil from him his friend could hide 
 He tugged his rein to reach her side 
 Scarcely could they his ardor check, 
 Until around his arched neck 
 A myrtle- wreath she fondly hung 
 His flowing, glossy mane among. 
 
S/J? RAE. 
 
 Rae whispered, " Lady Margery 
 
 Of diis last gift reminded me, 
 
 As one she knew you most would prize. 
 
 She answered not save with her eyes, 
 
 And the mute thanks, so eloquent. 
 
 Of a heart filled with sweet content. 
 
 11 
 
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