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Cornell University Library

PR 5459.S18 1902
Poetical works.

3 1924 013 552 611

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http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013552611

THE POETICAL WORKS

OF

WALTER CHALMERS SMITH

[All Rights Reserved}

THE

POETICAL WORKS
OF

WALTER

C.

SMITH

D.D., LL.D.

COLLECTED EDITION REVISED BY THE AUTHOR

friTH 'PHOTOGRAVURE

Br

SIR

TORTRAIT FROM A TAINTING GEORGE REID, P.R.S.A.

LONDON
M. DENT & CO. ALDINE HOUSE, BEDFORD STREET
J.

MDCCCCII

yxusv^

Printed hy Morrison

&

Gibb Limited, Edinlmrgh.

INTRODUCTORY NOTE
The
various

books, here gathered

into

one volume, appeared

at

difFerent periods during the last forty-five years, with the exception

of the portion of

it

which I have

called

"

Ballads from Scottish

History," which were the occupation or the amusement of the

enforced leisure
to a third,
fallen out

of old age.

Though some of

these books went

and one a fourth edition

of
print,

I think, yet latterly they

had

and I had quite made up

my mind

that they

had served
other

their

turn,

and must drop into oblivion like so many

human

productions.

On

the whole, I was also fairly content

that they should

do

so.

Some months
they

ago, however, a number of friends approached

me

with a proposal that they should be collected and republished as

now

are.

They were

gentlemen whose opinion had weight, for

they were themselves more or less directly connected with literature.

Yet
I

it

was with great reluctance that

little

I consented to their request.

had not read any of those

books for a long time, and when

I did so, with the view of determining what I ought to do in the

matter, I

came

to the conclusion that they represent fairly well the

varying shadows of thought and feeling during the latter part of the
nineteenth century, on the whole
so
;

but I found so

much
it

to blot,

and

much

to correct, that I shrank

felt

from the labour

fairly

would

involve,
in

even while I

that there

was some

good work
first,

them
I

which might possibly repay the labour.

clined to

At

therefore,

de-

do

as

my

friends wished.

But I need not go

into details.

They were
the

not to be refused, and undertook to relieve

work

that could be

done

for

me.

Of

course, they

me of all won the

vi

Introductory Note
I

day, for

suppose

in

my

secret

heart

half wished

them

to

win

it.

of

The " Ballads from Scottish History " are the only new portion the book. They had grown up lately since I was laid aside
ill-health,

by age and

and I hoped that they might help

to float the

book, and ease the mind of the publishers

to undertake I
its

production.

I sincerely

who have been bold enough hope this may prove true.
also to Messrs.

have to acknowledge

my

indebtedness to Mr. Oliphant Smeaton

for the great help

he has so kindly given me, and

to print

Macmillan and Maclehose for permission

interest in.

what they had an

WALTER
Orwell Cottage, Dunblane,
October 1902.

C.

SMITH.

CONTENTS
PAGE

The

Bishop's

Walk

1-2

Part

Part Part
Part Part

The Cathedral Town II.The Walk III.The Bishop IV.The Meditation V The Incident
I
,

Part VI. Part VII

Beside the Dead

The Conclusion
Times

i6 '9

The

Bishop's

^2-37
22

From

the Bass

Rothes

^7

Peden the Prophet Old Greyfriars

3
3^

The Confession The Complaint

of Annaple Gowdie, of Deacon Birse

.

Witch

33

35
36

Marion Brown's Lament

M' Kail's
Olrig Grange

Farewell

Book

First

...
Editorial

36

39-86
39 41

Loquitur Thorold

Book Second

Editorial

Loquitur Hester

47 49
5S

Book Third Editorial Loquitur Mater Domina Book Fourth Editorial

.

S6 62 64
69
71

Loquitur Pater

Book Fifth Editorial

Loquitur Rose

Book Sixth

Editorial
.

77 79

Loquitur Thorold

BoKLAND Hall

87-143
Life

Book First College

.

87

Austen Lyell Book Second Borland Glen

92 99 100

Borland's

Widow

vin
Borland Hall

Contents

continued

PAGE

Book ThirdThe Funeral The Will Book FourthThe HowfF Paul Gaunt Book Fifth Visitors Andrew Downie, Esq. Book Sixth Milly Gaunt
.

no
113 118

119 iz8 iz8

34

Hilda Among the Broken Gods Prologue

.

144-216
144 146
59 180 19Z

Book First Claud Maxwell, Poet Book Second Hilda, Saint-Wife Book Third Winifred Urquhart, Materialist Book Fourth Luke Sprott, Evangelist Book Fifth Rev. Elphinstone Bell, Priest

204
215

Epilogue

L'Envoi

216

Raban Raban
.

217-288

217
the Square

Preludes

The House in The Licentiate

Crystallised

223 224
228

Sermons

233

Litterateur

Endings
Stray Leaves

244 256
271
.

North Countrv Folk

289-369
289 298
305

Wee

Curly

Pow

Dr. Linkletter's Scholar

Dick Dalgleish Lost and Won

31Z
316
323 328
331

The Mad
Morgana

Earl

Provost Chivas
.

Mrs. Coventry

Mother and Stepmother Bailie Butters and Young Dinwoodie

Deacon Dorat's Story

333 335

339
343
345

The

Poetaster

Parish Pastors

Amory
The

Hill
.

Miss Bella Japp

Altnacraig

353 356 359 360

Village Philosopher

Contents
North Country Folk

IX

continued

Contents
Ballads from Scottish History

continued

page

THE BISHOP'S WALK

THE
BISHOP'S TIMES
Esq.

DEDICATION TO JOHN HUNTER,

CRAIGCROOK

Presages of a new philosophy Mt friend, I bring this little offering To thee, assured, how small soe'er its worth, Of history made meaningless, alas prompts thou me And lacking human interest, for lack That for the love which
1

Of its diviner import, waiting still And with thy love wilt make it beautiful. The Epic soul. And ever with our speech Mingled the interval of silent thought, How oft among thy flower-beds we have Not without reason, and the blithesome
wilt love
it.

laughter, which had reason too, nimble wit and repartee, and apt Quotation from the poets who have sung Prolific of its gifts the long year through, Unchanging wisdom to a changeful world. Breaks into beauty, or the myrtle rare With orient perfume scents the nimble Then, by and by, along the breezy heights breeze And lichened crags orange and grey and
rose,

held Free converse, where the budding yellow

ring

Of cheery

And

Now

in

the

Spring,

when

faint-sweet

brown.

violets

We
eyes, coy,
in the

Peep with their dim

leaves.

amid the

strolled, where mountain ash and sombre pine Crest with their various plumage thy loved

Breathing forth raptures

Autumn

hill;

We
Of

could spy the far-oil the red creeper flushes all the house. May Save where the ivy clasps around the Dim in the sea, the Lomonds' shadowy tower. heights Or trails, with wandering shoots, about Crowning the winding shores of kingly the eaves Fife, And gargoyles grim, fantastic, fearless North Berwick Law, the grey sea-withered homes scalp Held by old swallows on a lease of love Of Bass (where the wild sea-mew wings Unbroken, immemorial. And at times. amidst When Summer rain pattered upon the Heroic memories of a nation's sorrow leaves. Still haunting there), and nearer Arthur In the green cloisters of the ivy-walk Seat mused, with ample range of large Shouldering the dingy surge of mist and

now,

Whence looking we

When

discourse ; science broadening from Diverse, to the great Unity

smoke
;

Of

forces correlate,

phenomena which is God forecasting dim

his great flanks, while the old Castle looms Darkly above the city roofs and spires.

From

Xll

Dedication

Of Keats, whose senses were a kind of pillared Calton veils amid the dusk soul, His monumental forms, and at our feet Living at every point of his fine frame. Nestles among the chestnuts and the elms Jeffrey's green turret and thy happy home. And clothing subtlest thought in imagery Tinted and perfumed and melodious So as we wallced amid the beautiful, And shaped our speech about the beautiful Of Shelley, with the skylark singing, soaring, In art or nature, evermore we found, Though years of ripened wisdom lay be- And now in cloud invisible, and now Without a cloud invisible, but still tween us. And varied rich experience, rare agreement Throbbing with passionate music, when

And

And

vision eye to eye

like instruments

the sense
half articulate
:

Of diverse form and substance which record Gurgled but

Of Hunt,

An

unexpected harmony, each to other

Playing with lambent lightnings innocent

Filling the chord, to make a perfect strain. And when the Winter early closed the day. And the log crackled, and the lamp was lit.

About

And

the long wind howled through the groaning trees, the great arm-chair to the fireside

And

drawn
Allured to mild repose, which yet the
glass

Of

golden sack, or generous claret pur-

pling 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

The

life's surface, cheerily singing, genial And very human, and yet now and then Unconscious, childlike, lifting up the veil. And glancing at the holiest with wonder Soon lost among the pictures and the pathos Of our familiar life of Tennyson, Dropping so calmly down a quiet stream witched river, yet an English stream 'Mong the broad lilies, and the whispering sedges. Musing and singing, noting thoughtfully The passionate throbbings of a troubled
:

heart.

And
With

passionate struggles of a
all
all.

wondrous

hope

age.

The throne which was

;

Gathering the weary wandering ages round a cross, and conquering passion till Theology By His meek Stript off its sorrowful garb again, and

These

we

Nor lacked

canvassed, having sympathies discourse of nobler

still

grew

Of people's Epic, and the learned muse Of Milton of the tragic sock, and eke Of tragic symbol, tracking through the
;

An

Or at times maze We talked of those whose songs had Of sorrow and temptation the footprints Mingled of God and man. So Goethe sang charmed our youth Who of them were forgot, and who were His Faust and so in Runic strain, unimpotent scholastic.
;

still

measured.
Guttural, yet with rarest tones of beauty. Wailing the broken idols and the shrines Even while he hurls them down, our modern Titan

Daily companions, faring on the road With us, and with a deeper meaning speaking Unto our deepening wants Of Wordsworth doing tuneful ministry of love to all God's common creatures, till the hedge:

Essays his vision of

life's

mystery.
fellowship, and

Thus having shared thy

heard Manifold wisdom, truth profound, and With choiring seraphim at cottage doors pure Of Coleridge dreaming, and discoursing Utterance of taste which I delightedly words Recall and treasure, and delightedly Mystic and musical formative fire-mist Look forward to, making a threefold joy Luminous, with a star or two in it. Deeper in heaven than any star we know, Of hope and memory and present gladness, And sweeping over vaster breadths of I, grateful, bring mine offering to thee, Assured thy love will scan it lovingly. space

rows sung

THE
PART
I

BISHOP'S
With
Hall,

WALK
squalid
lane,

and

flaunting

THE CATHEDRAL TOWN

I

Infrequent spire, and chimneys

tall

You know the place wherein The weary toil and spin.
S

A GRAY old Minster on the height

Towers
Slopes,
o'er the trees

and

in the light

A gray old town along the ridge

winding

With

jalousie
oriel

downward

to

the

And And

and portico. large, where and ample

the

sea-winds
streets.
;

bridge

blow.
light parade,

A quaint, old, gabled place,

With Church
writ on
its

face.

Where idler with You know

sure.

the idler meets

haunt of plea-

Or The The The The

quiet Close, secluded, dim.
lettered scroll, the pillar slim,

sick resort of leisure.

armorial bearings on the wall.

very air you breathe, are all Full of Church memories.

Far otherwise the old church town.

With
Its tide

the
:

gray

minster

for

its

And

the old sanctities.

crown

Its pleasuring

And
With
That

beautiful the

gray old place

characters of antique grace,

of work has ebbed away ; was never gay Yet there the morning broke, And the new world awoke.

tell the tale of pious work Beneath the spire and round the kirk. And growth of Law and Right Where Christ had come with

light.

And it is well, amid the whir Of restless wheels and busy stir. To find a quiet spot where live
Fond
pious thoughts conservative.
ring to an old chime,

4
Begrimed with smoke, a monotone

That

Of equal

streets in brick or stone.

And

bear the moss of time.

The

Bishop's

Walk

The Walk
i8

A quaint old placea minster gray,

And
To
gray old town that winds away,
gardens,

And And

rustling leaf that bids

you hush

hear the slow still waters gush Incessant and unseen, Beneath the branches green.

Through
ridge
river's

down

the sloping

brim and ancient bridge,

the
still

Where

waters flow

A pleasant path
With
light

at

noonday

bright,

To

the deep pool below.

arching boughs to
;

screen

the

A pleasant walk
PART
II

at close

With
way.

red

lights

of day. glancing on

the

THE WALK
Where
Unto
looks the western window far the liquid evening star.

And golden showers that fall On the old churchyard wall.

24

Here

swell

the

Ochils

green

and

And And

can Benledi dimly view. the gray mists on Benvenue, And long brown uplands, felt In distant air to melt

there

The Cromlex
bare;

heaths are brown and

20
Irregular branch

Benledi and Benlomond far Front the rude crags of U-am-var And by the shady way Still towers the minster gray.

There where the green ash interweaves and slender leaves, For umbrage soft a pale green shade

25

With broken
There

sunlights in the glade,

The

lies a pleasant way In gloaming all the day.

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.

And
The

below the waters clear Murmur their presence on the ear, Scarce seen for dipping boughs that seek
far
light, or

26

only

when

a streak

And
wall

high
the

above
light

the

churchyard

Of sunshine
Upon

cometh home

the crisp white foam.

Springs
tall,

western

window

And

A pleasant walk,
Upon

An
when
singing bird.
is

be it window, be it niche, almond form with carving rich. Set on the gable high.

the bending twig

heard.

Looks

like a watchful eye.

; ;

The

Bishop's

Walk
PART
III

27

And

in the roofless nave you see Lofty light-pillared gallery In vista long, and windows still

THE BISHOP
32

Of lances And

clasped with simple

skill,

fern and lichen doing Their work of graceful ruin.

Two

hundred years have

fine spirit

and

gone,

Since that

mused alone

28

On the dim walk,

grotesque

with faint green shade

Nor Nor Nor

gargoyle

lacks,

and

By the light-quivering ash-leaves made. And saw the sun go down

Beyond the mountains brown.

quaint.

without its saint. buttress lightsome, nor the tower

saintly niche

Where

the bell marks the passing hour.

peals out with our mirth,
tolls

33
Slow-pacing, with a lowly look. Or gazing on the lettered book Of Tauler, or a-Kempis, or Meek Herbert with his dulcimer. In quaintly pious vein Rehearsing a deep strain
:

And And

our earth to earth.

29

And o'er the dim old centuries The minster bridges, unto these
Dull times of

From

toil and commonplace, days of chivalry and grace. Spanning the vague abyss With memories of bliss.

34

Or in the Gold-mouthed Greek

High
rhetoric, or

he read

what was

said

Of Augustine's
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.

Or

experience. of the Gospel's grand defence Before assembled lords. In Luther's battle-words.

35
Slowly-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

And their Of mystic

divinest sense

reverence.

31

law ; Its dim light bade with awe admire And thought soared heavenward on
in its pillars stedfast

And And

in its

Cross the Christ he saw

Glance of an angel's wing.

Where

of the

Lamb

they sing

the spire.

36

Urged onwards by the chime That told the fleeting time.

And with the fine pale shadow,

Upon
his

wrought cheek by years of thought,

The Meditation
And
lines

of weariness and

strain,

The
46

Bishop's

Walk

; ;

The Meditation
61
!

S6

" Yet that were light, if I might serve all for what ? alas, the while deal in wrath, and hate, and The blessM Christ, and never swerve guile. Nor do I grudge the sacrifice And these to madness yield them, all Of all that I esteem of price For forms ecclesiastical To do Thy will, O Lord, And for the seed of grace According to Thy Word. but the husk embrace.
;

" And Those

We

62
57

" Ay me

An

I seem to see look down on me ; The fleece is dewy on the hills But dry and dewless now all else ; Nor reverence, nor fear. Nor touch of grace is here.
!

ay

me

angry

God

" 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
63

of God,

This way Thyself hast trod.

"

Of

weary time O dreary age mine unhappy pilgrimage

! !

" But Lord, him

I pray

Thee, send Thou

;

Whom
are

Thou

wilt send

mine eyes
:

A nation brooding discontent.

And
Christ's fair garment soiled and
rent,

dim
and see
will suffer

For lack of faith and hope

Thy work
For
I

now

in

me

A king
His

in folly sunk,
!

am

all

alone.

lords in madness drunk

Trusted and loved by none.

64
59

" And I alas I was not meant For tasks of crafty government
!

" Alone,

And
Too
His

like one untimely born. wandering through his age for-

To moderate the angry stir Of troubled kirk and presbyter, And settle wordy jars Of harsh polemic wars.
60
no gift that way ; I think At good men's errors I would wink ; good man's foible should be borne Yet shall I get but double scorn
1 have

lorn.

early he, or else too late,

heritage a

common

hate.

By no one understood. And impotent for good.

65

"

my way deplore The men I loathe do hate me more With whom I live I have no ties With whom I left, sad memories
I love
;

" The men

From

those the

wrong

that do,

With none have

I the

power

And

those that suffer too.

To

help this evil hour.

The
66
"

Bishop's

Walk
71

" This people will not be constrained Yet, Lord, let not the scaith be Except by truth and love unfeigned ; Thine But give them doctrine undefiled. They love me not and yet for them And you may lead them like a child This dark and troubled tide I stem That holds its father's hand.
doubtless
all

And

the blame

is

mine

And

I could almost be
for

And

feels that life

is

grand.

Accursed

them and Thee.

72

67

"

weary heart
of

hapless fate

I know them and their noble deeds. Which still are more than all their

"

evil times

strife

and hate

creeds

The

To

raven finds a carcass there settle on, but in the air

'The

sad dove

flutters, fain

know their patience to endure The evils which they may not cure, While they may go their way.
I

To

seek the ark again.

And

sing their psalms

and pray.

68

73
;

" Lord,
In

take

me hence

what
?

profit I

" Set up

this great flood

of misery

And
By
;

1 am but tempted to repine At mine own doings. Lord, and Thine I have

lofty aim. they will put your soul to shame. readiness to pay the price for

them a

no heart

to live.

Having no help

to give.

In suffering and sacrifice. That they the Lord may serve, Nor from His Law may swerve.

69

74
"
I

" For

lo

have no power to heal

know them,

but they

know

not

The

of the commonweal I was beguiled to be the tool Of those who now hold sway and rule In this distracted land. They nowise understand.
evils

me,

And

love them, but they will not see

I do yearn to do them good. ponder on their wrongs and brood.

How
And

Although

my way

is

not

Along
70

their line of thought.

" And now

the people trust

they,

me

not
rulers

75 " I heed not much of forms ; I thought 'Twere well indeed if we were brought From our lax ways and hot debate.

How
plot

could

when

these

To crush their freedom, and discrown The only King the Church may own As Lord of conscience here.
Whose
right
is

To

primitive episcopate.

And
By

prayers lisped of old

sure and clear

infants in the fold.

The Meditation
76

The
86

Bishop's

Walk
91

"Yet oh, I love not man's device Of policy and statecraft nice
;

Nor would

I plant

what

I love most,

Christ's very Gospel, at the cost

Of hate

and blood which we Bequeath to history.

" I may not bind me with their creed. Though some of them are free indeed. Or only thrall to heaven above ; And oh they bind me by their love Of Him whose name on earth Is ointment poured forth.

87

92

And I had been content to try What Christ's flock wished What care I
"

for.

hymn, Low-chaunted in the chapel dim. Sounds to me as an infant's voice

I say but vesper

" Nor can

For

priest or presbyter, or

lawn

And

nowise drawn By words and names and shows, But what they do enclose.
mitre
?

am

When Faith is young, and doth rejoice, And goeth all day long
Singing a quiet song
:

93

88

"

A voice that lingers on mine ear

still

From bride, whose Bridegroom " But men of crafty policy, is near That neither love the land nor me. Nor God, nor Christ, nor prayer, nor In her mysterious mirthfulness.
praise.

And

trembling

joy,

and wondering

Have dragged me on

their evil ways.

grace,

And
That

torn

my heart from them love Jerusalem.

89

A tender music sighing

Upon
his

bosom

lying.

94
" But yet they wrong me much who say That I have erred, and gone astray From Christ, the Way, the Truth,
the Life,

"

Ay me

ay

me

that I should be

The

tool of this great perjury,

And

For Lauderdale and Middleton Sharpe to wreak their fury on

The

pasture-sheep of Christ, Inveigled and enticed

Because I shrink from civil strife. And schoolmen's quirks, and faint Cobwebs of argument.

90 "

95

Oh

that I

were

in still

Douay,

"

Among the quiet priests that pray I love old ways, but Christ far more In chapel low or chancel dim, I love the fold, I love the flock. Chaunting the plain-song or the hymn. But more my Shepherd and ray Rock, Perchance the ' Stabat Mater,' And the great Book of grace Perchance ' Veni Creator.' That mirrors His dear face.

I love the kirk, with ages hoar

; ;

; ;

The Meditation
96
"
lOI

II

" just to seat me by the tide sweet the story and the psalm, Of life, and see its galleys glide, And prophecy is healing balm, With every sail on every yard. Like virgin-comb apostle's lips. Like Heaven the grand Apocalypse ; And speculate their whitherward Upon the shoreless sea. But sweet above all other, Dim with man's destiny His words, our Saviour-Brother.

97 "
;

102

To stand apart, and set my heart " Once my soul wandered for I lent upon the better part, Alone argument. faithless ears to Mine Yet not my heart erred, but my head. And hear far off the idle din Of evil tongues and bruit of sin, For still my fainting spirit bled

To think that, day by day, God seemed to fade away.

98

And

soar to

Thee,
holy

Lord,
!

High on Thy

Word

103 Thee,

had clung to had kept Thy holy Word I did not seek to 'scape from Thee, by 5 But Thou didst fade away from me But from a ruder finger fly And all Thy glory seemed The long-drawn notes, and men had dream which Harsh and unmusical. dreamed.
fain

"I

Lord

I fain

" I was not meant for action ; I Like wind-harp in the window sigh. When breath of Heaven is passing

fall

99

104

Dark thoughts were these

time
Father, impute
it

weary " Lord, place me where

Thy

breath

may
not for crime.

be
all

Tremulous

day long on me

That in his fever Thy poor child Raved wildly in his fancies wild For still I found no rest
Save lying on

So So

shalt
shall

Thou

my

get my little worth, use be to the earth

is all

For

this

of

me

Thy

breast.

A voice that cries to Thee.

105
have no fight in me to stay The rush and wrestle of the fray My father would have battle done, And braved all, were he only one Against an host, but then He was a king of men.
I
:

Ay me ay me In old Ulshaven by the sea.

"
!

would

might be

To dream beside the dreamy wave, And choose me out a quiet grave,
Where
the long ocean chime Tells the slow march of time.

; :

The
1

Bishop's

Walk
whispering winds were tripping
the high pillared gallery. sighing as they pass
grass.

06

And

A A

free

warrior stout to hold the field

Ruler, too, with resolute soul

Down

With loving words for sword and shield,

Or

Over the churchyard

;

The

humours to control But none of these did he Bequeath to strengthen me.

people's

107
poor life storm and strife. Nor skill to order the debate, So long maintained, of Church
I
for this

have no help

Still was the hour the evening still Peace slumbered on the distant hill Peace, dreaming, smiled upon the

Of controversial

cloud

;
!

And
and

earth seemed whispering Peace

aloud,

State, I can but think

As

and pray I hold on my way.

When any voice awoke And that deep silence broke.

112

108

And
life is past.

in

the calm of such an hour

What,

if

some men were never meant

To
To

serve their day, but be content

Old memories have a witching power. Old times come back, old faces look

Some day somewhere, when

have their use found out

at last.

And

fruitful

branches wave

Up to us from the unread book The very grave seems made To yield us back our dead.

Above

the quiet grave.

US
PART V

THE INCIDENT
109

So dreaming, there appeared to rise certain form before his eyes. Personal, real ; and yet he knew 'Twas but the mind's fine shadow grew

Thus musing to and fro he went. Dreaming of kirk and government While cawing rooks were homeward
winging.

From
With

dimness into clearness.

a strange sense of nearness.

And

114
singing.

bird on leafy

And Was

bough was Allan far below

They had
ship
;

been friends,

when

friend-

rippling soft and slow

is

passion and a blessedness

in a

no
And
kine stood
listless in

And
Unto
the stream

tender sacrament

the house of

And

God they went. plighted love, caressing

dear cup of blessing.

Where the

red lights of evening gleam,

The same

The

13

Incident

115
Their busy day was a delight

120

ye, if ye were living yet Nor less the thoughtful studious night, foolish youth, and cursed pride. With high discourse, and large debate. That kept me from a brother's side Unmixed by bitterness or hate

O O O

bitter grief

vain regret

Their

fellowship I ween,

What

is

there of such price

?

A pleasant thing had been.

116

Worth

so great sacrifice

121

He

Seemed now
in Dalkeith, a guide of

at

hand

that

friend of

men,

youth.

And

he in near Newbattle then Pastured the flock of Christ ; and they

Who
He An

had loved God, and man, and

it

truth

Like children had made holiday.

In old light-hearted times, Under the elms and limes.

knew

but an

empty shade.
;

image which the mind had made Yet shook with hope and fear. As if he might be near.

117

But parted by unhappy

fate

122
Bishop ? " Where is he In lettered Utrecht by the sea ? Among the wilds of Annandale ?

In sorrow deep, disconsolate, One got the mitre one the rod

Then

said the

Of persecution for his God And both had suffered

loss,

Or where

the Mayflower dropt her

sail.

Bearing a separate cross.

And

dusky savage flew

?

Past in his light canoe

118 123
Alas
!

if

you look back and see

are gone, and

" No man of

blood, or craft, or trick

Friendship's old picture-gallery.

Where some
changed.

some

Of cunning
are

art

and

politic,

Or
But

hare-brained dreamer fancy-sick.

full

And some embittered and estranged, And some you wronged, perchance,

A man

of thought, and calm and meek, of men wert thou Of the great eye and brow.

Upbraid you with a glance.

124

"
119

And
still
:

where

art

thou

we need

thee
hill

A sadder strain you shall not find

In
all

the measures of the mind.

Thine own folk need thee on the For counsel and courage to meet
fate

their

Than these remembered faces wake, When, silent as the falling flake,
Ghostly and pale and dumb, In twilight dim they come.

And

thou

art

needed

in

the state

Oh for but one like thee To guide our destiny.

;; ;

14

The
125

Bishop's

Walk
130

" But woe's me

To
And
But

loathe
;

the

such as you are driven earth and long for

heaven
ill

have been hunted stiU, From heath to heath, from hill to hill, No time to sleep, no time to eat,
I

" For days

well for you, aspiring thus

for our poor

No

pause for

my

unresting feet,
faint,

world and us

And

weary now and

is

Without the
Alas
!

salt

we
it

rot,

My

feeble life

spent.

and heed

not."

131

126

" Yet
as he spoke, one straggled through The wild-rose white with blossoms

if I

might have chosen where

it

Even

My death should hap,

Where
flight,

thou could' st speed

had been there, me on my

new,

With

And

trim

my lamp for gathering night

I have wished to be

And

and panting breath, on his face the brand of death, Pallid and pinched and dim And stood confronting him.
tottering step,

Though

A twilight hour with thee.

132

127

"
face to face

No

matter

all is

well
still

thou art
in

They gazed

moment

Still

mine old

friend,

my

heart

He

tall

and with a

stately grace

A thin gray man, with thin gray hair,

And worn with hunger, grief, and care And the good Bishop shook, As his lean hand he took.
128

ended, home is near ; And, as we part, the lights appear, Flashing from sapphire floor Through heaven's open door.

My journey

133

" " More stranger wore

!

And

grieve

not,

Robert

would' st

"

My brother O my brother
!

thou weep

A gentle smile upon his face

That softened with a tender
grace,

He

could not

but the

To

see the sick child drop asleep,

Hushed on

a mother's loving breast.

free,

And

gently sobbing into rest

As

the old years of love

Now

Bent, beaming from above.

from all sorrow Pain and anxiety ?

129

134

"

came

to seek thee in

my

need,
;

" And

all is

well

and we are well

Robert, as to a friend indeed

And
well

And come
For me, For

too late
;

yet that

is

I think

What

who can tell weak heart may do

for

thou wilt toll the passing bell For a poor brother, who hath run sorry race that now is done. And with thine own hands lay

life,

and

live to rue

Me

gently in the clay.

'

The

Incident

IS

135

140

" That was our covenant ; for you Promised beneath the dark old yew,

Whose branches Whose shadow

grave,

o'er

sweeps

my Mary wave, my children's To

" You love the old Church primitive. In the old manner you would live. But yet I know that Christ is more
you than

Ah

That dying before thee There thou would' st bury me.

all your learned lore be not joined with them That harm Jerusalem.
!

141

136
" And, Robert, hear me ere I know thy clear sincerity.
I die

" Now speak

The

night

to me ; and speed me on grows dark ; I've been

;

alone

Thine old love of the Old Church ways. For weeks among the moorlands bare. Yet not alone, for Christ was there And the old ritual of praise. Eerie they were and sad. And that thy fancy still But yet He made them glad. Dwelt pure amid the ill.

137

142

Would

doubted thee ; when some have it thou wert almost come. In feebleness and false compliance. To seek with Rome a base alliance, I held their words but light, Knowing thy heart was right.
I never

"

"

How
here?

dark

it

grows

Is

Robert

No matter, Lord, if thou art near And yet I wist that he would say

A kind word,
With

A word on which to die

143

ere I passed away,

a great hope peacefully.

138

" Yet, Robert, hear me ere

I die

The mitre sits uneasily Upon a lowly head like

"
thine,

Betrinketing a gift divine

used to go down with a soul Into the valley of death and dole Farther than any I ever knewj

He

And

there

Its vain

is blood below and empty show.

A convoy great and precious to

Full

many

a troubled heart
to part.

Sad from the earth

139 " Think, brother, of the crimes they
do.

144

And
And

consecrate them all with you Think of this poor afflicted realm,
all

the sorrows that o'erwhelm

" But, Lord, I think that I have fought good fight, and Thou wilt allot To me, a frail yet faithful child, crown unfading, undefiled.

The Lord's

beloved sons.
ones.

And

that

Thy

dear

'

well-done

His dear redeemed

Waits me beyond the sun."

;:

i6

The

Bishop's

Walk
150

Thus wandering,

but right-hearted, he Never again, oh never more Sank on his friend, and peacefully Shall they hold speech of learned lore.

Gave up his spirit unto God, His body to the earth it trod Each turning to its source When it had run its course.
146

And And

saintly hymn, and pious work. hallowed love of holy kirk. And duty to be done

As

these last ages run

151

And And

as

he died, across his face.

That beamed with such a tender grace. There passed a look of quiet, quaint.
subtle

humour,

all

too faint

Never again, oh never more Together shall their thoughts explore Far-reaching wisdom, deep, divine. Hid in some mystic word or line.

For any but an eye

Familiar, to espy.

Nor

probe the hidden part

deceitful heart

Of man's

147

152

And

But Leighton knew it long ago ; Shall taste the joys they knew of yore, as he watched it flickering low. The fellowship of love and truth. Lightening the eyes as they grew
dim.
It rent the very heart of him,

Never

again,

oh never more

The

gaiety of hopeful youth.

The

glory of the time

their life sublime.

To

see that smile so quaint

That made

Gleam from

the dying saint.

PART
148

VI

As

one

that, in a

Cobwebbed, and

left in

lumber-room, dingy gloom.

BESIDE THE
IS3

DEAD

Comes on a With bitter

battered baby-doll. anguish to his soul,

pleasures

(For we from

borrow

The

pathos of our sorrow),

Then cried the Bishop, kneeling by The dead, as if himself would die,
In broken tones of wrath and grief

That
149

struggled to obtain relief.

So Leighton,

as

he watched the smile

lips a

And Had

if

they found not vent

:

burst their tenement

Play on the dying

while

Old

times

came back, old humours

154

gave deeper pathos to the grave, keener edge to grief That now found no relief.

"O God my God

long
?

and

his

how
and

When

shall
i

this

sorrow

cease

wrong

Beside the

Dead

17

pitiful Christ, who lovest all, Hope of the hopeless, shall we call Upon Thy name in vain

159

" But we

are fallen on days of dearth

To

ease our cruel pain

Of generous mind and manly

all is little,

And
IS5

worth ; mean, and bad. growing dark and waste and sad
thriftless too are

For

we

" Unhappy country thou art left This day to mourn as one bereft
!

In our great poverty.

Of wisdom, counsel, courage here, And antique faith, and lowly fear. And skUl to guide the way
In wild distracted day.

160
" There
is

no one

to

whom

the eye

Of all
But

the land turns hopefully

little

men, with

little shift.

Do
156

let

the groaning

kingdom

drift,

Through
fallen

fickle

change

and

" Good men have

side

on either
haughty

chance.

To
Montrose
in

insignificance.

The Great
pride,

Keen Warriston, and deep Argyle,

161

And

Napier, sagest of our

isle

"

A noble land,
read,
a path of

And

since the great are dead.

By them who God's

Along

once nobly led. deep counsel

Small

men

are great instead.

wisdom high

And blended
157
" But thou,
true,

my

friend, wert brave

and
in

law and liberty But now become a scorn. And helpless and forlorn

And

had' St the

scope

of things

view Equal to greatest times, and still Full of their good, free from
ill;

162

"
their

Christ, to the
in

oppressM dear,

Who
And And

Thy

bottle every tear,

Too good
Driven
to

for faction, yet

have part

in

it.

every drop of blood and sweat, every scorn, and word of hate, Keepest for evermore.

Numbering
158

o'er and o'er

" In

troubled

times

of

kirk

or

163

state.

Hurrying on change

precipitate,

God sent the peoples heretofore Of great and good men ample store.

And still the Was charged

wasteful strife

Thou who sittest on the throne, 1 know Thou wilt avenge Thine own Thou seest not as mortals see. Thou lovest them that trust in Thee, And Thou wilt yet befriend

"

with noble

life.

Thy

people and defend.


i8

The
164

Bishop's

Walk
169

built a Babel tower, fainting voice that cries Presumptuous, in an evil hour ; From earth, afflicted, to the skies Sorry foundation we have laid. Helpless, the cause is now appealed Who in the blood of saints have made From desolate home and stricken field Altar, and priest, and shrine. To Thee, the Lord of might. Hateful, O Lord, to Thine. And Judge who doest right.

" But we have

" Oh, hear the

i6s

170

"A few short yearsa few dark days

Whose
wrath
shall yet

praise,

some great destiny work out Thy This ancient land was led by Thee, Through foreign war and civil strife.
for

" Surely

And

all

our glory in the dust

To

such a pitch of noble

life.

Shall crumble. Lord, for

Thou art just

With

fi'eedom for

its

crown,

Who
Their

build upon the sand

fall is

And

genius and renown.

near at hand.

171

166

"And
look,

thou,

brave

soldier

of

thy

" But Thou upon Thy people

Lord,
Sleep in the peace of his sure
Sleep,
for

Whose names are written in Thy Book, And who are standing in Thy sight
Robed
in

Word,
gone

thy

works

have

the

garments

clean

and

before,

white,

And for salvation come To Thy vexed Christendom

167

Sleep on, but not for evermore ; For thou hast vanquished death In victory of faith.

172

O King of glory Lord of might. Who hatest and lovest right.

"
ill,

" Oh might I only go with thee I'm weary of this misery,

I'm weary of a hopeless task, I'm weary of their pious mask. That hides the deed of shame With Christ's beloved name.

Although

Thy ways

in

darkness be

And

strangeness and perplexity.

Hear from
Shine forth

the depths our cry. in majesty ;

168

173
of ours.

" And look upon

this land

And save it from unhallowed powers Of darkness, that enthroned be, And stablish foul iniquity.
Yet
call it

To see the arts of government And law unto oppression bent, And lies, and cruelties, and slights.
"
Breed treason unto human rights. And mockery of Him Between the cherubim
!

And

law divine. holy will of Thine.


The
174

; ;

Conclusion
For with the hope the sorrow

19

strove.
;

" Lord, take me hence, if it may Away from this, away to Thee Where, in exulting angel strain,
;

And
be,

sad sweet memories of love As earth on coffin fell.

And

on

his heart as well.

He now
To

forgets all grief and pain.

in the love of

Lost

Thee,

179
In old Newbattle 'mong the limes. Where they had walked in happier
times.

all

eternity."

PART

VII

There now the

THE CONCLUSION
175

friend of youth he laid Beside his loved ones, by his dead Then turned him to the strife And weary task of life.

Slow

tolled the bell

its

mournful knell,
coffin fell

180

As

earth

and stone on

Still

tolling slowly,

while,

meek and

'Too
long,

long," he said,
oppression,

"have

I,

too
for

lowly.

He

read for the

dead the scriptures

Witnessed wrong.

grieved

holy.

Where

the dark

yew

sadly waves

And

played the coward to the truth.

ruth.

Over the household

176
" Earth
to earth,

graves.

Even seeming false to human Although my heart was

burning.
:

And
and dust to hope and
dust.
trust

pity in

me
181

yearning

We yield
Who Who

in certain

sleep in Jesus

only

"

sleep,

sow corruption yet

shall reap

Of

have indulged me with the thought peace on earth, when peace was
a dreamland for
stern

Pure incorruption, tried. Refined and glorified.

not.

And made
Where
control.

my

soul.

God's

law

held

no

177

Of fact
trump of doom

" Cometh

ere long the

or duty till Earth groaned with growing

ill.

To

dust and darkness of the

tomb
182

Cometh the judgment, and the throne White, exalted ; and thereon
Sits the

Lamb

that died.

"

P'orgive

me,

Lord

Thou

gavest

For

sinners crucified."

me

A warfare to
And
For vagrant

be fought for Thee,

178

I the conflict high declined

fancies of the mind.

Mellow and low the words were spoken.

And

With

falling tear

and accents broken.

mine appointed lot Neglected and forgot.

; ;

Bishop's

The
183

Walk
188

" Vain
sense,

wisdom

his

presumptuous
Lo
;
!

"Yea, I will hope, O Lord, in Thee That faithful work shall fruitful be
:

Who

will not take

The cup it In sparks of his

from Providence mingles, but will go

Tears, bitter tears,

may

fall

like rain.
j

And

own

kindling.

shower upon the earth in vain But the true work is never

The mighty

age sweeps on

A profitless endeavour.
189

He

eddies there alone.

184
" May no man leave the solid earth. And call his dream a thing of worth May no man lightly turn away

" Perchance the fruit is not to-day. For the quick growth hatkquick decay; But we shall sow and others reap.

And

they shall
in

joy though

we

did

From strife or sorrow of his day The godlike is to do What God has laid to you.
185

weep Yet

the harvest shall

all.

Be

gladness unto

190
" Then, what
be
if

" We have an hour

allotted thus

my

small seed should

We have a task
But he

appointed us ; Nor culture of the mind and heart Shall be the Christian's only part
shall

Reaped

And

bend

his will

Who

in another century. understood, and loved by them then, in our Jerusalem,

To

present duty

still.

Shall peacefully combine

To
186
of others we do live. in all the joy we give ; If mine own soul alone I cherish, soul shall in my brother perish Living, alas I die ; But dying live thereby.
life

love the

life

divine

" In

191

And

joy

" What
;

if

my

little light

now

lost

My

In our wild turmoil, tempest-tossed, Should gleam upon another age. And beacon, on their pilgrimage

Of hope

and blessing, some

Who
187

unto Christ would

come

.'

" So

let

me

gird

my

loins

with
'

192

prayer,

And

for the

Nor falter, Nor do the

weary task prepare ; irksome though it be.

right despondingly

What if the shadow I project Upon the clouds that now deject Our weary times, seen far away By kindlier eyes some distant day,
Should lead them
to be just
?

I did not take the mitre

To make my

labour lighter.

When

am

in the dust

The

; ;; ;

Conclusion
Strive for the duty to be

fit.

193

Then

"Or And

what,

if,

to rebuke

my vain
the

foolish

thoughts,
I

Lord

with might to perfect it Think not what thou hast done. Think of thy task alone.
toil

maintain

Nothing of all But sweep the

do or

say.

structure all away.

198

And me
Wisely

and

my

poor fate
?

" Enough,
thine

if

such

poor

work

as

obliterate

194

" Oh what am I, or aught I've done, That I should 'scape oblivion ? That Death, when he dissolves this
frame,

Hath place at all in His design Enough in Temple grand, divine. To hew a stone, or hold a line High honour thou hast got Rejoice and murmur not.
;

Should spare my shadow and my name Lord, as the ages run. Still let Thy will be done.

199 " So let rae sink to nothingness, For I am nothing I am less Nought have I, for I am in debt Nought would I, Lord, but to forget

195

My
hast

foolish self in thee

"

We

would be something who are

if

Unto

Eternity.

nought

And

we work where Thou

wrought.

200

The hodmen of Thy temple, we Would hand our name to history,

With
the great architect

"And
again
I

thou,

my

friend,

farewell

weep no more,
eye

for teais are vain

Who

did

it all

erect.

But, if from

spheres

of light thine
misery.

Bend sometimes on our

196

O proud ambition to be known Envious that he should be alone. Still on our little self we brood, Still boastful of our little good.
"
Still

As Or

hath seemed, I have fondly dreamed

often
it

panting for a

name

" If eyes that look on glory ever

On

crumbling niche of fame.

Can look upon our poor endeavour. Me no more dreaming shalt thou
see

197

Thy
;
;

Work all Work now

"

while work ye may while it is called to-day

intent,

And

death hath given life to me, I have seen that duty

Is the

most Holy Beauty."

The

Bishop's Times

THE
There were
the road,
three of us,

BISHOP'S TIMES
I pricked up my ears for news, the while took Our priestling stood with a greasy smile Wrinkling a countenance sallow with

FROM THE BASS

when we

So

To

warn our folk

that the

hawks were

bile.

abroad.

"
in the

Ho

now,

sir

curate,

'tis

our time at
to feast or

And we
place.

met by chance

market

last,

And
we
Or

we'll tutor the

Whigs

thought to grace, Some day yet, with an honest face. black night, I remember me The wet wind roared in the creaking
the gibbet

Under

fast,

pray with candle and book and

bell,

Or

any thing likes you

in

heaven or

tree.

hell.

Where

the

hoarse

raven

bestead

To

balance himself on a head,

his

was hard Hast heard the news, man ? At noon a crew dead man's Of psalm-singing villains beset and slew The good archbishop on Magus

Holding on with claw and beak.

Moor

And clapping

wings to the withered Burley and Hackston and some few

cheek more Grimly at each sudden gust. Answered his prayers with a rascal " Hist " quoth my neighbour Irwine, laugh. "Hist! And split his skull with a Jeddart staff. To the hornet's nest in the castle rock There's news makes your ears to tingle. They're stirring now. God help the Ho! folk What crop-eared dog have we here, I On the Pentland Hills to-night "
! : !

trow Eavesdropping
crash,

"

Then

heard a
a sabre-

Quoth

I,

At
St.

sunset I

was hurrying by

And
white

there
;

came on

my crown

Giles,

when

the

courier,

slash

with spray

And
haunches sudden

the courier galloped along the

From the bit and flanks of his jaded bay.

Pulled up on his

street.

and forth

But that meet

my

bonnet was padded,

sort,

to

Rushed our dry-weasened came from the north.

curate, that By-strokes of this

had been

dead
from his For
all

And
With

patters

the

prayers

that our sucking bishop said.

painted missal
a squeaking voice like a

Was
penny

"

Now

will

our

dean get the

vacant see,

whistle.

Nodding

his

wig

like a

downy

thistle.

And what may me?"

the prospect be for

the Bass

23

From
So, neighbour Irwine, you well
say,

may As
this

I say, I

was young, and

in troth,

till

of

late.

"

We

Tippet and rochet, church and state, Missal and Bible, bishop and priest. Mitre and altar, fast and feast. parted then, each with a burden Little recked I of them, better or worse. If they left me only my hound and of thought As a gust of wind from the castle horse, brought broad brown moor and a stag to The din of arms and of clattering hoof course. From the rough causeway far aloof; Nay, I had been mettlesome, given to While the raven croaked his rusty caw, frolic. Cawing over the soldier's law And once on a day gave our bishop a

God

be on the Pentland Hills day."

It

was ever

friend to

the raven's

colic,

maw.
;

By

stately robing our old gray cat

Never another word crossed our lip In Episcopal raiment, rochet and hat, Only we knew by the steadfast grip And sending her out to hunt a mouse, Of each other's hand a certain Just as his Lordship left the house. token But my wife Meg I was courting her That each had a matter as yet unspoken. then Would not hold nor bide from the I was the youngest of all the three westland men And they should have left this gear to And I never could round a word in

me.

And

I should have told

them

plainly If I

too

her ear. went not with her to pray, and hear Saintly men in cellars hidden.

What

it was in my heart to do. And Gospel truth from lips forbidden. But somehow or other that courier's So I followed with never a graver

sabre

thought,

Rang

in

my head like a sounding tabor

we were
hurried, for

Till found of

Him whom

had not

sought three For, mirthful and meddlesome, God's Might not meet, but the devil would be own grace Right in the midst of them, syne or Plucked me a brand from the burning
soon,
place.

And

then

two or

In the shape of a curate or dragoon, To worm the secret out of your head. Yet I was the youngest, and should have said
Plainly out to

them

all

my

will

there was a rumour that Christ would spread table next day by the watershed Of the Pentland Hills where curlews

Now,

And the
still

old man's gray hairs haunt

me

bred.

And
ing

thought, as I heard the gather-

The weird gray locks, and the withered

skin.

hum,

And

the

dark red pool

in.

they were

The trumpet call, and the rolling drum, The pawing hoof, and the jangling rein,

dabbled

Up

in the castle

rock again,


24
" They

;;

The

Bishop's

Times

are gathering here for deeds But when I glanced up, where she stood with our child, accursed They are gathering there with hearts Looking wistfully out on the tempest
a-thirst

wild.
life
;

For the water of

the road,

And

hushing the baby that wept on her breast, keep the wolf from the lambs of And moving about with the strange

and

must to

And

God.
Here's Turner with his hireling loons,

unrest,

And

standing by the

window wrapt

in

light. And Clavers'e with his devil's dragoons. And Grierson o' Lagg and Dalzell o' And peering

out into the

darksome

the Binns,

night,
saints

With

the

blood of

on their I could not abide to part from her

leprous skins

And the
Moor,

blood of the bishop on

Magus

so : Just a word, and a kiss, and then I

would go

No harm could come of a word and a Pricking them on for vengeance sure. kiss And there, by misty glen and rock. Old men and maidens, the best of the And how could I leave her in wretchedness ? stock Our land ever bred be the others who But alas when I found me in her embrace. may In maud and bonnet they gather to pray. And the babe on my knee crowing up in my face. AndGod sees all: butthebishop's ghost Will be in, I fear, at the winning post." And the fire blazing cheerily there on the hearth. So I mused down the street, till I And her eyes glancing clear, and the light-hearted mirth reached my own door. Where I swithered uncertain, a minute Gleesomely singing about the room. Blithe as the birds in the early bloom or more Then I crossed to the other side, I had not the heart to break in on her hoping to see joywife busy as wont at her house- So the hours flew by ; she cradled the wifery ; boy For she had no thought of what was Asleep on her round and dimpled arm. Asleep on her bosom soft and warm. astir, And it might be the last I should see And held him up for a parting kiss, With a look of beaming happiness. of her. Then I took up my stand in a dark- And then with mingled smiles and tears, She spake of boding thoughts and fears. some nook, Where the rain guttered on me, just Weird dreams and tales and luckless rhymes craving one look

My

Of her

bonny

blithe face ere I set to

the road,

Of murdered men in the olden times, Which haunted her the live-long night;

And

to leave her the peace

and the

And

she could not get rid of them do

blessing of

God.

what she might

! ; ;

From
She
had heard them grandam's knee ;
last

the Bass

25

And what a foolish To have such silly thoughts

You may

by her Phantom-lights were twinkling late. Quenchless either by wind or wet. thing was she, I was troubled at heart for I thought
;

of

me

at times

be sure I had much to do, Of my wife, with her dreams and her Hearing her speak, to keep steady in luckless rhymes, view That would not go out of her head all The thing it was in my heart to do. night And once or twice it' was on my And whether she slept till morning
tongue once or twice the devil had sung pretty lying song in my ear : But I drowned it quick with a word
light;

And

And how

bitterly there she would weep and moan. When she waked and found the bird

So

of prayer. the hours flew by

fell.

till

the midnight

And

was flown, would clasp the

child,

and be
this

sure that they

And

the baby slept, and the mother as

I

Were widow and

day.

orphan,

made

well

And
To

crept

from her

side,

like

And

then

my

conscience pricked

me

guilty one,

sore

speed

on the work that must be That I should have been there long
hours before.

done

God
one

bless thee,

Meg, and

the

little

But I never knew Turner's

loons.

hireling

On

the

Borough-muir road

Nor any of Claverse's devil-dragoons had Leave the flagon ere break of day,
Till they slept the fumes of the drink

stabled a roan.

away. I thought 'twould be hours ere And just as the lights of morning they were astir. broke And silently gave my roan the spur, By fits, like a flame leaping up in the As she snorted, and pricked her ears smoke forward, and strode Of a fresh green log, I was trotting With her long round pace on the along. plashy road At a great round pace, with a silent Holding on bravely by tower and tree, throng By Glencorse water, and WoodhouseOf stars overhead, beheld now and then lee,
plenty of

With

plenty of mettle and

bone

So

Through

rift

in

the

clouds,

or

And

Rullion Green where the battle

pause in the rain,

befell

A chill eerie
its

night

there was that in

breath
creep, like the air in

Made you

the westland folk and the bloody DalzeJl. a room And I never drew bridle and scarcely

'Tween

where Death Is busy at work and here and there. Ghostly glimmering through the air.
:

drew breath, For I rode on an errand of

death,

life

and


26

The

;;

Bishop's

Times
late
;

And

felt as if

nought but a galloping

Too late too

was dead
;

my

neighbour

pace

Could quiet

When

all

my mind's uneasiness of a sudden my good roan

The From

saints

were
;

slain,

and the birds

were fed
east

steed,

and from west the trooper

priest,

Who

never yet failed me in hour of need, Sprang right from the path, with a cry of quick fear frightened cry and frightful to hear While caw, caw, caw from under her hoof. The raven lazily rose aloof; Lazily rose on his broad black wing,

rode.

And And
And

the curate was

and the

trooper his
a beagle,

God

the wily informers had scent like

wherever the carcass was there was the eagle And the crook and the mitre were
serfs to the

sword,

And sanctified slaughter with texts As loth to leave some horrible thing from the Word And I fell without sense of life or pain On the brown heath 'mid the plashing And old men and maidens, preacher
;

rain

The

plashing rain, and the raven black.

lazily back.

Croaking and hopping

and people. kirk and from kirkyard, from pulpit and steeple, They must take them to hiding, where

From

How
By

the big white stone, I

I

long in that stupor dull I lay may not say

hiding
:

is

sure,

By

the bleak Moffat water or

Annan-

But when

And And And

stiff

awoke, with senses dim, and racked in each joint and

brightened into the day.

dale moor.

To

limb,

the rocks and the mountains and dens of the earth ;

in

The dawn had

ing spray,

And now
worth

the wilderness

all

that

is

the light birds sang on the bendthe rain-drops

withers and wanes, as the meek and the brave overhead. Wait for the dawn, or look out for agrave. And the sunshine on the moorland But I have no part in their struggle or

Of us,

hung on the leaves

played.

hope.

Like

a radiant smile kindling

up

in a

Though

I hear

now and

then, some-

face.

thing faintly, their scope

And And And

turning the rude into loveliness.

Whispered low
waves pass

in the ear, as the salt

there in the sunshine the old

man

lay.

And
his hair
;

the

sea - bird

screams

on

the

the pool was red, and

was gray me laid by my neighGrisled locks in a pool of blood ; While sleepily gorged the raven stood, And they tried me with boots and a Blinking dull in the golden sun. cord on my head. And God sees all : and the deed is That started the eyes from their pits
done
but the twine
old man's race at length
is

rocky Bass. For they found bour dead.

And the

run.

Wrung

not a

word from

lips

of mine.

; :

Rothes

27

And

the last that I saw of

my

wife

was then

When
men,
me.

I witness bore in the sight of

And

it's

that
;

which

drives

me

to

drink
the crafty

And whUe

lawyers

plied

With

less

To

help

me

to hiccup

than a bottle or two. and wink,

The crowd opened up and

beside me,

she stood I'd face a cannon, I think. Sooner than come in her view.

And

she held up the boy, with a blush without shame, shall be proud of his Saying

"He

father's

name."

And yet What

she's a

good little saint knack she has now

and
her

at

ROTHES
What
She
will

praying With her texts,

quaint.

phrases

And a voice And no

my
wife say

so low and faint one to hear what she's

now ?

saymg

will be

mad

at our doin's

Good
Her

lass, she'll

not swear, but she'll

bow

We are

knees to the Lord, and avow bringing the glory to ruins.

Not a soul to hear even a word Alone in the dark there at night, She will keep it up with the Lord

And
If she
It

I wish heard

just

the the

Archbishop
old

would but just rap out an oath, would ease her, as much as a

How

she

prays

Ethiop

white.

prayer,

And

be very
loth

much

better for both

For I don't know

how,

but

I'm

Ecod
meek look of despair

if

she

knew him

as I,

To

face her

She'd leave him alone in his skin. Why, lass, he wishes to try screw on your thumb by and by. And his boot on your tight little

And

to

know

that, all night

on her

shin.

knees.

She

will pray for the land

and the

kirk,

And And

keys.

the crown and the sword and the But, curse him, before he does that I'd give him an inch of cold steel the sinners that sit at their Right through the ribs and the fat.

ease,

As

the

man

in the

Judges

gat.

Forgetting the covenant work.

For the good of the commonweal.

Times

28

The

Bishop's

14
could have told the kite And there will be nice pickings too, That I warned your chickens to By Jove, for me and the like ; run? Ay, ay, Bess, the test will do And he threeped it on me, in spite For me and the Bishop and you. Of my swearing black and white, Rather more than our prayers Which a gentleman wouldn't have belike. done.

Who

IS
She's a rare one that for gold wouldn't you just, my Lord I wonder how Noll got on With the jade Archbishop, rejoice to twist she's bought and Round my wife's forehead a cord. sold And wring from her lips a word Fat Lauderdale, foolish and old, With a wedge on her poor little And he can't call his soul his own.
!

10

wrist

16

And what would Of my hand

throat
?

you say to a clutch on your lying old

land would

Ah

well

but

commend me

still
;

To

a regular saint for a wife

don't

think

the

much,

For, do what you like, good or ill, They only just pray for you still. care And sweeten the bitter of life.

Though

it

found

in the

Leven such
afloat.
.

A pious Archbishop

'7
;

There's
It's

my Anne now

she loves me,

I swear.

the parson's business to preach

hell,

Though
our

when we
;

give

up

she knows the devil

me

as

bad as
affair.

breath

And when
To

she found out that

But you make a hell for each Who differs from what you teach. And you don't put it off till death.

She did nothing but

offer a prayer
evil.

keep the old sinner from

18
13

And

must be tried, snare and a lie though it be For Lauderdale's Bess must hide. With acres of land and pride. Her sins and her pedigree.
Still that

ugly

test

I've used her rascally bad There's no doubt of that, I admit

And
No

her dear
sad.

little

heart,

when

it's

comfort on earth ever had.

quiet religious
fit.

But a

29

Rothes

19

24

And And And

yet I've agreed to the test

Ho
may

bring

me

a bottle of sack

Which
I

the crafty Archbishop

;

put her

know

that she'll only protest,

pray, and go on like the rest,

lady waiting upstairs ? Say I'm off and can hardly be back, Say I'm searching the pedlar's pack, Say I'm gone, if you like, to ray
Is

my

With

appeals to the

Lord and

the

prayers.

future.

20
still, and content her preachings, her psalms, and her prayers, And to live like a sweet little saint, And leave me to judge what is meant By the things which they tell her

25
I can't see her face to-night

Why

can't she be

With

am

sure

she

suspects

what

is

doing;

And

then things get wind

slight

and they

Me

at council,

and say
all

in their spite

That

bring

their

plans unto

are snares

ruin.

26

nobody till And where is the text and the line I shall be as drunk as a lord, For thus causing domestic strife ? And then I'll see nobody still Is there Father, or Pope, or Divine Who will say that her God should be But the parson may go, if he will, Unless he would stretch a hemp
I will see

Now,

mine.

And

that
?

man should

give in to his

cord.

wife

27 22

He's been with her

true, I

all

day, and he's

Ah

well, but

it's

have none,

gruff.

Or

nothing to speak of at least

I'd rather she prayed there alone
in

Yet a gentleman

too,

of his kind.

And

For a change

my

Than

chose

me

heart of stone, old Sharpe for her

With good blood in him, and stuff To make a good fellow enough
If he had not a twist in his mind.

priest.

28
Say, I don't want his blood on my And they shan't touch a hair of her head. head. And am very much needing liis While I have a hand and a dirk : prayers. Bishop As I mean to go drunk to my bed. ay, he's a Bishop we made To bless all the blood that we shed, And am apt to be wild in the head, And to rule in the devil's own kirk. If I find anybody upstairs.
!

23

";

The

Bishop's

Times

29
dreary place that den Between the Lomonds bleak But better for ghostly men The ghostly and eerie glen
It's a

To the house where a child is sleeping On a mother's bosom sweet

But her heart hath ceased to beat
;

And

the foul birds are croaking and

leaping.

Than

to hear the gallows creak.

And

we've not seen the worst of

yet;

it

And I wot not whether I may. Let the Archbishop gloom as he will Though I sought the Lord, when we Let Lauderdale rant and swear met I've but kept them from doing some ill, Near the black Moffat water, to get
;

And

we'll
still,

all

have our nice pickings

ask

Just a blink of light on

my

way.

And
them
to

When we
declare.

vow and The

should play man, in the worse times yet.

to
if I

know

PEDEN THE PROPHET

Ah
woe for the Lamb's dear Bride And woe for this covenant-land
! !

" Content ye now. You shall be where I think best " Yea, Lord," quoth I, " but Thou
But he
said,
!

Compassed on every

side

With

hate and treason and pride.

feeble in heart and
will

I never did bow Baal with the rest, Nor took the black, false test " But he said, " Content ye now."

Knowest

To

And

hand

The Lord

His wrath command

and Bride.
I

On

a faithless land

was

sitting alone

on the

hill

Dark is the day but worse The night that is drawing near. With Death on his pale white horse.
;

By a thunder-blasted tree. Where a corby had gorged his Of a lamb that was lying ill
in the red light he Stood winking drowsily, With the blood and fat on his

fill

And

And the dead lying hid in the gorse. And floating in river and mere.
While

bill.

Red

the streets of the city appear with the blood of the corse.

The gray, cold mist was creeping At gloaming over the hill. The whaup in the stank was sleeping.
I see the lean dogs creeping

And
lone

the lonesome heron keeping

To

their
;

feast

in

the

dark

Its

street

And
The

I see the foul birds leaping

watch where the pool was still. slow and gray and chill gloaming mist was creeping.

Peden the Prophet

31

32

The

Bishop's

Times

And
17

the gray mists eerily Crept, ghostly and slow and chill,

You call me a prophet, and Maybe I am, indeed.

All the prophet a land That hath broken its covenant band. Either shall get or need

And the corby gorged his iill. As the word was given to me.

OLD GREYFRIARS
All
of us from the western shires.

And

yet but a shaking reed

In a dreary desert land.

Fifteen hundred men.

Sometimes I'm tempted sore To say, Lord, let me be

They

marched

us

into

the

Old

Greyfriars,

As

blind as others or

more

And
It

sometimes I've thought, before. was but guessing in me, And nothing of prophecy, Shrewd guessing, and nothing more.

About the stroke of ten Hungry and wounded and worn and
:

weary,

We wist

it

was but

for a night

That they marched

us into the kirk-

yard eerie, In the dusky evening

light.

19

So

the

Tempter

will

sift

like

wheat.
Till I say to him.

A bonny kirkyard
sweetbriar's

is

the

Old Greyfriars,

Get

thee behind
:

Or

And

trample him under my feet bless me not when you meet, For it's not all blessing, I find ;
liefer

When the wallflower blooms in June, And scatters its scent with the fresh
Under the glint of the moon And we ranged us on the green
:

Yea, I had

be blind.

grass

When

Satan will

sift

me

like wheat.

there.

Or

under the ivy-tod.

raised our psalm and offered our

And

prayer

And

guess or grace, I

am

sure

To

Jacob's mighty

God.

There are dark days near at hand For the Lord's afflicted poor And the Lamb's bride to endure. In a waste and weary land. From gaol and gibbet and brand,

But long

ere the

dank November day,

When the earth was sodden with rain.

And
the chill fog clung where the long grass lay Rotting with damp amain.

And

the trooper's vengeance sure.

21

For
It

if

God

ever spoke to me.

Of all who came from thewestern shires, The fifteen hundred men. Had you reckoned us well in the Old
hill.

was

just that night

on the
tree.

Greyfriars,

As

I sat

by the blasted

Not

three were there for ten.

;; !

33

The

Confession of Annaple Gowdie

There were some that died in summer tide. Rotting away like sheep ; There were some went mad with the

She on a broom, and I on a straw, " Horse and hattock " o'er North the Berwick Law We rode away in the mirk.

visions they had, It was Pastern's Even, Between awake and asleep And we lichted down on a grave, And some were traitors to the faith. Where an ape preached loud to a And signed their hope away ghostly crowd, Better for them had they met their death Surpliced well with a bonny white

On

Bothwell Brig that day.

shroud,

And

a corby sang the stave.

" The covin " all was there Bothwell Brig that wert so big With hope to us and more Thirteen of us with " the maid " ; O Bothwell Brig the westland whig She was Bessie Vickar from Kelvin May well thy name deplore. side And ye who would guide the stormy And wow but she botched in her tide. unco pride Think well ere ye begin ; Deil thraw her neck for a jade. For ye scrupled away our lives that day, Ere we the bridge could win.
! ! !

It's

oh

for courage

and oh for sense

And there was Pickle-the-wind, And there was Over-the-dyke, And Ailie Nesbit, Able-and-stout, And Elspie Gourlay, Good-at-a-bout
Buzzing
all like

And

That Ere yet the day be lost. Here were we from the western

a Joab with the host we may stand on our sure defence.

shires,

a byke.

Good

fifteen

hundred men
us

And

reckon

now

in

the

Greyfriars,

There

Black Jock was in his tantrums ; And hech but he was daft Old Alick Flett, with his chanter het, Fizzing whenever his lips it met.
!

are not three for ten.

Skirled away in the

laft.

THE CONFESSION OF ANNAPLE GOWDIE, WITCH

Annie Winnie and me

Oh, we were crouse and canty

And we

Were
3

both at Yester kirk

;-

in Yester kirk. supped on the toad and the hooded craw, Daintily spread on a coffin braw. At midnight in the mirk.

A' doon

34

The

Bishop's

Times

And syne we held a session. And tried the lassies there

Twal
gruesome
carles

were

good, And a black tom-cat for bethral stood, And the foul fiend took the chair.

the warlock's grave Withershins gangin' roun'. elders And kimmer and carline had for licht The fat o' a bairn they buried that
nicht,

About

Unchristened beneath the moon.

13

And

Elspie Gourlay

first
;

And, when the red cock crew

Confessed to a strangled bairn

And Bessie Vickar allowed that she Whummled a boat in a quiet sea.
With a bonny young
stern.

And

In the farmstead up on the hill, the black tom-cat began

flew

to

bride in the

mew, Witch and warlock, away we

In the morning gray and

chill.

14

And

some had played

their cantrips
;

And my gudeman
Wi'

was

sleeping,

Wi' poor

wives' milking kine

the besom at his side.

!

And And

one had made an image good, it on holy rood. That the Laird's ae son micht
crucified
pine.

And

My

hech but he kissed the bonny broom. braw gudeman, my auld bridegroom,
I lichted

As
10

doon

frae

my

ride.

But me and Annie Winnie,

The foul thief kissed For we choked the

Eucharist

us baith
priest

and me Crack crouse o' Yester kirk. on the And how she on the broom and
;

And Annie Winnie

on

a straw,
Effie

When

he was glowering at M'Christ, And speaking of holy faith.

"Horse and hattock"

Berwick Law Rode away in the mirk.

o'er

North

16

Hech

sirs,

but

we had grand

fun

But what

if it all

was a dream
to

Wi'

the muckle black deil in the

chair,

Of things I had heard before. And I only said what they wished
be said. When they twisted the cord round old gray head Till flesh could bear no more ?

And
A'

the muckle Bible upside doon, roun' and gangin' withershins

roun',

my

And

backwards saying the prayer

; ;

;;

35

The Complaint of Deacon

Birse

THE COMPLAINT OF DEACON BIRSE,

Burgess, Aberdeen

For

silk to

busk

my

lady

fine.

Or brandy in the flask. Or a drop of the kindly claret Or malvoisie in the cask.
5

wine.

and their I've a lugger good with Tarland wood For Flushing ready to sail covenants both And their preachings long and rife And my dainty smack, by the almanac, Should be home from Portingale ; I wot not how many a test and oath But what with their kirk and their I have ta'en for a quiet life. covenant work. First I must swear to Master Cant, Hardly a wind blows right And then to the Solemn League ; And then they would have me both And we'll never have luck till the

PLAGUE on

their

kirks

recant.

ancient kirk

And

join

some other
2

intrigue.

Comes

to her

own some

night.

I've sworn at their bidding black and

white.

That's a vintage coming from Portingale,

And signed and sealed and declared

I've

boxed the compass round

I

outright,
;

Will make old Rothes smack

And the feint a boddle And I hardly know what

I cared

And

the tippling Chancellor pays

well.

me

am

to-day,

Or what was the last I swore But hey! for the friar of orders gray! He's ready to clear my score.
3

When

A cargo
To
Hee
!

he sends me a cargo back of canting preachers for't. sell in the new plantation ; they set me once in a sackcloth

A plague on them
bishop,

all

shirt

their mitre

and
!

To

win

my

soul's salvation.

Their presbyter and their Book Can't they leave me alone to barrel

my fish up And hang my

A plague on
grow
In

them

all

but they won't

pot on the crook

fat

A bonny kirk
And

as poor as a rat.
as ever a beagle,

my
a

old schooner's hold.

skipper
at.

hungry

With

who knows what

the

A
I

brat that an

imp of the

devil begat.

would be

The

Protestant wallydraigle

And who
gold.

likes

chink of the
to die

4
want
to trade in timber

And,
and hide,

if some of them happen on the way.

And salmon from the Dee, And the bonny white pearls
Ythan
side.

Who
from
It's

forced their oaths

down my

throat

hey

for the friar of orders gray

And the herring that crowds the sea

Who

assoilzies

me

all

for a groat.

"

; ;

36

The

Bishop's

Times

MARION BROWN'S

LAMENT
"What
think you
?

Weary and eerie the night went Ah woe is me Dark and cold, and so was I,
! !

by.

now of your braw

!

And

goodman

Over

aye the wind moaned drearily the moor, and back to me.

Ah

woe

is

me

My heart was high when I began, My heart was high, and my answer ran, And "More than ever he is to me."
And And

aye as
chair.
!

looked

at

the empty

Ah
Mickle thought
brave,
I of

the

woe is me Book that he

!

left

open there.

my

bridegroom

the text that

care

bade
all

me

cast ray

Ah

woe

is

me

On
!

the Father of

that cared for

Mickle

I thought of

him douce and

me

grave.

When he waled me
Me,

out

among the

lave,

a poor maiden, his wife to be.

And
And

aye as
!

my Mary
is

and

little

Will,

Ah
But there on the greensward lying dead,

woe
!

me

Whispered, Father is sleeping still, hush for Minnie is weary and

ill.

Ah

woe

is

me

As I laid on my lap his And kissed the lips that

More than
ever he

noble head, for Jesus bled,

to

My heart

was

like to break in

me.

was

me.
It's well for

men

to be heroes
!

grand

Ah

My heart was
Ah
!

high when I began,

woe

is

me

But a and

woe is me woman's hearth

!

is

her country,

I was so proud of my brave goodman. Never a tear from my eyelids ran. Although they gathered in my e'e.

A desolate home
And
he was

is a

all

desolate land the world to me.

M'KAIL'S
But when
I laid
is

FAREWELL
friends,

him on
!

his bed.

Ah
And
And

woe

me

spread the

face-cloth beside

over his Farewell,

ray

and parents

head.
sat

dear

me down

my

dead,

And weep

not o'er ray bloody bier.

here.

but

my

heart

grew

sair in

me.

For grace and glory triumph

; :

M
Farewell,
true

'Kail's Farewell

37

my foes
know

I pray for

you
art

And

farewell,

Church,

the

Lamb's
blood

Shew mercy,
Alas
!

Lord, for

Thou

dear Bride, Whose garments

are dyed,

now

with

they

not what they do.

With
3

blood,

too,

washed

and

purified

Farewell, thou earth,

trod.

where I have

And

wondrous ways of God, With comfort of His staff and rod.

seen the

And And And

farewell, time

I part with thee.

welcome immortality.
incorrupted
life to

me.

Farewell, ye sun and

moon and
fiery

stars,

Mortal, immortal now, to

Him,

And And

planets pale,

and

comets dire,

Mars, foreboding wars

Who
:

sits

between the cherubim,

I sing the everlasting

hymn

Star-pavement of His house are ye. Shining in glorious majesty.

" Worthy the Lamb for us that died. With crown of thorn and wounded
side.

But soon beneath ray

feet to be.

Despised, rejected, crucified."

Farewell, thou

Book of grace

divine,

So loved and pondered every line. I hear the strain, and would away Book of the world's best hope and To them who neither preach nor pray, mine But praise for ever, night and day.

13
Soon, face to face,
I'll

see with

awe

The gospel truth and holy law, Which yet as in a glass I saw.

My

Farewell, I step on that bright shore weary pilgrimage is o'er.

for evermore.

And welcome home

OLRIG GRANGE
And
scaly coating

yet

four-footed

BOOK FIRST

beasts

Opened

into a long, straight avenue,

EDITORIAL
I,

Lined by rough elms,

sloping west.

stunted,

and

Herr Professor

Kiinst, Philologus,

Editor

of these rhymes
to

having

And
It

nipped

by

sharp
slim,

sea-winds.
grey, old

no

Without a
ran

turn.
tall,

knack That way, myself,

go chime,

up to a

make my words
crystal of ray

house.

blinking windows, row on row, thought, And high-pitched gables rising, step Face answering to face, and so built up by step. By inward force of Law inevitable Above heraldic beasts with beak and Care not to tag mere fringes to my lines. claw.

With many

Or none

that

makes a

And mar their meaning.

sight

'Tis a pretty That pranced green bank.

at

every corner.

The

lissom maiden dancing her light

Broken with
side dropt

flower-plots,

on the one
;

measure,

And 1 keeping
timbre].

time

with

Castanet or

Down

to a brattling

brook

upon the
firs

other
all

When

maiden, dance, and timbrel

group of brown Scotch

their straight boles

reared

are one

Joy of great nature.

But enough
without

for

And
And

spreading crowns, breaking the

me The unwonted dance

Castanet,

chill east

wind

the

then a holly hedge enclosed the

altogether

garth.

The measured tread

jingle.

without the timing

all,

Which
acre.

covered

scant

an

God

giveth speech to

song to the

few.

Eastward,
the sea.

you saw the glimmer of

quaint

old

gateway,

flanked

on

And

the white pillar of the lighthouse a minster

either side

tall
:

By grim,
claw

heraldic beasts with beak and Guarding the stormy Ness

church

40

Olrig Grange
with twin steeples high above Aloof from citizen's
wealth,
villa

Loomed

shorn of

the smoke

Of

brisk

burgh,
sea,

offspring

of the It was the

taste,

home

of culture and simple

church And of the

love

and with an old Norse

And

heir of fine traditions.

Of

the

salt

water, and the house of

By
Where
it

the door.

God,

was hid by honey-suckle

And

letters

and adventure.

On

the

sprays

west. Cleft by the stream, a slow-retiring hill

And

briar-rose that trailed around the

porch,

a goodly space which once There stood a youth, at early twilight, had been making Waste moorland for the curlew, and Impatient gestures, switching thistle-

Embayed

the snipe

down
marshes.
Lately, growing

Haunted

and dandelion, and whate'er stroke might reach ; yet From fleets of fishing craft, and humorous ventures far Rather than fretful, for the art was his To Greenland and Archangel, had To break vexations with a ready jest. subdued As one that, on the stirrup duly rising. The peat-hag and the stony wilder- Rides lightly through the world.
its

And

nettle

wealth.

His hasty

ness:

graceful youth.

And

here and there a citizen's countryhouse

And And
life

tall,

and

slightly stooping,

with

features high

Stood

among
:

fields

where
still

cattle

thin

and colourless

yet earnest

browsed, or corn

Was

rustling

yet there

were, here Beamed,

help,

full

of hope and energy and

and there.
Stretches of heathy moss and yellow
gorse.

And

desert places strewn with white bleached stones. And grey rocks tufted o'er with birch

From his great lustrous eyes, tfcough now and then They swam into a dreamy, far-ofl^ gaze, As seeing the invisible. He was A student who had travelled many a
field

and hazel.

And
The

through the gorse, and over rock

brattling

Of

arduous learning, planted venturous

and stone.
brook leaped downward
to the sea.

foot

On giddy ledge of speculative thought. And searched for truth o'er mountain,
shore and sea.

The

slim, grey

house with

its

heraldic In stone and flower, and every living

beasts,

thing
its

Nestling in

scant acre of flower- plots

Where he might
of

read the open secret

its

And

green sward, at the end of the

in ancestral dignity,

God
his

elm-tree drive.

With

own

eyes, and ponder out

Stood plainly

meaning.

Loquitur Thorold
Intent he

41

The work

know, and knowing do His Faith inquisitive, he rent the Creed hand ; yet ever- Trying to fit it on, and cast it from more, him; As he toiled up the solemn stair with Then took it up again, and found it worn Caught by some outlook on a larger With age, and riddled by the moth, world. and rotten. He seemed to pause, and gaze, and Therefore he trod it under foot, and dream a dream. went These moods I noted when he was my Awhile with only scant fig-leaves to
to laid to his
pupil.

was

clothe
strange vocable from India,

And some
And

His naked

spirit,

longing after
for

God,

Or fragment of the old Semitic speech But striving more Would suddenly arrest his eager quest. for faith.
sunder us, like the ocean or the

knowledge than
;

The

Priest

was

left

behind

the hope yet a

grave.

of Glory

Became
So stood home.
he, in the twilight, near his
light

pursuit of

Fame ; and

From heaven
sister,

kept

hovering always
that

And

waiting for his

smote the

over him.

weeds
Impetuous,
mystical.

humorous,

bright,

and

Like twilight from a sun down.

had gone

The wonder and

of
all.

the glory of the place, Scarce out of boyhood, yet the pride

LOQUITUR THOROLD
Quick, Hester, quick
!

the old scarlet

Trained for a
the pride

priest, for

that

is

still

cloak

And
The

silken

hood

are dainty trim

And

high ambition of the Scottish mother, There was a kind of priestly purity In all his thoughts, and a deep under-

'Mong
rock

birch and hazel and lichened

sun is but a little rim the hill, and twilight dim tone Is setting o'er the leaping brook Ran through his gayest fancies, and Where we our summer pleasance took. When youth was light of heart and his heart Reached out with manifold sympathies, limb. and laid And Life was the dream of a Fairy Fast hold on many outcast and alone Book.

Above

I'

the world.
at the

But being challenged

Of

door God's high

that

Quick

let

us

spend

the

gloaming

Temple

to

indue

there

himself

A plague on bonnets, shawls

he had not proved,

and

pins.

With armour
to clothe

And
That

last nice

touches of the hair. just begin when one begins

!

With

articles

of ready-made Belief

To

lose his patience

Women's

sins

;:

42

Olrig Grange
they do,

Ar.e not alone the

ills

And
to,

must gird

me

to appear

But those

that they provoke

you

While
you.

smiling lips and dimpling chins

A man among the strong and brave, A man with purpose high and grave,
Still fronting

Wonder what

can be the matter with

And
!

duty without fear, helming my prow to the threatening wave.

Well, minx
at last

hope you're pleased

to dream as we have dreamed Together in years long ago. And me a brute this half-hour past. When Life might be as Fancy Now, did you ever count the price deemed. When each new grace costs some new For aught the happy child could vice ? know, You fondle a curl my wrath I pet bright illusion, and a show You finger a ribbon I fume and fret You'd ruin a husband worse than dice, Create at will, and shaped to meet Each changeful whim, and quaint Buying your beauty at such a rate.

'Twas sweet

You've made yourself an angel

nice,

conceit.

Look, how the slanting sunbeams long And varying mood of joy or woe, Gird with light-rings the grey birch Nor ever with tragic end complete.
trees

And
The

from

his unseen place of song

But

ill

for

him who
to be a

will not see

sky-lark on the evening breeze

The dream

dream indeed.

Shakes down his fluttering melodies The coneys from their burrows creep.

The The

troutlets in the

still

pools leap.

And life a fateful mystery. And iron fact the only creed To lean on in the hour of need.
The
child

pines their odorous

gums

release,

may dream

the

man must

And

the daisies are pink in their

dewy

act

sleep.

With
fact
shall hear again. hand, the swift brook

reverence for the world's great

Perchance we ne'er

And
And

look to

toil

and
all

sweat

and

Thus hand
flow,

in

bleed,

gather his energies

compact.

dreams when we are fain To haunt the fabled long-ago ; For ere to-morrow's sun is low,

Except

in

Why
Here

might I not ray battle fight by your side with pen and
?

I haste

me

Where
Than

to the crowded street every stranger face I meet

book

Girls never understand aright

Shall less of kithely feeling

show

That men must

leave the ingle-nook

the rippling gleam of this water

And

sweet.

Nay, dear my heart is full of hope Bid me not stay in my career. Our little Bourg hath little scope For aught but gossip in the ear
; ;

wisdom brook Experience of a harder law, And learn humility and awe : And books are mirrors where you look But on shadows of things which
for a larger

others saw.

: ; ;

Loquitur Thorold

43

How

sweet the old brook tinkles still But never found the wicket-gate daisy mead and golden Distraught, our mother wandered late. broom, While we beside the mill-dam lay. Where once we placed our water-mill, And saw the newt creep 'mong the And heard it clicking in the gloom. bulrushes great.
:

Through

Hushed,
Yonder,

sleepless, in our little

room

we caught

Our

first

All day,

complaining of

the tiny trout you carried it about

its
its

There, too, we dreamt a lonely isle, With white waves girdled by the sea

And

trying each pool if

gone out.

That stormed along the beach, the doom, while life were good ship struggled gallantly

There are no traces of the mill But lo our garden in the nook.
!

I alone must saved be, thou wert Friday, by-and-by. Whose mystic footprint caught my The walks we shaped with simple eye skill. On the brown sand ; and thou to me Bordered with white stones from the Wert slave ever ready to run or fly. brook And there are still some flowers we And we had Genii of the Lamp took The lamp was ne'er so rubbed before From garden plots, and planted here And jars and crocks we left in damp Odd corners, all the night or more. Our works decay and disappear, Which we as fishers hauled ashore, God's frailest works abide, and look Down on the ruins we toil to rear. Listening to hear the prisoned Jinn Bemoan his captive fate within Here is the sloping mossy bank. And what, if he were free to soar With slender pansies purple-eyed. Like a dreadful giant with smoke and And drooping hare - bells, and the din! rank Ay me What happy dreams we had Plume-fern in all its palmy pride And yonder the still waters glide And still they linger fondly here Where big raspberries and brambles The air seems nimble with the glad Quaint fancies of our childhood dear ; grew : The stream was deep and broad for And here, at least, they do appear Half-real still ; it seems profane you,
: ! !

And And

And there my imping manhood tried To reach at them for my sister true.
Lo
!

To

reason
all

them down

as fancies vain.

Where

that meets the eye and ear

Brings the faith and glory of youth

here

we dreamed

the Pilgrim's

again.

dream And went

day.

forth, that bright

summer Then by-and-by

ours

great thoughts were

To

seek the

New

Jerusalem,

Along the
Tangled
spray,

strait

with

and thorny way gorse and bramble

Of triumph and high enterprise. As knowledge broadened with

our

powers. And Science oped our wondering eyes

;!

44

Olrig Grange
Along

We

the stretch of rippled strand Spotted with worms of twisted sand, The white gulls, and the shining sails. Nor would be brave and true and wise, And the thoughts they all brought from the Wonder-land And hoard all treasures of noble thought. And fondly watched our mother dear, The dawning promise of our youth, The heroes of historic age

To No

Nature's

fruitful mysteries.

life

of vulgar wealth we sought, pleasure from indulgence got

us on to glorious deeds hardy training, and to wage Victorious war on foemen weeds And now we breathed on oaten reeds.

Beckoned

Lilting a ballad

low and

clear.

And

meekness, piety and ruth, charity and womanhood ; For so she said, that to be good Or conned, apart, a secret song, Ashamed as if the deed were wrong ; Was to be rich in very sooth ; And now we rubbed your amber beads And the good Lord gave His children food. For trial of their attraction strong.
:

And And And

fostering fearless love of truth

the unfailing laughter pealed We gathered wild flowers in the woods, And We wandered miles for heath and fern. At homely jests that ne'er grew old We found in brakes the callow broods And we breathless" heard, and
still
;

still

Of singing birds we sought On its lone cliff; and strove

;

the erne
to learn

thrilled

All Nature's kindly providence For all its creatures, and the sense Of all its changes to discern. With all the infinite why and whence.

When the And still,

bold,

old winter's tale was told

as thought

grew keen and

Her loving The march

instinct steadied all

of mind with faithful

call

We

turned

the

glass

to

moon and

To patient duty manifold. And to wait and work when

was
small.

the light

stars,

The Pleiads, and To Saturn's ring,

the

Milky Way,
fiery

and

Mars,
:

O
In

happy childhood

wakening

first
;

And Venus

We

Of And

We

In science that refrained to glance at old faiths so we could once crops Believe we heard the mermaid sing. hammered, eager for a prey And that the deft Fays shaped the ring, Of moss or fern from the old-world Footing o' moonlights in the dance. copse. And that the Spirit lay hidden in every thing. And oh those days beside the sea The skerries paved with knotted Nor need that early faith be all

haunting close of day bent the glass to watch the play spasm-like life in water drops ;

moony

realms of fond romance

And

quenching soon a deeper

:

thirst

where

the

red

stone

upward Scorn

shells.

Iji

clear defined

knowledge

lost

The The The

bright pools of anemone.

star-fish

Though

never

Greek

to Ilium's wall

with their fretted cells. scudding of the light foam-bells

In the swift ships the sea had crossed, Each wrathful king with banded host,

; :;

Loquitur Thorold

45

The

of Troy were true to me, than bare fact of history There is more truth than is engrossed In your musty sheepskin guarantee.
tale

Our Science knows no Father

yet

More

And
And
But

there

is

truth transcending far

seems to vanish as we think And most of all, when we are set To fish for Faith upon the brink Of Nature ; we draw, link by link, line of close-plied reasoning

He

The way of scientific thought, Which travels to the farthest star.

verges on the smallest mote,
all

Elaborate, and hope to bring. Besides the baited thought we sink, God from the depths at the end of a
string

beyond

Its ladder,

it knoweth not based on earth, must lean

Its summit on the felt and seen Ah who shall find the perfect But ever our hearts their rest have sought Whole In that dim Beyond, where it hath not In the small fragment that we see ?
!

been.

'Tis wisdom, doubtless, for the

man

Or mirror in the flesh-bound The image of Immensity ?

Our

soul

To

the storm and darkness driven. Yet Wisdom also in its plan Cry out for God to earth and heaven Embraced the child's great wondering But what if all our answer be awe Only our cry by the echoes given ? Which found the Unseen in all it saw.

learn the fact

and

stedfast

Law

hearts within us faint, and we.

Amid

Whom now we
Of longing

seek with cruel strain

heart and 'wildered brain.

As

Tossing our barren chaff and straw In search of the old diviner grain.

light outside the Temple vast Coming and going with sudden gleams

On altar, pillar, and pavement cast, Down on our lower world he streams

Can

it

be wisdom to forget

An

exteme

glory.

So

it

seems

But who can tell? The things that What wisdom taught us yesterday ? press What if the form may change, and yet On our dream-life's half-consciousness. The truth abide that in it lay ?

And what if Jinn, and Ghost,

and Fay, Though

real as the hills

Were but the form of highest truth The Father's parable for youth,

Are

the

stuff

and streams. dreams are made of

nevertheless.

To
I

teach that

am

Will, to say, the worker of all, in sooth !

is

Law

So might the dream

be, after all.

The key which

confident Science lost,

days of Faith! when earth appeared Bethel sure, an House of God, And in the dream His voice was

heard. And hath been groping round the wall Of mystery, perplex'd and toss'd, And sorrow was His chastening rod In search of, making many a boast, And stony pillow and grassy sod

Yet conscious

that her universe

and laws is scarce God's living world ; yea, is at most His graveyard, whither she drove
facts

Of several
His

And men And ever God was

Best.

Seemed, lying on the Father's breast had many an angel guest. where the pilgrim trod near him, The Highest and

hearse.

46

Olrig Grange
Enough

Great days of Faith and miracle When nature might not be explained,
!

The

And

the earth kept her secret well,

We

But there was worship high, unfeigned, Nor praise And men were noble, and God But we have loving been always. reigned They were not barren though we And earned some little fame, and hope For more where there is ampler scope laugh. And swear their mills ground finest And you will crown me with my bays, Sweet sister mine, when I reach the top. chaff; For peace and love and truth unstained Are more than steam and a telegraph. Nay, say not that I shall forget.

we have not yet redeemed ; promise of our early days ; are not all that we have dreamed, crown with all that she would

And

find a dearer love than thee

How
Has

is it

that our

modern thought
truth
is

A sweeter love was never yet

Than
this sufficing

travelled from these sacred ways,

joy in

me

And every certain By parting with

We

Thou art my fulness. I shall be bought some Faith and But half a heart and head and will. Except thou be beside me still. Praise ? light our earth with the quenched For in our being's mystery Ever the better part thou didst fill. rays
:

Of heaven and yet we only seek Not jealous, say you ? but afraid Truth for the strong and for the weak. About my principles and views ? Loving it more than length of days. Why, it was you that first betrayed. Or the ruby lip and the blooming
cheek.

You

little

sceptic, dangerous, loose.

:

Our

science, with

its

several facts

And
The

fragmentary laws, hath lost all compacts. And makes a cosmos of the host. Force changes, but its changes cost,
unity that

unsound doctrine I but use The wicked weapons that you made Even as a child you never prayed

And

With

half

my

faith in those old Jews,

And we

ne'er got the Catechism into

your head.

And

But my Faith is not gone, although Conserving transformations are At times it seems to fade away. So wasteful. Time shall one day boast I would I were as long ago ; But a burnt-out sun and a cinder star. I cling to God, and strive to say The devil and all his angels Nay Well, well ; our mother knew no laws. But in the crucible of thought Except the Ten Commandments clear, Old forms dissolve, nor have I got. Nor talked of First, or Final Cause, Or seem to wish, new moulds of clay But walked with God in love and fear. To limit the boundless truth I sought. And always felt that He was near Can the great God be aught but vague, By instinct of a spirit true ; And she had peace and strength, in lieu Bounded by no horizon, save What feeble minds create to plague Of that unrest and trouble here Which break like the billows on me High reason with ? ^We madly crave.
:

in the elemental

war

and you.

For

definite truth,

and make a grave.

Editorial

47

Through too much

certainty precise,

And
For

logical distinction nice,

all

BOOK SECOND

Faith we have. Buying clear views at a terrible price.

the
little

EDITORIAL
She sat alone at evening by the fire In a dim parlour panelled with brown
pine.

Too

dear, indeed, to part with Faith

logic about

For forms of

God,

And

walk

in lucid

realms of death.

Whose paths incredible are trod By no soul living. Faith's abode

Is mystery for evermore,
Its life to

Some sewing

in

her lap

yet

she

sewed not, book in hand

read.

and

yet she did not

worship and adore.

And meekly bow beneath the rod, My Hester, as she sits beside me now. When the day is dark, and the burden His sister, twin in birth, in culture twin. sore. And with a marked unlikeness,
What
strangely like.
soft,

low

notes float everywhere

!

In the soft glories of the moon Soft winds are whispering in the air. And murmuring waters softly croon

For he was
hair,

tall,

and a black shock of

hair, rose o'er a fore-

To

mossy banks a muiBed tune

is

Of

stiff, rough head broad

Softly a rustling faint

borne

Over the fields of waving corn The large grey eyes beneath God's still small voice, we drownatnoon.

And noticeable, though you noticed only

not

Which
Hush

cruel- grey.

everywhere heard and morn.

is
!

in

the even

let us go.

The

stars shine out, sea,

Yonder the moonlight on the

But swimming dreamy eyes that seemed to gaze Into a world of wonders far away. And she was fair, a golden blue-eyed
maid,

The

fishers spread their sails about

;

Its tangled rings

from yon lime

tree

A
Of

slight, small

girl,

with the Norse

of some belated bee Sways as if lost ; I seem to hear boding murmur in my ear Of coming storm. What, if it be

The hum

aspect frank,

And

sunny and
;

intelligent,

and firm

purpose

for she never dreamt, or

Omen

of tempest in
!

my

career

dreamt Knowingly, swinging on an anchor held Fast to a bottom of clearest consciousness

:

Strange

that

whene'er

the

hour

arrives.

A lady practical,
possessed.

imperative.
clear

Which we have longed fordayandnight. With mind compact and

and

self-

To

act the purpose of our lives.

all

Fades

the glory and the light.

And reason peremptory and

thought.

Fails too the sense of

power and might

in

competent Ne'er blinded by the glamour of loving

And And

there are

omens

the

air.
!

voices whispering

Beware

And
But

yet not less enamoured with her

But never victor

in the fight

thought.
loyal, true

Heeded

the portents of fear and care.

and womanly.

Wherein

48

Olrig Grange
unlike likeness lay you could not

The

mitred abbots lorded there supreme, But as you travelled with them day by But Vikings from Norwegian fiords long day, Before the cross or mitre or the light And grew familiar with their looks Of Christian Faith left but the names
tell;

While

and ways,

of
tenor of their thoughts,

Thor
and Balder clinging
to the
;

And knew the

you
felt

And Thing
shores

The

twain were twin alike in mind and In later times they gathered from the sea Wealth that the land denied, and body. swept the coast Deft is she to detect, and to dissect Folly and foible and weakness, and With net and yawl, and had their ironShaft

with keen of light humour,

piercing wit

bound
or
bolt

fleets

of Spearing the Arctic-whale, whose jawbones arched

yet

Can reach
she says

the joints and

marrow

A lofty gateway to their busy wharf;

Or
hunting
seal,

and walrus

fierce in

That if her hero is but brave and true, battle, Sheknows herself to besolittleand poor. But faithful and piteous to its uncouth And knows the world, beside, so mean, young and false. And thereof many a stirring tale was told And knows how hard the battle to be Of perilous combat, touched with
:

true.

pathos rude.

That

she bates not her faith or love or

By weather-beaten

mariners

at

home

In the long nights beside the winter fire. worship For seams and flaws that only show So they grew rich, and had enriched

And

But the last Burgher-laird died young, love. and left Many large ventures on the perilous sea. And in those years her brother she And in more perilous mines. His adored. gentle widow. And he was worthy ; and she loves Harassed by alien cares, retired at
closer to our

him human, linked by weakness

the land

me now
With
all

length
sins

my

and mine

infirmities

With

her

twin

children

from

the

At large writ in her book, she me still. My Hester who is sitting by my

loves

'wildering task.

side.

Cheerfully leaving three parts of her wealth

And

in whose features, scanning one Somewhere she knew not where by one, falling scrip. I trace, amid unlikeness, likeness strange And flooded mines, and meshes of To him who halved a common life law.

in

the

with her.

Of

But from that hour, a happy mother, she an old stock, lairds of the barren Lived for her children, trained them
faithfully

moorland

:;

49

Loquitur Hester
With generous
Giving them
culture to
all

nobleness,

But

it is

for inheritance the wealth

For

there's

hard to suffer this, nothing I look on but

Of

the

old

wisdom and the new

Thorold and
It

makes
is

my

heart ache.

research

And

with the dead, and the old arm-chair. Were last of all the Asgards of Olrig. And all I meet when I turn my head And so she sat that evening by the fire, In every room, on every stair In the dim parlour panelled with Their eyes gaze on me everywhere,
then she also died.
like living

Hester

These

pictures,

And all so silent ; yet I seem pine, nothing seemed to do, and At times to hear, as in a dream. Dear voices calling here and there. nothing see, But all the more she was alert to hear, And mocking my heart as I stitch and seam. As if she listened eager for the coming Of one who yet came not ; she only I must not turn a silly maid, heard feather-pated girl, the prey The far-off moaning of the restless sea, Of weak nerves and an empty head. The nearer rippling of the lightsome That sighs through all the vacant-day. brook. And trembles, in the evening grey. The rising breeze that tossed the Over a dull dog-eared romance. brown Scotch pines. To see the stealthy moonbeams glance. The rooks that cawed, high-cradled Or hear the wind in crannies play. by the breeze, Or the mice in the wainscot squeak The creak and slamming of a wicketand dance.
brown

And

gate.

The The

barking of a dog in upland farm, untimely crowing of a wakeful

all

Why might

I not

have gone with him

We

ne'er were parted heretofore

cock,

And

the inexplicable sounds that

stair

I am as strong of heart and limb At worst, I could not suffer more

haunt Turret and

houses.

Than
and lobbies
o' nights. in

fretting here.

Oh,

it

was sore

When

the

wind

stirs

To stand upon the windy pier, And try to wave my hand, and cheer. And With something in my heart's wild core
That surged with
and
I
fear.
it

old

then she felt The creeping of an eerie loneliness.

rebellion and trouble

deem

barbarous, this

way

LOQUITUR HESTER
So he is gone, and I am left Alone, and very lone it is, To keep the dear old home, bereft Of all that made it home and bliss, Of all on earth that I should miss. I almost fear my heart will break ; And yet it must not, for his sake ;

Of making woman a helpful wife By keeping us poor girls away

From
all

the enterprise of

life,

Its hardship,

and

its

generous
at heart,

strife.

All men are Turks

and hold

That

sugar plums, and rings of gold.

pretty silks, and jewels rife
that

And
Are

all

we need

till

we're

fat

and

old.

: ;

; ;

Olrig Grange
yet they want us, ne'ertheless,

And To
With

I'm

cold,

and

yet

the

night

is

think
all

their

thoughts,

and

warm

yet the hour is still haunted by a vague alarm, Of souls that would be true and wise. Yet all is hopeful, and he will To laud them when they win the prize, Surely a glorious fate fulfil. To cheer them if they strive and fail, I dare not doubt it. He is true To the high aim he has in view. And gird anew their glorious mail. And then sink back to house-wiferies. Intolerant of hoary ill. To shirts and flannels, and beef and But open to all that is good new. ale.

sympathise

the struggle and distress

And And

restless,

and

What,

if

I were to follow

him

To To
Of

that great

London

I have tried

think

and write, and

doubts of venturous thoughts have cast I might Uncertain shadows o'er his mind

The

swim.

His soaring

spirit

has not passed

With

other minnows, by the side

great
fish

Above
the

the realm of clouds, to find

:

the
tale, a

that

keep

The

light serene that lies behind

tide

And

insight into

woman's touch of art. woman's heart.

spied.

Not deeply thought, but keenly That were not, surely, too lofty
:

But he is pure and undefiled. Unworldly as a little child. And still amid the darkness blind. Clings to the Lowly One, meek and
mild.

a part.

But it would vex him and his love Is more to me than all the world
There's nothing he dislikes above

He
He
Of

has a scholar's culture, hence

A Greek-like taste,
And And
ill.

A short-haired woman, frizzly, curled.

Her flag for woman's rights unfurled, Her middle finger black with ink. Her staring eyes that will not wink,
Like
spectacles

A nature large and free and wide

plastic

calm, purified has the poet's delicate sense beauty, ever with good allied ;

and impressible
:

a double-barrelled A
men
:

Too much
little

perhaps a stronger more of self and pride.

will,

Terror, he says, to

that think.

he would be safer from earthly

beside, that would never do He And then he has more sympathy. There's plenty of other reasons. Would keep the old household by Perchance, with truth and beauty than my side. The power creative he would be And all things as they used to be stronger, if a narrower man. The plants, and stones, and library. Less balanced ; for his equal plan. The fossils rare, and etchings nice, Diffused on all sides from his youth. And other things beyond all price And there's another might long for Unto all wisdom, grace, and truth.

So

me.

And

his evening chess-board,

twice.

Into most just proportions ran. once or With risk of being but graceful and smooth.

:;

SI

Loquitur Hester

A perfect

critic

of

all

good,

But longing ever

to be

more

Well understanding every mood

Of genius, finding every door Of knowledge open, and the lore Of ages to his insight free,

But he esteems all women pure. Can spy no craft in looks demure. Holds them all angels good that pine For heaven in aworld they strive to cure.

And so I fear for him ; I dread That he may set his love on one For he has still the master-key ; Yet would he launch out from the shore. With little either of heart or head

And
And

plough for himself an untravelled Save what he dowers her with, and run After a shadow in the sun,

Only
there
is

to learn his

weary

fate

risk that such a

mind

Shall be too nice and delicate.

When the great heart is desolate. And the fire burns, and there is none
Cometh
to cheer

And
The

in its equipoise

may

find

him

A very impotence, and wait,

And
never dare a glorious
fate.
still

early or late.

And
His

sense of fine perfection

all

once I feared that he had placed on such a chance. And she

Embarrassing the purposed will. Until the shadows gather late. And the mist is folded about the

The
hill.

With

grand, fine lady, scarcely graced outsides of hypocrisy True to the flesh she seemed to be :

Yet
It

if

he were not what he

is,

I could not love

him then

as

now

And yet he made a god of her. And girt her with an atmosphere Of incense, light, and poesie

But the glory was all in the worshipper. were another mind than his. Other, not better then, I trow : 'Tis strange, the finest insight still He hath such courage to avow His faiths, such knowledge to impart, Seems blindest to a woman's art. The base get love unto their fill Such boundless sympathy with Art, Such fancies, like the blossomed bough The noble thirst for that true heart That clasps the fruit in its fragrant heart. Whereto they may their life impart.

And
brave and beautiful In manhood, radiant with the might
is

Then he

find in it their solace meet But clothing with their fancies sweet wanton or a fool, they start

Of that rich life and grace which The admiration and delight Of Fashion ^witty, airy, bright

rule

To know in
complete.

their love but their

sorrow

And And

Out of the world he lives afar him a woman's wiles. cunning arts, and winsome smiles. In chivalrous ideal trust. trifling with the heart and right. Enshrining woman like a star Tangling his love in her loveless toils. For worship of the good and just,
I dread for

Where no unworthy
I

would not have him not

to love

though he has a sister made. Another, dearer life than mine : Like other girls, of sorry dust. Let but a maiden worthy prove. And with his love my love shall twine He never would see that our gold was but lead. To clothe her with a joy divine.

May And

thought or lust enter with unhallowed tread ;

52

Olrlg Grange

Oh

The The The

men knew us only knew cowardice and common-place, petty circle of our view, meanness and the littleness That lie behind a pretty face Thank heaven, I was not bred with
if
!

Then

will

he

die,

Of all the great work And men will say for

and leave no trace he has schemed

such a race

He

had not

trained, but only

And

that pure light of heaven

dreamed which
;

streamed

gii-ls,

Along
scents and curls.

A thing of ribbons,
And And
pearls.

quaint in fancies of a dress.

his. morning pilgrimage, Broadening and brightening every stage, No forecast true shall be esteemed

gold and jewels and strings of

Of

the

battle

which genius has

to

wage.
trained

Our mother

me

up with him

Hence,
true.

idle

fear

He's brave and

To

love the right, the truth to speak.

scholar's thoughtful

lamp to trim, With patient toil as well as fire rhythm of numbered What fruitful effort can, he'll do Greek, To crown with triumph high desire, And in the world of God to seek And make the wondering world admire. Wisdom in knowledge of His ways. And win himself a lofty name. And gladness in the song of praise Yet what were all the pride of Fame Which rises from the strong and If he were linked in bondage dire To a heartless flirt, or a haughty weak

The

And

trace the

To

the Father that keepeth us

all

our

dame

days.

The Herr

Professor says

I'm not

And

this,

at

least,

I've learnt,

that Just to the croqueting, crocheting kind

man Can be more

Of girls
godlike far than we. more glorious than

for they fulfil their lot

Like flowers which want no subtle

mind. But waft

And never is When bending

low a suppliant knee

In his pure-hearted chivalry. Entranced with his own spell of might, Blind with his own exuberant light.

And And And

Lost

in love's rapture
girls

Which
night.

only

trifle

and ecstasy. with, day and

on the wind. beauty on the eye, bloom, and ripen, and then die ; they are lovely, and we are blind If we think that the world is not better
their sweetness
flash their

thereby.

Therefore I fear his life may be disenchantment day by day, glory that he seems to see.

A A

Maybe Maybe Maybe

am

not just to them

more mind and heart a woman, like a gem.

I ask

Is but a bauble of precious art.

Only

to see

it

fade

away

And
The
With

then perchance he
great part that he

may

not play
in life,

And God

as a toy should play her part.

would

But waste him

in a petty strife

little cares,

and be the prey

meant her for an help-meet true, But men have quite another view Let her bright eyes like diamonds dart. And she may be hard as the diamond
too.

Of fretful

thoughts, and a foolish wife.

53

Loquitur Hester
Yet one may harden, he
avers,
;

Can

By thought
Have

as well as thoughtlessness

Thorold

And women's

minds may equal theirs, wit as keen, nor reason less Only they will not bear the stress

? and could I charge he would by-and-by Love with a love more deep and large

this be love

that

Than

sister's
all

love could satisfy

!

And

the while, alas

was

Of manly toil, and keep the good Pure quality of womanhood And logic is not more than dress For the sweetening of life in its weary mood.
The Herr Many odd
Professor speaks indeed
quips and crusty jokes.

But taxing him to hide my own Lapse into passionate depths unknown? Nay, but this foolish thought would die If I were not left here brooding alone.

And
I

He
To

vows

that I have too

much
;

creed
daily

yet I know not. Heretofore used to bring my thoughts to book. And opened every chamber door. And searched my soul through every

have shocks

much

faith

and

nook But into

It

this I

shrank to look

My
And

thought with some

mad paradox
he sees

came with
still

silent,

owly

flight

in the ancient truth

In the

quiet of the night

But an old bunch of rusty keys. I heard the wind, I heard the brook, Hung at the belt of the Orthodox, But the love slid into my soul like light. To open a dungeon which they call
Peace.

And when
know he
with
loveth much,
in truth

I found

it

nestling there.

And And
And
It

yet, I

Like swallow twittering in the eaves. It felt like summer warm and fair.
and

walks

God

And

blossomy

spray,

and

fragrant

right
if the world had many such, were indeed a world of light. All radiant with a glory bright

leaves.

A cosy nest my bright bird weaves

My
bird

which

is

but

German
:

swallow. And sometimes, in his quaintest words. Guttural-speaking, big and sallow He seems to touch the deepest chords. Only his heart with great thought And with a master's skill and might heaves, Holds high discourse of the Lord of And there's nought in him little or

Lords.
But,

poor or shallow.

psha
?

what

matters

what

he
still

thinks

And

yet

why do my

thoughts

veer.

As drawn to him by subtle links Of yearning hope, and trembling

I ashamed to say I love. Yet proud of him I love so well ? strange proud shame ? yet hand and glove Could fit no better, truth to tell.

Am

fear

How
And

in his sight I shall

appear

used to laugh at girls who fell Blushing and lying time about.
1

wherefore do I watch for him In the elm-tree walk at evening dim. As he comes singing loud and clear Burschen song, or a Luther hymn

And
Or
?

sware I would love out and out. not at all ; yet now the spell
in

Holds me
doubt.

transport and terror and


54

! ;

; ;

Olrig Grange

What

can it mean, this love and fear, To mine own soul let me be true This open shame and secret pride. I love my love by night and day, The yearning gladness, and the tear I love my love- the sound is new. That comes so often by its side ; But oh how sweet it is to say This thought we fondle while we hide. I love my love it is like play. This trembling dread when he is late. But yet I love with heart and mind. And pouting joy that makes him wait, And passion trembling, fond and

And And

passion passionately denied,

blind

the

feeling

of

overmastering I love

my

love in Love's old way.

Fate?
I will to

And
Thorold's
room.

ever in loving

new

life I find.

Nay,

I cannot rest

that

may

not.

Last night I went there.

And yet, a little What wildest

he cometh not while ago, could fancy

have

And And And And

And

the pale

moon

in silence sat

So ghostly on the
the

great arm-chair.

thought day of tumult and of

woe

the mice pattered here and there,

Among

the peoples, stricken low. the

wind
old

in the

chimney moaned,
at

Who

rose up in a wrath divine.

the

pine

the

window On

Seine,

Danube,

and

the

groaned.

Rhine,

something stepped the creaking

sit in

Would

shoot, in that volcanic glow,

stair.

A
the

flame

from

their

heart to kindle

I dare not

room he owned.

mine?

back, come back, my brother I should as soon have looked to see dear: Some bright star from the stormy The storm is gathering on thy way. heaven.

Come

And
The

mine
mist

is is

no more calm and clear

creeping dull and gray

O'er surfy beach, and troubled bay,

And I am friendless and alone, And doubtful of myself, with none To counsel me and day by day Fear is chilling my heart like stone.
;

Glide down to earth, and rest on me. From all its glorious comrades riven. So strangely fates are interwoven And how he loves his Deutsch-land
!

dear.
Its

patient

thought,

that

knows no

fear.
Its

Am
On

grown

fanciful, to

muse
foolishly
?

For

Luther, Goethe, Heine, given lights to the ages far and near.

school-girl

whimseys
fear,

What should I The great true

except to lose

I will

go forth.

The

moonlight dim,
the silent
hill

heart that loveth

me

Dusks with broad shade

I will

Better than I deserve to be.

go up, and think of him, With tender strength, and manly care, Where the old brook is tinkling still. And modest hope his lot to share. With memories of our water mill ; And share his thoughts, too, high I think he sometimes strolls that way. and free, With pipe and book at evening gray And bear all the burden which he But memories of childhood will must bear ? Pleasantly wind up a weary day.

Editorial

55

To BOOK THIRD

nurse her sorrow in a sumptuous

fashion,

And make

it

EDITORIAL
Lady Anne Dewhurst
couch Lay, with a rug of
knees,

For nothing she esteemed

cost.

an expensive luxury that nothing

on a crimson
Beside her, on a table round, inlaid
o'er

sable

her

With

precious stones by

Roman

art

designed.

In a bright boudoir in Belgravia Most perfectly arrayed in shapely robe Of sumptuous satin, lit up here and
there

Lay phials,

pill

scents, a novel and a Bible, box, and a wine glass, and a

book

With
lace

scarlet touches,

Nice

- fingered

Brabant And all around her spread magnificence Of bronzes, Sevres vases, marquetrie. Rare buhl, and bric-a-brac of every
kind.

Apocalypse ; for she was much and with costly Addicted unto physic and religion. And her physician had prescribed for her maidens knotted in Jellies and wines and cheerful
Literature.

On the

The book on the Apocalypse was writ By her chosen pastor, and she took
the novel

From

Rome

and

Paris

and

the

With

the dry sherry, and the

pills

centuries

prescribed.

Of
Or

far-off beauty.

All of goodly

A gorgeous,
sins,

pious, comfortable life

;

colour,

graceful

form that could delight

Of misery she lived and Of all her house, and all

all

the sins

the nation's

the eye, In orderly disorder lay around. And flowers with perfume scented the

And
And

all

shortcomings of the Church

and State,

all the sins of all the world beside, Bore as her special cross, confessing them Stately and large and beautiful she was Spite of her sixty summers, with an eye Vicariously day by day, and then Trained to soft languors, that could She comforted her heart, which also flash, needed it, Keen as a sword and sharp a black With bric-a-brac and jelly and old

warm

air.

bright eye,

Deep sunk beneath an arch of

jet.

She had Beside the fire, her elbow on the mantel. A weary look, and yet the weariness And forehead resting on her finger-tips. Seemed not so native as the worldliness Shading a face where sometimes loomed

Which

blended with

it.

Weary and

a frown,

worldly, she

And
of tears,
but
fully

sometimes flashed
daughter
stood
;

gleam

of
a

Had

quite resigned herself to misery

bitter scorn,

In this sad vale

Her

no

more

meant

graceful girl.

56

Olrig Grange
in the glory of her

But

womanhood,

A A

kind of isthmus 'tween the Devil

Stately and haughty.

One who might

have been

and God, slimy, oozy mud, where mandrakes

grew.

A noble woman

in

a nobler world,

But now was only woman of her world. Ghastly, with intertwisted roots, and With just enough of better thought to things know Amphibious haunted, and the leathern It was not noble, and despise it all. bat And most herself for making it her all. Flickered about its twilight evermore. woman, complex, intricate, involved Wrestling with self, yet still by self

subdued Scorning herself for being what she was.

LOQUITUR MATER DOMINA

And

Please draw So, there you are at last. yet unable to be that she would Uneasy with the sense of possible good That odious curtain, will you ? Do. hideous thing as e'er I saw Never attained, nor sought, except in
;

one such a corpse-like hue. Ending in failures ; conscious, too, of But I might be a corpse for you It's little any of you cares power Which found no purpose to direct its How your heart-broken mother fares, Burdened with sorrows old and new, force. And so came back upon herself, and As the world entangles you all in its
fits

It gives

grew

snares.

An

inward fret. The caged bird Please, no excuse it does no good. sometimes dashed Against the wires, and sometimes sat Of course, you have your morning calls, and pined. But mainly pecked her sugar, and eyed Your shopping, and your listless mood After late dinners, drums, and balls ; her glass. And trilled her graver thoughts away My world is these four dreary walls, My body, but an aching back, in song. i My life, a torture on the rack. Mother and daughter yet a childless My thoughts, like dizzying water-falls
:

mother. And motherless her daughter

That never
;

will silence, or change, or

for the

slack.

I get my jellies, soups, and stews. world what need I more ? gashed a chasm between, impass- My little wine My morning paper with the news able. And they had nought in common, That everybody Jcnew before. I hear the street calls, and the roar neither love. Nor hate, nor anything except a name. Of the town traffic, and the clash Yet both were of the world ; and she Of milk-bells, and the angry crash Of brass bands, and the drowsy snore not least Whose world was the religious one, Of an organ as dull as the flat seawash. and stretched

Had

: ;

Loquitur Mater Domina

57

And

then the night falls, and the clock Ticks on the mantel, and the wheels Crunch the hard gravel, as the flock Of weary revellers homeward] reels, Until the opal morning steals Up in the sky. So, day by day. My life crawls on its weary way No hope it stirs, no joy it feels But it's all like a foggy November day
;
:

And
Your

beetles

More

than your

occupy your heart own Immortal part

father's hairs are turning grey.

In this impious babble of science and

art.

Poor

fools

that fain

would break

spear

With Moses and

A blue fog by the breakfast hour,

A saffron fog
At
at

A grey fog in the early prime,

dinner a persistent shower

And And
Nor
But

the Pentateuch, only blinded reason hear.

will no revelation brook. miracle nor inspired Book

luncheon time.

for

some sweet refreshing showers

during Sabbath hours,
heart on you to look;

Of doctrine,
But
:

Of smut, and then a dismal power Of choking darkness and despair

Thickening and soddening all the air But we are all a fading flower, And life is a burden of sorrow and care.
-

'Twould break my
the

Book

and

Day

are

still

happily ours.

Ah

what were

I don't complain

it is

the lot

And what this world And what were man

The
Sabbath,
glory
jest.

Appointed me by wisdom best 'Tis meet that I should be forgot By all of you, and learn to rest Content, while ye have mirth and

without the Book ? without its story ? if he forsook foretaste of Heaven's

life

And
I

I religion.

Still I feel

A den of wild beasts, dark and gory A being quite devoid of grace, A heathen with a tattooed face.
!

I hide the

I cannot heal, That burns his widows I implore you. keep my sorrow unexpressed Set your heart. Rose, in the proper But I'm not quite so hard as a lump place. of steel.

wounds

But you have no

religion

My nerves
And

none.

are not just wires

and cords,

I'm not a mere rhinoceros

Where arrows

stick as in deal boards.

bullets fall as soft as moss.

My patient

heart can bear

And bleed unseen but yet it bleeds. The clubs, and hear who's in and out. And all the more that no one heeds. And which is " Favourite" this year, And all the more to see your loss And bet, and are dreadfully wicked, Of sound evangelical views and creeds. no doubt.
I only dead and gone hard to live, and see the way That all of you are hurrying on
!

its

cross.

my dear If you had not a heart of stone, You could not leave me lonely here. And men may do, who have not clear Decided views ; they go about
It
is

the heart that's wrong,

Oh, were

But women who have

lost their

Faith

It's

Are

angels

who have

lost their wings.

Blindly unto the dreadful day.

And always have a nasty breath Of chemistry, and horrid things

That go
off

You

prate of fossils, while I pray.

when

a lecturer rings


S8

Olrig Grange

His

bell.

But

they will not

go off;
;

You

cannot be a hypocrite.

They take a mission or a cough For men will marry a fool that sings
Sooner than one that has learnt
scoff.

To mumble out a false remorse, And wear a look of prim conceit

to

: you go in common-sense, And think a woman sure to win Because she knows the why and whence. And looks at vermin through a lens And yet you've seen a score of girls With empty heads and silly curls. And laughter light, and judgment

You
For

don't believe

me

science, culture,

winning horse ? you cannot, and of course But yet. I never meant you should. You might feel true grief and regret For sin ; and could be none the worse

Only

to be the

Of course,

For the strawberry

leaves in a coronet.

You wonder

at

me, with

my

views

Of doctrine

That For girls whom Romish arts allure, Through Ritualism to Babylon sure.
But did

sound, and worship pure. I should plead the least excuse

dense.

Wedded
Earls.

to

Marquises, Dukes,

and

Or Or

I say their views were right did I call their darkness light ? did I only try to cure heart,

Your

which
?

is

turned from the

And why
you
:

They
as

started

fair

with

Gospel quite
It's

You

grace you need. Rose, to illume What an age nature. as handsome and well-born, Since I have seen you in my room too. Though I have nothing to engage And you had wit like sparkling wine thoughts, except the sacred page. But they all took to things divine And that sweet book which is so
dressed

well

for

that

was

mine ; You were

Your darken'd

My

Like sober, pious girls. I know clear That some were High Church, and Upon the Beast and
would go. Like nuns, with beads and
fine

year
crosses

his

numbered

Yet all the while there's quite a rage For some wonderful May-fair novel,
hear.

But they

all

were wives

in a season or so.

A pious wife that

Your wit
strike.

Men may

be bad, but

still

lives for

may

shine,

they like And after all I have done for you heaven ; But daughters are not what they your beauty were.
!

And

But not to these their love is given. Ah had you with your prayer-book
!

What

driven

you are only proving true all the Prophets do aver. Oh had you heard our minister Upon The Signs of the End, and
of the saints shall grow
!

To church, and kept a Sunday-school, how And visited, and lived by rule The children
But
that
is

wickeder and wickeder Though you played your cards like a Till all to the Beast and the perfect fool. shall bow.
past
all

and

forgiven,

Still

Woman

Loquitur Mater Domina

That
is

59

the worst part of

my

trial

But prophecy must be

fulfilled,

And we
The

are in the Seventh Vial, Witnesses will soon be killed. And all the land with blood be filled And Papists ; and a cruel fate

And
By

Shall separate the Church and State, then more blood is to be spilled

Nay, tell me not you do not care Although the end of the world were come. It's very wicked to despair ; You should be gentle, patient, dumb. Thinking that any day the hum Of myriad angels, leading saintly

the

Frogs,

that's

crowds. your Radical With rainbow trimmings round their

shrouds,

friends of late.

May
It's clear

greet you at a kettle-drum.

in glory
in

the

Woman

and the Beast

;

Coming

among

the clouds.

Are Buonaparte and the Pope The Prophets won't explain the
Without them
;

least

We

live

wondrous

times

such

they're the merest rope

:

times

Of
I

sand in that case

Bible.

and

hope

The world

has never seen before

know my
find
its

Still

the

Book

With earthquakes

in the tropic climes.

Is sealed,

and you shall vainly look meaning and its scope, If the Jews don't return, and the

To

And And And

In

kingdoms shaken

to the core,
;

revolutions at our door

Kings and Queens discrowned

Pentateuch.

appear

Ah, we had such

a sermon on it Vicar's wife she was not there She had not got her new spring
!

London every other year. While Barons clothed in rags implore

The

You

to

buy pens

and sealing-wax,

dreadful dear.

bonnet

But all the world was. For the new mode ? must wear
!

Do
You

you care
blondes

And And And

Ritualists our

Church

defile.

Rationalists our faith deny.

Papist nuns and chaplains wile

thieves in gaol.

Our very
;

And

Pink, shaped like tiny little shells So natural with silver bells.
!

Went

to a chapel once hard by.

But that great sermon I declare, I can't for the world think of anything
else.

And heard a The Sabbath

He So searching and pathetic Soaked two clean handkerchiefs in tears. While clearing up the prophecy,
!

Nonconformist say was a mere Jewish day I left, of course, and had to fly In the rain, but I hailed a cab by the way.
!

And

there's

your

" Robertson

of

Brighton,"

The And

and it still appears That this Napoleon is the Beast That was and wasn't, you know
Daniel
:

He's lying now on every table. With Ecce Homo to enlighten Our carnal hearts, and minds unstable. at We have no anchor now or cable Our admirable Liturgy, least The Armageddon swords and spears Our very Bible is not free Were long ago shipped from Mar^ From criticism lamentable
mystic number, and the years.
;

seilles to

the East.

And

everybody

is all

at sea.


6o

Olrig Grange

What next ? The land is rotten And infidel and Papist too
:

quite,

Eh

What
?

With
Mr. Your

say you ? That puling boy the Scotch brogue and hungry

There's
Bright,

Gladstone

ruled

by

look

whom you made a toy very Bishops hardly true. Last winter at your drums, and took And the Queen knows not what to do. About with you by hook or crook But prophecy is coming clear. I do not like your set Tush, tush The awful end is drawing near, But what's come of the baronet ? And bitterly this land will rue As for the writer of a book, The way it has treated the Jews, I fear. You're not come quite to the curates yet.
genius

The

Last week our Vicar plainly told He's a converted Jew, I know

Oh

yes,
:

you love

him

that's

of

course

How

Even on

seven fine ladies should lay hold It's your fifth season, isn't it, dear ? the man that cries " Old But really you are little worse : Clo'," And I am sure you loved last year.

in the day of woe ; Sir Wilfred with his rent-roll clear. from the Prophets clear. person at St. John's Wood ? So then I thought I'd ask you, dear, Shame The poor man looked so shabby and No proper girl should ever name low person there or person here ; If you knew any Jew of the better And, no doubt, she is the one to blame.

To save them And proved it

class here.

They always are,

For though
all

these creatures.

Ah
!

Israel shall be saved.

And And And

all all all

the lost tribes found again,

be proper and well-behaved. be free from sorrow and pain

in
;

heaven it is quite plain. As stars with different glory shine. There shall be people poor and fine,

Yet even

This wicked world we're living in There should be some severer law For low-born creatures who would win Youth over to the ways of sin. But there's that shameful act which
frees

Their

vice

from

want

and

from

For

perfect order there shall reign

disease.

And
You

the line.

one would not like to go over Although they neither toil nor spin, Right in the face of all heaven's
decrees.

speak of Jews They're Charlie's friends, and he can

did not
to
tell;

come

It's

shameful, shocking
bring

quite enough

To
:

down on

us wrath divine

Nor

yet about the Vicar's views

I don't care for their facts

and

stuff,

heaven or hell My dear, that's hardly spoken well. But what, then, did you come about
a lecture, or a rout A A flower, a beetle, or a shell
call,
? ?

Of millenarian

I won't believe a single line.

I
?

know

it's sin.

And

I opine

Gladstone our morals means to sap And then, his wickedness to cap, The House of Lords he'll undermine

Or

prodigy found
?

in

some country

And

bring in the

Pope

like a thunder-

lout

clap.

; ; ; ;

6i

Loquitur Mater Domina

All men are dreadful wicked.
It is to say
it
;

Sad

but

it's

true

To

In this unhappy world ? unless. help my children, and express

faith in principle

You

So bad

hardly would believe how bad that it would never do

if

Undying

Though

don't

like

your baronet's

If girls before their marriage knew.

quite, I confess.

And And And

You
Your

you

will be prude and nice,

yet go poking into vice,

He

shying

when

it

comes

in view,

Upon

will never be married at any price.

He

wants to open the Museum the blessed Sabbath-day ; wants the bands to play "
should go
to

Now,

Whom

hear me. Rose give up at once fancy for this boy you have led an idle dance, I daresay, only to annoy Sir Wilfred ; and for once employ The arts that others use for sin His erring heart again to win Back to a purer life and joy, Which you're certain to do if you'll
:

Deum " When we

pray
It will be

Te
and

church
;

silly

masses next, I say

sin are far

His views of

from sound.

He

Eternal punishment, I found. will not hear of; and his

way

Is altogether

on dangerous ground.
!

just begin.

Be

patient

now

leave

all

to

me
me
see

Don't

But then, woe's me you're all the same All turned from Bible-teaching quite. All snared in folly, sin, and shame,
;

fly off in a girlish huff.

You'll need a

new dress

let

Of some soft, lustrous, dainty stuff; Made Christian-like and low enough You did not get a bust like this

And And
Old

blinded to the only light.

he

at least is

of the right

blood, and has an income nice.

And
Or

never touches cards or dice

It's a

To

horses.

hide like some raw country miss Say poplin of a delicate buff;

happy

sight,

A man
It's

of his rank with a single vice.

With Honiton

lace, for a taste like his

You You
Your

knew how to dress. never have a gown to fit.

never yet
things are always in a mess

The

wonderful, most wonderful, times we're living in And yet

!

We're

born, and christened, and go to

school.

And

them. never think the times are set They're just the one thing that you For the Jews going back to Jerusalem. cannot do.
as for gloves,

That's shocking, even to look at it colours somehow never hit, They never match themselves nor you They're always out of fashion too ;

Your

And And And And

The

marry Lord or Baronet, dress and dine, and vex and fret. strive the tide of Fate to stem Which Prophets had revealed to

you must admit

Anyhow,

leave

all

that to

me.

Prophets say that there shall be

:

Could I but see you settled well, As, sure, my daughter ought to be,
I'd die in peace unspeakable.

A Highway and a Way

Also of
ships
;

we

read

Why

am

I here

why do

I dwell

upon the sea, Made of bulrushes and we need. Unless you think I'm blind indeed.

62

Olrig Grange

Unless I'm blinder than a bat, With a good conscience, conscious No prophet to interpret that, that they speak With a steam-boat running at full speed True to the idea, if the facts hang loose On the Suez Canal, like a water-rat. At one point, at another have been
joined

There could not be a clearer sign Men are so troublesome Ingeniously. That now the end draws near in view. Rose was not faultless, as her lovers
!

And that To bring

And
on you

it's

Providence' design

deliverance to the Jew,

break their bonds.

!

-Now,

Nor

swore. yet

so

faulty

as

my

Hester
;

shame

To

scoff with your unhallowed wit

thought Women judge perchance

women

hardly

hit

There's almost blasphemy in it : I don't mean bonds of I.O.U.,

The

likeness true

enough by

instinct

Such

as

keen Charlie gives when he's badly That, piecing

trivial incidents, detects

;

hit.

The
like

soul of character

but they have

no shading,

But wherefore speak of things

these

No

softening

tints,

no

generous
the picture

To

things like you, who heed more The murmur of prophetic breeze

allowance no For circumstance, to

make

human.

And And
And

true

because

so

human.

Rose

Than creaking of a rusty door ? You walk along the solemn shore Washed by the tide of awful doom,
While
lights

was human
for

a
a
a

woman woman

born

of such a

mother,
for

and shadows

flash

and

reared in such a

gloom

world.

And

neither

wonder nor adore.

And

for

woman dowered
and buzzed

with

But stamp and "pshaw" through the queenly beauty drawing-room. Set out for sale,
flatterers

by

All her

life

long,

BOOK FOURTH

And

better truly than she

was even womanly, might have

been.

EDITORIAL
So stately as she
I
left

my lady's chamber.

WILL
reports

not

answer for
in

my

wife's

Her

full

eyes flashing scorn, yet with

Quite

true,

no doubt,

true at least

her scorn the main, as Contending to retain a mother still, If no more shrined in natural reverence. can Yet cloaked with charity.
hall like
;

As

the

most excellent women

But

in the

report

People they don't much

not

Her

meant to bear Lawyer's cross-questioning, which they

detest

heart failed, and she pressed her forehead flushed On the cold fluting of a marble pillar. And wept to feel her life so desolate.

Editorial

63

And

wept still more because the world And puzzling o'er a paper wearily Of circles, squares and pentagons, and had made it lines So desolate, yet was the world her all She loathed it, but she knew it was Of logarithms, he strove to disentangle. He was a little, brisk, bald-headed man. her all. Thus she with passionate rebellion wept, With fiery eyes, and forehead narrow and high Printing the fluted pillar on her brow.

And

then with

weary,

lifeless

steps

And

far-retiring

one

who

could have

she went

led
father's

Heavily to her

chamber door.

regiment to the belching cannon's

mouth

The Squirewas banished to a little room

That overlooked
a

ordered when ; or might have headed The cheery hunt across the stubble field. mews. small, close chamber, lined with Taking the fences gallantly, nor turning dusty books And dingy maps ; and savage crania From the wide brook to seek the safer ford. Grinned from high shelves, with clubs But being held in London half the and arrow-heads year, And tools of flint, and shields of hide And with no taste for politics or embossed. There were great cobwebs on the fashion. Or such religion as he came across, windows dim. Where bloated spiders watched their He took to Science, made experiments, webs, and heard The blue-fly knock his head against Bought many nice and costly instruIf wisely

paved court and a

the pane.

ments.

And

buzz about their snares. And Heard lectures, and believed he understood through the room, On table and chair, were globes and Beetle-browed Science wrestling with
glasses tall.

the fact

Retorts and crucibles, electric jars

To

find

its

meaning clear

but

all

in

And And

batteries,

and microscopes and

and
fossil

vain.

thought he thought, and yet he did not think. shells. But only echoed still the common Disorderly and dusty ; and the floor thought. Was carpeted with papers and thick- As might an empty room. The foreprisms
balances,
plants

He

and

dust,

head high

Papers and books and instruments and

dust.

And fiery To brood

eye had no reflexion in them and hatch the secret of the

grey old

man

sat in that

dim grey
soft

He

world. could but skim and dip, like restthe

surface

room Wrapt in a dressing-gown of

stuff.

less swallow grey Fly-catching on

of

all

knowledge

OJrig Grange

64

Anthropologic and Botanical And Chemical, and what was

forth

You've heard of Newton's dog

last

that

set

spoiled

The
strain

calculations of long years.

By

charlatan to stun the vulgar sense.

But yet a
crisp

of noble chivalry

Ran through

his nature,

and a

faint

And of that brutish maid whose soiled And sooty fingers used the tears Of genius and its hopes and fears.

Page after page, to light her fire Rippled his thought, and would have horrible and impious pyre So all my laboured thought appears been a joy Had life been kindlier ; but his cheer- To melt, like the snow, into slush and

humour

iest

smile
a sneer,

Verged on
laughter.

and ran to mocking

I

say

it's

worse than Suttee, or

Yet under

And

of beautiful youth. deeper than his feeble cynic sneer. This waste of thought long- waited for. Lay a great love, to which he fondly This fruitless birth of still-born truth. clung. What matters for the silly, smooth. For Rose, the stately daughter of his Meaningless face of widow trim. house. Slow roasting to a drowsy hymn ? But you do rob the world in sooth. When the lights of Science are quenched or dim.
all

his pottering at science,

The

sacrifice

LOQUITUR PATER

it. No more I'm busy, as I said You come and knock, knock at

I WILL not hear of

Besides,

my

door,

drive all thought clean from my head. Of chattering girls ? Only last night Just when at last I've caught the thread, I found my favourite beetle quite Subtle and brittle and sought-for long, Crushed and mangled upon the floor That would most surely bind a throng And the jade held to it she did quite

And

not enough to have your maids Scrubbing and brooming at my door. With whispers shrill, and sudden raids On cobwebs that have taught me more Wisdom and beauty, than a score
Is't

Of facts together, By doctrine of

strong.

firmly

wed
clear

right.

Science

and

plague on
first

maids
!

and him who

all

I labour

I methodise I

and experiment, and meditate, watch the bias and the bent
wait
a blank

Invented them
I've
tried
curst,

They're them saucy,

the same.

tried

them

Of the mind's idols. Still I And verify and speculate. When rat-tat-tat my mind's
!

My thread of thought, a tangled hank Of fellow-creatures My ordered facts, confusion great

;
;

I've tried them sluts, and tried to tame Their natural instincts, and to shame Their ignorance, and to abate Their furious and unfeeling hate

And

it's

always you

women

I have to

Was

thank.

but my claim ; vain as appeal to the wheels of Fate.

;;

: :;

Loquitur Pater
Whate'er they do not understand Is dirt, and must be brushed away They'd broom all scienee from the land And scour from heaven the Milky

65

Way.
I plan

by

night, I

work by day
electric

and beggars superfine! Why he has hardly means enough To keep you in gloves and flowers and wine. You could not dress, you could not
!

The old Of fools

story,

Rose

the

silly stuff

With chemic and

And
Of

Force, tremble as I watch the course Nature ; all in vain, for they

dine.

Baffle in

some way

my

best resource.

You could not keep a maid or horse, Or drive but in a cab, or worse The man's a fool no child of mine
; ;

Could marry a beggar

like

him, of

And now
Of

you come,

like all the rest,

still.

course.
I marvel at his

My daughter, but a woman My daughter, whom I thought the best

possible

daughters,

trained

with

A fellow with
Hundred

impudence some paltry three

;
!

skill.

a-year

And schooled in Science to fulfil The part of Cuvier's daughter true And when I hope and trust in you, You fall in love, and coo and bill, And want to know what I mean
;

But that he hasn't

had made him

!

A grain of sense
see

The

silliness

of plaguing me.
?

His genius and his prospects Well Can you eat prospects ? Will they sell

And

will his

trumpery genius be
?

to do.

A dinner,
to

or only a dinner-bell

Of course, the fellow came And talked of marriage,

trash.

me, and

love,

There there mean

don't cry

do not

He

is

not

all

that

you would say

I've seen.

As

he thought I did not see He meant just settlements and cash. But there's my banker gone to smash.
if

A handsome fellow, as
And And
true and
it is

modest in his way hard to say you nay

;

Shares fallen to nothing, farmers' rents Yet

Begged
Cents

off,

and half

my

should your old father lose Three per His one ewe-lamb ? Why, should he

why

choose

Gone

to save Charlie

from a smash

To

steal

my

only joy away.

And

where
?

is

the

money

for Since

Charlie went to the dogs and

settlements

Jews?

yes He did not care for that. And that reminds me, Charlie says He did not woo you for your gold. Your friend's a screw, and awful close He wished for nothing, cared not what But then he's poor, and no doubt pays
!

You

His means and

brought or did not bring him ; told His way, which Charlie never does. prospects, and was bold That makes a difference, for those

To

think that love like his and yours.

May freely
I

give and lend,

whose purse

Would work
cures,

miraculous

works and

Is shut to all their creditors.

Keep you from hunger, debt, and cold, And all the evils that man endures.

How

wish I knew their secret, Rose, never to pay, and be never the
worse.

Olrig Grange

66

Well, yes

I liked him, as

you

say,
;

And
he

praised

him

to

my

friends

and This

wonderful what now we do is a mighty age indeed, With march of Intellect so true,
It's

May wed

He
But

likes,

their daughters
that's

any day no concern to me.

From

prejudice and bondage freed,

pious
!

And

fraud,

and

worn

- out

this I could not bear to see.

creed

My

Rose stuck

in his button-hole.

We weigh

the farthest stars in scales.

We comprehend the wandering gales, And shunned, like any stained soul. We summon spirits at our need By a world that hates all poverty And the world is perfectly right, on From the shadowy world which love
the whole.
bewails.
I don't

But tush

with marriage and affiance

waits

The Medium

me

at the door,

The
That

spirits

That Pythoness of modern

science.

deny, that heretofore have not much to tell. Shakespeare's something of a

Who
To

brings back Intellect once

more

bore.

hear and wonder and adore.

electric light

She photographed by

My
The

old

Grandmother's

ghost

last

night,

very cap and wig she wore.

the spirit sat

While

by me there

bolt

That Milton proses about Hell, That Scott has lost his wizard spell. That Plato has forgot his Greek, That Byron's dull, and Goethe weak But then, deal tables could not well
Utter the thoughts they might wish to
speak.

upright.
I did not see

Her

but I saw

The

portrait like as like could be,

felt a

We

wait for better instruments

And And

kind of creeping awe, old religion back in me ; hand was laid upon my knee. And there was music in the air. The very song she whiled my care Away with in my infancy And she lives in some kind of a sphere somewhere.

Wind
Sweet

harps to suit the

spirit

hand,

lutes to place beside the rents

No

In the dim walls of the spirit-land. Maestro with his cunning wand Beethoven's symphonies could get From bones and bagpipes. are

We

yet

But groping 'mong the

Of the

secrets grand mystic spiritual Alphabet.

And
For

conscience twitched me, like a

hitherto I

spasm.

had no

faith

In anything but protoplasm ; I held that spirit was but breath. And all the Future silent death. And what, if Science shall restore The faith it robbed me of before ?

At any rate, this is the age Of miracles proper, wonders done By careful reading the dark page Of Nature, searching one by one Her secrets till there shall be none. And he who reads them is the true

Prophet- Apostle of

For

call

it spirit,

ghost, or wraith,

Annus
in

mirabilis,
its

this new whose sun

One was

there

who

did not

come

Shines

great

light

now on me

by the door.

and you.

67

Loquitur Pater
Wonders of Science marvels high, Beyond our wildest dream or hope, Found in the sunlight and the sky
!

And
You

By

spectroscope and telescope Miracles in a dirty drop Of water from a stagnant pool And every lichened rock is full Of history ; and there's a crop
!

still beneath the grieving saint. found the nether millstone hard ; She's not a fool, nor given to faint, But maundered nonsense by the yard. Until she had you off your guard.

Then

lisped soft

words that stung you

sore,

And
You

hints

that

maddened you

still

Of marvels now
Now, go
give

in a table or stool

more.
bit the

to your mother, Rose, she'll

Cracked
core.

peach and for reward your teeth on the stony

Heaven's name Right worldly wisdom, as I live. And all in pious phrase and frame. I wish I knew that little game. It is a secret worth the knowing.
Excellent counsel
in

know

it all

Of pious As loose

; the winding stream babble linked along.

as

some
all

fantastic

To
The

Oblivious of

right

dream. and wrong,

clothe

with

Scripture

language

glowing
devil's plain

Here swirling round in eddies strong 'Neath twisted roots of old dead
thought.

common-sense, and

claim

The Word
throwing.

There
of truth for truth's o'er-

slushing

And
The

chill as salt

among mud and rot. and snow among

of
feeling

tremblings

highly

What ? You

have only come from her

wrought.

Well, I'm a beast, a perfect brute. Our modern science has not left To fret and fume and stamp and stir leg for faith to stand upon ; With fretful word, and angry foot. Of all its miracles bereft, While my poor girl stands still and Its history to myth all gone ; mute, Yet would it surely hold its own With that mouth,

taste in her

where

all

Nauseous bitters scriptural Are mingled by a branch-and-root Right Low-church Evangelical. But come, now, tell me what she Yet what needs asking that ?
course.
said.

But for that nether millstone bit That lieth in the heart of it. little mercy would atone For failure of reason, and lack of

wit.

Of She

is your mother, and my wife ? Well, yes and may be I have been
!

Her

was broken, and she prayed For " Death " to come on his pale
heart
horse.

No To

A A

wise guide for a troubled life. lead it to the peace serene. brighter girl was never seen ;

And all the world was waxing worse And then she blamed your wicked views And touched upon the elected Jews
Zion back in force And they can't go sooner than would choose.
to

Going

There's none of you who may compare, moment, with her beauty rare. Her perfect sense, and insight keen. I How she headed the hunt on that wild black mare

; ;

68

Olrig Grange
well

Ah

that's past.

And

am

vexed
If I have added to your pain. I did not mean it. I'm perplexed With Charlie's gambling debts again.

And had no
If perfect

If I could think you loved like this, half-heart for the world,

Love were

perfect bliss,

Whose

spotless flag

you had unfurled.

and
hardships

And
At

its

serene defiance hurled

Do He

what
plays

I will,

'tis all in

vain

toil,

contempt,

to-night,

and

prays

to-

great

morrow,

But you have ne'er confronted Fate

to

Now

tries

preach,

and now
is

to

Your love

is

rosy, scented, curled,

to

borrow

And
;

dreams of a carriage, and man

Among the Jews and then To come to me when he

sorrow.

fain

wait.
to

comes

My
me, Rose, and
thoughts.
let

dear,
is

you know
the
truth
;

it

not
I've

but yet

That

read

your
fret

Now,

kiss

me

go
surely

heart

And

put this business quite

away

You

are no heroine

you would

Out of your
know.

You

'Tis easier far for me to say yea to any one than nay ; And yea to thee, was pleasant

stUl,

To play a common, obscure part. To watch the coming baker's cart. To tremble at the butcher's bill, To patch and darn and hem, and still To make yourself look neat and smart
In a twopenny print and a muslin
frill.

And
But

nay, against
it

my

heart and will

of day. If aught should happen to thee of ill.

light

would quench

my

There's nothing of the hero, Rose, In any of us. could fight,

We

Even when you

leave

me

for a

home,

I daresay, if

it

came

to blows,

Happy and honoured, it will be The last bright day shall ever come With sunshine to my home and me

Almost

like the old

Who
;

won
might

our

Norman knight lands Heaven bless

his

And

the years afterwards will flee

Like drift of dry and barren sand Along the shore, between the land And the low moaning of the sea That creeps with the great mist, hand
in

We could not win them if we tried We can but shoot and fish and ride.
And And
lightly spend
I don't

what came

so light.

know we can do ought

beside.

hand.

If you had loved with love supreme.

Indeed, you must not think of it. For us there's nought but commonplace.

Which
[f

to itself

is all

in all

dinner good, a dress to fit, you were lapt in blissful dream. ride to hunt, a pretty lace. Which wakens not at any call, Old wine, old china, and old lace But still loves on whate'er befall can no more. I've tried If worldly custom, pride, and show. know And all your wonted life might flow Science, but Science will not sho^ Past you unheeded, and the small Tattle of fools, like the winds that Her secrets to the trifling race

A A

We

to

blow

Of Dilettanti,

brisk or slow.

;;

Editorial

69

You You You You Are

don't

like

this,

you don't

like

that;

BOOK FIFTH
fat,

don't like horsey-hunting squires,

don't like parsons sleek and don't like those whose only
the
:

EDITORIAL
Dressed, like a penitent, in sombre black That hung about her limp and scrimp, and all
lace, or tucker,
;

fires

quenched

ashes

of

their

sires

Nor do you love this Thorold so. That you with him, like Eve, would Without relief of ribbon,
go
Into a world of thorns and briers,

Collar, or cuff, or any lightsome thing

Her hair, that wont in regal

Stuffed loosely in a net
;

braid to fold

Glad
That

to be with

him

in

weal or woe.

A shining coronet around her brow.

nor ring nor
as
it

is

the curse upon us.

Rose

jewel

We

And

cannot dare a noble fate, yet our hearts find no repose In all our empty show and state : can be neither small nor great

Gracing the hand that trembled

lifted

A book, a pencil,
And
arrayed,

We
We

or an ornament. could not help but lift them

so

With
Like

strong desire and feeble

power

hanker through our weary hour, nun-like woman over all dull and sad. flowers that try to blossom In tragic dress of studied negligence. Which covered not the less a tragic late, In a sickly struggle with frost and pain, shower. For there are souls that live in symbolisms. Our race is run : the Norman knight And are most true in most dramatic Is distanced by the engineer seeming, The cotton-spinner beats us quite Thus Rose awaited for the sacrifice.

When
That

all

the battle

is

to clear
:

A hundred thousand pounds a-year

is

the glory of our age,

She could not the room

rest,

but

paced about

Six figures on the Ledger's page

Now Now

drawing curtains

close, to

dim

And no bad glory either, dear, As glory goes among saint and
Our
life is all

the light
sage.

watching the slow movement of

its

the clock.
a poor illusion.
is

Uncertain whether to chide

;

tardy

And

nothing

that seems to be

pace.

Our knowledge only breeds confusion, Or its unfeeling haste; now sitting down, Our love is moonshine on the sea. Holding her side, or white, spasmOur faith is but the shadow we choking throat
Cast

on the cloud that bounds our view ;

to be virtuous

And
With

anon starting up to stamp and

flashing look defiant, saying

frown.

And

will"; If we have not the funds when the But soon she drooped her head, and bills come due. sobbed, " I cannot
Is trouble, plague,

and true and misery,

"

; ;

70

Olrig Grange

God, pity me, a creature pitiful I dare not say, God help me, for this
business
Is one

As

the fond wife her husband's footkens,

fall

Home-coming
cannot help
the
in.

while she watches for

often I have sat intent

He

am

to

his

coming.
!

choose
Deliberately
proven.

Ah me how
mean
life

have

To

hear

it,

while they thought

heeded them And knowing it so hollow, heartless, Dully haw-hawing, which he never did; Stupidly flattering, which he never vain, And knowing, too, the better life of love. did; And knowing it may break a noble Or peddling in the devil's small-ware,
heart,

gossip

And make
heart,

mine own a lean and barren

And And

For he
mine own death-warrant.
it ?

am

to seal a covenant with darkness.

innuendo, which he never did is gracious, generous, and true all the time my spirit was not
:

And
As

sign
I

here,

Can
Is there

do
all

But hovering by the door, and out and

no hope, no other way but

tell

they

me ?

how
to

this.

in,

hate

And, hungering
the more.

for him, hated

them

them all Why was there none

better thought.

back
to

my And now I shake and shiver To hear the step which I

do
all

like a rush

shall hear

And

help the struggling spirit

?

no more.

right

O
To

father, mother, brother,

Forsake
strong

me

ply

me
?

so

more he more and with reasons No more own hand

!

No

will

not

see

me any

why do

must snap with mine

play the baser part

Was

ever girl
?

The

gold-thread in

my

life,

and make
!

So hard

beset with preachers of a lie

it all

Was ever girl so drawn by cords of love Leaden To break the cord of Love ? Or can I hate
it

it

and passionless for evermore all ; I'll do some wicked

be,
all

thing,

and I myself I know, ere all is ended. How I Half feel, yet hate myself for feeling it. dread That this poor world of Custom is my The future they have fashioned out Fate ; for me. That I must be what yet I scorn to be ; And fierce rebellion of the best in me That empty as it is, it is my all Against the doing what is bound on That I should only wreck another soul. me Trying another life ; that I have lost, Heaven help me to be true at least to

As

they do

aver,

With

their upbringing, simple

woman?

him

hood

When
strength- of love
!

falsest

to

myself;

my way

is

And

patient

Too
know

hard."

late,

too late

Then
his ring.

she sat down, and was composed

at, as

That is his them well,

step,

and calm

To

look

a marble monument.

; ;

:
:

Loquitur Rose
I loved above myself

71

LOQUITUR ROSE
Nay,
I
sit

above

Mine own

capacity of soul,

As
down
there,
;

am

not worthy
in

and touch and I feel

me

not

one that with an earthly love Seeks Heaven, yet spurns its high
control.
I did aspire unto the role

In

my shamed
put

soul the leprous spot

I would kneel, Of a great blessedness, unmeet thy presence. For such as me. 'Twas very sweet, neck beneath thy heel, While the dream lasted round and If Nature had her way, and youth whole. Its old simplicity and truth :

Burn

Or

my

But the sorrow of waking is more But the wolf's gnawing we conceal complete. 'Neath a surface passionless, bland, and smooth. Yet do not let me wholly pass Out of your mind, though I must be No more ashamed of doing wrong. We are ashamed of feeling right, Apart from your true life, alas And from a meaner level see. Ashamed of any feeling strong, As one looks where the stars go free, And of all shame ashamed quite And I am like the rest ; the light Its struggle brave and triumph great. Laughter of fools arrests my shame For you will strive and conquer Fate And self-contempt and bitter blame And think not bitterly of me When you take to your bosom a So we must meet as if the might Of passion and pain were an empty name. worthier mate.
! :

Ah me
And

hard for me to speak, hard for you to hear Yet do not comfort me, nor seek To soothe one pang or stay one tear. No fear of that, alas no fear ;
!

'tis

But

will be

I must say. though my heart Protests with an indignant nay

let

me

speak

all

For

must say

it,

And

loathes to play the ignoble part.

it is
:

Ignoble

I have
as

More like to scorn me Which I have chosen

not;

for the lot

;

To
me But

picture

wrong
it

it

no art were right

yet scorn

if I sin I sin outright. sin,

And know
smart hated than quite Will follow
night,

and
as

know

the

I've been so happy, being so dear

Yet I'd rather be

forgot,

as

surely

day and

I've been so happy, and can be

No more as I have been again And my most cherished memory Henceforth shall be my keenest pain.
;

sham ; let bad be bad. good be good for evermore Who doeth right, let him be glad. Knowing the good he liveth for
I hate a

And

doeth wrong, let him, too, pour The treasured thought of all my prime. Unshrinking light upon his ill. The treasured grief of all my time ; And do it with determined will And I have loved, and not in vain. Our devil clings to his role of yore.
I have been loved
;

that will remain

Who

Though my Love,
was almost crime.

in

Love's

vision,

And

is

fain

to

play the good angel

still.

72

Olrig Grange

had a schoolmate once

very bad
;

a girl

Why
In

do

I dwell

on

this

Much
Nor

like myself, not very good.

'Twas not
her.

herself, but

Because ? he that spoke

no precious pearl,

And

soon there

came a

Or

perfect flower of

womanhood

pause

But one that graced and understood

Our

pleasant, artificial life,

And

would have

The spell was broke, In her hot zeal. once more, her old self awoke made a charming With yearning for the former days.

And

wife,

Had she been only gaily wooed By a fine red-coat and a drum
fife.

and

The laughter crisp, the empty praise. The dressing, dancing, and the flock Of butterflies sunning them in her rays.
Then by and
by, in her old place
first,

But there came one across her way

We
But

met her

matron meek,
;

Priest

grave,

high-thoughted

Come

to diffuse a light of grace

man.

for this task she

Who

to When did not lag behind his day, seek to lead the van The old smiles, and the banter light, Of Progress with a lofty plan. And midnight chatter sparkling bright Not counting for himself the price. With airy bubbles ; while a bleak Up the great stair of Sacrifice, Loneliness reigned in her home all Trod by the meek and lowly One, He would lead our gay world into night.

was too weak. guardsmen gathered round

But bravely dared

:

Paradise.

He

What would you ? There was nothing wrong came across her path, and she Caught up his dream, and dreamt In our sense, only flirting gay. Meanwhile the grave priest went along, awhile With heavy heart, his weary way. She came across his path, and he
;

Found dreams

Heavier-hearted every day. angelic in her smile ; Till, as a shield for her good name, no knowledge, she no guile : Weary and dreary he, too, came Leave that to satire-novels ; both But dreamt a happy dream, not loath ; To ball and rout and drum and play And she squandered his life in her There was no woman's art or wile reckless game. When she gave to him freely her

He had

plighted troth.

His vow

to cherish her

he deemed
;

And
His

for a while she strove to live

life,

First of

all

duties binding

so

And
Not

and meekly played her part for a while she tried to give

The

glorious

dream which he had

dreamed

service only, but her heart

dealing them a deadly blow. To sacred work and thought and art With a brave woman by his side. To help the poor, the sick to cheer. And breathe sweet love instead of fear Became a mournful strife to hide

Of a And

great battle with sin and woe.

Into our worship, and impart

A broken heart, nor

How the
had died.

let

her

know

To

all

men

the feeling that

God

was

hope and the

light of his life

near.

; ;

; ; ;

Loquitur Rose
Now,
hear

73

me
I

too

had
day

my

Nay, think not these are motives good

dream,

Framed
fondled
life

but to hide the

to a bitter

ill

I do.

The
It

which

and Nor drive me

mood

night,

When my
my
the gleam
light

sore heart

would most be

shed upon
all in

true

Of a new world
Nor
I see as I

of truth and right

its

And
I

vain, for in

had never seen

life is mean Without the purpose and the might Of a noble Faith, and a Hope

Before

I see that

faithful and tender unto you. have done wrong, and hide it not, But yet it was not in my thought And bitterly your heart would rue Blending me with your life and lot.

And

yet 'tis but a dream with me, Vague, feeble, and unsolid : I of the world, worldly ; I can see

Am

Admiring

still,

the vision high.

Therefore my dream I must dispel, Therefore my love I must refuse ; It was a sweet and tender spell Of soft enchantment I did use I was to blame ; I therefore lose The one great bliss I ever knew.

And feel the sentiment and sigh Of truer nature in my breast.

Our
artificial

The

false

love which yet

in its cleansing
it

made me

true.

world confessed
lie,

Bathing

me

A proven vanity and

am am am

But

know

dews grew irksome already

But the owl sees the sunshine and winks in its nest.
I

to you.

Nay, don't deny

not
fit

it

it it
;

was
I

right

to live your

life,

You

could not help

have seen

I I
I

not meet to share your thought, not able for the strife
glorious lot,
to be brought

Of any high and am not worthy

Into companionship of those

Who Who Who

heed not custom as it goes. heed not what opinions float. heed but the light that high Reason throws.

Often the anxious, doubtful light Of those true eyes when I have been Showing a nature small and mean I've watched the shadow of regret. The pleading look when our looks met, The pain and fear you fain would
screen,

And

I could not be other,

and cannot

yet.

I will not be to

you a
you a

care,

And
I

then, too, though I

are
that

am

not old,
;

A burden only changed for death

I will not be to

know my years
told.

more than thine

your

snare.
;

And
lest

quaint thing,

sister,

As she was You shall

breath

to the Priest of Faith

not

tremble

the

By many
That That

she did
I, in

an angry look and sign, more than half divine

Of slander dim a wife's pure name, And feeling shame deny the shame. And sadly smiling bear the scaith
Of
a nature too shallow to get

wanton

idksse, angled,
art,

And

had, with crafty

entangled

Your love, and strained upon the line. much Nor cared how your heart was torn
and mangled.

blame.

; !;

74

Olrig Grange
knew

Little she

but let that pass

;

Perhaps I played

at love

perhaps
!

enough to part with pain, But not enough to wed thee poor
I love
I

The game

to earnest grew, alas

Ere I could mark the gradual

lapse.

Who

dare not face the way of men nobly labour and endure.

The

And And

unnoticed tide crept up the gaps, circled us with foaming sea.

Seeking a great life high and pure. But I have one true purpose yet
I will not lead thee to forget

there was no escape, and we, Enforced, clasped the love that wraps
its

Forgetfulness in

ecstasy.

The splendid hope of glory sure, Which was all your thought until we
two met.

Yet mine

is

not a love like thine,

!

Which Which
wine.

brooks no rival, fears no ill. Ah you will not believe the truth. time would mellow like old Because it shows me poor and mean

You've dreamt

that I

am

all in

sooth,

Which

Which I have dreamt I might have hath no separate end or will. And is content with loving still. been Such life would grow insipid soon And should, perhaps, if I had seen To me, and tiresome as a tune In early years the generous life Ground on a barrel-organ, till Of aspiration high, and strife change were as welcome as flowers For truth and love and faith serene, in June. Which oft you have pictured for you and your wife. It should not, but I know it would ; It seems as if some evil spell But this it was not mine to see ; Were on me, holding me from good, household ours where Home is And from the peace unspeakable ; not,

There

is

that in

me

like a bell

We
!

carp and criticise, and

we

Cracked Shaming

swings Never do anything we ought. its office, for it rings. Ah happy was your sister's lot For Christmas cheer and passing brother idles, trifles, spends. knell. And here he borrows, there he lends. The same false note for all truest And I, like him, have never thought things. Of doing a thing that makes or
in the belfry,

where

it

My

Women Women
Even

are fickle

mends.
I

are contrary

am more I am worse
;

Yet we must

eat

and drink and

dress.

ficklest
in

women

can adore,
stedfast

And

drive in carriages, and ride

And

Which

adoring gain a force holds them to a

course

In Rotten Row, and crush and press. Bejewelled at St. James's, tied Fast to the chariot of our pride.

But I've no reverence

mine eyes
their

Have

spacious rooms, and sumptuous

Have

To And

only learnt to criticise. find out flaws, and trace

fare.

And

waiting-maids

and grooms

to

source.

share

to weary of folk that are good Our vicious idleness, and hide The dull stupid ennui shot with and wise.

care.

Loquitur Rose
It's all a lie, this life

75

we

lead
;

Upon

And

breeds in

all'

of us sloth and sin

The coachman wigged and tippeted, The maid who cannot sew nor spin, The brawny giant that let you in.

their splendid works, and praise Their genius, and we long to hear About their naughty vices dear, So charming in our books and plays,

Like beings quite

in another sphere.

Who
And

should have been a grenadier, They're good for nothing before a year. Save lazy gossip, tippling gin,

keeping a tap-room, and drawing

You do not like this tone ? I know You hate a false, affected vein What, then, if we were bound to row.
;

beer.

How could I
Like Like
all
all

hope to escape the

it

I've not escaped

taint

am

just

the rest, on folly bent. the rest

;

devoured with

rust

Like galley-slaves, together, twain Linkedeachto each by loathsome chain; And by that union sundered more. Until the fretting bondage wore Your heart, and left an aching pain, As the only trace of the love you bore ?
It

Of idleness a hollow crust Of sentiment, and surface wit, And scraps of knowledge. I am

may

not be,

it

may
sin in

not be

'Twere grievous
fit

me

to

wed

For no brave life of love and trust. Or a home where the lamp of truth is

A soul to so great misery.

Binding the living with the dead.

lit.

And now

this parting

word

is

said,

You

think I

draw

my

portrait

ill.

Beclouded by some fitful mood And fancy you could raise me still Into a nobler world of good. 'Tis kindly meant ; but as I brood Over the thought, I seem to see You failing of your destiny And for myself I never could Live the life you have pictured to me.
I

We, being twain, may still love on. Who, being one, had turned to stone

We loose
Our

our vows, but link, instead, hearts more surely to love alone.
!

A sad love
Who,
Lost
all

? Yes I call to mind. That fisher-woman long ago

storm of sleet and wind, her sons at one fell blow saw her go. Three stalwart men. Don't you remember ? with her dead.
in the

We

could not bear the poky rooms

students talk and

Where Bloomsbury
smoke,

I'd sicken at the steamy fumes.

Side by side the corpses laid. Three long black coflSns in a row, On the bench of the boat, head touching head.

The

maid-of-all-work would evoke

to the flow of wit,

I'd sooner hear a raven croak

Than hearken

And
The

watch the gleams of genius

artist

flit.

Never a word came from her lips She took the helm, and bent the sail. And silently slid by the ships.

While shabby

fellows broke

Where strong men sob, and women wail

fit.

Across the bar she caught the gale. And sped on o'er the darkening wave 'Twas nice, of course, to hear from you Into black night she never gave One sign, but tearless, hard, and pale. About their wild Bohemian ways Sailed with her dead to their father's One likes to know how people do
silence with laughter loud

and

Who

are not in the world.

We

gaze

grave.

; ;

76

Olfig Grange
I go like her, with all hopes lying cold in me ; great mist cometh, like a wall

And now

Helpless

among

the tossing spray

My dead
The

And how he saw the grim crags loom. And heard the big waves crash and
boom.

Of darkness, striding o'er the And all my dead are orderly

sea

Through
way.

mists that darkened on his

like walls of

Spread out beside me ; and I know That they and I together go

Into the black night, leaving thee,
I

Darkened and deepened his tomb

;

and

my

dead hopes

all in

row

Into the moonless, starless gloom. Into the grey and trembling cloud.

And how his heart in him grew cold. As still the boat went hurrying on.
Past

foaming

skerry
all

and

headland

Night closing o'er me like a tomb, The wet mist clinging as a shroud, And the wind wailing dirges loud Men will call it a wedding gay.

bold.

Into the darkness

:

alone

And

weird, witch forms, with eyes of

stone.

And maids will flutter, priests will pray, Looked on, And joy-bells gather the village crowd. dread. To toast the dead on her bridal day. As hungry
sped.

and mocked with laughter

waves, like fierce wolves,

Or
I

dead or worse

they drive

me mad
;

And

leaped on
fain
:

him

and hope was

wot not what the end may be

in

And And

there are times I feel so bad.

gone ; And he
instead

would pray, but cursed

the shadowy future see. In dark revenge of misery,

A sinful woman scorning

I've

shame. Spurning a hateful home and name.

known such, yearning to be free That they recked not either of guilt
or blame.

And how he lifted up his hand To pray or curse, as it might be, And in that moment grazed the land. When something smote his palm, and he
Grasped a strong rope unconsciously

A fowler's rope that dangled there,

I

wot not what

stories

it

means

but

now

Down
And

of your grey North Sea Keep running in my head, somehow And weird and eerie tales they be.

The

on his darkness and despair. Barely dipping the swollen sea

the half-uttered curse gasped into a prayer.

Was

it

yourself that told

Or some

one

else

it

me ?

do not know

How
Aie

'mong the

isles

Even so am I on fateful tide the tide-waves Borne on, and by the surges tossed.

flow.

And
steeds that franticly
;

Like maddened

lashed into fury as on they go

a fisher-lad
his oars,

And how
Caught

in the race, atid

was once swept away

And how Were reft

by evil chance. from him ; and how he lay

helplessly I rock and ride. Alone, and in the darkness lost. Haunted by many a mocking ghost No help without, no help within. Forsaken in my way of sin. Forsaken by myself the most. But I reach out in vain through the gloom and the din.

;;

; ; ;; ;

;;

Editorial

77

I reach out, but I reach in vain

Hovering about him,

fluttered

as the

swallows

help for rae ; I touch the shore They only push me back again The tide sweeps on, the waters roar. head is dizzy, my heart is sore ; I reach out, but no help is near, clond is on my soul, and fear. And hate and madness evermore

No

Round

their old nests,

and twittered

in the eaves.

My

White-throated

there

he lay

in

his

Are

hissing their whispers in

my

ear.

his wasted cheek. a fire burning in his large grey eye; Waiting, he said, for that uncourtly

young manhood, fever-flush upon

And

Amid my
There's
prayer,

no cord of life for me darkness and despair Pity me, look not cold on me

There

is

valet

Who

doth unclothe us of our fleshly

I

robes.

cursing

in

the
air.
?

heart

of Preparing us for sleep.

fears

had

my

And
You

cursing in the very

Yet
and say

life

was strong, only

it

had no

Will yon not kiss

love
it.

me

once

relish.

still and ever ? Nay ? And hope was broken ; and the Wherefore should I care springs of life To chafe back the life which were Being gone, he only longed to see the better away. end Of its hard jolting. Then the Doctors O heart, lie dead, and feel no more came. So best. If I must stUl live on And tapped, and stethescoped, and

me

So be

The desert life that lies before Were best to have a heart of stone.

spoke of

riles,

And
Cells,

lesions

and adhesions and deaf

mucus,
coughs,

Now leave me
And And
I accept I

I would be alone.
yet,

parts.
stitches,

You wiU be happy

and

free.

and

my

destiny.

blisterings

We had a dream,

and it is gone wake, but there's no breaking for me.

And
day

then,

with
their

kindly
head,

knowing
and went

helplessness.

They shook
upon
their

way.
full

BOOK SIXTH

But he, end

in

persuasion

that

the

EDITORIAL
Home
! in the grey old house beside the brook !

Had
Not

well begun, was tender, cheerful,

bitter

kind;
with this world, nor greatly
yea, he

troubled
the other:

Home
bis

in the

dim old room among About

sister sitting

had great
me, and
settle-

books Home with his

!

peace

by

his

Thinking of Hester
laying plans

and

side.

And

a fond memories

throng

of

clinging

About our wedding, making

ments

78

Olrig Grange
knows
It did not

Preposterous, and buying heaven

change

his spirit, did not

fill

what

His mouth with the big words of

From
till

Still

heaven knows where, but restless tragedy. he saw it Much pitying himself; it only set him glad to hear no murmur of the Doggedly to his task of work, with
force
see no pile of books

streets,

And

and sorted Unbroken, undivided, unrelieved task And therein he had lived, and therein Urging the o'er- wrought brain, and found hold no more joy and fulness of life, till something The sluggish pen in weary, fevered cracked hand. With the overstrain of so unresting toil. Could he but sleep a little Oft he Moreover, he had planned a scheme lay,

Seeing old faces flit by as in dreams. so vast That only a Goethe-Methuselah, with Hearing old voices talking in the air. All senses strangely keen, and fancy a power Of vision, and a power of masterquick. Yet, as it were, a passing instrument work. Played on by passing sounds and subtle Prolonged a thousand years, had seen smells the end on't. And lights and shadows, and all But now it is not given to any one
fleeting things.

To
God,
at peace

overarch

the

structure

of

all

At

peace he was with with man ;

forgotten

knowledge.

And
how
to sleep.

Only he had

I'm not a poet ; I have no romance. But stand by facts, and laws o' the
Universe

crown it with its dome and golden cross Nor is it given to any one to work, As God does, leisurely, because He
draws

Upon
rhyme and rhythm
like utter

the unmeasured ages, wherefore

finished,

Though

doubtless

He
Alone may say "'Tis
and

Are

and play of fancy facts too, and have laws

prose.

We

very good." only do a part, and partly well.

others

But what I mean is, if a man abuse Stomach and brain, they will revenge
themselves

And

come

and

mend

it.

Thorold

tried for our brief life

Too much
nights,

a cosmic

For

sleepless

and

hastily-

work,

And toiled to do it in his week of days must That had nor fresh-breathed morn, nor restfiJ eve not think For him. So he broke down, a Of a heart broken, dying in despair wreck, at last. Of unrequited love. He loved, and lost Achieving but a fragment of his That sweetest relish of laborious life thought, Which henceforth was all labour that porch, a pillar, and an outline dim. was all.
snatched meals.
life

And

at

fever-heat.

You

Loquitur Ihorold
Some

79

deemed he was a failure Than all completed thinking. saw Thorold thus The germ of grand discovery in his Pushed at the gates of God, and
others

thought,

And worked
well, well

it

to their profit.

There

are

who

give us

all

through the chink Caught, wondering, some gleams of inmost Light they have, Transcendent, and some chords of

Ah

complete,

harmony

Nothing omitted, nothing lying behind. Entrancing ; unexpected mysteries All formulated, tidy, docketed. Of unison and beauty, heretofore Tied neatly up in ribbons, laid in Or jarring, or divided, blended now
drawers.

And handy for

With
all
its

our use an entire soul. thoughts booked up to

In reconciling vision of higher truth.

the last hour

LOQUITUR THOROLD
:

In double entry
rae

these don't interest

Thanks, Hester
;

dear, this
;

little

hand

know them, and am done with Was always

them
they have
great

gentle

none like thee

all

Can smooth
no shadows " upon them, and
foot-lights

a pillow in

the land.

No Of
Is

infinite possibilities,

Or

sweeten the sick-room delicately

good, for I was rough and bold let me to the sunshine hold

the
but

God
of

A tender, loving hand to me

Too
;

their light

row

and Now,

reflectors

Shining upon the stage, and on themselves.

The dainty fingers up, and see The red light through, as in days of old.

But others, more aspiring than achieving,

How

sweet the day gleams through

the faint

Achieve

all

in

suggestion.

They

lie

down With Nature,

of Boaz,

as

Ruth
his

lay at the feet

Who
What

longed for

upwaking, and
;

Pink curtains of the dear old room. Like heaven-sent visions of a saint Tinged with the nature they illume You've kept all here as fresh as bloom, Just as it was long years ago
!

I have not felt blanch linen so

yet feared

Lavender-sweet since
so

fateful

doom
window

the day-break might bring they with dread

Lured me abroad

to a world of woe.

And
The

yearning

wait,

till

God

shall

The

old flowers through the

speak to them
thing they cannot utter, save in

toss

Wafts of sweet incense

fragments,

Knock

at the pane,

roses pink ; cushioned in moss.

In broken strains of angel melody.

And
the

Or

visions

momentary

behind

veil;

Yet more suggestive of Divinity, More helpful by their infinite reaching Falls on the sense, and makes me think
forth

yellow buds, too, smile and blink sill ; and as I drink The fragrant breath, an airy jet From the sweet-pea and mignonette

Over the

Of the

old bright mornings,

dewy

wet.


8o

; ! ;

Olrig Grange
should, at times, a passing scent,

Why

Just sniffed a
Its sensuous

moment on

the breeze,

Have you forgot your Greek, and all Our quarrel ? How you would have
sent

power

so swiftly spent.

Come laden with more memories Than the low hum of honey bees. Or sound of old familiar strains, Or rustling of the autumn grains, Or voices from the whispering trees, Or the running brooks, or the pattering
rains
?

Fair Helen from the Trojan wall Back to the King of men, nor spent

One arrow though the bow were bent, Nor borne a dint on Hector's shield. Nor planted banner on the field. Nor shouted from the battlement.
For
a

woman whose

faithless

heart

could yield.

The smell More than

Speaks
greet

of these moss-roses sweet, aught meets the ear or eye. of old times, and seems to
:

You held the men unfit to rule Who'd launch their galleys on

sandy shore and rocky steep. For leman false, and lover faint And white-capped matrons leisurely Yea, were she pure as purest saint. Trudging along to the house of prayer. Better have died than so to keep The kings from their high task of government. They are all gone, all sainted now. All clothed in raiment clean and white With palm-crown on each grave sad What scornful beauty you would show In scorning beauty and its charms brow. They stand before the Fount of light, How eloquent your words would And praise His glory day and night grow No wrinkles on their face I see. O'er lordless realms and vague alarms.
I see our mother on the
stair.
;
!

kindly from the days gone by There by the window you and I Hearken the kirk-bell in the air,

Me

the deep. And leave their realms to mickle dule. And lonely wives to watch and weep.

By

No toil-rough hand,
Yet clinging
Is

feeble age with rusty arms Fending the matrons, while the men the scent of the sweet thyme and Were bleeding on the sand or fen. rosemary. Or dreaming of their homes and
to their glory bright

nor stiffening knee,

And

farms.

How the old books look bright in gold Or

You must

fattening the lean wolf in his den. have dusted them all day To keep them so from moth and I think you should have been the boy, You were so politic and wise. mould. Those were school prizes near you Impatient of an idle toy. And piercing with those stedfast pray

Give me

my Homer,

that I

may

eyes

Smell the old Russia smell once more.

The

heart of
I

And

feel the old

Greek

torrent pour.

While

ah me
up

all

great enterprise.
!

my

life is

sped.
;

Already numbered with the dead Like plashing waves on shingly bay. As the King mused, wrathful, along And with the vanities and lies
the shore.

Clasp

it

in its coffin lead.

; !! :

JLoquitur
I know you'U say me nay ; You still believe in me, though I Have lost faith in myself, and pray

Ihoroid

8i

Yes, yes

The
But a

blithe
;

home, and
still

the

kindly

hearth

rarer light

gilds the hour.

For nothing but

in

peace to die.

When

And

be forgotten by and by. &ith, so fond and true, StiU hiding failure from our view ! Close-clinging ivy green and high.
sister's

happening on this tender flower, I found an impulse that gave birth From an aimless life to a life of power.

That covers the

ruin with glories

new

Dear, there's a small flower lying in My Terence, near the fortieth page : 'Twas the first honour I did win In science, and my youthftJ gage

power ? Ah no ! This life hath been Feeble and fruitless, like the faint And watery glimmer you have seen Of broken rainbows, never bent In glory athwart the firmament

Of

A sickly splendour, would-be light,

That had not
beauty's awful might

Of earnest battle to assuage The thirst for knowledge. Near

1 found

a stone

Upon
I

it blooming all alone. an eager pilgrimage : was first to discover where grown.

And now the bootless years are spent. And the darkness cometh on me like
night.

it

had

Oh
I

for

am

so

more time a little more young ; and I had planned

!

'Tis almost the sole

mark

to

know

That I have lived

What
I saw

then I
its

felt,

and I would feel when bending low

;

delicate petals steal

So many years for gathering lore. So many for my work in hand My Book which, with a purpose grand. Our fragmentary truth should knit

A coy glance,

Had
The

In cosmic clearness, wholly lit almost where my heel crushed the treasure ; and I drew And by one sovran doctrine spanned it will never be writ. long breath, trembling ; and I knew And now, alas
!

passion of science,

and the zeal

broaden the realm of the known How strangely Destiny is ruled This small pale flower became my lot and true. And all my wandering fancies schooled, I found it : but the shepherd lad And gave my life a fixM thought, Had found it centuries before. Which to one centre all things And made his rustic maiden glad brought By gilding with its golden store Her golden hair nor cared for more. And henceforth this base earth was all We find we know not what ; we know, Instinct with meaning, prodigal Of riches ; yet there cometh not And idle blossoms, as they blow One full-ripe fruit to my blossomed By mountain burn or cottage door. wall. Fashion our life into which they grow.

To

That

little

flower gave bent to

all

So be

it ;

God
had

hath ordered
life

all

The

best years I

have lived on earth

The way by which my

Success
it

was

led.

To

any purpose. I recall Gladly our days of childish mirth, 6

not, or but small

Nor

care I

now

for laurelled head,

82

Olrig Grange
sleeping with the glorious dead.

Or

And

listed

no more

to appear

Slight are the trophies I have won,

Meagre is all the work. I've done But I have lived, at least, and fed On that which the noblest live upon.

With hammer deftly bringing forth The buried records of the earth. Or to enhance their facts with clear
Thought, which gives to them
their worth.
all

And now
Sweet

that

sister, let

we are here alone. me tell you all

And

went forth

from

thee

and

any one As unto you. Can you recall lovely girl, stately and tall, maiden with a queenly look.
I could not speak, to

them

A A

To the great Men crowd,

hem

world of London, where they say, to touch the

robes,

And how she And spake

befall

praised

of

my Fame

little

book, that should

Of Wisdom's
air

and breathe the

The

grey old house by the brattling

?

Of serene Of a wise

Science ; and the care State has garnered all

brook

Fruits of research, since

Adam's

fall

By wisdom made
You

our wisdom rare,

And man forgot what we now recall. did not like her much, I know. But there was never maiden fair Seemed worthy, as queen flower, to Heaven help me I used all the slang Of penny-a-liner big words then ; grow Well gardened in my heart with I guessed 'twas cant, and yet I rang
!

care.

The
and glory there. Hester you could see
!

The

chiefest treasure
foolish

changes on't, like other men ; Sweet, you may count that nine
ten

in

Fond,

No Eve my help-meet fit to be Of all that breathed the common Unless God should fashion
purposely.

Have nought to
air.

say but cant prolific

is

The

pious kind

more
in

terrific,

her But there's as

much

people

when

They

are literary

and

scientific.

And I deceived you, Hester dear. And spake of loving none like you. And talked of seeking a career Of ardent toil and science true. When all the while I had in view
Her stately form, her glorious eye. Her high imperial majesty Of sovran beauty for I knew
;

Abhorred

it is

High musing with

of scholar true. his books alone

too,

Abhorred of accurate science

She was

my

Fate, to live or to die.

Slow-pondering a leaf or stone ; But fashion has its torrid zone Where sages in a week shall grow Ripe and ready, and seem to know All that long painful thought hath won From the heaven above, and the
earth below.

And And And

The

so I left the dear old

home.
I left

so I left you, sister dear,

precious

scroll,

and cherished In

me

and
you
;

you then with

in

little
is

truth

truth alone

power

tome,
gatliered wealth of

I left

many

a year

For her

your lonely youth and found her like a flower

: ;

Loquitur Thorold
Bee-haunted
in the

83
not One.
a lot
coteries

sunny hour,

And London
Of cliques
Where

is

It

is

With

a great crown of wits and beaux, And varied hum of verse and prose Encircling her, while she would shower
Several influence as she chose.

A group of villages,
Long time the Or thought as
brain

and clubs and

the fresh fact or novel thought,

Filtered from stage to stage,

a set
sent

may

not

And they were mainly fools Of parlour-pedants chattering

simple fact remain.

from the thinker's

science,

Their thoughts all tangled in a net Rogues sweat their sovereigns ; fools, Of hard, dry fact ; the pigmy giants I wot, Hurled at the gods their proud defiance. Clip smaller the thoughts of their Tracing fit genealogies wisest men. Far back among the cocoa trees. But she ? Well, she was like a spring And fondly hugging brute-alliance With the monkey tribes and the Of purest water, cold and clear.
chimpanzees.

Where

bright

birds

come

to

preen

their wing,

All heresies of art came there, All heresies of science too. All theorists were free to air All social heresies, and new Commandments that a man should do, And women who had wrongs and rights. And patriots from disastrous fights.

And

owls and ravens too appear all as they drew near. And they all drank, and left no trace ; But each man deemed he saw his face Deep in her heart, and had no fear That the shadow changed when he

She mirrored

changed

his place.

And

came there, who grew Quicker than mushrooms overnights.

geniuses

Me

for a while she

honoured with

Selectest intercourse of few,

A Babel of confusM tongues A Limbo of the inchoate A gasping of distempered lungs

! !

Rehearsing every night a myth I was, and how I grew In a lone country-house, and knew Science like Pascal, with no aid.

Of what

That blamed the air, and not their state Except the quaintest little maid All fain to mend the world and fate. Who was a delicate genius too, All hating labour, and the slow And how she had drawn me out of Results that from its patience grow ; the shade. And oh, the froth was very great As they swirled and eddied to and fro. 1 tired of this ; 'twas weary all. And all unlike the glorious dream, Yet wherefore should I speak in scorn ? Which now with smiles I can recall, God made them in their kind, and He Of a fair woman who did seem Had use for them, at least had borne Down on my lower world to gleam. Like something from the heavens With their most flippant vanity

As

A province for
To

Universe we see all meanest things Even for the earth-worm's twisted rings
in his

untainted,

And for whose love my spirit fainted, And would all lowliest worship deem
Too
poor for her I had enshrined and
sainted.

A service and a ministry.

silence our hasty cavillings.

84
Perhaps

Olrig Grange

I judged her wrong ; her way !And oh the cruel, bitter throng harder than at first I knew Of haunting memories that came. Her young life panted to be gay, Still summoned by her cherished name, Her young heart panted to be true, .Sweeping like mocking ghosts along. Her home was all divided too. As the drear night wind shook the window-frame False science false religion met, And lavish waste with scrimping debt Seemed now the world a weary waste, Poor heart the wonder is she grew heartless world, a thing to scorn Half so noble as she was yet. 'Twas only coldness made the chaste. You did not know you could not guess; And Cupid was of Plutus born ;

Was

But we had plighted love before

And
With

evermore

my

soul

was torn

We pledged
One

it

in a

long caress

jealous rage to think of him.

evening on the grey sea-shore, thought came surging like the hoar. Wild, bursting waves upon the beach

As
It

The dainty prig, so spruce and trim, Whose acres made my heart forlorn, Whose love was nought but a summer

beyond speech. whim. and the more Dumb, that its hope seemed so far Then turned I mine out of reach.

was

a passion

Ne'er quite

articulate,

to

my

work.

Not
;

I said, to pule for

woman's love

And I do think she As she could love

;

loved as well at any rate

fate.

With searching thoughts will I entwine Round Nature's porches ; I'm above
Being a slight girl's silken glove Shaped to her hand, and laid away,

I will not judge her, but will tell

The

sorry issue of
:

my

I spake

For the slow ripening of

she said she might not wait my fame,

Or

taken up, as fancy

the facts
to

may
and
set in

I have a problem high to prove,

And

the high honours that

for
it all

my name
the same.

And

gather,

Would win

some more worthy mate,

array.

But she would cherish

Alone, through many a weary day. on it ? She chose. Alone through many a silent night, I wended on my patient way, After her kind, one of the set man of blue-books, cold and close, Groping through darkness into light.

Enough

why dwell

A baronet, A A creature who would vex and fret

scientific

Now

sore

perplexed,

now

staggered

quite,

Her

soul with circumstantials.

And And And

So

pottering

among chemicals.

Yet slowly working out a thought That all to clearest order brought
It

prosing about funded debt,

his articles in the serials.

held

me

And my
forgot.

with a spell of might, days were happy, for

all

was

over.

had

striven
!

'Gainst clearest proofs, to prove them Happy, for I forgot Ah me ! I met her one day in the street. wrong, Had fought with doubts, as if for Heaven, Looking so sorrow-stricken he
!

To

cherish a delusion strong

Was

glancing at his dainty

feet,.

"

;;

; ;

i^oquitur

Ihorold

85

with his ready smirk would greet I had of old this hectic spot heavy-laden : but I hid Our mother's gift of delicate bloom : sorrow as a thing forbid, And it is Well she 'scaped the doom And while my pained heart madly beat, Of early widowhood. I sought Silently into the throng I slid. To wed her young life to a fated tomb. Again I met her in the Park ; I was then thin and worn and faint And as I loved her, you will love. It was about the gathering dark, And gently scan her, hap what may Sweet, as we hope to meet above. And scarcely did she know me bent With toiling day and night. I went You promise, ere I go away. Close to her carriage, and she said, There, kiss me in pledge of it. I lay " Cruel I hoped to crown your head wager, that's your Hermann strong. With laurel ; must my care be spent His deep bass booming a Luther-song On pallid flowers for a grave, Out of a heart as big as gay

And

Me

My

instead

What

great

life

is

that

coming

tramping along

Would I be like him ? Nay, not ; then muttered I, now " So, the stony heart has an unheard Best as it is, dear : all is best. wail I've lived my life ; and gladly bow Low moaning on the midnight gale. Unto the high, supreme Behest, And sighing now for love like mine. As I draw near the hour of rest. When love alone is felt divine. Leaving no care behind me here : And life is flat, and riches stale. Soon all the mystery shall be clear. And the soul awakens to long and Or in high fellowship of the Best

A weary look was in her eye, A wasting grief on her cheek so pale
in ray heart

And

pine."

Little we'll heed, with the great

near.

God

An

evil

thought

God

pardon
fell,

me

The

fevered joy of passion

My
No
of

sun sinks without clouds or fears

spectral

A lurid light,
hell!

could only be. Glared upward from the depths

shadows gather round

un-

The gateway of the endless years, Where we, long blindfold, are

Nay, be not wroth I loved her well. bound, Loved her, and love is ne'er in vain, And lay our swathings on the ground, Loved her, and found in all its pain To face the Eternal. So I rest dew and blessing, and the swell Peacefully on the Strong One's breast. Of a life that joyed like the bounding Even though the mystery profound main. Ever a mystery be confessed.
:

And
At

had died
rate.

in early

any

Oh

youth blame her not

My

old doubts

Well, they no more

o'er sunken rocks.
is

fret,

She did but

make

my

path

more Nor chafe and foam

don't

smooth. And shed some sunlight on

my

lot.

Faith Quite regular and orthodox ;

that

know

my

yet

; ;

; ;

86

Olrig Grange
the locks,
It

have not keys for

all

seems as
to
its

if

my

lingering feet

Andraaynotpickthem. Truth willbear Clung

Neither rude handling, nor unfair Evasion of its wards, and mocks

moss and grasses sweet, And ferny glades, and golden days When cowslips and ladybirds made
our hearts beat.

Whoever would
But

all

falsely enter there.

Where
There There

through life I see a Cross, sons of God yield up their

:

breath
is

no gain except by loss, no life except by death. And no full vision but by Faith, Nor glory but by bearing shame. Nor Justice but by taking blame ;
is

Throw up the window let me hear The mellow ousel once more sing. The carol of the sky-lark clear. The hum of insects on the wing, The lowing of the kine to bring The milk-maid singing with her pail. The tricksy lapwing's far-off wail, The woodland cushat's murmuring.
;

And that Eternal Passion saith, "Be emptied of glory and right
name."

And
and

the tvhish evening gale.

of the pines

in

the

Fain would I carry with

Blithe Nature's blended

me

all

; Anselm and Luther, Tauler, Groot, The half-notes and the tremulous fall With reverent search and solemn awe. Of her young voices, and the free Saw each some angle of God's great Gush of full-throated melody thought, And, like a child, I'm loath to go. Saw none of them the perfect Law, And leave the elders to the flow And, in defining much, some flaw Of speech and song and memory. Marred all their reasoning nor may And take me to sleep in the room below.
;

harmony

I fashion forth the truth

which they Only in broken fragments saw But I can yet take up the prayer But the way of the just, is to trust and Of childhood at the mother's knee.
pray.

And

breathe

it

as the natural air

Faith and Piety, I wonder how the twilight shines Its meanings deepening as I see On the tinkling brook that cleaves the deeper needs. His deeper light hill. For wonder grown to wisdom, might great lines And how it rays with broad Find there fit utterance, and a key Through rifted clouds that slumber still. To the thoughts that reach to the

Of truest

My

And how
Around

the

fall

that turned our mill

Infinite.

Glistens, and

the

how the shadows fold dew as night grows cold.

bill

Our

Father, lo
in

the end draws near,

And how

the lark with tuneful

And

Thy

presence I

am dumb

Sings o'er the

I

meadows we loved of old. Have mercy on my lowly fear. And Father, let Thy kingdom come I thank Thee for my daily crumb, ever loved our earth, and still

The

Forgive me, as I do forgive ; its scaurs and brooks and braes. long bleak moor, the misty hill. And in my dying may I live And all their creatures, and their ways. And when the hours of trial come, Help and deliverance do Thou give. And many waters sounding praise ;
I love

BORLAND HALL
BOOK FIRST
O'er the College Chapel a grey stone

COLLEGE LIFE
There's an old University town Between the Don and the Dee Looking over the grey sand dunes, Looking out on the cold North Sea. Breezy and blue the waters be, And rarely there you shall fail to find

crown Lightsomely soars above tree and town, Lightsomely fronts the Minster towers, Lightsomely chimes out the passing
hours

To

The white
the wind.

horse-tails

lashing

out in

the solemn knell of their deeptoned bell Kirk and College keeping time, Faith and Learning, chime for chime. The Minster stands among the graves.
its

Or

the mists from the land of ice and

chill

And
The

shadow
is

falls

on the

silent

snow
Creeping over them

river

and slow. room. The student hears the lonesome boom Of the breaking waves on the long
Sitting o' nights in his silent

Chapel
the

girt

with young Life's

waves.

And

pulses

of

hope there are

passioning ever.

And

But death is in life, and life is in death ; the chirming of pebbles along the Being is more than a gasp of breath : beach ; come and go, we are seen and lost,
sand reach.

We

And

gazing out on the level ground. Or the hush of keen stars wheeling round, Yit feels the silence in the sound.
So, hearkening to the City's
stir,

Now

in

glimmer, and

now

in

gloom

And oft this body is the tomb. And the L ife is then with the silent host.
In the old University town. Looking out on the cold North Sea, 'Twixt the Minster towers and the College crown. On a winter night as the snow came

Alone

in

some

still

house of

God

Whose solemn aisles are only trod By rarely-coming worshipper. At times, beneath the fret and strife. The far-off hum, the creaking wain. The hurrying tread of eager gain,

down
In broad flakes tremulously. Falling steady, and falling slow. Nothing seen but the falling snow, youth, with strained and weary looks. Sat by a table piled with books,

And

all

the tide of alien

life.

catch the Eternal Silence best. And unrest only speaks of rest.
87

We

88

Borland Hall
rarely trusting, never leaning, and bold and true
;

And a shaded lamp that gleamed among And

Pages of writing, large and strong.

But

self-reliant

A glance of sharp impatience flashed

Out of his dark and deep-set
eye,

A nature rugged and hard and strong

Yet, as

As

he lifted his head, and hastily- Where dashed long, The hair from a forehead broad and The deepest silence also dwells. high: And there are brightest mossy wells For there was a crash and a clamour Among the nodding heather bells : and ringing So in his stormy spirit dwelt In the room overhead, and a chorus The hush of that religious sense. singing, The silence of that great reverence As the bell tolled midnight from near Which the strong and brave have the graves, always felt And ere its slow deep note had died, Nor less the tender beauty wrought The chime from the College crown By fresh well-springs of feeling deep replied. And Love, that whether we wake or

the rocks and fells, most the storms rage loud and

among

And then

came the boom of the break-

sleep,

ing waves.

Brightens and sweetens every

three years he

lot.

Some twenty and

seen.

had In the room overhead a clamour rang. But hushed for a moment, as some one
clearly, each note like a

Or more perchance 'tis hard to tell sang The age of a face so strong and keen, Cheery and The years of a form that was hardened bell
;

well

Floating the words

off,

round and well.

By

the winter's cold and the summer's

the mountain winds and the rain

heat,

And

PARTY OF STUDENTS

IN

THE UPPER

ROOM
First Student.
;

and sleet. Big-boned, with the look of unformed

Look, how
:

Darrel

ask him to sing ; is moping power They are dull fellows poets, unless they In body and brain and passion strong can get Over his square brow fell a shower Of black hair, waving and thick and All the say to themselves there he
long.
It

stands in a pet,

was

a great
pliant

brown hand
quill

that gripp'd

Like a hen on one

Second Student.

leg with her head

The

o'er

the

blotted

'neath her wing.

sheet,

No

soft

and clerkly

finger slipt

Cupid
I

hit

Nay, let him him last night

alone

Over the

pages, glib and fleet

More

like that of a

man with sword

meet.

equipt,

Grasping the

hilt his foe to

An
To

meaning do with might what he had to do

eager, strenuous spirit,

heard the sharp twang of his bow, and it broke his Poor Muse's wing, who came down, in sad plight, With a flutter of anapaests, dactyls, and trochees.

College Life

89

Third Student. Ralph, come, pluck Beaming with beauty along the way up heart, man, and give us a stave : Is it her wit so nimble and gay ? Love is life to the poet, like wind to Is it her grace ?
a ship.
It will

of them truly, but one and all. the something unseen Which you'll sing at her wedding, or Which should lie behind beauty and else o'er her grave wit and art For the song is as much as the Love The noble nature, the soul, the heart, to the poet ; With its joy serene. 'Tis the fruit, and the passion was but
give you a song, though she
slip.

None

give you the

And

soil to

grow

it.

Hear
a

her laugh, as the children play.

Song

She

is

Woman
;

See her bring Light to the eyes of the old and weak ; And oh how wisely her lips can speak

is a woman to love, to love, As flowers love light. And all that is best in you is at its When she enters your heart

She

As
That

well as sing
is

best,

a to

woman
wonder

to love, to love.
at.

as

And

welcome guest. Making it bright.

She
is

For whether she talks, or walks,or rides, 'Tis as if she had never done aught
besides

woman

to love, to love

But

perfect that.
fig for your loveCupid's an ass. the wise man will drown the
!

With

a love sincere.

For all that is bad in you hides away, Like the bats and the owls from the
glory of day.

First Student.
ditties

And

When
She
is

she

is

near.

small elf in his glass.

woman

to love, to love

As maid or wife. And all of her that is

Which
is all

Second Student. Ha, ha lads, I told you our Ralph had been hit Now, guess the rare mixture of beauty
!

of her
life.

she

sweet and true

will give to

and wit. Third Student.

the

Nay, we name
more
;

not
;

you.

name of

a damsel of honour

To

perfect

Enough
ing

that such verses

come showerstirring.

upon her.
I

You cannot help Nobody can.

She
carries a

but love, but love.

Now

for something

sing like a horse

charm with her every- But

her glance, in her voice,

here's for the old land of heather

where
In her
gait, in

and gorse.

in her hair, Bewitching man.

Sings

Up
;

IN

THE North

Up
What
Is
is it

in

in

her you love, you love

There

the North, up in the North, lies the true home of valour

it

her face,

and worth

Borland Hall

;:

go

ourselves, and our the wind sweeps over moorland And praising and glen, crusty old land. But truth is trusty, and men are men, Come, set us a catch with a rattling good chorus. And hearts grow warmer the farther Third Student. Nay, none of your you go, catches. Ralph, let's have a Up to the North with its hills and snow. stave Ho for the North, yo ho With a touch of the pathos, like that which you gave Out of the North, out of the North, All the free men of the nations came At the Doctor's last evening I

Wild

noted his eye Kings of the sea, they rode, like its he sipped his glass daintily while it was dry waves. Crash on the old Roman empire of How he gulped it in tumblers a frigate
forth

How

slaves,

might

float.

And

the poor

cowed

serfs

and

their

With

the

tear

in

his

eye, and

the

Csesars

saw
its

lump
ruins, our

in his throat

Rise from

Freedom and You may

but to
!

roar

out

chorus,

lads

Law.

my

thinking.

Ho
Up

for the

North, yo ho

There
All.

is

nothing like pathos, for good

ay, Ralph, touch up the

steady drinking.
in the

North, up in the North,

as the

Ay,

but our maids are the fairest on earth,

feelings a bit

Simple and pure

white briar-rose,

And

let

each prime his glass

weepplease
to

And
it

their thoughts like the

dew which
be.

ing's drier than wit.

clasps as

it

blows

Darrell.

But
sing

nothing
their

will
;

There

are no

homes but where they

in

you.

Well, never mind

songs

Woman made home

countrie.

the

north

The

birds
trees

the

and the wind.

Ho O O
to

for the

North, yo ho

for the

North be there when the stars come

North,
for the
! !

Song

Mysie
is

Gordon
?

Now

where

Mysie Gordon gone

forth

What

should take her up the glen,

farming

The less that the myrtle or rose is given. The more do we see there the glory
of heaven

Turning, dowie and alone. From smithy lads and

men

And care When I

and burden I leave behind

turn
for the

Never seen where

lasses,

dafEng

my

face

to

the

old

At

North wind.

the well, are blithely laughing. Dinging a' the chields at chaffing:

Ho
song

North, yo ho
!

Bonnie Mysie Gordon.

your patriot- Mysie lo'ed a student gay. only sonorous ; And he vowed he lo'ed her well And, besides, people laugh at us talk- She gave all her heart away, ing so grand. He lo'ed naething but himsel'
First Student.

Pshaw

now

is

College Life

91

Then he went

to

woo

his fortune,

Second

Student.

wonder

now
!

Fleechin', preachin', and exhortin',

Got a Kirk, and now is

But no
his

courtin'

We

Mysie Gordon.

Every night across the moor. Where the whaup and pewit Mysie seeks his mither's door

Ralph, you can look in my face asked you for pathos, and lo commonplace. Silence there Third Student Ralph, you must try it again.
!

cry,

Hark

how

the sea moans

give us

a strain

Wi'

the saut tear in her eye.

Caught from the wail of the lonesome

main.

Little wots his boastfu' Minnie,

Proud to tell about her Johnnie, Every word's a stab to bonnie Love-sick Mysie Gordon.

Song

The False
I
;

Sea

A'

his letters she maun read, A' about the lady braw Though the lassie's heart may bleed, Though it even break in twa Wae her life may be and weary, Mirk the nicht may be and eerie.
; ;

Singing to you,

And

moaning to me Nothing is true In the false, cruel sea.

Yet she'll gang, and fain luik cheerie, Bonnie Mysie Gordon.
Whiles she thinks it maun be richt She is but a landward girl He a scholar, and a licht Mickle thocht o' by the Earl. Whiles she daurna think about it. Thole her love, nor live without it,
Sair alike to trust, or doubt
it,

Where its lip kisses The sands, they are bare. Where its foam hisses,
Nothing
lives there
;

When
It
is

it is

smiling.

Hushed

as in sleep,

beguiling
to weep.

Some one

They went seafaring. With light hearts and

free,

Waesome Mysie Gordon.

Mysie doesna curse the cuif, Doesna hate the lady braw, Doesna even haud aloof. Nor wish them ony ill ava : But she leaves his proudfu' mither. through the dowie Dragging
heather

And

of the daring That's bred of the sea It crept up the inlet. And bore them away Where it laughed in the sunlight, And dimpled the bay, Singing to them.
full
:

But moaning
Tripping
it

to me, came.

Weary

feet

by ane anither

The

cold, cruel sea.

Bonnie Mysie Gordon.

First Student.

sell

sell
:

why,

I heard, the oars dipping,

I've emptied

my

glass

And

it's

only a fellow that jilted his

The

lass.

heard her bows part waves with a rippling That went through my heart.
I


92

: !

Borland Hall

wringing their hands For the dead that were sleeping That night on the sands For nothing is true In the false cruel sea

And And

saw women weeping

Breaking

in

on

tlie

long-rolling

boom

of the sea.

Which

is

singing to you,
to

And
Long and

moaning

me.

to do with their tramping and chorusing so Through the still hours of thought, with the lamp burning low ? Let me read as I will, I read nothing

What

loud the clamour rose,

but

words

Bells were ringing, doors were banging,

Feet were tramping, glasses clanging

;
:

Seemed the racket

ne'er

would

close

they run into quavers and chords Metaphysics in music, crabbed Latin
in tunes,

And somehow

And
Thus

listening to the uproar loud his thoughts

upon him crowd.

With no more many Runes

clear
:

meaning than so
trip in

At

the trick of the singer they

AUSTEN LYELL
College-Musing
Crash
!

light measure,

crash

But shake from their folds the fine thought which they treasure. there they go, Ralph, What to do ? Why not join in their

Darrel and

Hugh,

jolly carouse

And

girls, and thud As of some one that falls in the slush and the mud Then a rush up the stairs, and tramp, tramp overhead. With a Babel of speech that might

A laughter and screaming of

a

Guild, and that jovial Ralph's a splendid "young scamp, and crew. has plenty of nous, First, cups in the tavern, and brawls in Ay, and more Greek and Latin than the street, half of the fellows springing of rattles, and scuffling are cramming for honours, dull, of feet, bilious, and jealous.
little

Tom

Who

Now, were Socrates how they mope.

here,

and

saw

And

travail in pain

with a theme, or a
as

trope.

And

drag out a thought and cranks.

with pulleys

his jests would go crack like a whip on their flanks clinking of glasses, and ringing But for Ralph there the Greek eye of bells. would brighten to witness And song after song till the daylight His beauty and vigour, his swiftness draws near and fitness Ralph sings like a bird, how his voice For wisdom or valour, for pleasure or trills and swells power,

How

waken

the dead,

And

chorus that For speech to the Demos, or maid in her bower. Love song and drinking song, madrigal, For bridling the wild horse, or quaffing glee. the bowl,
the rogues
a

make

catches the ear

;!

Austen LyeU
Or

93

holding discourse of the gods and Shell-tipped her fingers are, taper and the soul: long. For dear to the sage was a beautifbl Tripping she comes to me, lissom youth, and strong.
the wholeness of
I too
is

And And
With
too

manhood was Yet coy

till

too,

and hard to be caught,

precious as truth-

I kiss

am young
all

and

my

blood

The

blushes and dimples, and revel in

hot

bUss.

the lust of
is

broad roads where

pleasore

got.

They

think

me

bookworm, a winner

Why not ? Why should

beauty and grace.

phantoms of
sunniest hues

of {Mizes,
Full of priggish decorums, and learned snnnises;
Precise as a Puritan; feeding onScholia,

Pink and gold with the

of delight.

Hang
the

like clouds in their glory before

And

Elzerir

classics,

and
is

black

warm

face
it

Melancholia

Of our

youth, as

comes, in

its

morn-

Yet the craving of passion

within,

gnawing
to dally

ing and might.

Shining and singing and fresh with the

And

the strong
sin.

human hanker

dew;
Yet
all be but shadows, and nothing be true?

with

All but vanity, dream and inanity. a flask of old wine, grey with Nothing to shower down a blessing on cobwebs, whose scent you Made the grim spiders jolly in bloated

Ho

content.

Rare

topers

no

fly

buzzed their

How

was

it

that

Goethe

in

Ml

measure tasted The grossness of appetite into their All that Life had to give him, nor thought missed aught, nor wasted ! Nor bubble nor bead marred the Sat Shakespeare alone thus, and heard rapture dirine. the dogs bark. But they netted aroma, and breathed Like an owl in a bam staring into the the bright wine. dark. And folding the cork in their mouse- And warming its five wits to find out coloured wraps. the mystery They boozed on, and dreamt not of Of this wonderfiil world, and its time and its lapse. wonderful history And oh for my Horace's Daphne or Did they shrink from love-tryste, Phyllis, song, or bright-beaded wine. Low- browed, and breathing of As if only the dulness of life were divine ? wreathed amaryllis How her eyes beam, and her golden Nay, their nets swept the stream of curls break. our full-flowing gladness, Like tangled laburnum drops, round Its still pools of thought, and sideeddies of sadness her white neck
darkness, or brought
!

; ;

94

Borland Hall
was
its

Where
They

life

the

deepest,

and

To

the slender oak-fern, and the pale

passion

was

strong,

sorrel-stars.

cramped with rheumatics, and bending with age, And so they were rich in the glorious His grave father sweats at the ditch and the hedge, sense Of a wealth of world-wide experience. And sisters and brothers are patiently drudging And what is it all for this heaping of From day-break till dark, unrepining, ungrudging ashes On the hot fire of youth till you And all, as they stint food and raiment
fished in

waters, and lingered There,

there long,

smother its flashes ? This stating again of our

imbroglios.

and
hopeless

fire.

Have

but one hope that cheers them

to see the

Kirk

spire

And

dulling the brain with the dust of In

?

the

glory long prayed for,

hill.

when

old folios

crossing the

There's

my

old

school-companion,

Lo

the folk are fast gathering from

lone hut in the

farmstead and mill, Dick Gow of the Glen, With the brains of a half man, and From the shepherd's
labours of ten

How
And And And

he volumes

toils

on,

and

deep mountain shade. mopes over And the wood-ranger's

hid

in

the

patristic.

dim
and he
rites

forest glade,

dogmas
fictions

forensic,

eucharistic.

of

law,

that

calls

All to hear their boy preach the great Gospel, and sever Himself from the old home and old
life for

gospel verity,
tries

ever.

That's the end of his struggle, when Priesthood has riven sincerity. Meanwhile in the glen where his The fondest of earth's ties, that bind us to heaven childhood had been Stands the lowly turf hut, where the Has sundered those hearts that were loving and true. house-leek is green Near by it, the burn rushes hurrying And linked him now fast to the Laird,
to

believe

he believes

in

down
Through
the rocky gorge headlong,

and the few Respectable folk

who have

nothing

tO'

and turbid, and brown,

do!

Or

glistens o'er slippery shelves, green

with long moss, Where the maiden-hair tresses stretch half-way across.

Or

there

is

young Barbour

his factor--

ing father

Or

sleeps in the pools where the Heeds of nothing but charters, and' wadsets, and leases, speckled trout play, And leap to the fly when the evening Rotations of cropping, and how he
is

grey.

shall gather

Or

sings through the

woodland

its

few Biggest

rents

for

my Lord

whose"

plaintive bars

waste daily increases.

;;

; ;

Austen Lyell
But
his

95
for a high life of courage

boy, he must ponder high

Or meet
duty

and
our

questions of

Law,
rubric,

And store up old precedent,

saw.

and Only that which culture is meant

will

pay

for

Load

his

memory daUy

with cases in
to

Not

to

make noble men,

cent.
all

but a handbut nothing leave

point,

some per

Learn the sharp fence of Logic pierce through a joint

his hits,

We

touch on
all

topics,

we know

In his learned friend's argument, parry

We open

questions,

and

still

Or

to pester a witness half out

of his

them so Never look

to the

end of them, dare

not abide Great the thoughts of his youth, to By the issues we raise, but glance ever aside determine all right By the law which the landlords have For there is not a lie, spite of God's voted is light. high decree. For ever immutable, sacred, divine. But has made its nest sure, on some To the serf of the glebe, and the thrall branch of our tree. And has some vested right to exist in of the mine. So his days and his nights shall be the land. And some who will have it the tree spent, and his youth
wits.

Dried up
truth

into parchment, amassing the

Which entails the meadow and com.

broad

acres

could not stand If the sticks, straws, and feathers, that sheltered the wrong. of Were swept from the boughs they

And

the heath-purpled hills where the wild deer are born, And the fish of the river, and bird of the air

have cumbered so long.

Let me

toss to the

wind every dream

To

the high chosen people for the anointing

whom
is

let

me know

the gods care

All that
is,

Whose

whose

the

money,

Nature iiill-blooded, fiillhanded, can show Let me touch at all points the whole
life

And whose

is

the land, with

its

milk

that

man

lives.

And taste with a relish all pleasure it and honey. gives. So he squanders bright youth with its Link the sweet notes of music with wonder and awe sweet words of song. For a wig and a gown, and this vision Wreathe the arms in the dance, and of Law go tripping along. Oh, but Culture? and what all the Kiss the peach-blossom cheek, rich with life's glowing dyes, culture we get ?
Old
furniture

crammed
in

ings to let,"

Nothing blending
in beauty.

the wild rapture of lovegleaming eyes. harmony, graceful Crown the cup with its flowers, purple lip with old wine.
into

" Lodg-

And know


96

Borland Hall

And

let

young vigour rage

in

its

Soft, roguish hours, that in the

gloam-

passion divine.

ing peep

Ah

we grow

hydrocephalous, swell-

At woodland nooks
keep.

dewy

tryste to

ing the brain

At the
ing

cost of our
pain,

manhood,

till

think- Stole

my

young

life

away, and

in a

is

heap

And

the surfeited

mind labours wearily Of

it

rose leaves, sweetly smelling, hid

through

deep.
like burglars
in

which the healthful Greek Dark, robber hours, lightly would do the night. Lightly and laughing, for subtle and
task,

strong.

They broke
sleight.

into

my house,

by cunning
spell

He

lived at full pitch, and his life

was

a song.

And And
The The
The

bound me
reft

fast, as

with a

of

might.

Why, what demon

logic of Hell,

is

this,

with the

my

life

away

ere morning

light.

That pleads

for the wild Beast within

me so well The Beast that was doomed

by the Three

idle bird is silent

rose
spell

leaves

to a

Cross
in the

on the tree. withered now and

;

scentless be.
is

Awful names,
great

that are
?

named
!

broken
hours

lo

mine eyes

Mystery

can

see
that stole

Down, down, thou

to leprous

foul fiend

Hence

thievish

my

life

romance

from me
!

Of

the demi-monde

poisonous mush- Lost, lost

after his

and now the

mists,

low

rooms of France. Better sin like a man, doing

kind.

trailing, screen

The

visioned glories that I once have

all

seen,

Than Hark

sit

here cold-blooded, debauch-

And

the hours are grey and cold

life

ing the mind.

!

and mean
sings

Ralph

again,

but

sings all alone.

he Lost, lost my have been

!

and

oh, the might

And

he wails now, poor fellow, the days that are gone. So

the

young

soul

to

darkness

is

hopelessly wending
this is the dream that I dreamt, and its ending Brown, gipsy hours, with white teeth But why was it ever dreamt ? How

Song

The Hours

And

Came

laughing gay. trooping by me,

at play.

could I spirt

when
stole

a child

The
its

froth of that dead sea, or

dirt
?

stir

up

And

with their coaxing

bird in bush

my

life

Ah

we

strike a

few chords ere the

if light fingers

away

Where
day.

was

idling all

music we play. the Preluding the strain, as

stray

Austen Lyell

97

Dreamily over the keys, till they find Here and there, in the distance far. The melody shape itself clear in the He caught the gleam of a throbbing mind; star So we dream, and from dreaming we And away to the north was a band of
glide into act,
light,

And

our

life is

the dream in a rhythm

And

of hard fact. can this be the prelude to

like the

That wavered like the sheen of spears Swaying about in some ghostly fight mine, For all was ghostly in that wan night,

moan
it

And
laps the curved sand

the

shadows passed

like fears

Of the

sea as

Wan

the

moon

looked, and

wan

the

or the stone

cloud,

In the moon-glimmered bay, while its And wan the earth in its snowy shroud. So, as he gazed, his eyes grew dim. far depths are stirred By the throes of the storm that is And moon and stars were hid from him By some strange mist, and then the mist coming ? I've heard That the knight, ere he buckled gilt- Shaped itself into forms, I wist
spur to his heel.

And

he saw

his old

home, 'neath the

Or

belted

his

thigh with the good

altar,

wooded
mill.

hill,

sword of steel, Laid his arms on the

and
shield,

Between the bridge and the red-roofed

helmet

And

the village near

it,

sleepy and

still.

Breastplate and banner, and watched O'er the

there, and kneeled All the long night on the pavement of
stone,

high pine-tops the clouds

the heavens were grey and

were creeping.

And And

all

cold;

All the long night in the darkness alone, All the long night, while fiends in the
air

he was aware that Death was

a sound

there.

For amid the hush was him with

;

of
bell

Plied

terrors,

or strove to

weeping.

ensnare

And

as it

were muffled, the kirk

But

I,

what a watch have I kept

tolled.

Was it the bell ? or only the boom Of the waves that mixed with his Here suddenly he rose, and stood dreamy thought ? Close by the window in dreamy mood.
The snow had ceased to fall, and lay Whose face was that in the darkened room ? White o'er all the level reach, White to the sand-dunes and the beach The features changed in the shadowy
Where
the tumbling breakers
fell,

gloom,
passionless calm,
it

And

what was snow, and what was But the

changM not.

Sometimes, he thought it was his own ; Sometimes, it had his mother's look It was hard for the eye to tell. The broad white moon was hurrying And his quivering lip gave a low,
spray,
swift.

faint

moan
its still

Trailing her pale skirts over the drift Of the flying clouds ; and through a
rift,

At

the pathos of

rebuke.

Had

he broken her heart by the way

?

he took
7

;;

; :

98

Borland Hall
this

Then Austen Can am dreaming

;

be a dream I

Yet

I see the clouds drifting o'erhead,

From the old University town Looking out on the cold north sea

the

moon gleaming

He

carried high honours

down
:

On
Lo

the cold hard blue of the sea, and

the stars
!

To his home in the hill country And proud was the mother that
him
then.

bore

yonder the Pleiades, yonder red

;

Mars

But they seem

to shine in

through an

Though little her way

But
all

she said, for that

all

was

oak-panelled ceiling

the village, and

the glen.
in her

Which

is

solid

and

real,

with a weird,
it

When
Walk

they saw her, dressed

to the kirk

alien feeling.

goodliest grey.

As

if

they were the shadows, and

it

on Sunday, knew

alone true.

That whether the sermon was old or

shadow of Fate that
new.

Or was
I

the

saw
old not

Whether
mother's

the prayers were brief or long,

all
all sung out of tune. unsound and wrong,

On my
She
is

home, with a Or the psalms were

chill sense

of awe

what she was, and her the service stayed till afternoon. have strange This once at least, she would not hear Longings of late in them, hinting of For the voices of triumph that filled change. her ear She used to be hard, though as true as And bonnets, too, might be gay and
letters

Or Or

the doctrine

the steel,

bright.

And

is

not one to utter the half she

feel

may

And ribbons flash in the gleams of light. And eyes might turn from the pulpit,
too.

Now

she'd fain have

me

with her,
;

is

weary alone
In the wild winter evenings she is gone

To gaze at the young laird's stately pew;

to say

There

is

so

much

not let that.

and ere For once the sin would be forgot Of garment gay and wandering thought yet I must And sooth to say, they blamed her not. They liked the youth ; and learning
the
Is
still

Or

the

thought of her, hinder

I

work

am

at.

That's not like her,

mild, mellow light

somehow

its

Who

more esteemed among the folk till the glebe, or watch the flock,

Is soft as the gloaming that

fades into

night

In lonely glen, or silent hill. wealth of gold ; and also he Was wont to mix with them pleasantly

Than

Yet here have

of
sin

been adding shadows

is

And

it

was
all

as if

honour had come on

them shadow of death she

walk-

To

the

When
and

he stood up among them grave

tall.

ing in

Help me,
True
to

God,

that

my

life

may At

the smithy door, or the bowling

yet prove

green,

Thy

her love.

thought, and the hope of Hurling the quoit, or rolling the ball, Foremost scholar the year had seen.

Borland Glen
Far at the end of the narrow glens,
valley,

99
open three
features,

BOOK SECOND

Each with

its

BORLAND GLEN
As
you come over the down, the road
hill,

own marked

charactered clear as men's ; Each with its own fair water finding

little

way
lo
!

its fitting

way.
still

Rough

o'er the rocky channel, or

Suddenly sweeps to the right, and a green valley and broad ;

by the broomy brae. That to the left is rugged

a bare bleak hill

one

side,

Through

it

a river runs swift,

its

water
as

a cataract, rugged, of stones down-rushing as if they would fill rapidest bounds and shocks ; The glen with grey desolation; and Now with a clear rush on, and now half-way down a thorn

broken by rocks

With

And

boulders, cleaving

its

way

by

recoiling again,

To

wheel round the

barrier huge,

it

has

hammered

for ages in vain.

its ribs,

as it stayed the torrent, and was bent with the weight and worn. Only that thorn on the hillside grapples

Seems

Only

dinting deep holes in

and

the stones with

its

root.

scraggy hazel bushes Then swirling away to the bank to straggle about its foot. bite at the softer loam. Only the curlew wails there, and the Yonder an old peel tower, hid in grouse-cock crows at morn clumps of the ivy green, Only the goat and the coney poise on Perched on its crag like an eyrie, and those stony heaps, there the whole valley is seen Only the parsley fern along their barren Not an approach South or North, spaces creeps. East or West, but the watchman's And far below in the hollow the eye stream goes plunging on Would catch the sheen of the spears, From the rocky steep to the rocky and the banners would well descry. pool, and the rumbling boulder stone. And sound the alarm in time for The middle glen is wooded ; there the hoisting the drawbridge high. ancient lords of the land. Away to the right on its lawn, close- Leaving their high-pitched eyrie, built shaven by mowing machines, a stately house and grand Stands the house which the great Right under the Murrough-crag, pinecotton-lord built out of his bobbins clad up to the top, and skeins And they belted the woods all round Brand-new, all gables and turrets and them, and bade the highways stop. chimneys, stack upon stack, And they made them a goodly forest, Something top-heavy it looks, and stocked with the wild red deer. bare too and cold, but the lack And they drew the stream into fishponds, Of trees is made up, by acres of glass and swept with their nets the mere. for magnificent vineries, The wild deer bound in the woodlands Palm-houses, ferneries, cucumber beds, now, but there is none to care,
:

chafing itself into foam,

Only

some

and

great

melon-frames

and the

And

the trout are fat in the fishponds,

is fair,

pineries.

and the water-lily

Borland Hall

is still, Hid in its bosk of trees, under the and the terraced gardens fine, shade of the hill But the young lord comes not ever Where the river sweeps clear from the he is drinking the beaded wine. bridge down to the red-roofed mill. Or pigeon-shooting by Thames, or Austen sat there with his mother, alone at the close of day. marking the red by the Rhine. Fair is the glen to the right, in its Sat with a visage perplexed, while she looked hard and gray. pastoral beauty still, Green in its holms and hollows, green With furrows drawn deep on her forehead, and temples fallen away to the top of each hill line of alder and drooping birch Into blue-veined pits, and you plainly saw the shadow of death on her face marks where its river flows. But in its bare upper reaches only the But she sat erect in her high-backed chair, and sternly held her place, juniper grows The stream comes out of a tarn on the As if she would say. While there's breath in me, lo in weakness I will hill, whose oozy edge show Is fringed with a ring of lilies and an Weakness to no one, but keep at arm's outer ring of sedge ; length the terrible foe. And there is no road beyond that, only So, with a Bible before her, and a a mountain high, spinning-wheel at her side. And a cairn of stones where the withered bones of Three brave Hardly and sharply she spoke, and he, Martyrs lie. with bated breath, replied.

Stately and grand the house

Now,

at the mouth of that green glen, hid in a bosk of trees. The oak and the beech and the chestnut, and lime, honeyed haunt of the I AM your mother, and Scripture saith bees. Thou shalt honour me until death ; And the yew and the ash, and many a Yea, not even death shall set you free From the honour and duty owing to me ; shrub, blossomy, fragrant, green. Nestled a quaint old mansion ; bit by For what I have willed, and signed, bit, it had been and sealed. Built now and then, as they could, yet Ere I go to the other world, worse or

BORLAND'S WIDOW

it

rambled somehow into shape.

better.

Picturesque, here a
step

low gable

rising

Though

it

wound with
it

wound

that

upon

step.

shall never be healed.

There

a long

corridor

broken with

Thou

shalt carry
letter.

out to the utter-

quaint dormer windows, and then

most

An

Now, wilt thou promise me this, or no ; rough fighting men ; And get my blessing before I go ? But the front is all draped now with creepers, with scarlet and golden Yes, there is something upon my mind, flower. 111 to keep there, and worse to tell Till it looks in its summer beauty like Yet it's borne upon me that I mu^t find way to utter it, ill or well. some fairy-haunted bower.
old square tower of rough rubble,
built for the

"

Widow
101

Borland's

To

Small rhymes like a fool with a cap you of all men, and only you. and bell, Sooner than speak I could die the Or an idiot bird in the dewy dingle death, But death will not come to me till I do ; Squirming away to the gaping forms And oh I am weary of life and breath. That care for nothing but slugs and worms. Yet my lips shall be sealed, as death Baby or boy, it was not from me can seal them. And the devil may shuffle the cards, That you learned to be mawkish and womanly. and deal them To all of you, as he did to me. You have If you will not swear to me faithfully, Cautious and scrupulous no doubt Over the Book here, to do my will, You can do what I wish, but you just Whether you reckon it good or ill. wish to know it Oh you will do all that a son may do. Go, leave me alone ; I can die here without In honour and right, for his mother's love that has nothing but fine words name to show it. Fine words But " honour and right Ay, ay ; you'll do well for yourself in from you the end. As if your old mother would set you to Work of dishonour and deed of Ne'er to sign a blank cheque for lover or friend. shame But perhaps you have reason who Treat the dearest on earth as a possible
!

can say

rogue.

Maybe

I taught

you to

lie

and cheat,
'

Trust

none

but

yourself

it's

the

And

drink and steal, as well as pray rogue is but half a rogue, incomplete
:

wisdom

in vogue.

The

counting-house wisdom, proper

clerk and the shopkeeper kind,

Till

he burst

out

full-blossomed

for those

hypocrite

Of the

So

brought you up in the good old

fit

I suppose.

way.

And
you the
old
better

yet I've heard say, by wise

men

To

for deeds

of

in

my

day,
are

dishonour

That none
mother had taken
kiss!

outwitted so easy as
all

Your wicked

upon her Nay, none of your fondling and ing and weeping
;

Who
And

they reckon with suspect them,

traffic

men

as if

they
to

in

caution, and

watch

That's not in my were heaping

way

I'd as lief you

into
fine

detect them.

But no doubt, you're wise

words
in

far wiser

Your

fine-scholar

than I

tricks of speech

Go
the quick, and

your way, then, and leave your

lie

Though they
I

bite

old mother to

stick fast as a leech.

In

the

death-grips
it

of

nature,

and
fire

your mother, and loved you well, But I never could babble and prattle,
or jingle

am

wrestle

out,

With
in

a weight on her heart and a

her brain,

Borland Hall
in life, alone

102

In death as
without.

Alone with

the

devils

with her pain, within and

Ah

these

were

men

but

your
:

minister,

Nowadays, is a weak kind of milliner Shaven and smooth, the creature

!

A
As
It

minister

Tush, they are feckless

hear.
life,

stands

gearAll of the kind now I see or

I have been kirk-going
all

With

soft

white hands, and long lawn

plaintive

bands.

my

His weak chest panting a

whine.

maiden and mother,

as

widow and

wife

As he

turns into water the sacred

was the thing that we had to do. Ever as Sabbath or Fast came due, Girl and boy, young man and maiden, Burning with passion, or sorrow-laden Though why we did it I never knew.
;

Given by the
divine.

prophets

strong

wine and

That's the one miracle he can do. Turning the wine into water true.

Leave

the

minister,
:

then,

to

his

Only that others did it too. For the Parsons are dumb dogs,
ing round.

turn-

We

Sunday's sermon have matters

of

earnest

to

determine.
their

And

scratching

hole

in

the

warmest ground. So you promise me now to do my And laying them down in the sun to will. wink. Whether you reckon it good or ill. Drowsing, and dreaming, and thinking There, let me see how best to begin they think. The old, old story of trial and sin.

As

they mumble the marrowless bones of morals,

toothless children

Like

gnawing

their

Look from the window, boy, and see The bonnie green braes of Borland
Glen
;

corals.

Gnawing their corals to soothe their Cornland and woodland and lily-white gums lea. With the kind of watery thought that Up to the skyline, hill and tree.
All will be yours to the waterhead Where it flows from the bosom of big luha. Knockbain, All about loving, and nothing of law ; And the Kelpie's pool lies dark and All about Gospel, and nothing of hell. dead All tinkle-tinkling like a bell. Under the great rocks, towering red. And telling you ever that all is well. And only the ripple of water-hen I heard their sough ; but all the time Stirs its surface, now and then. I would con the words of the Hebrew As she oars her way from the outer prophet. edge That crashed on the soul with an awful Through the bending ring of spotted chime, sedge. Like charges of guilt and sin and crime. And the ring of water-lilies, within. And burnt them in with the fires of That fringes with beauty the dark pool Tophet. of sin.
whilly-

comes. Bonnie-like guides with their

:: ;

; ;

Borland's
but Borland
It cost

Widow
And He

103

Glen
;

is

dear to

me

me

dear
its

Nor

yet for

not that wealth do I love to see

but
it is

he was a far-off cousin ; I trow counted kin with my mother

somehow.

round hills, or its meadows flat But summer and winter I've been there, He was a widower, and he had Till it filled my heart, and unaware Only a girl to heir the land Never before had they failed of a lad Its beauty stole away my care. There are green oak woods on Briery- To follow his father, good or bad, And take the reins from his failing brae, hand. And sleek are the kine on Fernielea, Blithe are the holms of Avongray, And it irked the Laird, though he loved her dearly And the sheep-walks good on ArdAs well he might, his bonnie May, na-shee, And wild thyme blooms, and pansies For meet her late, or meet her early. Ever she met you blithe and gay grow On many a knoll where harebells blow Ever so dainty, white and saintly. And I sat, and dreamed there long ago. Scented ever with perfume faintly. Yet somehow this day I cannot see Flitting like butterfly over the green In clouds of muslin soft and clean. Green oak-scrub, or milk-white lea, Or the drooping birch, or the red pine- With a flower in her hair, and a song tree. on her lips, Thrilling with joy to her finger-tips. Cows knee-deep in the aftermath, Or lines of sheep on the mountain path, Yet fondly as he loved the maiden Nothing of all I cared for then Tripping about in the garden trim, Nought save the frightened water-hen Like a gleam of light, with her figure Rippling the pool beyond the edge slim. Of water-lily and spotted sedge. Now and then he was heavy laden But all the long, green glen is mine. That Borlands of Borland should end And I'll pay the price that it may be with him.
Its soft

thine
1 counted the cost

And I
due.

will not shrink

when I had it when the

to do.
bill is

from the first, for she me and a thought Growing up in my heart, and warmI liked her not

Came

ever between

ing

me

With a hope that gladdened my when I came here. And I was a widow of half a year, widowed lot Poorly left when your father died But soft and silly, she knew it not. But I was not one to sit down and And vowed she should be broken-

You were

a baby

pine.

hearted.

And wring my useless hands and whine, To

While work might be done, and the world was wide. So I came to keep house for the Laird,
for all

be like me from my baby parted. her not, but I will not lie, It was partly because she was better than I, For I was not good, and I did not try.
I liked
is

Was

going to wreck here

in

Hall;

Borland There are people whose blood and milk,

honey

;!

; :

I04

Borland Hall
people whose veins are
filled

And

with

And
But
It

it

was not with sorrow or

fear or

gall;

pain
I

As some are born to the gold and silk, And some must be beggars, and go to
the wall

knew

the thing that was

in

me

then.

not for myself I wrought, not hate that prompted me, She was gentle and good, and I was It the love I bore to thee : not; I only sinned, if sin was done, But I had the wit and the keener For the love I bore to my only son. thought. And yet you look on your mother's

There's a higher than

all.

we

that orders It
It

was was was was

not of myself I thought.

face

So all the while I hated her With a' horror-stricken and ghastly She stood between me and the thought stare That silently in my bosom wrought, I tell you I was not near the place Like the leaven that makes so little When her stifled scream rose in the air stir, But I ran, and drew the silly fool, Yet changes every grain of the meal Draggled and dazed, from the Kelpie's I knew it was there, but did not dare pool. To bring it forth to the open air, That night he vowed that he would And face the thought which I liked make

home for you in Borland Hall, can ne'er forget And love you for your mother's sake. She bent across the Kelpie's pool, Only next to her who was heir of all To seize a water-lily wet. And what less could they do or say That shewed its egg-cup, yellow and To her who had saved the bonnie
to feel

Till one

day

full.

May?
water-hen
oared

Just outside the fringe of sedge.

As

was that you came here. my way of life was clear. When plunge into the loch she fell. I saw you playing among the flowers, And I felt my heart leap with the I heard your laugh in the ringing woods. hope of Hell. O'er the tiny nests, and their tiny
the

from

the

Thus

it

muddy edge

And

then

At As

first,

she laughed, then screamed,

broods.

I sware that the land should all deep she sank in the muddy slush ; be ours. little more, and there had been You were but a child, not two years But a bubble of air, and an awful hush. old, And the whish of the sedges in the But your looks were sunny, your ways wind, were bold. And the laughter that rippled my heart And the Laird was fond of you. Had and mind. she been Nay, stare not so with horror ; I baby like you for a moment I Wished it, but did not let her die ; thought of itj I was not wicked enough for that. Till I plainly saw that I could make Though I felt my heart go pit-a-pat, nought of it

I ween.

And

; ;

loS

Borland's

Widow
he came and
I

You might have

May-queen But she made a
;

married the pretty So

went, though her

to the

father forbade.
doll of you, petted and

And

saw her sicken of love

love,

kissed you,

lad.

Told you

stories,

and deared you, and Sicken of

dressed you,

Through

the

and saunter away woodland paths in the

evening grey. Called you her wee pet darling, and won Your love so, she turned my heart into Looking so listless till the hour, Looking so fevered when it came ; stone For I I was selling my soul for you And I just stood by my drooping flower And there was she,, coming between Quietly seeing her play my game ; us two. I was not a young mother, and had And who shall say that I was to

but you,

blame
all

And
The

she,

with the wealth of her youth,

steal

The Laird

did not blame me, with

would

his wrath,

only joy that

my heart could feel

And

Coming about

the house just then woke. one of your fine-feathered, gay And the little bird was not found in young men. Curled and scented, ringed and gloved, her nest, Selfish and useless, and feeble of will. Nor flitting about the garden path. With nothing to do but his time to kill, Nor came evermore to be caressed. Take care of himself, and be tenderly Or to fasten the dewy flower in his

terrible was the storm which broke That morning when the household

Was

loved,

breast.

Quote the old Poets, and

songs.

sing the

new And he never looked on

his bonnie

May
younger sons and their After she wedded her popinjay.

And

talk about

wrongs
In the
evil

When
One

days he had fallen upon, they had to compete with the

The Laird was

with his wit,

a fool

He was sharp
a fool.

grocer's son

Critical, clever, but

still

of the sort that fathers hate. With scheme after scheme he was But girls will fancy to be their Fate. fever-smit. Idly he loitered shooting and fishing. And somebody always made him a And mending the world in the eventool ing with wishing ; But when he was most in his logic-fit. Idle and listless. What could I do ? Then most of all would he play the Was it my affair how he came and fool. went ? Now, he would lay you out plans I could not be keeping her always in sagacious.

view

Of

planting,

draining,

and

strange

And

did tell the Laird, and I manures warned her too. Brimful now of reforms audacious. But she only looked injured innocent. Oh but he had new-fangled cures.
I


io6

Borland Hall

Would

have poisoned the sweet- And prints and pictures must be breathed cows in the byre, bought. Only we flung the rank trash in the Wherever the money was to be got,
fire

When
his

he had

artist visitors,

Every one knew the Laird and

way,

Though they covered

the walls, and

stood on the floors, And quietly heard what he had to say, And crowded out in the corridors But none for a moment thought to Dusty rubbish that cost a ransom. And our rhymers and fiddlers and obey.
actors gay was never so happy as when he Were always borrowing something had handsome. Poets and painters, good or bad. And always forgetting the time to pay. Actors and fiddlers and editor folk, Fishing the water from bank and rock. But the Laird must be patron of ail

He

And

gathered

at

evening

round

his

the arts

table.

When
was
able.

he should have been seeing to

Jesting and drinking, as each

ploughs and carts And story-telling with laughter long. And food and drink were never Till the early cock from the roost spared The factor's books were never squared ; would crow, And the laverock lilted his morning And groom in the stable, woodland
song,
ranger.

And it was time for the maids to go Away to the kine on the meadows low.
was no care or thrift. Only how to spend, and how to shift, How to borrow, and how to lend And nobody looked to the bitter end.
but there
;

Scullion wench, and lass in the byre.

All were living

at

hack and manger,

the
parlour

Oh

With
fire

hardly a peat for

:

And

had

The Laird would have

of land.

not taken his gear in hand. lost every acre

There would be

botanists

now

to dine.

Dry

We We

and So I looked into this, and saw to that. And had my eye upon everything did not stint their meat and wine, There was not a tinker, or beggar's did not grudge the weary hours. brat Pottering along the glens and brooks Got handful of meal from the kitchen
as

their
!

withered

leaves

flowers

With microscopes, or fishing-hooks bing, But when they spoke of shrubs and trees Nor a toothless
;

tyke, or a useless cat

Was left to lie on a rug or mat. In other lands beyond the seas. Nothing would do but the Laird Doing nought for its meat and drink, must send, But only to lie in the sun and wink. And bring them here from the far I taught the household, man and maid,
world's end.

To
to plant

waste not a crumb of their master's

Though where
knew.

them nobody

bread,

To

waste not an hour of their master's

as
it

And

they rotted away in the sun and

day.

dew.

Gadding about

was

their

way

;;

Borland's

Widow
what would he do when were grey, And the fiddlers had fiddled

107

rise with the sun the whole year round, And to work with the sun in house

But to

And

his hairs

his land

or ground

God

was working and so must we,

could rest on the

away ? And it was breaking my

heart to see

They

Sabbath as

The wanton

waste upon every hand

well as
beast.

He

That was robbing him both of house

their duty to

They must do

man and

and land."

Thus it was that, day by day. Ere they get food or wage off me I would not see their master And bit by bit, I got my way. I scraped and pinched, but I saw to it fleeced, And brought by their waste to That the Laird was served with all

And

poverty.

things
;

fit.

We had many sharp words

still

but sharper All in their season,

good and plenty

He
that I took to have

was
I

just the

man

to be nice and

The ways

my

will.

dainty.

And

gathered moneys,
bUls

here

and
:

He

was angry, of course, when they

:

there,

complained on that he was grieved and pained ; For Borland Hall had always been
I counted

To meet his

He had careless
To be able to And resting on He had more
knew.

when they came due grown from very care pay was something new,

Noted well

for

its

kindly ways
the best of their daughter,
as

me, scarce aware, of ease than he ever

;

To beast and body, and all who had seen,

Feckless creatures days
!

That made him think

to

so he brought

me
;

And

from

mother to

Papers to find what his debts might be

each had grown. Service there had been handed down. I only said, must begin To save the money we cannot win And all had been waste, and spend-

He

had

tried to

make

out, but

he
it

tried

in vain

"We

They

bothered his head with pain.

just

till

ached

thrift all.

That was

what I wished
bills

so I

In stable and bothie, in byre and hall But service should be service true, If I had anything there to do. Fitter it were his father's son

summed up

his debts.

And And
At

sorted his papers, I

made him

give

and heed

bets to the

plans I laid
least

and pare at the other end Where the waste was most, and the ruin done But they were neither kith nor friend. That saw, and did nothing to make or mend. Was there not a bond on Brierybrae ? And a wadset heavy on Fernielea ?
clip

Should

And

We
The

he agreed to all I said. on me, and leant. thinned the woods, and raised the
learnt to lean

rent

land was good, and underlet

the

And
And

running
cent..

bills,

with

their

heavy per
all

the careless rust of debt.

:: ;

! :

io8

Borland Hall
began, at once, to be clearing
off.

We

But wedded we were, and then he

sent,

Learning never to mind the scoff Of fools that trust in a chance to-

And signed and sealed with the Notary, And over all the land he went
The

land he had orderly willed to me, hold and keep, sell or dispone, And the shabbiness of the debtor's Ploughland and pasture, hill and wood, Fishing and messuage, every rood. shift. So happily now the days went by All the rights that had been his own, Our geniuses were not so many. And his fathers before him, ages gone, From the big Nine-stanes to the But happier we for the want of any Kelpie's pool. Always hungry and always dry. And along the hills to the skyline Always hankering for the penny,

morrow.

Learning the worth of honest

thrift,

To

Always

forgetting the time to pay

clear.

I found the means to keep

them away. The good corn lands by the kirk and

school,

We were not patrons now of art. We heard not many sayings smart We got not dedications fine.
Nor long

And
The

the sunny haughs

for kine

and

steer.

We We

accounts for costly wine : were not the great man we had

And
It

bonnie green woods of Brierybrae, the long sheep-walks, and the

set

been

peat moss blae.

is all

saw not the grand days we had

;

down

in

a clerkly hand.
all

seen

But plack and penny we paid our way, And were not afraid of the reckoning
day.

And he He was And he

cold

writ

me

heir of

the land
as

sane in

mind and body

you.

went to kirk and market too. Boy, look not on me so glum and

He

I did nothing was wrong ; or if I did me, and took to you ; But he came in the end to stint and pare. It was all for you, that you might hold Now that he had not a child to heir Your own with the bravest, and none forbid. The hoarded wealth, as it daily grew And I think I scorned him for his And so you shall too, whatever they say greed Of me, it's little I care for them ; Even more than for his wastefulness For if I have sinned, I am ready to pay It was myself that had sown the seed, The stake that I lost when I played And yet I scorned him none the less ; my game. He was less of the gallant gentleman, But I did nothing wrong, I did my Since all his thoughts upon money ran. duty; He grudged my wage, he grudged to And the girl was vain in her wilful you beauty The schooling meet and the clothing And he would never have named me

leant on

due.

heir.
it

hope to save, If the thing that I did had not been fair. keep together his goods and gear, That he wedded me, when he saw his And your right, at least, has never a
I think
in

And And

was only

grave

flaw
things drawing near.
It
is

And the end of all

sound

in morals,

and clear

in

law


My

Borland's

Widow
only the
devil
shall
profit

109

soul

may

suffer

that's

my And

by

it?" concern ; how the wind is howling see It can hardly be worse than it has Hark The sun is out in its maddest riot been of late, It can hardly be worse though it How the great trees moan and creak, and toss frizzle and burn In the quenchless fires of the sinner's Their big arms, hairy and rough with moss, fate. But with me and my guilt, you have And shake to their roots with the sudden shocks nothing to do ; And you've pledged me your word, if Terrible to the cowering flocks. I knew they would come, and let them they plea it with you come She and her popinjay husband are dead. I never had faith in the dainty hum But there were children, people said, And it's not to be doubted they'll try Of new-fangled doctrine buzzed about. As if hell and the devil were all a the law. doubt. And search the will for a loop or But let them come ; I am well content flaw But you'll grip to the land, and be Eternal justice should be done. And the guilty reap their punishment, laird of all The bonnie green glen, and Borland And the Lord be true, and He alone. But I have your oath, and I hold you Hall.
! ! ! :

What
do

say
it!

you? what?

You

to

it,

cannot

And

earth or heaven

may not undo

it,

Your oath on

the

book, and you'll

You

keep it truly, take back your word that you And grip to the land I have willed gave ere you knew it you duly. You palter with faith, and play with If her bairns are poor, there is money an oath. in hand. Hard on your mother, and false to Quite as much as the worth of the land your troth You have scruples, forsooth, to do my When I took the charge of it ; give
!

will.

them

that

But never a scruple to break your word. I have not squandered goods or gear. Nor wasted any gift I gat Never a scruple, although you kill The mother that bore you, and loved On belly or back, this many a year But seeing the break-neck laird of you still
Better, woe's

me

than she loved her

Rhynns

Lord! Can it be

Racing as fast as horse and bet I have sold my soul for Could run him into the black Gazette, I thought we might add his scrubs nought, and whins. Counting the cost, and ready to pay ? Shall I fail in the thing so dearly Some day yet, to our bonnie glen They're better sport for gentlemen. bought ? And you will you be the one to say, But give them the gold, if they make " She gambled away her soul for me a rout

; :

Borland Hall

no
Maybe
it

were a good turn to me, With the ice-grip upon its fret and them a bit in their strife, poverty, So fixed was he, and changed as into But that's little better than papistry. stone. Only grip to the land, and plea it out Stony his face, his feelings stony too, It is yours by right, there is never a Stony and icy was the hard, set eye.
If you

helped

doubt.

And

stony not melt.

felt

the heart that

would

were the words from her And all his weary world a desert mouth, when, lo the hand with its grew, puckered skin wilderness of stones, where dead Powerless fell at her side, her side hopes lie. that was all drawn in By a sudden stroke, and her eyes were Hushed were the household, as they hard and set, and she tried came and went - tiptoe Vainly to say something through dim lobby, and more. Wildly he pled with her, cried dusky room. For pity to the great Heavens, but And whispered low of that heartshe nor they replied ; breaking woe And so it went on through the night, Which lined the young face as it until at cock-crowing she died. sternly leant On the clenched hand, and never changed its gloom.
Scarce
!

BOOK THIRD

They

THE FUNERAL
All
he
the day long, and the next night
sat,

brought him dainties which he never saw.

choicest of the vintage, old and
ciJled fresh flowers he loved in

The
They

rare;

happier hours,

With

laid them near him with a silent awe. And neither stirred nor uttered any But they all knew he knew not they word, were there. Nor ate nor drank ; and much they
in

the

dread

Presence,

that

And

chamber dim.

grieved thereat

Two

days he
silence,

sat

with

that

awed
to

And
Nor

greatly wondered, greatly pitying

Silence dread.

him
spake, nor stirred, nor gave one
life.

Death's
alone.

deeper

than

be

And

sign of

you could hear hearts beat for very fear,

hand, and
fixed

Or knowledge

of the

life

that

still

went on, Like one a-dream, or

stream

Noting the corded head

like

a frozen

Which

stared at that white

Form

with

eyes of stone.

The
Funeral

For

and passed His forest-land that stayed the desertband The charm of terror made them pause And drifting sand - storms from the fields which he and look, And by the sight rouse to more utter Cultured and kept that God might
as they

went

in pairs,

his door,

fright

them
that trembled so,

inherit.

Their beating hearts

before.

Him
And

And

no control of reasoned thought would brook.

she had straitly trained in ways of truth

righteousness and piety and awe.

Eerie and lone, the east

Nor spared God, wind moaning

But with a
ruth.

the rod to drive

ruthless

him unto

low
Billowed the carpets high on lobby

method taught him

and

stair,

And
mouse
went
pattering

schooled him in the Gospel by

The

timid

stern law.

And

through the house. from the roof a spider dropped Yet for that all she taught was surely below. good. Knotting its thread to his unmovinghair. And for that she exalted God supreme The dog howled from his kennel, and In all she did, and all that she forbid.
his chain

And
owl screeched

for

that

love

wrought

in

her

Harsh

grated, as the

hardest mood.

from the barn, phantom fear seemed ever creeping

near.
in

To

him she had been type of worth extreme.

all

And

the

wood
the

the wild cat yelled

bittern

Now, Heaven and

the gods rushed

amain.

And boomed
lonely tarn.

from

madly down, the Like Dagon's house when

pillar fell

its

main

And truth and right, and all things clean and white. heeded not, for nought outside Angel and saint, and the Eternal he knew. crown. Swept by the rush and whirl of All, all seemed lost in thickest smoke maddening thought, And deaf and blind, with agony of of Hell.

He

mind,

At

that dark tale

grew,

which ever darker Gone the fond vision of his:trustful youth. Gone all the awe of natural reverence.

And

the pure love that seemed of heaven above. For she had been his bulwark 'gainst Gone all the certainty of worth and
all

his soul to desolation brought.

Gone

the sea

truth

Of

doubts that lashed, and vexed his unquiet spirit

The

fell-mist

clouded every

higher

sense.

112

Borland Hall
that

Could

be

true
?

which

she,

in

And

cast into

amazement strange and

falsehood, taught

new
ill,

Could

that be good, which, being

?

All ordered thought, so that he did

not know The marks and
or land.

she praised

And
To

oh the
!

pain, the ache of heart

bearings

now

of sea

and brain

think that mother could be base

as

and naught.

But coming from the breezy mountain

top.

On whom
For

God's

stern witness he

had gazed.
still

our

common

Heaven

is

seldom reared On solid arch of reason, firmly built. would drop. But the high Faith that has to And laughter too that made them vanquish death creep with awe. Rests on the lap where first we prayed, and feared. Far stranger than the silence and the And wondered in the dawn of thought gloom and guilt. Seemed now the order sharp, and

All saw a change, and yet with pain they saw For lightsome now, the cloud swept from his brow. Words fierce and bitter from his lips

words
Still lies
its

precise,

weight on mother-love
if

And
And

the hard reason that sounded out

And
Still

and truth ; oh the sorrow

its

her truth should

fail!

strong bands are her so just

of season. satire grim that mocked the very tomb. And clear, cool sense, prompt with its
fit

commands

advice.

And
Finds

oh
!

break

weakness and youth

the

when

they

Seemed

never

madness

like

that

its

Heaven

dark, and hears the

perfect sense.

night-winds wail

Seemed never raving

clear.

like that reason

On the third day, he went out on the hill, So out of grace And wandered restless, yet un;

place, so without touch of

wearying

Even

dull,

dim

souls

that

were of

Then

sat

him down, and with

steadfast

judgment dense
a rigid

frown

Drew

off,

estranged,
fear
;

and shivering,

Gazed

on

the

yellow

and with

tormentil.

Which made him

before,

harder than he was

And
Long

little

milk-wort peeping through

the ling.

And

tipped his mocking speech with

sharper scorn,
there he sat, as one by some Till they were all met for the funeral. blow When the mad impulse taunted them, Stunned, which had loosened every and tore joint and band. Away the mask from every face forlorn.
fell

; ;

The Will
This was
his

"3
am young
;

thought, These neigh- Friends, I

yet

wot not how

bours all have known The shameful fact, and silence kept

the chief

have Mourner should act on such occasions

solemn, can

They made no
gild a sin
;

din,

for wealth

Whether
chief,

to bury

my

face in handker-

Or stand up silent as a marble column. hounds, and I ne'er was at a funeral before, I never saw such faces as I see, round her crept. I never heard such creaking of a door. Hollow and false our life, and this And no one swearing at it furiously Perhaps I should be silent, or should they knew groan Hollow and false, although I knew it All of you did it when our Pastor here not They never
told me, that I might atone.
like beaten

But fawned

And she is gone, and I am To right the cruel wrong

do
;

left alone.

I did not

Spake of the crown become her own

which

had

The moment
he
spake

that she

left

our lower
not used

So

bitterly

from

bitter

sphere

thought.

Forgive me, friends

to these

am

Appropriate moans, appointed agonies.

THE WILL
Kinsmen and
all

Which
of

sigh the weary to their place

rest.

friends and neighbours,

And

groan the saints to mansions of

of you

the blest.
excellent
I

Giving me the sad honour of your The Pastor spoke good words and
presence, I thank you, as I surely ought to do,

For judged by
for pleasance

looks,
:

you

are not here

It

hope his name is mentioned in the Will; will be hard to have canonised a
saint,

see each

face

shaded

by doleful

Yet find no church or cleric codicil I hear but dismal whispers round the For all the charity that did by her Handsomely, as became her minister room ; And therefore the good custom of our Yet everybody groaned, and looked
gloom,
land
Offers you wine and cake and potent
spirit.

as sad

As
Now,
is

if

the

glorious

crown

were

something bad.
the sad
heart,

Which
Should
cheer

by

scriptural

for myself,

when once

the wick

command.
take
it

crushed,
is,

upon
and

occasion
stint

fit

to

ask not where the light

is

which

not,

Drink, then,

not

whisky Nor where the music, when the harp

is

good or wine, Your souls are heavy, and the

mine.

hushed,
the

cost

is

Nor where
forgot.

memory which

is

soon

; :

;;

114

Borland Hall
to
hell

Death comes
heaven and

all

that's

certain

And

seated

at

the head

of that

full

board.
believe,

Are

just
:

as

you

or

don't Outstretching his great limbs, his eye

believe

on
is

fire.

But Faith

hard, and therefore

vife

Young Austen
ale,

quaffed

the brimming

will leave

and laughed

That

matter, if you please, for time

A scornful

to tell

But come or must dine.

life

or

death,

we

all

laugh, and bade his guests accord Good heed to duty ere they fed desire.

And come
good

And

be

We'll take the Will first, as a toothsome whet her gathered savings yours It's hanging o'er us like a pending
or joy or sorrow, wine
is

or mine.

debt,

The Will

must needs be read and Spoiling all appetite, forbidding rest With hopes uncertain of a rich bequest: understood And therefore when we've laid her in Lo here are cousins thrice- removed,
!

the ground.

but blood.

And

smoothed the turf upon the lowly Thicker than water, sticks to one like mud. mound, We'll dine here, if you please, and When poor, they wounded not my mother's soul read the Will And by my Faith it will be rare With humbling gifts of money or of
to see

dress
glass of

How
At

sinks the

most sweet But

if

they shrank

with

sorrow to

charity

condole.

this bequest and that odd codicil. They failed not to congratulate success. Pray come ; I've killed my beeves But when she needed nothing, nought and broached my wine. The living die, but living, they must they spared

dine

The

dead depart, but then their goods

sorrow,

The

remain.

In costly tokens of their fond regard. Will, the Will, then! she was good and wise
virtues,

To

soothe our our pain.

and

relieve

Their blushing
forgot,

no doubt, they

Some

" Shameful " murmured Shocking " " Bad, too bad "
!

And
it

did
not

all

this as

though they did

And
You

"His

mother's

funeral

" Drink, I fear " Enough to call down judgments on

!

"

too!" and And

Will will be a glad surprise. you, her Pastor, faithful to your charge.
so the

scrupled not to
large.

tell

her,

round

us

all

"
;

and
hinted
that

And
Yet

others
;

he must be

How
As

hard the rich do find the way

through
a
needle's

mad
all

to heaven.

came back

to feast,

who

bore

camels

eye

the bier.

are driven.

"5
let

The Will
She liked not sermons much, I must The Will, the Will, then; confess,. have the Will ; Even slighted them as marrowless For all our hopes it surely must
dry- bones, And wanting bread, gave her stones,
fulness.

us

fulfil.

she

said

they
faith-

They

understood him not, but

felt

the

But she could not forget your

tone

Nor

Of irony that hardened all his speech. And mocking laughter that, coming her call. yours, good quickly after, But never called, because she physic Crept fast, and tingled keen through hated. flesh and bone. Moreover she was never sick at all With shock of shame as deep as words But still the yearly fee was ne'er abated.
doctor, ever at

Though powder,
or small.

might reach.

pill,

or potion, great

Blister or clyster, never

knew

in

her

But when the Will was read which

all

What

healing

virtues

they

might

bequeathed.
lands, unto her only son.

minister.

Monies and

Nor
But where
belongs.
is

other
bitter

name named,
taunt,

but with

mark

she to

whom

the place

of shame

Or
so dear to all the glen,

biting

scorn that

The bonnie May,

never hid, and spared Prankt with her flowers, and tripping to none ; to her songs In those white robes that witched the hearts of men ? Straightway they rose in wrath, and Old neighbours, ye whose lives are left untasted memories The ample viands, scowling as they Of better days, when all was sunny went and blithe. And silent long, remembered now the And in the wet grass ye would stay
the scythe

breathed scorn she

wrong

To

catch her greeting smile at sweet

Done

to the heir, nor heeded, as they

hasted.

sunrise

She came and went 'mong you a gleam

of light.

His urgent
and
faint.

pleas that they

were weak

That warmed the

heart,

and made

the old Hall bright

There was no
enough
for her.

mate

seemed

good

Surely they needed food, and must not go Till they had tried his beeves, and
;

Nor any fate but that she would confer drunk his wine Would not the priest Honour upon it, as religion brings
Glory and beauty
to the highest things.

say

grace

for

them

at least

Of

course, you're
is

here to

see

how And might

wrong

righted.

And

justice to the

orphan

is

requited.

not some strong waters break the blow ? But only the cool lawyer stayed to dine.

! ;

! .

ii6

Borland Hall
to

He

stayed not dine

lo
!

dine,

and yet he did " Dead

must have
the

and unrepented
!

this

wrong unrighted,

For

the

heir

Dead!

and
!

to

me
faith,

this

horrible

village

poor
feast,

bequest
unblessed by Christian

To eat the
priest

Dead! and my
her death
!

too,

dying

in

And
and

he too high and dainty was, Mother,

fine.

mother
is

if

you
for

had
or

relented
forth, indignant,

And flouncing
the door.

banged But

rest

now "
!

there

no joy

me

So, with the lame and halt and

maimed

And

at

the morning's the

dawn he

rose

and

blind.

And all the pauper world for The feast was high, and noisy And with their songs they
the night wind.

and went miles about, All through

revelry,
startled

house,

and every

window

barred,

And every door he locked on every floor. And with the keys his weary way he

And

shook their tattered duds with bent drunken shout. Along the mountain pathway, rough and hard.
strange, wild recklessness

For he, with would stir

Faintly the sunshine tipped the clouds

All weird and eerie thoughts to feed with red, his mood, Faintly the spring-birds fluttered into And nought too grim or gruesome song. seemed for him ; The mountain stream rippled as in a Maddened, that night, by memory dream.

He
So

of her, shrank

And
from
all

dream-like in the mist the sleek

the

pure springs of

kine fed

bright or good.

On
morning broke
;

low meadows, moving slow

along.
it

went on

until the

And when
alone,

the morning broke he was

all

And

slow and weary up the glen he

slant

passed,

The

household

had vanished from Weary and slow amid the dim,

light.

the Hall

Atthestrange coming of thebeggarfolk, Until he stood beside the old pine- wood Andnowagainhefelthis heart like stone. Above the red crag which its shadow
cast

One

only

word he spake

"

O misery

O'er the dark pool, and

white.

water-lilies

Never to see her, hear her nevermore. No hope of change oh pitiful and

strange

All round the rim

sedge,

still

rustled the tall

And she went drifting on that sunless sea. And she lies wrecked upon that silent
shore

Broad leaves of
within.

lily

paved the pool

The Will
The
water-hen, unconscious
herself,

117

now

of I do remember her, the gentle

May,

men,

Like
rippling

a soft

morning

star

whose melting
mine early

Oared

outward from

ray

the edge.

Hung,
day;

lingering,

dewy

o'er

And

with her young brood paddled out and in.

standing
in

Faint as a dream of something white

And

the

pine -wood's

and pure,

darkling shade.

A
keys down,

shapeless form that

search would

He
And

hurled

the

with a

not endure,

mighty curse

Which
his soul in dark eclipse,

ever

changing,

ever

seemed

Upon

his lips

unsure

with the keys, the Will that she

had made,

Yet ever
gloom across the moor
It

in its

And
But

strode in

brought to

and furze.
as he sped along that trackless way, Stumbling o'er snake-like roots that twisted white On the black peat, and caught his

Like lips a kiss

wavering loveliness. a sense of tender bliss. that from the past clung with

me

downy cheek

that

warmly lay on

mine, And eyes that shined on

divine
;

me

a light

hurrying

feet,

The
its

strong-knit

moral

fibre

claimed

sway.

A shadow, and
behind

its

voice an echo fine

let

And kindlier feelings

light:

brought a sweeter

One task remains to me; The secret of those

;

me

but find
left

children

sweeter light that

humbled him,
calm rebuke.

and shed

No

oath that binds to wrong can ever

Upon

his jagged nature

bind.

And made him hate his anger passionate; And by and by he lifted up his head, Or
look.

do, better the curse I bore bind upon a mother evermore Knitting his forehead with a resolute This bitter wrong, and bolt her prison
if it

Than

door.

Lord God,
belong,

to

whom

the hidden things

Too
burdened, darkened
spirit,

late

know

not,

for

He

Pardon
long Prying

my
at

changeth not

every crevice of this wrong.

Burdened and darkened, mad some light, And in my madness making deeper But be
night

late ? Our hearts change, and they change our lot Who ever changed, and yet no mercy to find got?

Too

it

fruitful
it

And
heart,

be

fruitless,

of a curse on mother,
is all

me now
;

to

Calm Thou my
do
right.

and help

me

to

thee
It is the right,

and that

we

see.

;;

ii8

Borland Hall

A
BOOK FOURTH

sister

and a brother there

together, rich in love,

Kept house

THE HOWFF

And And

in the thoughts that filled the air.

sympathies that everywhere.

A LITTLE
The

cottage, trim

and

neat,
folk,

Around, beneath them, and above Found kindred souls and faithful
friends,

simple

home of simple

Stood by itself, well off the street. For that they had the master-key Not far from where the two roads meet The love that all things comprehends. Beneath the dingy Town-house clock And opens every heart, and bends The Howff, or haunt of favoured All to its clear simplicity Artless and gentle, wise, and true. youth. The envy of the lads who yet All wise and gentle souls they drew. Had to make good their love of truth, Whether the way were rough orsmooth, Yet he was but an artizan. By fearless thought or searching wit. And hardly twenty years had seen ; It was an University humble, absent, dreamy man. For all the spirits bright and free. Whose mind on mathematics ran. Or planned some new machine Weekly they met, and held discourse And guileless as a child was he. Of science, and its march sublime. Yet daring as a man who walks. And what is Matter, what is Force, In his most meek simplicity. And what Creation, and the course In a far world of theory. Of its development in time ; And with the hard world seldom talks. Nor was the policy forgot Or tests his visionary thought Of nations, though the man was more. By the experience it has bought.
:

The nation less than in the thought Of many, and they counted not To remedy the ills he bore.

An

artizan, but artist too,

;

And And

fill

his

cup unto the brim.

for him.

Yet have no remedy

still

none like him could make and shape it true. And polish it for perfect view Of far-off hidden stars that break
Inventive

The

optic glass,

their

converse

verged

on

The

blank black spaces

in

the sky.

things.

More sacred, where the reason passed From common earth, and needed wings Upon

And he, by mathematic Knew when to turn the

the field where
it

fit.

searching eye

must

lie,

To

soar up to those higher springs

lie

That

Where God
light

amid the shadows vast dwells, making darkness

faith that can attain
:

And And
With

seek

he discovered it therefore science crowned

till

his

name
its

award of early fame.

Unto the

And some of them beheld the light. And some were in a chill dark night, And some were hesitating, fain To give old words a novel sense
;

And

But

all

were

full

of reverence.

he was greatly loved, but still loving, and by all esteemed For upright walk, and curious skill. Inventive thought, and steadfast will. Yea, even for the dreams he dreamed

More

Paul Gaunt
So So So So
true

119

he was, and seeking

truth,

Here had

their

widowed mother

spent,

rich in multifarious lore,

patient with impetuous youth.

helpful oft their path to

By
It

smooth drawing from his varied store ;

reverent of the wise,
to

So humbly

humbled them

watch

his eyes.

But

she, his sister, fond

and brave,

In patient toil, her latter days, Days sweetened by a blithe content. And by a household love that lent Sunshine and song to all her ways And by respect of all the wise, And by the love of all the good, And by the faith whose hopes arise. Like evening stars in darkening skies,
Soft-pulsing o'er the

And

jealous of his due respect.

dewy wood

Who
And

rose up like a threatening wave.

And
Still

proudly curled her lip, and gave Such glance of scorn, with head erect. When some one risked a thoughtless jest At his abstract and dreamy mood She held him wisest, truest, best

the fine odour of her grace fondly lingered in the place.

PAUL GAUNT
In the
still

And

in protecting,

but expressed

Her reverence for a soul that stood Above the common world as far

old town

Where

the minster towers

Toll the passing hours the chiming College Crown, glorious girl, high-thoughted, bright Sat the sister and her brother And beautiful, with woman's sense, In their quiet room, And woman's tact, and keen insight, Amid the gathering gloom loving heart, and gay and light Of murky storm-girt weather ; In her assured innocence ; She restless fingers twitching. scholar eager still to learn, And he absorbed in sketching.
serene and distant star.

As some

To

A A A teacher careful to instruct,

She She
toiled high

toiled her daily bread to earn.

With a long, low wail Moaned the fateful sea.

Foretelling woeful tale

wisdom

to discern,

And

in the pleasant

evenings pluckt

Thefruit thatwas heryounglife'sdream. To see him held in such esteem.

Chiefly she had with

Of wreck and misery By and by to be

:

And
With

the fisher-women.
in bands.

Gathering

men

conversed.

the cry of

human

Anguish wrung their hands, With youth in noble dreams immersed, Gazing seaward ever With a yearning and a shiver, And sages, rich in lore, who erst Had dreamt like dreams of life and art As they searched the wave and spray And therefore she more womanly For the boats that sailed away At the dawning of the day. And gentle was than other girls
gossip is with women ; she Enshrined in her clear modesty. Deep wrapt up in schenling Was his inventive brain, And walking pure amid its perils. Was worshipped like a saint, and grew While his sister, fondly dreaming. Seemed to nurse an aching pain, More womanly the more she knew.

Men of fresh mind and generous heart,^

Whose

; ;

I20

Borland Hall

And

the women's eyes were streaming dread of the to-morrow, Tears upon the sand like rain. And the forms upon the sand. But mastered by the craving I am heavy as I think ; Of inventive thought, I am dull and scarce know why ; How the sea was raving But I feel as on the brink Then he heeded not, Of some unknown misery. Nor how hearts were braving, You must be weary Shall I sing ?

Or

trembling, at their a forehead massive

lot.

And
With

that pencil-scratch

is

dreary

On

Brooded thought serene Seemed his face impassive.

;

I'll hum its monotone. Something just as it will come. Something just as it is sent Never mind the instrument."

And

features sharp and lean Features thin and pale and lean Fingers long and steady Held pencil ever ready

Milly Gaunt' s Song

Late, late
in
in

Late,

late.

May

the hawthorn burst

For some new machine

Shaping
in his brain, I

ween.

And her restless fingers twitched As he brooded on, and sketched. And the fisher-women gazed
From
the
sand-dunes,
felt

numb

bloom. Long searched by chill blasts from the nipping East Late, late the fire-balls flamed upon the broom. and And golden-barred bees began to feast.
Late, late the bluebells in the forest glade Made skyey patches, starred with primrose sheen,

dazed But he neither

nor wondered

At

the anguish of their pain,

!

silent sat, and pondered Tracing o'er and o'er again Novel figures from his brain. So he often found relief From the bitter thought of grief Which his heart was keen to feel, But his hand was weak to heal And the world was all forgot In his novel forms of thought. Though its passion and its pain Gave the hint on which he wrought.

Only

And

lady-ferns, uncoiling in the shade,

Turned

serpent-folds

to

plumes

of

waving green.
Late, late the bright fringe tipped the branching spruce, And golden fingers sprouted on the pine

And June came

loose

in before the curls

were
sun-

Of

gay laburnum

in

the

clear

Then With

shine.
his sister, turning slowly.

a wistful melancholy,

Late,

late

they came, but

yet they

As As As

of one with listening weary. of one with waiting dreary. of one who had a pain
eerie.

came

at last.

Lying where a joy had lain. Said, " The sky is wild and

And I fear there will be sorrow On the sea, and on the land

sweet Forget-menot; But waiting for my summer, summer passed In flowerless hoping, and in fruitless
thought.

Lilac, laburnum,

Paul Gaunt
Came
sunshine to the blossoms and the

121

; ;

122

Borland Hall
to your

Don't go back, now,

.ing;
It will

schem- Let us stand by our order, then,

ing
it

fight-

out
are, in the

do you good
will drift

to rest to

True men they

dreaming
right

main, and

Thought

away

In a brain too hardly pressed And this strihe so long has been That my little purse grows lean.

The

quarrel

is

good, and our hearts

are stout.

And
And
it's

every one
about.

knows what

it's

all

Paul.

Ah

the strike

dreadful, I

know

it is

war

yes,

A fairer
It is

is our might wage, and a shorter day, time we had time to think and pray.

our patience

For the wealth of the

life

rich,

but the

of the poor
warfare, and holier

Yes, the strike

course.

is

right

it

is

war, of

Our new, modern

far

And
by hero pure

in

war we must count upon rubs

be
better,

Than

ever was bannered by Cross or

and blows

star.

And who may

:

and

who

Or

battled

It is

Capital, gathered on credit, that

may be worse. Who may be stricken

remorse,

with grief and

:

stands

Against Capital, and hands.

gathered

in

brains

Only

the end shall disclose

But true
and

to each other, our life will be

more
I'm
a
to

workman,
be;

dear,

mean And

fuller

and

richer

than

ever

before.

I like the

sound of the hammer and

Milly
file in

saw.

Ah
heart

well, I

do not know

And

the feel of a
to see

my

hands, and

hope it may be so. But I judge by what

I

I see.

Work

neatly done, as

it

ought to be.

And my
Of

is

failing

me.

Turned out without fault or flaw. Nut and rivet and nail and screw
All
driven
true.

Have you

heard young Darrel's song the famine of the coal ?

home, dear, right

and

Some will have it he is wrong. Though he sings with all his soul.
Till

my

blood

is

tingling hot.
lot.

Thinking of the poor man's

I hate a fellow that

scamps

his job.

False

work never

yet

won

the day
steal

Song

The

Coal Famine

I'd sooner footpad

rob.

it,

and

and
Coal, nor wood, nor peat.

Or go pick-pocketing through Than play that dirty play

It's

mob,
the

Nothing

to put in the grate

And

the east wind hurtling along the

street.

the pride of our

land

that

good Dashing the windows with rain and In its wool and cotton, and iron and sleet. And sifting through roofing and slate. wood.
is

work

Paul Gaunt

123

What are the With their

Hitherto, to me they seem duds so worn and thin. The lean kine in Pharaoh's dream, For all the day long, all the night Eating up the bigger wage through. By their idleness and debt. Shaking the soot from the smokeless Hurrying down another stage flue. To a sorrow deeper yet.
bairas to do,

The

gusts

come

roaring in

Oh

do not understand

We women never do
Oh
But I somehow think the land I miss their noisy din, Was kindlier to the hand That once had made me scold. For now they are sitting so pinched Of the workman long ago. and
thin,

With

a shiver without, and a gnawing

When the fiirnace ne'er was quenched. And the work was never flinched.
Nor
the bellows ceased to blow
all

within.
Silent,

and dreary and cold.

On

the cinders

aglow.
was,

For

there's little to boil or bake.

Little to roast or fry.

Little of daylight

when we wake.

Why, of course, it MUly for master and man Were brothers, and stood by
Paul.
:

each

Little to

As

do but shiver and shake the chill, dark hours go by.

other then

They

ate at the

same board, and drank

the same can.

The great lord's iron heel, The rich man's selfish pride They were hard to bear but
;

And
it's

the Master
artizan.

was

master, and true

The

worse to feel poor man turning

steel

And knew all the craft of his men He was not a fellow that handled quills
With
a head for nothing but

heart

of

" doing

bills."

To

the poor

man

at his side.

Milly.

So Darrel
have
it

And
sings his song
is
;

his men were men mere hands.

to him, not

Some

will

he

wrong.

And
The

Who
Than

are also wise and good.

poet's eye sees

Yet the
is

more

their only quarrel was who should smite deftest blows where the anvil

often understood

stands

By

the Reason we adore. Listen to the cry bewildering

And

they were not driven by rough

commands
Off to the
left

Of the women at the doors. And the wail of the small children
Lying hungry on the floors. While the lads draw in their breath With their lips as white as death.
Great
their patience to endure.

and

right.

Ah

more human brotherhood Would go far to sweeten the workman's mood.

!

little

And if strikes will bring a To their ills, why, fight it

But
for

cure
out

aught that's come about

That's what is wrong, dear. The wealth of the land Comes from the forge and the smithy and mine.

124

Borland Hall
chisel,

From hammer and

and band,

and wheel and

the

Austen.

What is wrong, Paul? Nothing that I know of; all is

right.

And And

the
skilful

thinking

brain,

hand,

In

this

best of possible worlds,

how

we must toil and pine, That one may be rich by driving All
yet
quills.

should anything be wrong ? is ordered, man, by perfect love

And

a floating credit of Banker's bills.

To
As

and wisdom Infinite, go smooth as your machinery, and

blithe as Milly's song.

They call that capital it is a lie The capital force of the country still
!

for

me, I have been going up and down, and to and fro,

in

Is the

power of work, the nice- judging Like a personage you've read of

that queer old

eye.

Book of Job,

The And

With a tinker, given to drinking, and the knack of well-trained skill his company was low. These are the source of all our gains ; But he taught me one or two things Much your credit will do without that are happening on our globe ;
brain to perfect machinery.

hands and brains.

Just then on the creaking stair

And my
Than

old professor says nothing's

praise

worthy more of

A weary step was heard,

And
And
she started from her chair
eager, wistful air,

an ardent thirst for knowledge in our curious youthful days.

We

With an

camped in woodland corners 'mong the oak scrub and the

broom.
a clear stream tinkling near us,

her heaving bosom stirred.

a long breath in

But she uttered not a word.

With

Only drew Only

Till her parted lips

grew

thin.

And

and the pine-scents in the air. our beds were white and fragrant
with the hawthorn's
falling bloom, our caldron daily smoking with the coney and the hare
:

flushed o'er

all-

her face.

With

a look of tender grace,

And

As

a worn and haggard man Dragged his form into the room, Coming from the murky gloom

These

With

a ghastly face

and wan,

And
And

And

great eyes

all

aflame.

Seemed the gaunt and lanky form Like the spirit of the storm, Haggard at the work he came

have an eye for the picturesque and pleasant. a gentlemanly taste, too, for partridge, grouse, and pheasant. he taught me no small wisdom,
fellows

which

is

good

for

human

souls.

To
It
is

perform.
:

Then Paul
Lyell
is

Why, MiUy dear. what is wrong ?

ill,

of night-birds, about weasels, about moles. About salmon in their season, and to
call

About the

track the honey-bee.

He
But

wet and

I fear
:

About
all
:

stalking

him hearty cheer Welcome, brother, come along Never welcomer to me Face of one long lost at sea Coming unexpectedly."
we'll give

of the red-deer, and bird economy.

tinkering of kettles, and cookery of game. About doctoring of horses, and transmuting of the same,

About

; :

Paul Gaunt
About spaeing
people's fortunes, and

125

By

the

first

sharp wrench of agony

after-pains
past,

And

breeding in and in, also a philosophy that quite gets

rid of sin.
;

the rest you hardly feel

They

are

but the
is

of an

anguish that

Yet we had to part and also I hope Natural throbbings of the sorrow which your life has overcast. never more to meet him. He was such an arrant scoundrel, Yes, of course, you have the right to work or idle, as ye will, vermin worse than any rat And though I'm not particular, I To quench the blazing forges, and to stop the humming mill. really had to beat him, And there's no gospel surer than that And all the other rights by which you hope to right your wrongs. I was right in that. And by and by to turn the people's
sorrows into songs.

Now,

want a job of work, Paul ; have thews and sinews strong.

I

Yet there

are noblest rights

which the
the

noble only use

And

the

arm

that

beat

the
'loflg.

might wheel a barrow

a tool,
I

gipsy In fearfulness and trembling for passions they let loose.

I cannot be a craftsman, I cannot ply Nations

cannot

use

the

chisel

and
lad
;

hammer and the rule know nothing of your art,

I could bear a hod.

have the right of battle none more sacred that I know the Than the right to take your weapon, and to hurl it at your foe,
but

The

right to kill a creature

likeness of his

made

in

God,

And

trample a grand being underneath the reeking sod. Will you find me work to do, then ? Yet the wanton use of battle is the shame of history. I am tired of working brains, Like a treadmill yielding nothing but Turning back the tide of progress, and of man's prosperity. my labour for my pains. This is now your day of power and I am glad that it is yours

handle

pick and

shovel,

and

To

carry earth and sod.

strike

among

the

workmen

But

shall

workmen

just repeat the sin

?

That's unlucky, I confess I don't much wonder at it, but I'm sorry none the less Sorry for myself, perhaps ; for it rather mars my scheme ; But like other hopes I've cherished, it

of kings and conquerors

As

the nations cease from battle, shall

the classes rouse the fray.

And And
Get

scatter
shilling

wanton sorrow for a more a day ? what, now, if your fellows,

idle,

was maybe

all

dream

lounging near the pot-house,

to loaf about,

And
I

I think I feel their troubles even

keener than

my own
it

have had so many lately worth while to moan

For another

more

or

less

stunned upon the wheel

and like it, get to hate both spur and bridle ? is not Lose the habit of hard labour, with its manliness ; and then Comes the wreck of all you hope for one in the wreck of noble men ?

; ;

126

Borland Hall
you organise a you organise
strike, it is

When
But

war Though I look not

yet that

for
also

may

much happiness, come

;

whine ; if I have grief I can be dumb. labour of the wise, To bind it all together in the bundle Can you help me, Paul ? I must have work, and yet some leisure too ; of one life, Manifold in gift and service, linked as Some day I'll tell you more, perhaps yet wherefore burden you ? husband unto wife,
to organise our

labour were the

At

least I will not

fund of skill and thrift. Enough ; I must have leisure, for I have a task to do. That partly was my thought When I came to you I dreamt that, Paul, with sorrow, caught the tone if I shared their weary lot. If I got a fustian jacket, and a hammer, Of the sorrow of his friend ; and a file, Yet he made as if its moan Or wheeled the hodman's barrow, if Were a thing for mirth alone, And it seemed that he would spend for nothing better fit. And ate the bread of labour, maybe All his shafts of homely wit sweetened with a smile. And of ridicule on it. And faced an earnest Universe as To think of Lyell with a file earnestly as It, Grinding slowly at a wheel Then some day they might trust me ; Or with hod of lime or tile. for I know that they are jealous Tramping where the gangways reel Of the patronage outside them, but Or smiting with a hammer, will hearken to their fellows 'Mid the clangour and the clamour have laboured at the bench Of the anvil and the bellows with them, and handled the same And the smithy, and the fellows tools. Who can nothing more than play And who know the hearts of work- Mighty hammers, day by day men, that they are not rogues He, the scholar of his year. nor fools. Knowing Latin, knowing Greek, Ah well ; no matter now ; I dare- Knowing all you'd care to hear.

With

common

Who

say that was

all

dream

Knowing
Paul

all

that sages speak

But

my way of life is changed, my sunshine was a gleam

ing,

Through storm-clouds darkly gather-

now

the sky
there,
rain
is

is

overcast.

Of number and of form. Of the laws that guide the storm. Of fluids and their powers. And of how they may be ours
!

Like the day where the

out

of doors, Laughing light, and chuckling low

pelting fast
to

As

And
I

somehow cannot hang on

as

he tossed it to and fro, Paul kept playing with the thought,

the skirts of the genteel,

Mocking
feel

at

it,

scorning

it.

would make the change

as the

thorough Jesting with the kind of wit

the
toil
fitter

change in heart I

The more obscure my life is now for me. The more mechanical its
happier I shall be
;

Which a loving heart will hit. Though of humour knowing nought. Then he said that one who knew him

the

Had

lately spoken to him Something about editing


Paul Gaunt

; ;

127

A newspaper which,
Was
ridiculous,

of course,

And
Wild

and worse

Loud amid

the sullen waves were crashing the angry dashing

drifting sleet

But it was the very thing For Austen with his free Flowing pen, and fresh discourse. Oh the pleasure it would be, Reading leaders every night Sparkling with a modern light, Yet with wisdom from the ages Mellowing all the thoughtful pages

Of the

and

rain.

the anguish of his pain,

Yet they bade it not to cease. For it was the way of peace.
Left alone, ere long, she went Softly to her instrument, Touched a chord or two, and then Deftly warbled forth a strain. Not without its shade of pain.

Would

not Milly surely like

Austen's papers on the strike ? And perhaps himself might pen Just a letter now and then. In silence Austen heard, Never uttering a word, But the strong lip gave a quiver. And his head bowed very low. And there was a tremulous shiver,

Mllly

{^alone) sings

So she went Drifting

drifting

So she went drifting, Over the sea.

Surely not she. She no anchor had

Thinking that others were

lifted.

shifting

Like the

ripple

on

a river

When a passing wind doth blow. And the tears began to flowTears that sorrow failed to bring, But the touch of love unsealed, Like the coming of a spring

Meant not to move Only she slowly drifted

Deep

into love.

Oh

That awoke the heart

it

healed.
are

she had held Should not be

that a
first

maiden

And
As

the others did not speak.

that

For they knew

words

weak

the drip of falling rain 'Mid the silence of our pain,

To sigh with a heart love-laden. And long and thirst And mad at herself for her longing,
Hard things she said, Then was mad at herself for wronging The love she had.

And

they saw Something touching them with awe. Something more than natural grief, Something more than met the eye.
in his grief

He

knew not how she was yearning

Just for a word.

Something mad for the Of a helpful sympathy.

relief

Now,

because the strain was o'er,

He

went on his way discerning Nothing he heard Only he sometimes wondered

And

yielded to the throng

What

Of better

thoughts that rushed along Through every open door, And every chamber of his mind, Uncontrolled and unconfined. Wild, without, the wind was roaring. Wild, without, the rain was pouring. Battering on the window pane ;

Oh

she could mean had he only pondered He might have seen.

drifting, drifting

So she went

Day

after

day

So he went shifting, Farther away

shifting,


128

Borland Hall
done
I

Oh but a word would have Word never spoken

So she went

it

bought

it in,

let

me

say,

When we

sold up old

Drumkeller

drifting, drifting

He was
And
But the

famed

for his wines in his day.

With

her heart broken.

the

Duke

carried half away.

to

rest

came

my

poor

cellar.

BOOK FIFTH

VISITORS
That
night,

was I that wound up his affairs. a pretty mess they were in He had gone on 'Change, and the bears
It

And

though the storm was

forth.

Turned his acres quickly to shares They'd have robbed him soon of
still

his

raging,

skin.

Austen and Paul went

Arm
It

in

arm, braving the rain, and the

He

was

chill roaring

was nine on the Minster-clock as Wheal-Bwbl, Wheal Wuhrst, they knocked at a staring green
door,
I lost a big thing

wind from the North

And

bit with the railways first. then he went in for mines,

Dydl, Wheal
burst

when they

Grass-green

of the brightest, a big brass plate on it bore

it

and

But they smashed him clean

off the lines.

The

name,

Andrew Downie,

Esquire,

in letters readable, large.

With his wife sticking fast to the with nothing to do : pillion. Prosy and garrulous he, and his face brightened gladly to see I told them to wait ; peats may blaze. Paul and his student friend come to But they don't fly away in a hurry : give
him
their

: All staring out of the panel, shining And he did not hold out long and big as a targe. Yet he was kindly and human, a Heart, they said but it was his liver. plump, little man by the fire. Slippered and cheery, drawing the Had we waited, instead of a loss. He might have been good for a wine and the walnuts nigher. million Not without kettle on hob, not without There was shale in those acres of moss, spirit-case too. The laird and his pony would cross, For an easy bachelor evening,

sold him up for a song a stupid stocking-weaver ; I always thought we were wrong

We
To

lonely,

company.

And

But money was tight the Banks took

ways.

in those days.

to

watching your

ANDREW DOWNIE,
It cost

Esq.

So we

sold, like fools, in a flurry.

it ought to be good. Well, I bought in his port, as I said. of money ; And it's sound every bottle as yet. It's been twenty years out of the wood, Every cork with a wig on its head. With a taste of the olives it should And a bouquet might quicken the dead, Go down just like new milk and honey. Or savour a bailie with wit.
;

Try the port, sir me a mint

; ;

Andrew Downie
But you
sip it as if

129

you were stung

One

has

written

reviews

for

the

You'd prefer it perhaps with more body ? Times, Old port for old fellows ; the young One, paragraphs for the Spectator, Like the smack of the wood and One encloses a copy of rhymes,
the bung,

Or

even the flavour of toddy.

! !

And another, On an " Own And And And

there's
as soon
Criticise the

he rings the chimes Correspondent's " letter.

Not drink

and a man in your line Well, I don't set up for a teacher. But a lad that don't take to his wine Will not do for a learned divine. Or a popular, orthodox preacher.
All the sound,
solid parsons, I wist.

none of them but would

Almighty

as not,

see that the angels kept tune,

watch that the sun and the moon

the
light

Do
Drink
their port with a kindly

not squander have got.

they

good
Clever fellows, Sir, wonderful clever
;
!

will;

But your cold water dulls them like mist. But I want an original mind Or they get some heretical twist. And these run in the same rut for

ever.

And
Oh,

go on, like the clack of a

mill.

Differing only in state of the liver.

And
you're not in the preaching

amount of lungs

for

wind.

way

You

have come here about the news- You see, I have nothing to do : paper ; I made a bit money, and stopt. But these Editor fellows, they say, Then I tried this and that, with a view Must be soaked, like a wick, half Of getting some happiness too. the day Ere my blossom of life was cropt. Ere they light up their evening taper.
I had hard lines, most of my days, Well ; I'd not have believed it before Rose just, as they say, from the gutters,^ That so many men of ability Knew little of children's plays. Could be standing about by the score. Or country-folk and their ways. Looking out for an open door, Since I learnt how to take down the

And

a job with a
there,
:

little gentility.

shutters.

Look

at

that

huge

pile

of

We are
So
is

letters

And And

that's not the half I

sir,

am

sure

All scholars, All versed in

greatly

my

betters,

political matters.

all of us self-made here every one worth his meat And I don't know I ever was near So happy and proud as the year That I swept the rooms tidy and neat.

Science and Literature.

Then

thought

myself

something.

What
In this

a wealth of brains there must be

fine

I'd stop

Which nobody
For
a

old country of ours, ever can see.

And

laugh, 'mid the dust right out.

Till he advertises like

me

man of " original powers."

9

Looking down on the boys in a shop And oh what a glory of Hope Seemed floating then all round about


130

!;

Borland Hall
But what human soul could exist On a vision of shadows and crows. And the trailing of clouds and mist,

Well, 1 made some money, and then I thought I would travel a while ; That enlarges the mind of men ; So they say, but nine out of ten Might as well sit and swing on a stile.

Or

the thought of the

the turnip or

worms

as they

twist

Where
Those French fellows gabbled so fast I could not make out what they said,
So

mangold grows

I filled with fish-tackle red books,

And

they shrugged
past,

went

flies round my hat out and in ; and smiled, and Sticking But the trout picked the bait from

When
I

I spoke their

own

tongue,

till

at last

my hooks. And snifi^ed at my

Though

flies in

their nooks.

was well-nigh

losing

my

head.

they jumped crooked pin.

to

boy's

empty Kirks, Well, of all stupid sports that I know and pictures and shows. The absurdest is catching your fish. the old German towns with Getting tired as you walk to and fro. their Storks, Getting wet, too, for nothing, although And Rome with its wonderful works. sixpence would get you a dish. And the Alps with their guides and
I wearied of big cafes

So

And And

snows.

As
mind, did you say
;

Enlarge

my

to shooting, no bird would remain For a good steady shot ; but as fast As the pointers would point, they

went It was six months of wearisome play, And some photographs got by the way.
a bit, Sir I
as I

Not

came

were

fain

And

To be off, and I peppered in vain As they rose with a whir, and flew past. No
;

food, like a long fast in Lent.

that, I

After
I

bought an

estate.

The

the country is stupid, or worse ; mice would get drowned in the

Running still in a rut like the rest had better have bought a bad debt, For my money ran down like a spate. And my bogs grew an absolute pest.
Rural Seeing
life, lads, is all

And
Or

cream. then no butter of course, Or something went wrong with your

horse.

the eggs vanished off like a dream.

a mistake.

and In the country I never conld get What the country is meant to produce And sleek, stupid cows half awake ; But I got in a hank of debt. And the birds your morning sleep break, Till I advertised it to let. And weary you with their monotony. Or to go, if it must, to the deuce.
but grass fields
botany.
I used to

nothing

go sauntering round.

Ah

the

town,

lads,

for

me

And

stare at

my

turnip drills.

don't care

Or watch
ground,

the old crows as they found

in

Twisting worms

the fresh-ploughed

Though I Nor leave

For

never see grass or tree. the old market square,

there's true life

and motion there,

Or

the shadows

flit

over the

hills.

Just to stand on the pavement and see

Andrew Downie
Rural
!

131

But the Newspaper well, here am I women with butter on blades, In the town, and with nothing to do, Fisher- women with loaded creel they chaffer with wives and And I hear it is going to die Of a Radical scamp who must try, maids ! they storm through the varying Forsooth, a halfpenny Review.

How

How

Of the

shades passion they feign to feel

Now,
It

the paper

is

part of

thfe

Town
down

would not be the same place without

it

You should see the gardeners too, With their carrots and nosegays red
Their gardens always dd

I'd as lief the kirk-steeple

fell

And

there's

Let it cost me a plack or a crowd. nothing you want but you We'll print it, sir, never you doubt

it.

Shall find there, living or dead.

Then on

It was always here, as I say. Fair-days and hiring-days Coming out every week like

the

Ah!
It's as

good

as a play to be there.

Sunday Quite enough too

I can't see a

way

As
At

the ploughman jogs up with a straw the jokes that are

rife in

To
Or

In his hat, and the lasses guffaw

the Fair.

have accidents fresh every day. eclipses each Friday and Monday.
is

But business

business,
it

and so

Or on great days, just to see The trades all out in procession. The man who is armed cap-a-pie.

We must make
And
I

pay, if

we

can,

want

one whose

pen

will

And Adam and Eve, and the Tree, And the Serpent, and all the Temptation
!

not go In a rut of set phrases, you know. But a real original man.

As
Oh,
life, lads,

to politics,

them I don't mind

a jig
;

there's nothing like

folk.

life.

The The

stir

and crush of the

They go round and round like I'm a Tory myself, but I find
Nothing pays so well
respectable
as a

bargaining, beering, and strife.

kind

And the small boys with trumpet or fife, Of steady And the gingerbread and the rock
!

Whig.
bit.

You may
They
talk of the fine country air.
;

gird at the parsons a

all

They've got Sunday

to themselves.

But it never agreed with me And don't spare their hearers a whit, I'm a town-bird, you see, and don't care But I won't have an infidel wit, For the daisies and butter-cups there. Like that fellow Voltaire on the As I do for the dulse and the sea. shelves.

whatwalk could you take I'm not pious I never had time. Like a stroll to the point of the pier. Though I learned all the Proverbs at To watch how the long tangles shake. school. And the gull and the kittiwake And some of the Psalms too in rhyme, Dive and bob till your dinner hour's And I know that Isaiah's sublime.

As forwalks

And

the Parables beautiful.

Borland Hall

132

You must
I'll

let religion

alone

We

have nought of the infidel kind, must write in a sound moral tone,
not like that halfpenny drone.
original mind.
all,

What we want is the news of the Town To know all about ourselves clearly
;

And
And

But with fresh

I like your looks, I own. And I don't care although I comedown. With a hundred-and-fifty yearly.

Now,

the main thing after the

There, I'm tired of these long-winded

scrawls

Must be always

Town's

affairs

How
And
Each

the Provost keeps up the ball. the names the Town-Councillors

other, and

Each harder to read than the other ; Oh, they're all of them Peters and Pauls,
Apostles of Wisdom that calls In the streets, always making a pother.

call

nobody

cares.

Then

the shipping, and harbour dues,

But you have some

sense, for

you can
;

And what's to be done with the bar, And the kirks with their empty pews,
Oh, For
there's plenty of capital

news
far.

Be silent while others are speaking Now, I've told you all of my plan. Only mind, it is always a man

the paper, without going

Of original

powers

am

seeking.

Then there's accidents, railway smashes. When they came out to the street, And how the poor shareholder smarts. Austen burst into a shout And the folk struck by fierce lightning- Of such riotous, loud laughter, which
he strove to check in vain, and then mercantile crashes. That neighbours to the windows came Or children run over by carts : with curious peering out. As peal on peal rung, echoing, till the There's the Circuit-Courts, and the mirth grew very pain, Member, And when he would have ceased, it And the soirees wound up with a dance, only louder rose again.
flashes,

And now

And
And
With

the the

College,

of
the

course,

in

November,

Why,
Queen
will
kill

Paul, he said, at length, you'll

woman
little

me

with that solemn look

remember.
her three
babies at once.

Don't you know, man, I'm an and real " original "

editor,

A
There's the stocking-trade, and the
police.

respectable

Whig

Editor, with

right to bring to

book

The
;

The

catch of herrings and whales.

the cost of the wool in the fleece
cares about

Provost and the parsons and the halfpenny Radical,

to freely criticise all the local
?

And

Who

And

and

war or peace
?

the small

When

our fishers have stormy gales

If you like, you may give us a claver About folk of the Town long ago. Or a song with some body and flavour.

Original powers of mind, Paul, to the catch of herrings.

tell

And

Though I don't deny Read poems, unless I

that I never

don't know.

the nosegays of red carrots, and the current price of wool. To describe the hiring markets, and the lasses, and their fairings,


Andrew Downie
And
And
profound examinations of
the doings of the Councillors

133

learned grammar school,

call

our But my heaven alone has gript

is

me

gone, and earth with its power.

who
Is

it worth while living longer after you have reached the stage Was there ever luck like mine ? and When life at last is possible, and you are purged of all I just come from playing tinker Oh the fresh thoughts I shall utter about The nobler thoughts you cherished, and the hopes of a great age. the whaling ships

each other fool

If the Bailies only

original thinker

knew

that a true

Coming with

diviner visions to reverse

the early Fall,

their

Was

to

criticise

speeches, and
trips
!

And

the soul

is fairly

harnessed to the
?

their little snacks

and
!

local

and the small

And how

that halfpenny Radical shall

if one could only leave it, ere all higher dreams have left There's my destiny at last found, in Could but die before the death of that which is our life indeed this queer Universe, To play respectable Whig on a Could cease to be or ever one is utterly bereft hundred-and-fifty a-year ; man of powers original paid duly Of that gleam of something better, which may chance to be the seed to rehearse

sink in dark eclipse

Ah

The
Is a

condition of the weather and the

Of a

hope for human

hearts,

when
!

ours

Provost, who, I hear.

shall cease to beat

and bleed

man of no condition, and a brewer Nay, I do not rave and maunder of small beer.

while he Well, we come into this world, wrapt is whining through his teens ; up in superfine cocoon. Soft and silky, and our business is to But there's that has come upon me, which has taken all the joy reel it off again. And to know ourselves but worms, and From my being ; and when one has care for nought beneath the moon. lost the staff on which he leans But to look about for what will eat, and Well, he finds that he is lame, and maybe knows not what it means. eat it there and then. And get rid of all fine feelings, and high dreams of gods and men. Perhaps I'll tell you more, Paul, on some day by and by. I've been winding my cocoon off quite Perhaps I'll keep my sorrow to myself
I cannot tell very nearly naked, and ready I know that I can trust you ; but then to devour I know not why All that I can set my teeth too and I should bind upon your spirit that I am not delicate which binds me like a spell, Heaven and earth, they say, shall pass Or lay on you my crushing burden, crushing you as well. away, like fading autumn flower,

am not a love-sick boy Whose life is all washed out,

rapidly of late.

And am

Borland Hall

134

am

weary, oh

how weary

of

all

Then
the

starting up,
stair.

went tripping down

beneath the sun

There's no nature in my laughter, and Singing with cheerful heart a lightno sweetness in my thought, some air [ seem to have no Faith or Hope ; my lightsome air about the gallant lad. lights have one by one Who fired the heather with his white Died out, and left an evil smoke : God cockade. help me, I am not Good company this evening ; better High beauty her's : a face as marble

leave

me

to

my

lot.

white.

Shaded with glossy

night.

braids as black as

But

full

of health,
grace,

and
and

clear

in-

BOOK SIXTH

telligence.

And

cultured

woman's

MILLY GAUNT
After they
left,

delicate sense.

spirit, meet to be helpmeet of a noble destiny. Now brooding thoughtful, now with Strong in all duty, in ambition high. Open in thought, and broad in flickering smile sympathy, Playing about her lips, and in her With nothing little, save the little ways eyes. As the flame flickered in the fire Which brighten home, and are a

A noble, generous
The

she

sat a little while.

likewise.

woman's

praise.

And
Thus

leaped up in the curling smoke,

or lay

All day she had been

coal and purred itself away.

teaching

in

Over the

the school.

she

a while
tribute

to

happy
sweet

fancies

And

still

at

night,

though weary of
sullen dulness, she

yielding

the rule

willing
building.
in the

of

castle-

and did it cheergleaming coal a hero strong. fullyAnd a fond lover, and a blissful throng Training deft fingers to the finest Ofvaried circumstance and generouslife. chords. When maiden blossom fruited into And wedding the flute-voice to liquid

Of noisy mirth and Had work to do,

Saw

wife
Till looking up, behold an hour

words

had

Of

Scottish

song, or

German

lieder

passed

And

wondering
fast,

how

the

time

good. had Or roundelay of France for gayer mood.

She had the artist soul and artist voice. She wondered on a little more, to know And in the gift of song she would rejoice If still the happy clock as quick As doth the skylark trilling forth would go its lay When fancies grew to facts, and she At early dawn and noon and close should be of day. All that the fire had pictured curiously
flown so
;

! !

: ;

Milly Gaunt
Thus
giving lessons in the evening, she

I3S

Which

came

to

my
it,

father

this

Lightened home cares by that loved

industry.

evening, and he

Wished you me."

girl, as

to read

and gave

it

to

A bright young A laughing rosy

air,

glad as

summer

And
girl,

with sunny hair That loosely rayed about a joyous face Like a gold glory, tripped with win-

Now

Milly read the letter, and then wondering were dazed.

;

all

amazed.
her wits

if

And if she read aright

then read again,

all

The double reading doubling some grace pain. About her room, when Milly entered
singing.

her

And

picked

letter

up,

and gaily
as
it fell, it

It

came from Lawyer in

in

a country

town
and

flinging

To Lawyer
it

the city, and set

down

It to the ceiling, caught

The

facts in business order, plain

And

danced about, and tossed and well.

letter,

high

clear

How
And

in our quiet glens a lady here

Died somewhat

suddenly not

long

"A
Now

letter,

Miss Milly, a
so,

agone.
left estates

letter

don't

stiffen

up

as

if

you
all

They were
by law

unto an only son. not hers by right, and yet

knew better Than to care

about you

for a letter

that's

Her title was most sure,

without a flaw ; Freely she might enjoy them while

Such a wonderful letter, and every she breathed. word true Freely she might bequeath them, as And it makes you a lady but you're bequeathed. that, dear, alreadyHe knew the facts, for he had drawn But it makes you out clearly a somethe will. thing that's nearly And Austen Lyell's claim was good As good as a Princess, my own as skill Cinderella, Could frame a legal deed to sanction Who trots every night, with that wrong. horrid umbrella. And rob the orphan, which had grieved Through the sleet and the slush to him long poor me who am nothing Yet had he only done as he was bound. But a commonplace lassie with nought Giving his clients valid law and sound. of romance. Now at the funeral this son went mad. But I always felt sure that you went Insulted kith and kin, was wholly bad

Prince who was fuming and frothing. Till you came to the ball : and now
it's all

home to dance With the beautiful

Mocked
at

at the minister,

and laughed

Heaven,
barely civil to his lawyer even.

Was And

gathered

all

the

rogues

and

true
all

beggars near
in

And

it's

the letter that's

all

To

eat the feast

made

for his mother's

about you.

bier

; :

136

Borland Hall
reft.

Then on

lands were good, and free from bond and debt, No orders given, no charge to anyone, And some loose monies too there were to get No single duty of a landlord done ; Nor had they since heard from him. Could he but find the children any way He was seen. Of Gerald Gaunt and Borland's "Bonnie May." Indeed, that morning on the hillside
Inexplicable, unless of reason

The

the

morrow

afterwards he

left,

green Beside a lonesome tarn, and for She closed the letter with a moan of pain some days Walked with a gipsy poacher in His name was there, and burned into her brain, wild ways, They had His name, who was her secret glory Thigging and sorning.
:

And
The

dragged the mere found enough to make his madness clear

and pride

And And

yet she could not say he was

cast

belied.
in a

Hall-keys brown,

bunch, rusty and

the

misei-y

from

her,

as

the Saint

Also the Will that made the place Shook off the poisonous viper ; she was faint. his own, Which no sane man could leave in And sick at heart, and rose, and said, " Good-night such a place But of himself they had not any trace. These are strange tidings, and my head seems light." Some thought him dead, but most believed him mad, Some held it a good riddance, others " How could he ? Oh, how could he ? " still she said, sad However that might be, he had to say " My dream of life is gone, my hope is dead. The next heir, who was true heir, went away Torn like the honey-bag from humble Twenty odd years ago, and had been wed bee, To Gerald Gaunt, and both of them Nought left me but a short, sharp agony. were dead. How could he ? And my brother But there were children ; so, at least, loved him so. 'twas said. So trusted him in all of weal or woe, Now, would the city lawyer look about, So held him stainless of ignoble And make inquiries, and resolve the thought.

doubt

The
dead,

truest friend that

!

ever true

life

Were Austen

brought next of kin ; Oh, it is not the loss of heritage If mad, as he believed, from pride That makes life poor ; it is that, stage
the

they were

and

sin.

by
have rights to see
itself to,

stage.

They would
the Trust

and

Some
in

leave us with a lessening faith

less

man.
of love than when our
life

Would
right

charge

with what was

And

and

just

began.

; ;

; ;

137

Milly Gaunt
Till

one day

all

our shining heaven In so short space

but 'twas a healthy

in half

shall tell

But how the

stars

power once shone, and That healed a breaking heart

an hour
I

how

How

held him Easy to break, easy to bind again, 'Twas pity to waste pity on such pain; Trained by the age for what the age So children wept and laughed, and must do, that was good Full of its spirit, loyal to its hopes. But men she wist had been of sterner

they fell. could he ?

And

hero true,

And

past the only gropes

stage

in

which

it

mood

She understood not

ready,
shall

man whom God had

they say,

when
guide

she was dull, ; no doubt But saw not what there was to jest about
It

Where is the Leader who our way

I thought that truth

and right was

all

he craved.

And

that for truth and right all risks he braved. And that he had a noble wisdom proved And so I loved him but 'twas this

To To To To

looked to her a noble task for one chronicle the common life of man. tell the daily sorrows of the poor. mirror all the ills that they endure. watch the tide of mind, and guide
flow,

its

To

I loved.

How could he
still
is

Oh, how could he ? "

life
is

speak brave words that made the brave heart glow. It was the man made service great or
small,

she said,
gone,

For

still

the noble soul ennobled

all

" My dream of
dead."

my

hope

It

touched,
it

and

little

natures

made
in

less.

And
And
the
so

a great heart

was throbbing
prophet's
roll

when they came

jesting

up

the Press

Which

stair.

And,

tickled with quaint fancies, even

to let their mirth

was the modern man.

faithful

of

there

And

record, he

might read

moment paused
explode.

who

ran.
it

But then, of course,

to think

was a

jest

Their laughter

jarred

on

her,

and

made her load

Press

on the sore, were born

bitter

Some

of scorn.

such mean tasks ; and yet she once had hoped thoughts, and biting words No matter what her hope was there

till

of the sore

man of wealth time and ink

should waste

his

On

she stopped.
Sure, of a sudden, they were wondrous

Why,

Milly,

what,

is

wrong? her
the

merry She had not thought such grief could

be so cheery

brother said.

And

she uplift

again

drooping

head

:;

138

Borland Hall
had, a moment, sunk
to
at that

Which

And

sad look

untried poverty, and utter need, Thinking you would not break the

That seemed

read
is

her

like

an

bruised reed

open book : Nothing, of course, could be wrong ?

I

wrong

For there had fallen on me a hapless fate, knowledge that has made life what

desolate.

think

that

was

the

burden

of

As when

the iceberg

drifts

on some

the song

green shore.

Which

your friend Universe.

sung

about the Clasping

Its

its

wooded

bays, and bend-

ing o'er

Of course, it is beneath him to rehearse The common things of common folk,

or right

sunny meadows, till it lose itself. Melting on sandy beach, and rocky
shelf.
all

The wrongs which

are so light.

are not, or

which But blighting

the

bright

flowers

with its breath. And wrapping all the scene in wasteful death.

Then he " Yes, Milly Gaunt,

I said

all

that

So had

my hope all withered by the fact

drifted

In bitterness of soul I uttered what You echo now in sharper tones than

Which
or act

on me, without

will

mine. Of mine, and clung to me, and will Big words of little wisdom ; undivine not part Because inhuman ; yet they were not Till its death-chill has frozen all barbed my heart. To rankle, nor in mockery were And when my soul was wrung with

garbed

its

They were

not not

good words
words
were
to

to

re-

And
all

sharp pain. troubled thoughts were tangling

member, yet

my

brain.

They were

move
;

a
I

You touched me almost unto hope again.

For
:

deep regret.

No

matter
well

they

foolish

am

Rebuked
sparks,

for speech that, like

that, I thank you what has changed your mood I know not, but I owe you only good. the hot In such a gloom even briefest gleam

From

fell of light burning passion, being fiercely Is something, though smote. night

it

sink in deeper

And

sputtering

words when

all

apt for thought.

But there
of thine

is

more behind

this

what of joy your life has shed on mine wrath And peace and hope be doubly poured on thine."
un-

And

Than any
of mine.

wild, blind, erring speech

What
I

is
?

it,

Milly

blame

came

to

you

in

shame.

his voice and trembling he spoke. And its great sorrow answering chords sorrow and broken awoke, And almost all her angry purpose broke

Deep toned
as

Why

this

bitter

"

Milly Gaunt
For
was ringing with the
truth Suspects the secret there in

139

it

what

is

hid.
I

sincere,

And
beat with the beat

holds

the

rest

but

trash.

And
Her
In

deep humility, and she could hear

heart

of

am forbid. By that which

is

more sacred than

perfect faith
all

he

said,

which made her pale

my right, To tell you much

might.

to tell

you

all

as death,

And

sick at heart, to think that she

There

are

some sorrows cannot be

perchance

subjected

Wronged

the true soul by misjudged

To

man's construction,

howsoe'er
and,

circumstance.

suspected."

So she " This sorrow

And
that you

may

not

tell.

here he paused a while, brooding, gazed

Did

it concern my brother who loves Again in silence where the faggot you well ? blazed. " Nay, surely not 5 nor part nor lot But Paul said. Never mind, now let has he it be In my life, saving in the best of me Milly was wrong ; I never doubted thee; Dear Paul was never sunshine to a She will be sorry ere to-morrow come. scene But she apart, biting her lip, and dumb. More than his fellowship to me has been. With vehement finger crushed a harmBut if you care lo hear, perhaps less crumb.
; ;
!

'twere well

The

story of a broken
it

life

to

tell

Then he
upon

again

For broken
the sea

is,

like

Caught by the wind,

aimlessly."

hold me rich and proud, Miss Gaunt, and scornful of and scattered common crowd.

foam

"You

the

Which
to

never was

common crowd

Knitting his brows, and gathering up his thought,

me.

With

lips

compressed to hide the pain

in

And now less so than ever, for I see No hope for me except in hope for those

stir your pity with their unvoiced woes. he gazed I too am poor once reckoned heir In brooding silence where the faggot of all blazed. goodly pastoral land, a pleasant Then in low tones " I know not how Hall, to speak And the respects and honours which If I say little you will deem me weak; they bring If I say more, the more will only blight But think not I for these am sorrowing. Another name to set my own name I had no peace until I cast away right. claim that could not bear the light Sometimes the half is better than of day. the whole. The deed of law that was a deed of sin, And sometimes worse than none ; the Which now is gone to pulp and dubious soul blotches in

that

wrought

Who

And

quivered

them, for a while


; :

I40

Borland Hall

The water-lilied haunt of tern and coot, Our mother was May Borland; and Or folds its slush around the brown I feared"
sedge-root.

He
when
its

But

life

is

poor

old faiths

heard no more; was cleared

for

never

sky

are gone, Poorest when alone."

Of
man can
it

close-piled clouds by April

swift

wind

trust

himself

and sun.
Unravelling

what they before

She

started, for

was her own sad

had spun,

So suddenly as he from utter sadness, thought echoed, though he touched a Sodden and dreary, passed into a gladness deeper note ; But silence kept, as he went on to tell Of joyous gratulation, that forgot How he had sworn to one who loved All but the whole relief her words had

He

An

him well oath he feared

haunted banished sleep

brought.
to break,

and dared
day,

not keep,

Which
With
till

him

by

and

Oft in their childhood mother told,

cold,

had

their

In the long winter evenings dark and

stony horrors from his nights,

he
nigh
distraught with
his

Was

great

Of Borland nestling in its bosk of trees. Of the great lime filled with the hum
of bees.

misery.

Enough

what Milly

said

was

just

Of the
Where

tall

and true ; There was a noble work which one might do, Wielding a truthful pen with heart
sincere,

dainty

orchard wall with ivy clad, nests the merle and

blending in the
mill

throstle had,

Of

the three waters

river

Near where the red-roofed

big with

was

In days whose change was

clacking ever.

hope and fear But he must find the

land's

Of the long windings of the

heirs of

Bor-

The

water-lilied pool

May

And

narrow glen and water-hen how the Borlands had been lairds

And

then no doubt but Heaven would of all guide his way. Since the wild Scots drave at the Then she rose pale and trembling, and Roman Wall her eyes And how her joyous girlhood had Quailed at his glance of questioning been there,
surprise

Honoured and
forgive

petted

still

as

Bor-

" Can you

pled,

me ? "
in

piteously she

land's heir

And how my
it

" I wronged you

heart bled

heart, yet

my

the goodly heritage was lost All for her love, nor did she grudge
the cost.
for

To wrong you my will Yet my heart

have done

and

was not with Or only

her

children sometimes
love,

wronged you

Oh

grieved,
I

And

for

her

father's

which

ill.

was deceived.

;;

! ;

141

Milly Gaunt
These
tales

the

children heard with

ear intent

And life is Of God's

growing
design

to a higher sense

and man's

omni-

potence. Children are fain to know how So would he silence her : but all mothers spent the more Their childhood, and to chatter of She cherished in her heart a secret the day

When
And
Or

the grave matron was as blithe

store

as they,

Of
through
the

hopes

and now the time had

went a-nutting autumn woods,

the nestling broods.

come when she

Saw all she fondly dreamt about to be ; twined her daisy chain, or sought But the bright cloud which gleamed,
afar, like gold.

And

Milly, in

her

secret thoughts,

Felt

now as mist about her dim and cold,

draggled
she
robes
sat,

would dream That some day she should look on and stream.

Or
hill

that

round her

limbs enfold.
Silent

and

humbled
she

and

And

trace

her
as

mother's
all

footsteps

ashamed.

o'er again,

And much
Laird of
the long
fool

herself

questioned,

With Paul
But

green glen.
he, impatient, called her
set
little

much she blamed. More than was meet,

penitent course

for

woman's

To

her heart on sleepy

hill

pool.

and Is prone to low prostrations of remorse. Close in her bosom that hard letter
lay.

Where

And

life is always only half awake dreams, he said, are fetters hard to break Though they be only shadows you have made, The life seems passing when the

And
life

seemed

to burn,

and waste her

!

O
"

away cursM letter

unhappy day

"What

shadows

fade.

should I do?" thus in her heart she said For what love hides is raised as from
the dead

As

for myself, could

any man of sense

Abide a

dull laird's easy indolence.

is all

Some

Whose

talk

of

cattle, turnip field,

day, and covered it.

kills

the love which

And

what the hay crop, what the

to

oats

And

frankest truth pain

is

more than

subtle

will yield.

wit:

And how
the hares
his snares

keep the rabbits and But

I

it

will

him knowing
!

that

know
1

that I should the shame judge him so I will be lord of nothing but my mind, But Paul, you will be noble still, and I will be held of nothing that can bind true To vacant drowsiness the busy brain, To the high thought that always Or dull the sense of pleasure or of pain. guided you ? " days must be where thought has Then Paul, unconscious of a great
i

From midnight poacher cunning with And oh

My

stedfast rule.

intent,

And

skilful fingers deftly ply the tool.

But simply

natural, following the bent

;;

Borland Hall

142

Of

a true heart, and

fine

instinct

of

May

be, unreasonable,

may
there

be,

skill,

Worthy
" Milly, you may go now

than

things

are

more good

Said

reasons for,

But beautiful, at least, and in its trust Turn a fine lady, eat and drink Nobler than money-bargaining and lust. the best. What of your commune, with its spade Drive in your carriage, lord it like and hoe the rest To till the field, where every man You've always had a leaning that should grow way; I Enough for simple life, and still the
you
will.

Would rather me die. Would rather

the wreck

live

till

nature
thrive

bids

loud.
city's

die

than

Gaunt clamours of the swarming upon crowd ?

Have
Here
falling

I not heard

Of

one I loved."

on

On

lonely

glens

you wisely eloquent which only deer

his neck,

frequent.

She hugged and

ne'er to part.

kissed him,

vowing Once

He

had so

true a squI, so brave a heart,

filled with homesteads, furrowed by the plough. And clothed with rustling grain and fruitful bough.

But Austen you will

" You must do, Paul,

fulfil

as

And how

the

men whose
hearts,
to

fathers

The land is

yours, with duties to

owned it went. With breaking

far-off

An

banishment Loss of high opportunity likewise. And bore to rolling prairies in the West Loss of ancestral love which clings rankling sense of wrong in many

heritage which, being lost, implies

to you.

a breast.

Loss of a work which only he can do Which made our nation's foes the men Who has men's heart, already on who loved it best ? his side, Surely you will not cast from you Looking to him, and willing to confide. the power Think, Paul, your heritage is more To test your cherished thought, and
than
fields

nip the flower

at the fruiting. As for me, thrown off a load of misery. 'Tis something which could never have You call it wreck I call it haven

Of grass

and corn, and what the wood-

When it is
I have

land yields,

been mine. The love of will twine

at last,
all

the

people which

Where, bruised and

danger
past,

battered, but the

The

closer round

you from the sense I

of wrong, Righted at

am at peace. the strain

pain

Paul^ I

have

felt

last,

which

you
in

have

Of

sharp temptation, and the aching

suffered long.

And

there

is

something

the love

Of cold
With

our folk

all

and hunger, and of discontent myself had done, or God

Bear to the scion of an ancient stock.

had sent

'43

Milly Gaunt
have not known
the
sleep

of a Needing but righting of this wrong to be Or ate or drank with honest human The tide of a new life of joy in me." He looked at Milly here, and she kind, at him. Or felt as if I dared, until this night And you, Paul, would you quench the And as she looked, she felt her eyes
right mind,

and With something gathering in them, then looked down. breaks in With better hope on this dark world Conscious that he was conscious of the crown of sin ? Now I have found my work, good With which her love had crowned him in that look work and true, And I have found the heart good work Which dimmed with pride and gladness. Then he took to do, Milly was right; it is the man who Her hand, and said, " One day, when I have done makes Noble or mean the task he undertakes, Good work, Paul, work which you Who breathes a godlike spirit into that can look upon He has to do, or makes it stale And say. This true man truly played his part and flat. I see my work before me, and my way You'll give me this soft hand ; I have her heart Free from embarrassment, and dear
silver,

dawning light That tips my cloud with

grow dim

even as she has I think, already ; as day. mine, Bright with a throng of hopeful services That stir within me with a sense Worth little, but hers to take or to decline." of bliss.

HILDA AMONG THE BROKEN GODS

In the low-groined crypts
lie

dukes

PROLOGUE
It
is

and

earls.

Resting now from their plots and quarrels, Church of the Ages, all Arched and pillared and grandly But they mix not their dust with the
a

towered,

rustic carles.

With many
wall,

a niche on the buttressed

It
is

And
From

delicate

tracery,

scrolled

and

And
One

not day, and it is not dark. the altar-lights are burning

sings, but
it is

dim

flowered

not priest nor clerk.

Gargoyles gape, and arches

base to base of the
the

fly

And
the

pinnacles
to

he chaunts no psalm, and he sings no hymn.

are these that are trooping in.

high.

Who
great
cross
points

And

solemn sky.

With grimy visage, and bearded chin. Rude and unmannered, with noisy din ?

stately

Church, and a Chuixh

shaped

all

Some one

is

wailing

a poor soul ailing

through.

Down
by
a

in the

dim

aisles far
is

away

he intoning The great Athanasian creed to-day ? divine. With symbols of Him who is Just Silence that chatter and laughter there. and True, And do not stand bonneted up to And emblems of Him who is Bread stare Hush that is surely the voice of and Wine It is dowered with wealth of land prayer. and gold. And memories high of the days of old. First Voice And of sheep that were lost, gathered They have made Thy Temple a place into its fold.
is

Everywhere

thought

Who

that droning

abhorred.

Lord bishops sleep Under mitre and

stone

their slumber

deep crosier carved in

quaint
for

They have mocked Thy Christ, for His own betrayed Him And now they have taken away
;

There

are

brasses

the

my

warrior saint

Ah
;

woe

Lord, and
!

Who had battled at Acre and Ascalon

have laid

I know Him.

not where they

Prologue

145

If there be angels good or bad, I very much doubt, and I do not much care Now that the gods are certainly dead Brahma and Zeus and the Father, But yet what a pitying look it had. Beaming down from the oriel there and all With a desk and a lime-light overhead, Will no one silence that idiot's chatter might use this up for a lecture-hall. About laws, forsooth, of health and riches ? could show them things on the

Second Voice

We We

altar there

I'd
rare.

rather

Bringing the light to the proper focus

Wonderful transformations

Mater If we had
witches,

the
but

old
the

priest's

Stahat
for

ordeal

now

Would

beat

the

priests

with

their

hocus-pocus

Wouldn't

I souse

him

into the

water

With two make

or three chemicals

we

could

Fourth Voice Nature her miracle-power surrender. Hark And a glass, at the angle fit, would Anathema Maranatha Be he sinner or be he saint. wake As gruesome a ghost as the witch There is no place in the saving Ark For one who keeps but a cobweb faint of Endor. Everything here would give point to Of doubt in his heart, or doubt in
! !

my
At

hits

his head,
faith,

the

monk's huge

and

his

little wits,

As

I drive at Bigots, and shout for

at

About any one article I have read. " Credo," that is the key of heaven ; The more incredible, so much more
Virtue

Truth, And laugh

the dreams of the world's

To

lies in the Credo, given open the everlasting door.

raw youth.

Thurifer,

let

" Hoc
Third Voice
Christ

est
is

the censer wave corpus," lift it high ; risen from the stone-sealed

grave;

A pest on

all the reforming crew, Savant or Puritan, old or new See how the rogues come tramping in. Now that they have not to praise or pray Faugh what a breath of tobacco and gini They crowd to church because God
! !

with him, and die comes thereby. In high procession the priests will go Chaunting the D'us Irae low. Dies ilia, sad and slow. So the Church in the days of old, Robed in linen and purple and gold, Foiled the devil, and all his tricks.
let us forth
life

Now

Into the

that

is

away
they've

And
smashed
that

drove

out

the

swine

with

And

pitying

crucifix.

angel's face,

That touched
grace,

one's heart with a tender

None of
replace.

their

brute-wits could ever

First Voice [far away) " They have taken away my Lord, And I know not where they have laid him "
!

10

146

Hilda among the Broken Gods

it

So

went wailing down

with the

the long Lonely

now

the

old

familiar

walk

aisle,

beside the brattling brooks.

lone with awful silence are th( evening hours I sit And a shudder passed through the I think I should go mad, but for thi massive pile, trick of writing books. From the low-groined cr)rpt to the Though I care but for the writing, no cross on the steeple : for that which I have writ. And the glimmering lights on the

Mixed

hum

of the priest and

And

the people

altar died.

No more
sighed.

the priest-hymn sobbed and

Dead

is all

the old ambition

dead

th(

heart to lettered fame.

But a hollow wind wailed through the

transept wide.

Though
yet,
I

the

humour have

its

pranki

and the fancy

will have play

heed not

for the Public praise, noi

for the Critic's blame.

BOOK FIRST

Nor

for the larger

shadow

that I casi

upon

my

way.

CLAUD MAXWELL, POET

Oh,
blame thee, Hilda ; did not blame thee even then When all my life fell dark, and all my way was hard to see ;
I DO not

my
it

rose was only budding

when

laid

on

my

breast,

And when
Though

drifted,

I watched the leaves unfolding, and the tender blushes flit Now my rose is broke and withered aimless, among and I broke it whom it blest

And

clear-purposed men,

wroth at myself, I could never be wroth with thee.

often
art thou,

Yet the fragrance haunts and is all that sweetens

my
it.

life

still,

Where

where,
darling

my
still.

darling?

for thou art

my

So gladsome and

so winsome, and in
!

I do not blame you, Hilda ; we were both of us so young. And I had a peremptory way, un-

No,

beauty so complete The old home is as you

for

gracious, unbeseeming.

left

it,

waiting

And

a petulant

hot

humour, and an
betokened anger

my Love
corner

to

often silent tongue

fill

Her

by the
seat.

fireside,

or

the

Which you

thought

sunny window

when my mind was only dreaming.

But nevermore thou comest, though But I had no right to dream when I evermore I go was called to play the man. Where thoughts of thee shall meet me And to cherish, with fond love, the
I

as a sure-returning pain love that put its trust in me : cannot keep from that which only Better lose the wayward Artist in the keeps alive my woe, drudging Artisan And I would not keep from it until Than take the yoke of love, and live thou comest back again. as free among the free.

147

Claud Maxwell, Poet

And

oh,

how

could I mar, with one

all

Though you broke my

I

heart in pieces,
all
;

unsettling doubt, the Faith

would love you more than

might seek to bind
only love
but glass
it

Which

consecrated

the

homely

Who
What

up again
;

duty of her days. And winged quick seeds of hope beyond the bounding wall of death To make a life Eternal, full of peace and full of praise ?

for love alone can bind

can break
as

and

all

the fragments broken small

Would

many Hildas

in

the mirror of

my

mind.

Who

would take from any weary head What

its rest.

the pillow of
leave
it

sitting

memories gather round by the lonely hearth

!

me,

Smoothed by a mother's hand, and They

so to ache and throb
?

will not leave

the house, those

;

flitting

ghosts of other days

Or

break beneath the unfledged soul the shaped and sheltering nest. And bid it on the bare bough sing, when it can only sob ?

Here

a whispering, there a rustling, or

Or

an echo of old mirth. a face out of the darkness with a sad, rebuking gaze.

young morning Ah me, but to remember how I placed breaking forth, you with your back And look out on its misty gleams, as Against the old wych-elm tree in the if the noon were full golden summer tide, And the Infinite, around, seems but a As we went, with slate and satchel, larger kind of earth down the dim, green Lovers' Walk, Ensphering this, and measured by the And half in fear, and half in jest, you

But we wake

in

the

when

the light

is

self-same

handy

rule.

vowed

to be

my

bride

And

doubtful shadows come and go, But with me it was right earnest ; I and we, of nothing sure, exulted from that day Have yet no qualms in trifling with a That mine thou wert, and mine alone, tranquil faith and true and ever must be mine ; Ay me it was her quiet faith that And I played protector grandly if our
! !

made her heart so pure. schoolmates in their play Yet I troubled its calm waters with Did but touch thy finger roughly, or the wanton stones I threw. lift their eyes to thine.
But oh, I loved you, Hilda, and will Oh, had we ne'er as children played love you evermore together in the street, I cannot choose but love you, be the Never waded in the burns, nor plaited anguish what it v/ill. rushes on the lea. For the very pain of loving is all other Never busked us with the bluebells, joys before never chanced on earth to meet, Though you broke my heart in pieces, Till we looked upon each other when every bit would love you still. our Love had eyes to see


148

Hilda among the Broken Gods

cousinship will hardly

For

grow

to

And
And

the
the

tall

green cones of poplar

perfect

wedded

love

that around the kirkyard stood.

weather-cock that from the spire. ; It fits too easy on us, like a worn, And the red glow on the window familiar glove. panes ; and then the quiet mood And we tend it not so nicely, though That came on with the stars, and we hold it all as dear. drew us closer to the fire

There lacks the charm of wonder, and

the mystery of fear

gilded

flashed the sunlight

I cannot but

remember

we were
buy the

still

but girl and boy

would not but remember welcome, winsome hours

day's
fit

those

That night we went

to

ring,

That crowned the

with
fit

labour

recompense of rest, Half-afraid and half-ashamed to ask And how we watched the laden bees about the mystic toy, amid the honeyed flowers : And how they all slipped loosely up Yet I hardly seemed at home in life, and down the taper-finger. but somehow like a guest.

how

fain

we were

to linger.

Then

our cottage, and the garden with

!

the sea-pink borders

I bethink me,

Now,
to
it

There was a
all

we came

ere the

apple-blossom fell. of the brain And the bloom was on our love as the It did not look like fact, but like a bloom was on the bough. dream that only knew And there was singing in the trees, lawlessness of Fancy, and had The and in our hearts as well banished grief and pain.
Singing of our happy fancies, singing So passed in tender bliss the weeks of our joyous hopes and months of love and peace. All our life was filled with singing, as And I wondered when I should awake, the skylark fills the sky and find the dream was gone Oh the music of that gladness, in our So passed the year and day, and still hearts and in the copse. the wonder did not cease. Swelling with a tender sweetness, and
!

An

feeling haunted me, that might be untrue unreal, phantom idyl an illusion

the peace that

came thereby

Although there came a

that left us
still

frustrate

hope

alone.

Then,

the
as

lengthening

summer
passed the time
in

twilights,

we looked down on So
in

services of love

the river

and patient duty.

silvery

Gleaming

the

shallows,
!

And
And

there

was no cloud of
of wearing
strife
its

trouble,
;

glooming darkly

in the pools

and no
its
still

fret

And

memories cling to me, and clothe with dreams of beauty, blue smoke curling ever Welcome sight to weary labour plod- As with ivy green and wallflower, the
the
silent,

sleepy village, with

ding homeward with

its

tools

dim

ruin of

my

life.

Claud Maxwell, Poet

For
it is

149

cheerful

Nor

a dim, grey ruin where no Bit from days of early childhood with the love of rhythmic song, work is done, sound of gladness heard, but only I had yet a curious shame for that
lonely desolation
sits

moaning of the wind,

And
With
for

aweary of
little

which was my secret pride. And would hide ray work in midnight,

the sun,
little

caring for myself, and

Though

my

kind.

doing something wrong, I hoped the world would yet admire the thing I strove to hide.
as if I covered

know weak

that that

is
it

wrong

that

it is

How
I

reams of paper
!

how

to yield to

I treasured every scrap

might outgrow the fancy, yet was loath to let it go life is cold and grey Duty never half so noble, nor so How I watched the moods of Nature, as I lay upon her lap, strengthening and fit, As when the clouds have gathered And she spoke to me by flowers and birds, and streams that murmured thick, and darkened all the day.

That manhood has

its

duty even

when

I plead not for myself;

know

that I

am weak and

poor,

A
I

creature of the sunshine, and sunshine was so brief:

my
;

winter and the summer and the morning and the night, All seasons and all creatures brought

The

have no heart to struggle only can endure, And let the tide sweep on,
clinging to

now

as I sit

my

grief.

her messages to me ; loved the very newt that crawled among the lilies bright. And the tiger-branded wasp, and the drowsy yellow bee.
I

What was

it, first, that broke the spell, and showed that we were twain United, and yet sundered by a strain of character ? trifle, yet it smote me with a dis-

And the silence And And my

of the mountains spoke

;

unutterable things
silence in

the sounding of the ocean was as

soul

close to

me, and conscious, lying

that

appointing pain

Sharper than a grief more real, for marred my thought of her.

it

warm as brooding wings, Lay the Mystery of mysteries

quickeneth the whole.

had a fond ambition, and she did not

share in
it

was glancing only lately and futile rhymes,

at those stiff

thought to make her famous, and she did not care for fame And 1 often sat a-dreaming, and
I

Where

half-formed thought was strug-

gling for the forms of perfect Art,

And

thinking

how

I treasured

them,

watched the moonbeams

flit

and read them many times

through

With

the

river
its

flickering

And even

then to burn them,

somehow

them, and

ripple all aflame.

went against

my

heart.

; ;

ISO

Hilda among the Broken Gods

stuff they are enow a drift of All common things of natural birth dry and shrivelled weed, He sets forth in a novel sense ; Marking where once the tide of froth But never leaves the common earth and flying scud had been ; To seek the dim Omnipotence. Yet will I keep this fragment, for He gathers knowledge hour by hour. scrawled on it I read, " My husband's nicest verses, though I Forgetting nought that once he knew, And handling it with conscious power scarce know what they mean " As matter certified and true ; And all he knows gives added might Contrasts That still with harder thought com
:

Poor

Twain
each,

are they, sundered each

oft together

from

bines

We
He

Though

they are brought

wonder at the shining wonders less the more

light,
it

shines

Discoursing in a common speech. Yet having scarce a common thought;

He
He He

has slight pity for our pain.

at all

The same
days.

sun

warmed them
life

all

their

For weakness, he has none

is is

not proud, he

is

not vain

They

breathe one air of

serene

not either great or small

is

They walk

Yet, moving on their several ways. with a whole world between.

I think

But he

strong and hard and clear

As is a frosty winter day. And never sheds an idle tear.

Nor
flings

an idle word away.

Some

they never meet without sharp encounter of their wits

He
;

cannot breathe but in the breath

;

And
The

neither hints a faith or doubt, other does not take to bits

Of certainty and knowledge clear And where we have to walk by Faith

For what

the one regards with awe.

this boasts as perfect law.

The

other holds a creed outworn

And
That

what

He will not go or will not fear To search into the mysteries, And bid the haunting shadows go And yet, with all he knows and sees.
;

turns to laughter with his scorn.

True wisdom somehow does not grow.

But Cromer is of finer make. doth with subtler thoughts com-

No
Or

envious grudge is in their hearts. Detracting from the honour due To nobler worth, or greater parts.
larger grasp, or clearer view
:

And And

mune Thoughts singing

Simply there is a gulf between Their ways of life, and modes of

And
But

thought, nothing

is

by either seen
it

dim daybreak. of noon ; He sees the process Warham saw. But to the Power he is not blind, Beholds the working of the Law,
oft in
silent oft in blaze

as the other likes

not.

And bows

to that

which

lies

behind.

With

vision keen and thought complete Seeking what knife can ne'er dissect. Cool-headed Warham holds his way. Nor flame- wrapt blowpipe can set free, Nor chemic test can e'er detect, And all that lies about his feet But only kindred mind can see. He makes it his, and clear as day ;


He
finds in everything a light

; ; ; ;;

: ;

Claud Maxwell, Poet

I often spoke to

151

Hilda of the poetry

life

Which, shunning finest power of sense, that lay Does more to make a man of might In all the rich and wondrous

that

Than knowledge of Whence.

the

Why

or

compassed us about.

At

the firesides of the people, in the wild-flowers by the way.

trials,

And mnch
thinks,

he knows, and much he

all

In our

and our sorrows,

in

our

Faith too, and our doubt.

But he

is

more than
aspiring,

For

still

still

he knows he drinks

But she did not care

all

for verses

thought

Fresh inspiration as he goes.

poets must be poor

More carefid that the man should grow And would rather some more money Than that the mind should understand than be sung about in rhyme

He loves
And

all

creatures here below,

all

Yet she

kissed

my

cheek and fore-

touches

with tender hand.

He

pities all

the pained and weak,

head, and vowed that she was sure I should write a name immortal 'mong the great ones of the time.

And

feels for their

unhappy

fate

Simple and true and brave and meek, Oh, she knew that she was stupid ; how He does not know that he is great I ever came to wed He looks to heaven with wondering Such a silly girl as she was, she never gaze. could make out And earth with awe by him is trod But she could not keep the garden, if marvel at the words he says. I would have every bed He, at the silences of God. Free for birds and beasts and creatures

We

to write poetry about.

Thus on

their several

ways they go,

It

And

neither other comprehends.

Yet it was God that made them so. And they do serve His several ends Tiiat seeks for light to walk in it.

was nice to hear the throstles answering on the evening breeze.

And
One The

this for

God

to live in

Him
dim.

questions with a searching wit.

other trusts where

all is

to watch the short, sharp rushes of the blackbird on the lawn But there would not be a cherry left upon the loaded trees. And the pease were black with cawing rooks about the early dawn.

And

Why quarrel with

their several parts,

Where each is good if one is best ? And who shall say that this departs,
Restfid, unto Eternal rest.

A shadow on me at for love, yoimg love, had thrown A glamour about her, wreathed a
fell

this

all

While he who

loves

the light goes

glory round her face.

down
Into the darkness of the night ? Life grows unto its perfect crown,

Sought

in her high inspiration one does not like to own

liis

and

That

And light

unto a larger light.

and a

little

dream is somewhat faded, commonplace.

; ;

;;

IS2

Hilda among the Broken Gods

slightly

me and Hilda ; there was and nothing more And trustful and sufficing ; so it did But some ballads I had written, brought not matter much me praise and also pay ; But I sat the more alone, and hid my Then she changed her mind about labour from her view. them, as she tinkled o'er and o'er For I felt the poet's shrinking from The little store of guineas that had dropt upon her way. unsympathetic touch.
Vexed, and
still

disappointed

Not

so with

our love was fond and true,

love,

And my speech grew shallow to and my feeling oft was spent

In small
poetry

her,

Surely

but I

enforced humour to

laugh

And

welcome were the guineas had not writ for gold. the gold was all she cared for,

And crackling jests would flicker round

and I could have cursed the thing But she had the care of housekeeping, and troubles manifold. the higher sentiment. Turning pathos into laughter, and That were bound upon her spirit by

away

earnest into play.

the slender marriage-ring.

Of

course,

it

was not good

nature
;

for

me
I

I should

have thought of

but I could shelter her.

was burdening her youth

and

that, for it

Belying

my own

Her

youth that never

I

knew
;

care

scrupled not at that.

until she

If I might but dream in secret the owlets were astir,

when But

came only saw

to

me

that everything

went

orderly and smooth.

And

hooted from the ivy to the moonbewildered bat.

And

wist not of the frets and fears of

small economy.

And

only there was Then, the handling of those guineas seemed to turn her little head ; But silence bringeth sorrow where the She was sure that I could write a score of better songs a week. trust should be complete ; Love likes not shallow mirth, too And she need not vex her heart about the milk-books, or the bread. and a fear sprang up amain. That in the deeper life of life we yet Or the men that came with nasty bills, and looked so sharp and sleek. might fail to meet.
just

on

this point

silence 'twixt us twain

Not

that spinning
life

rhymes and verses

is

And
bit

the deeper

Though

it

may

of life, be a true fashion which

she wanted something pretty of ornament,

or

wear ; But if heart must mate with heart to make the husband and the wife. Mind should also match with mind to
that deeper life shall

some fresh furnishing to room ; And we named them quaintly after, each, its poem, as we spent
dress,

brighten up a

The

little roll

of gold that

made

her

make the

perfect

wedded

pair.

life to

bud and bloom.

Claud Maxwell, Poet

" Noche
fall

153

Triste," was a ballad of the But she scarcely read my verses ; even of Mexico, some that I had writ And also a chintz curtain in our little Of our wooing and our wedding, gave parlour hung her but a passing thought And a band of scarlet ribbon, knotted I was pleased to see her pleased, but up into a bow. still there was a sting in it.

Had

its

name of " English Harold"

When

she prized
it

my

labour only for

from a song that I had sung.

Trifles

the thing that

had bought.

! yet they lit our home with Yet I would not be disheartened ; my lamps of sweet significance, purpose only rose Made every chamber live, and put a The higher, and my fancies were but soul in chairs and stools, cherished more and more ; That linked them with our highest, as seek out fresher fountains I would the moonbeams where they glance whose living water flows, Silver with heavenly beauty even the Unnoticed, in a land where song had common water-pools. rarely been before.

Trifles

little

homely
;

trifles

fireside
I
in

jests that lose their

way

would sing the

life

Out of doors
their

yet

what a pathos

that lay about our

Its

I saw door ;

the world

memory may dwell

For I thought my heart would break when I came but yesterday

On

that rag of scarlet up the jargonelle.

passion and its longing, its error and its sin It was fresh, if rather sunless, and it deepened more and more ribbon fastening As I tilled the field whose harvest I was fain to gather in.

Twice-paid I deemed my verses when Thus, long and the trifle they had brought

late

I brooded, well

resolved to make my mark Brightened her evening muslin then, On the great age we live in, and my and made her face to shine silence deeper grew ; And now it all came back to point the I went musing in the day-time, and misery of our lot. sat mooning in the dark, As with a twice-told sorrow, in that And the rush of sudden fancies made ribbon's fate and mine. my slumbers broken too.

Hilda scarcely read my verses, never sang a song of mine, Though her voice was like a plaintive bird's, and thrilled you through and through I have wept to hear her evening hymn, or Psalm with crabbM line. Ring through the open casement as the
stars lit

For the vision grew upon me, the more I did attain.
Dwarfing still my poor achievement with some glimpse of nobler fruit I scarce had caught a measure when some diviner strain, A-singing sweetly in my heart, would
sing the other mute.

up the blue.


154

Hilda among the Broken Gods

rich

Those were days of

like fresh goldfields,

invention,
find

I cared not for the converse of Respectability,

when they
first
;

Nuggets studding the

spadeful,

Choosing rather the blank

that sauntered

Innocent

grains that yellow all the sand

down

the street,

has by and by to crush the quartz Singing the broken fragment of some to grind the barren mind, weird old melody, And pick a little precious thought As he drifted, to and fro, with vagrant

One

with weary heart and hand.

thought and aimless

feet.

But those were

fruitful

times,

when All

thought ran faster than the pen, And moulds of quaint invention shaped
a

hundred dainty

strains.

the smug and well-conditioned, growing rich and growing stout, And the men that fussed and wrangled about the Kirk and State,
genteel, superior people, dressing

As

I touched with playful fancy the

And

odd

characters of men.

well and dining out,

With

or maggots in their brains.

kindly humours in their hearts, I found them very dull, though their content was very great.

If I have won a little niche I know I stored up thoughts and pictures ; for it is but small I knew that Art is long, In Fame's proud temple, it was then I That you cannot rear a temple like a won it, being true. hut of sticks and turf And sparing not myself, and without But I did not think what perils on a effort natural. woman's life may throng. And singing ever from my heart, and Sitting lonely with her thoughts that only what I knew. chafe and murmur like the surf.

more and more absorbed, I hardly noted as they came And also to the error, and the failure, The changing moods, the chills, the and the strife ; frets that daily did increase ; heart had tasted sorrow, as it clung I would dig the deep foundations of to love and duty, a long-abiding Fame,
to
all

For mine eye was opened wide

the glory and the beauty.

Ever

My

And

I felt

my

art

was deepened with

the deepening of

my

life.

And wist not that they undermined my home of love and peace.

sought about among the of common day,

common facts

Ah me

that

hungry passion

and

it

What

chanced me in a corner, or what met me in a crowd, For the undertones of pathos murmuring softly by the way.
quaint, droll humours, mirthful with

looked so innocent minister of love, belike, to brighten

all

our day.
petty care

To

gild the

of

life,

and

homely

incident,

Or

As we

sat like

a laughter never loud.

our troubles

all

summer away

birds,
!

and sang

Claud Maxwell, Poet

155

And

yet
it

it

was

self-seeking,

let

me Turned
the

ever to the

kirkyard where

paint

as I will.

little

grave was green

But the poet's eager craving for the That buried her young hope, and made vanity of Fame, her motherhood a wail. But the witchery of Art enchanted Silent and yet unceasing, for the bliss with its own sweet skill, that might have been. Seeking less to better life, than just But now was lying in a shroud, and to make itself a name. nailed with coffin-nail.

And

little then ; and brought an old school friend And was truer to the fact, in all her To cheer her in her sorrow but the seeming commonplace, girl was hard as steel. And the simple, homely method of her Who tried, I fear, to mar the peace I quiet life, than I hoped that she would mend. With my thoughts away in dreamland, And blended coldest sceptic thought and its haze about my face. with strangely burning zeal

as I

perchance she saw did by and by.

its

shallowness I did take thought a

have not won the glory which girl so unlike Hilda that I wot not my peace to gain ; how they drew The critic world has praised me in a Together for a moment sharp-witted, kindly sort of way. and without But I have not struck a chord that An atmosphere around her mind ; but thrilled the common heart of men. many things she knew, Nor blazed forth as a star upon the And had not any light of faith, nor forefront of the day. any shade of doubt.

For

I lost

And

yet the passion hankers

in

me,

not to be gainsaid,

Of

course

we

did not

know

it

but

it was unlucky fate In spite of all misgiving, and the verdict That brought into my life then such of the crowd. a thread of unbelief. And I do not care for poverty, neglect, Confirming troubled fancies that had or little bread, come to me of late, If I may but spin my verses, though I And brooded o'er my life with dim only spin my shroud.

foreboding of

new
as I

grief.

That was the

blanched our

first

night-frost
life's

that

young

tender

For pondering,

could, the things

bloom
to

around me, I began

;

Not much

and we had love enough throw it off, had I But taken thought of the pale face that
in the silent

To

piece
lo

them

bit

by

bit

into

some
to
fit

pattern of clear thought

And
into

they grew too

little

fast

room

my

plan.

Turned ever

to the kirkyard with a tear-dimmed, weary eye

And

squared not with the

faith that I

hard and

narrow

had

got.

iS6

Hilda among the Broken Gods

my baby-creed, just, as a Could every heart be wholly wicked, thing of course, till now. every soul untrue. Unthinking if it fitted on the grown As if it were a spark from hell that
had worn

man

as the child

kindled
for

all

desire

be set to rights again when yet unshadowed brow God had gleaned a few. Was crowned with sunny curls, and While the harvest of the nations was faggoted for fire ? the young soul was undefiled.

My mother

made

it

me when

the Could

all

But it was a thing apart from me, At first I feared the venturous thought, and compassed round with dread and laid it quick aside ; Unquestioned and unsearched, it lay But still it would return, although in bathed in an awful light, other form it came. Sacred as writ which had been sealed Is He not ever merciful who loved us all, and died. by the beloved dead. And beautiful with memories of piety Gracious to-day and yesterday, and evermore the same ? and right.
;

my mind was darkened o'er Trembling, I fluttered to and fro, with dim, disturbing doubt, like moth about the flame. And many roots of faith appeared to Now saying, " It is light, and I strike no further down must come unto the light " Than customary thoughts that I had Then pausing, for the moth unto a swift destruction came, never reasoned out. Nor felt their pressure on my soul to When, curious for the light, it left the dim and dusky night. own them, or disown.
But now
:

Could any juggling art transfer the sin that I had done. Unto another soul, and give his inno-

I think

it did not hearted faith in

grow

to

be strong-

me

I only dared to doubt, and then made pictures of my doubt cence to me ? Could any claim of other's right be This way the better reason drew that I might clearly see mine to stand upon. And urge His sinless sorrow as ray That way old custom dragged, and bade me cast the reason out. justifying plea ?

And

could I think the world lay

beneath the wrath of

Seeing it folded in it covered all the beach ; kept with tender care ? Or that the Father's love could grasp I saw old landmarks vanish, yet that smote me not with pain, an everlasting rod. Nor falter as it hearkened to the wail Nor leaped my heart with gladness at the truth it hoped to reach. of dim despair ?

all So wave on wave arose, and burst, and eddied back again. God, His light, and But still the tide swelled higher till

;; ;

Claud Maxwell, Poet

I longed for light I

157

was the one decree, that God should yet be all in all. been And in the Christ would reconcile all tossed about, for ages past, things in earth and heaven, From surface-minds that vainly claimed And a new Paradise arise more glorious from the Fall, alone to understand The mystery of the Light that is And bread of life be sweeter, raised
;

but

all

the light This

found was second-hand Reflected thought that had

like

shadow on
say
that

us cast.

from

sin's disturbing leaven.

They

doubt
is

is

weak

but

By

yet, if life be in the doubt,

and by, I hinted lightly dawning hope of mine

Hilda,
in

at this

The

living

doubt

more than Faith

To

quaint

conceit

of

that life did never

know

ballad rudely

rhymed

Pulp and jelly of the shell-fish, clasped It put her friend in raptures, and she in bony mail without, vowed it most divine, Crack the joinings and the sutures But it seemed a sorry jest to her, and that the life within may grow. wicked and ill-timed.

Could

my
But

heart

faith

have just believed with all Well i it was a foolish trifle, burnt and soul and mind well-nigh as soon as writ, was slowly breaking up, and dream of death, and how all life

parting like a cloud,

shall

come

to fulness then,

And

yet the light that

through

the

And how
earth,

the

love

that

sweetens
it

and mirth that brightens Looked sickly in the wavering mist Could never darken Heaven, for that wrapped it like a shroud. had given them unto men.
rifts

was glancing from behind.

God

zone of large indifference, then, I Was it strange, when Hilda frowned, made, where easy hope that I should turn me to her friend. Linked faith and unfaith, arm in arm, Who clapped her hands, ecstatic, and and sung along the road would have me read again ? AH would somehow yet come right Perhaps she overdid it ; and it turned at least, I did not mean to mope. out in the end If I could not feel the lightness, yet That she was false and faithless but I would not feel the load. I did not know her then.

God

was larger than the creeds: they Maybe, I should have seen that there were the cunning compromise was nothing in my rhyme For unanimous decision of the many To lift up eyes of worship, softly and the few swimming in a tear.
Rafts
that

leaked at

every log,
:

so

Or

to part the eager lips with breath-

loose the binding of their ties

less rapture, all

the time,

But they

and the thoughtless held that therefore they were true.

floated,

As the humour
upon the

of the dreamer dropt

listening ear.

iS8

Hilda among the Broken Gods

doubt, she overdid
it,

No

turning up I had

And,
trail

besides,

my

floating

doubts,

her thin, brown face

which were
;

like mists that slowly

With

the dark eyes and eager

so
like a

called her Caberfae,

She looked

startled

O'er the mountains, adding mystery and grandeur to their shapes. deer

that, in a lonely place,

Were

in her a

chilling drizzle, or a

Lifts her head

among

the bracken at

driving sleet and hail.

the dawning of the day.

Hiding sun and moon and stars, and all the shining seas and capes.
filled

And somehow, my life up, as

Creeps, beneath

after

that, she

could not cast her off, but yet I how soon She took herself away now, with that up the sloping, shingly shore. bitter sneer of hers ; And along the quiet sands, and softly She was as coldly chaste as are " the lapping at your side. glimpses of the moon," Girds about you ere you wot, and is But she laughed at all the faiths of behind you and before.
the tide
the
I

waving

tangles,

heeded not

men, and

all

their characters.

She would look through books of reference, and mark the places right.

And

And I saw that Hilda pined away she did not fret nor frown. copy papers nicely, and be useful But whatever our discourse, she let fifty ways a pallid silence linger And sometimes on the darkling thought would glance a piercing On her lips from hour to hour, while moving slowly up and down. light. Or with woman's nice suggestion From knuckle to the point, the marriage-ring upon her finger. touch a sentiment or phrase.
looked to her for sympathy, I leant For Hilda had a faith serene, clear as the evening star. on her for aid Fanatical for Reason, still she loved Keen-piercing through the changeful glow with its unchanging gleam. the poet's Art, Or vowed she loved it dearly; and Wheeling in some calm zone where neither doubts nor tremors are. how cleverly she played, With artillery of praise upon the out- Nor shadowy, dim misgivings, that perchance we only dream. works of the heart
I

Ere long,

did not care to hear her

And now

raptures for they

came

she was amazed old Faiths broke up in me.

because

To

be mere ejaculations, monotonous, With little feeling of a loss, or hope of higher gain. without Any critical discernment ; and I felt With little sense of sorrow or regret or poverty. a growing shame At the lauds which she kept singing, But she beheld the change with fear and shivering and pain. and the things they were about.

Hilda, Saint-Wife

IS9

Why
BOOK SECOND
a

does marriage, she adds, so often

the wife so
silly,

woman degrade ? who was

ever

Why is
HILDA, SAINT-WIFE
Hilda's Diary
March, iS

so bright as a

Why
her

maid ? should a husband

intellect.
it

like to fallow

And
Winifred Urquhart and were tall school-girls,
I,

starve

on housekeeping cares
?

that lower her self-respect

that he ought to be, Chatting of wooings and weddings Worthy of love and devotion, almost while twisting our hair up in curls. worthy of me. Or whispering some hush-secret, which Yet oh, the young love of girls it is purer, truer, and better was not secret a bit, Only we were confidential, and made And so she concludes with a prayer a secret of it for a long and an early letter. Winnie and I made a paction, silly things that we were That she would be sure to tell me, and This has set me a-thinking that, maybe, I must be sure to tell her, I ought to write Whoever, first of us, wedded, all the The things that my heart is full of, as the noon of heaven with light, bitter and sweet Of the life of marriage that makes the The thoughts that I had not before, life of a woman complete ; which gave me a larger life. The hope, the fear, and the bliss too, And the bliss that never I knew till he

when we But

she

is

sure that

mine

is all

we were

to set

down

all.

called

me

his

own

little

wife.

none of our Gardens of Eden be Not that I mean to keep a silly promise hid by a hedge or a wall. like that Winnie is clever and scheming ; I know what she wants to be at. So now she writes me a letter, all Give her a word, good or bad, and underlined, to say she'd spin such a web from the hint. She trusts that I do not forget the And colour a meaningless phrase with promise I made that day ; so suspicious a tint, Hints that, perhaps, I might keep a That folk would begin to whisper, sure Diary locked with a key. there was something amiss And sacred To Early Friendship, which And then she would write me, bewailno other eye should see ing the world and its wickedness. And hopes that I will not act like Dearly she loves a mystery, dearly she commonplace wives, who drop loves to be thought Their friends and their French and To know what she ought not to know, pianos, and put to the Past a full stop. and to wit what none else ever wot : So to begin a new paragraph all about For Winnie is clever and scheming, beeves and muttons. even when she looks like a fool Darning, and troubles with servants, and She was not liked by the girls, and gentlemen's shirts and buttons. she was not happy at school,
:

And

i6o

Hilda among the Broken Gods

But I came to be fond of her, rather, It seems like an unreal echo, ever so by having to take her part, far away When others were hard upon her, and From the clear realm of nature, and said that she had not a heart light of the sun and the day. Which is not true, I am sure, nor yet Yet it sounded to us, at the time, like absolute reason and good. the tales that they told Of wicked books she had read before As we chattered of woman's rights, she was twelve years old. and babbled in wrathftJ mood I have heard that, since she came home, Of Maries, thoughtful and wise, that often were met at school. she cultivates science, and writes, And lectures over the country, most of Changed into careful Marthas under a
the winter nights.

husband's rule.
short,

and her Heedless of mental culture, losing finger-tips black with ink : their nimble wits. But Winnie could never forget what To be housemaids dusting the rooms, is due to a lady, I think. or cookmaids turning the spits. I thought I am going to write in my book, but Winnie was great on that not for her eyes to see she was eloquent even. Ought I to hide it from him who keeps As the small face kindled up with a light, as it were, from heaven, not a thought from me ? Oh, there is something in marriage, like Vowing the wife became a traitor to the veil of the temple of old. woman in this, That screened the Holy of Holies with Betraying a noble cause for a petting blue and purple and gold word or a kiss ; Something that makes a chamber where Wronging her husband, too, by giving none but the one may come, a lower aim sacredness too, and a silence, where Of self- indulgence to life, which joy that is deepest is dumb. he knew not at home till she And it is in that secret chamber where came. chiefly ray days are passed. What greater wrong could she do him With a sense of something holy, and a than teach him only to care shadow of something vast. For dainties, and kickshaws, and slipTill he comes, who alone is free to pers, and naps in the easy chair ? come and to go as he will, But Nature is more than Logic, and Till he comes, and the brooding silence wedlock is more than we begins to pulse and thrill. Dreamed of then in our folly Oh come, for my heart is weary, and great is the change now in

Having her

hair cut

waiting,
I will lock

my love, my bliss
shall

for thee

me

but

my love

from the world, Motherhood, if it should come, will have ever the key. work more wonders still. For love it is all in all, and it does
March, l8

whatsoever

it

will

When

remember the way we girls Dusting, darning, drudging, nothing is were wont to talk great or small, Up in our rooms at night, or out on Nothing is mean or irksome, love will
I

the daily walk,

hallow

it all

Hilda, Saint-Wife

i6i

Sacrifice there

is

none
is

if

only I see
if

For

all

the pert maids at the inns where

for a little to hide,

him

glad,

we hoped
pleasure
sad.

And

all

my

gone

he be Scanning my bonnets and dresses, would

18

heavy and
Past
it

is the honeymoon was not so good blushing, about, As the home-coming together, in While Claud was looking so handsome quiet, thoughtful mood. and self-possessed, like a king, Then our life truly began it was like Proud and tender and ready, and a dream before seeing to everything. dream in a boat, while the pale
; :

smirk at the new-made bride ; Scarcely a railway porter but knew my trunks to be out and I think Fresh on a marriage trip, and led me,
April,

moon glimmered from

sea to shore.

It

is

went swaying about still under the stars, and heard Dreamily plashing billow, and dreamily whispered word. Why should we go a-jaunting when

And we

that

not nice to be stared at by everyone you meet.

As
I

they smile and whisper together, and scan you from head to feet.
in our little

knew

not the rest of love white room,

till

we

sat

From

the heart just wants to repose agitation of bliss, and to

know

arm clasping me round. bosom I leant to feel all the thither, like peace I had found And he said, " We will fold our wings birds flying far from the nest. now, for here I have made you a nest. Hid in the bosk of the greenwood, And lined it warm with the down of where they are longing to be. the love that warms my breast." And cosy and warm, and sweet with Oh, he can say such things And I the scent of the sheltering tree. cannot say them to him I did not like then to say it, because I am quietest when I am gladdest all his plans had been laid but my heart was filled to the brim. To visit some beautiful spot which Just a moment before, and my trembling poets had famous made. would not cease. Or to look on some ancient Abbey But now the shiver was stilled in a that sweetly went down to decay. thrill of bliss and peace. Wrapt in the ivy green, amid trees in
strong

whereto it grows ? Nothing felt real to me then, or brought

Close together, and watched the stars coming out of the gloom. In the hush of a raptured moment, his

me the feeling of rest. As we sped hither and

As

on

his

the lichen grey.

And And

all

with
it

me
for

there beside him, he

April, 1 8

said, to brighten the

view.

Our home

is

bright

little

cottage,

half-smothered in yellow rose. him in a light which Not yet blooming, however for ever would make it new. a still river sullenly flows Therefore my voice was silent ; but Deep at the foot of a broomy brae, and oh, how I wearied to see the leaping trout The house-fire which love was to kindle, the home where my life was Ripple its gloom in the evening as
bathe
;

to be!

gay

flies flicker

about.


l62

;! ; ;

; ;

Hilda among the Broken Gods

is it

Nor

be always so happy ? of grief; It leaps and sparkles and gleams o'er Yet there is laughter of sunshine, to the stones of a pebbly beach, see the crisp green on the leaf. Under the birch and the hazel, just Daylight is ringing with song-birds, and brooklets are croonirig by night coming to leaf, and there are Blue-bell patches of sky, made bright And why should I make a shadow where God makes all so bright ? with the primrose star. Behind is a group of great fir-trees, Earth may be wicked and weary, yet cannot 1 help being glad ; five of them, red-armed firs, Druid sisters he calls them, that moan There is sunshine without and within me, and how should I mope or be sad ? when the night-wind stirs Last of a great pine forest that stubs God would not flood me with blessings, meaning me only to pine the heath with its roots For miles, till you come to a tarn where Amid all the bounties and beauties He pours upon me and mine gulls and little round coots Are dipping and diving all day in a Therefore will I be grateful, and thereall

so sullen, for

down

in a

Am

wrong

to

farther reach

This world

is full

quiet solitude

fore will I rejoice

is

There

the bee haunts, and the air

My

heart

is

singing within

me

sing

and the lapwings brood. I hear the curlew scream, and the grouse-cock crowing at dawn.
blithe,

on,

heart and voice.

May,

18

And

yet

when

I stand at the door,

Winnie has writ me again

;

she

offers

a visit in June where the cowslips laugh on the Some day she must come, I daresay lawn but that is an age too soon. It is only a patch of green turf, enough What could I do with her ? I should to pasture a lark be like one reading a book. I see the sleepy old town, and the Lost in the story and passion, while spires of the Minster dark. she would be eager to look And catch a glimpse of the sea-waves Over my shoulder to find out what was white on the yellow sand. Where the river leaps at the bar, and absorbing me so. the coastguard houses stand. And why, when my heart is so happy,

We

have a bright little garden down on a sunny slope. Bordered with sea-pinks, and sweet with the songs and the blossoms of
hope.

And now
would

the tears are so ready to flow she would hurry, and

tarry

now

my

turning the leaf;

And

I'd hate her in less than a

week

and I know it would end in grief. Oh, it is all too good for me ; often I Alone I must be alone, to read my catch myself singing romance, for the plot In very lightness of heart, and I seem Is only slowly unfolding ; and oh, what a hero I've got like the birds to be winging Merry from room to room, as they Noble and true and brave, all that a flutter from bush to tree. hero should be And each has her mate a-coming, as So much better than I am ; and great is his love to me mine, too, is coming to me.
!

Hilda, Saint-Wife

163

Yet not greater than mine is, save that Children play at the door, they are his mind is more, dirty and happy and fair, For oh I love him, I love, as a God I Sunbrowned all of their faces, suncould almost adore.

That makes me tremble

oh
if

at times, for

The mother

bleached their lint-white hair is milking the cow, the

What

dog lies coiled in the sun, Truly The fowls for the roost are making and the labourer's day is done. my heart it would break. What, if heaven should be wroth at Sometimes we rest on a bank, and hear in the evening calm, me shrining and sainting a man Yet God too Just as the stars come out, the sough of Sinful and mortal as I ?
an idol I make,
if

my idol were broken

I love,

all
is

I can truer to

their grateful psalm.

My

heart

Him

the

more

am

loved and caressed

Often

we go
belt

the And surely He cannot be jealous of love To a He has bidden and blessed.
June, 18

to the sea-marge, where long sands give place

of dark red storm-beaten

crags,

which grimly face

The
Or

baffled billows that lie ever pant-

We

where still they mine and beat. Perched on the cliff is a village and the air there and pure far in the cove below Among the brown heath and the bracken that now from its snake-like bonds. The boats are beached on the shingle,

walks as the evenings lengthen ; sometimes over the moor. Many-tinted and shadowed ; brisk is

have

ing below at their feet.

gurgling in

black-throated

caves

Under

the sun's deft fingers,

its

is

slowly

waiting the tide to flow

uncoiling

fronds

Hard - visaged,

bunchy

women

are

Close-packed now, by and by they, baiting the lines in hope, overlapping, will hide Or carrying laden creels, slow, up the The flower of the slender orchis long, shelving slope. Or spreading their fish on the rocks, or purpling close by their side. welcoming men from the sea. Dry on the knolls is the whin-bush, massing its golden bloom ; As the lugger trips daintily in, and the The cotton-grass low in the marshes flapping sail is free. tosses its small white plume ; And from the hollows is wafted the One thing strikes me about my husband's way with the folk. scent of bog-myrtle or birch Fragrant after the rain ; but, best of Whether the moorland shepherds, or fishermen perched on the rock. all, is the search Among the roots of the heather for Freely we enter their homes, for he stag-moss' antlers green seems to be known to them all. Branching over the earth, far- spreading, And knows who is there in the corner, and rarely seen. and who in the bed in the wall, Here and there is a cottage, too, And the idiot dreamily singing by the looking just like the heath, grandam racked with pain. Green on the roof with house-leek, And the lad that went off to the sea, brown with its turf-wall beneath. and has never come back again

164

Hilda among the Broken Gods

All the home life of the people, their Yet somehow, all the time, he seems good and their evil hap. as if reading a book So every door flies open just after a Full of nature and humour, and leaves warning tap, with a thoughtful look. And everywhere he is met with a welcome glad and free Once I hinted that I would gladly be The dogs come fawning upon him, the doing some good children get up on his knee. Among these neighbours of ours : and Great, rough hands are held out to give he said in his gentlest mood, ." Yes, I suppose it is right to do all him a hearty grip. And the mother's face is shining as he the good that you can ; kisses the baby's lip. Only don't break up the peace of their Of course they are happy to see me, homes, with a cut-and-dry plan too, for my husband's sake. Of tracts and visits and lessons, and scolding the women for dirt. Only they daintily touch me, as fearAnd tramping on everyone's toes, and ful perchance I may break. And, making ungainly curtseys, they sitting on everyone's skirt. have not a word to say ; For when you know them as I do, and But oh, I am proud to see him so loved all their sorrows and cares. in this lovingest way. The brave hearts they keep through it all, their patience, their faith, and
the prayers.

Sometimes

I think, for myself, I

would

Self-forgetting, that thrill here loud

on

like to tidy the

room.
bit,

the stormy shore

To

of the smoke and the gloom. To teach the children a lesson, or read a page from the Book

and get rid For those on the stormy sea, they never may look on more. Then you may feel like me, halfashamed of the good you can do. To the sick man tossed on his pillow, Compared with the good you are getting from lives so human and true. or the old man propped in his nook. But he does not try, in the least, to do But try it you're better than I only mind they have hearts like your own ; any good, and yet Somehow they seemed to like him all And hearts philanthropic, at times, have the trick of the old heart of the better for it. stone." He is just like one of themselves, and talks of the weather and crops. November, 1% The ewes and gimmers and lambs, or What is it ails me now ? I hardly the luggers and nets and ropes. have written a line The take of fish, or the beds of mussels For days and weeks and months in this they have for bait, private record of mine. Or the old man's aching bones, or the I seemed to have nothing to say, and I teething baby's state. did not seem to care. Laughing and joking with all, or telling And the days have gone wearily by, a story, perhaps. though there was not a cloud in the To the children gaping around him, while grandfather nods and naps
open the window a

Hilda, Saint-Wife
I think that
is little

i6S

my

love

is

more, yet
life

life

And

hides from the wife of his bosom

is

and low.

the thing he

fain to write.

And

surely a fulness of

from a Can

fulness of love should grow.

For love

is

summer, when

all

be a-blooming and singing ; Yet none of the old things now sweet bliss are bringing. I go a-dreaming and weary, every day

be right to conceal the work he is labouring at ? should I want to sit up beside him, but he will not listen to that the old Yet rest I cannot ; I lie there, sleepit

When,

and all Something

is

aching within me, I fret

at the simplest call

and feigning to sleep. in the hush of the darkness, soft to my side he will creep, Fearing to rouse me lying, broad awake, all through the hours.
less,

duty that once I Watching the moonbeams flitting, or hearing the patter of showers, Tripping and singing, light-hearted, all The grey owl screech to the bat, or through the hours of the day. the moan of the throbbing sea. Everything burdens me now ; and I Or puzzling over the house-books, could cry at a kiss which will not come right with me. From the dear lips that I love so are not rich, and, maybe, I do not What is the meaning of this ? keep house as I might. I am not unhappy ; at least, I have Though I want to be thrifty, and debt nothing to make me is a thing that I hate outright and yet gladness is broken and dashed, and Still there is waste, no doubt, and he comes by the mood and the fit has a right to complain, I weep when I'm left alone ; and when And maids are so careless, and break he comes home, there are tears things that cannot be mended again ; That mix with the smile of my greeting, And will have their young men comand fill him with fond, loving fears. ing : and how can I say them nay. 1 want to be cheerful and happy, I When I recall how I longed to see want to be busy and good. him at evening grey ? Yet I lounge through the day, doing I scrimp and save, and, at times, I am nothing, and plain like the dove in almost weary of life the wood. It would have been better for him had What can it be ? And my ring, too, he married a managing wife. will slip to my finger-tip. Yet all my cares were as nothing it And it gives me a catch in the throat, only my husband were right. and a pain, and a quivering lip : If he were not so silent by day, if he I know it is silly, and yet I cannot get were not so dreamy at night. rid of the fear Cared for things in the house as he That his love may grow loose as my cared for them once on a time. ring, and be lost while I think it is Sat by my side in the evenings, and here. made my life sweet and sublime, Did he not joke at my questions wife is not meant for sport, I wonder if every student sits brooding Always put off with a jest ; and jesting

Of commonplace

went about, cheerful and gay,

We

My

far into the night,

is

not his forte.

;
;

66

Hilda among the Broken Gods

loves
;

and I For oh he loves me, loves me, ever so tender and true Only the hunger of love ever breeds And yet if he loves not God, too, dream-visions of pain. what shall my poor heart do ? What is he always writing!' Somehate myself

Yet oh he loves me, he

when

I complain,

times I tremble to think.

December,
?

Last night we went to Thorshaven ; and the things that I heard and saw Of falling away from the Faith, and Of the " work " now going on there the way which his fathers trod. have filled me with wonder and awe. And, as the minister told us, out of I had been told of their meetings, and the hand of God ? how they rarely would cease Rarely he goes to Church, though he Till many were conscience-stricken, tells me I ought to go, and many were filled with peace When the kirk-bells on the Sabbath How the whole village was changed are chiming soft and low its drunkards sober and calm. " You have your window," he says, Lips that were wont to blaspheme now " for outlook on all the vast. thrilling the air with a psalm ; Dim, everlasting hills, and the shadows Boats were launched with a prayer, on earth they cast, and the oars were timed to a hymn ; The old church-window that shines And when the lines were set, or the with white-winged angel forms. ropes and the sails were trim, And martyred saints they are bearing Someone took up the tale of the fishers from earth's most bitter storms ; on Galilee, And life would be dark to you, And told how the Lord drew nigh to dear, lacking them walking over the sea. the light that it brings. These were the marvels I heard, and Even though the cobwebs dim the oh my heart longed to be there Where the good Spirit was working, aureoles now, and the wings. I have my outlook too, but not so and grace was like dew in the air pretty as yours Dropping on thirsty grass, and making With dreams of the saintly souls, and it live anew. the love that all endures ; Maybe my husband, beholding, would Colder my light and harder, but see that the Gospel was true Maybe his soul would be touched clearer, at least, to me. and maybe my own dull faith For cobwebbed angels somehow help Would be refreshed and revived, for it not my vision to see. But to the same Eternal, we look for seemed at the point of death. The night was starry and cold, but the breaking day Of an age that is surely coming, when just a night for a walk. shadows shall flee away." Brisk, in the tingling air ; and at first

What,

be of Religion he be on the brink

if it

what,

if

am

troubled at sayings like these,

I

was

fain to talk.

though mean.

hardly

know what
may

they His coming had made me so glad then, only my thoughts would not rest,
twitter around their nest.

And

I pray that he yet

see the Flitting about like the swallows that

truth

which

my

heart has seen.

; ;

Hilda, Saint-Wife

167

And

then skim

away

to the river,

and

He

dip where the shadows lie

was a keen-eyed, wiry, browed man who spoke,

beetle-

Clear in the glassy calm, which they flick with their wings as they fly

So would

chatter a

little

our village the folk, and by His voice half saying, half singing the

The pale-faced smith of who pleaded loud with

faithful message he bore. and by thought was away To the village perched on the cliff, Weirdly and hoarse, like the waves that were crashing down on the and the people there gathered to

pray.

shore.

was not aught that he said he was man. On by the beetling crags, till we came Earnest, I thought, and acquainted with God and the wonderful Plan to a low rude shed. Roofed with the upturned hull of a Of saving by surety of Him who hung for our sins on the cross. wreck that had drifted ashore. Battered by surf on the shingle there And tasted death for our guilt, that we might have gain in His loss for a month and more plain, blunt man, not a scholar Gallantly once she had ridden the sometimes his sayings were odd. waves, and the tempest braved, And true hearts then had been lost in Nor could I help a smile though he spake of the great thoughts of her ; now in her wreck they were

So

that in silence at length,

arm

in

It

arm, swiftly

we

sped

just a plain, blunt

saved.

God;
it
;

Crowds were thronging about was a crowd inside

But of the fisher-folk no one smiled, let him say what he would Singing a hymn that blended well with It was not a season for laughter, nor were they at all in the mood. the wash of the tide wail of sorrow for sin, that swelled " The strength of sin is the law," he
there
;

said ; " it is like the tree hope ; heard some one praying, but Serpents take for a purchase in lands caught not the words nor the scope. where the serpents be For many were sobbing aloud ; we Clean and straight is its trunk, as the squeezed a little way in. law too is right in its scope. Under a guttering candle stuck in a Slippery the coils and the folds round sconce of tin, its bark that are twined like a rope. The flame blown about by the wind, Crushing each bone of its victim, and grinding the life out, within and shedding uncertain light Down on rough weather-beat faces. So is the purchase of Law, for breakto a yearning

Then

Clear and cold was the night Outside, the passionless moon and the
quiet stars
;

ing the soul

Oh how

feeble

by its sin and helpless we are

:

in

but here.

its terrible

grip

Oh

what a tempest of trouble and For the

!

Law

cannot be broken, and

!

sorrow, and anguish and fear

these knots never will slip

its

Oh what
Throng

a peace, at

last,

that folded

Coming along the

street,

saw the

wings on a calm
of
spirits

old serpent to-night,

entranced,
!

singing a grateful psalm

and Plainly as eyes could behold him oh 'twas a sorrowful sight

!

and


i58

Hilda among the Broken Gods

men and
children, Peace
will

Coiling round old

as in a statue I

know,
cunningest art by a

light as the

come like the stars, and dawn of the day."

was smitten, and
lay

Carved with
wise

his

Then

another

Greek

ages ago,

there with never a breath

But there to save His children the In her thin nostril, it seemed, and Father was wrestling grim, pallid and cold as death Here, as the serpent gripped them, I thought she was gone, till at length they were all worshipping Him. a smile of serenest grace Yes, I have seen the old serpent, the Broke on her lips, and beamed all
;

devil, the father of lies

over her lovely face.

he had not a hoof or a horn, or She was the first to find Peace, and a tail to whisk at the flies ; she said, " I have seen my love ; Old men were buying his curses, He's not in the depths of the ocean, children were taking his fire but high in the heavens above Home to their mothers in bottles, as His head is not twined round with briskly as hell could desire. tangles, but wreathed with a wreath Busy he is at Thorshaven, sails in your of palm. luggers with you. And lo in his hand is a harp, and Never a boat goes to sea but the devil loud in his mouth is a psalm." is one of the crew ; (Her lover was drowned last spring, You carry him too in your creels, and and his body had never been found. he is defiling your way, Till she saw him by faith, in her With swearing and lying and cheating, trance, robed in white raiment, and and breaking the Sabbath day. crowned. And sins that I will not speak of, sins Thus it went on for hours, at first that all of you know. with the women, but then. But oh the blood of the Lamb, it will Ere long, the power and the wonder wash you whiter than snow." smote the strong hearts of the men Always he came back to that, the Awed and amazed I stood, unable to blood that was shed for sin, stir from the place, Cleansing our way on the earth, and Sometimes thinking my heart might purging the soul within ; be touched by its marvellous grace, He showed to me all my guilt, he Sometimes feeling my flesh creep at
!

And

showed me the love of God an unearthly voice. Until I wept at the plague of my heart, Sometimes thrilling to hear their songs and the way I had trod, who for joy did rejoice. And the pity that sought me out, and At length there fell a great calm, and the grace that died for me ; the lights were glimmering dim, And all were sobbing and swaying And the moon was low in the heaven, about like the waves of the sea. when we sang the parting hymn. Then one dropped on the floor, and writhed in a foaming fit " Glory to God," cried the preacher, On the way homeward I said, " Surely " He'll snaffle the fiend with his bit; the Lord was there " ; Let her alone ; while the devil is And he, "No doubt, and up in yon star too, and everywhere ; wrestling with her we will pray ;

169

Hilda, Saint-Wife

Hard to
derful

say
?

where

He

is

not.

Won-

must not fancy he sulks

only a
bit

he was

Yes, I admit
it

of a poet.

Hard to say what is not when you look closely at

wonderful, Dram-drinking verses

Why,

I have wondered for hours at a flower, or a lichened stone, writ for our marriage-day, Or star-moss red on the heath, or a " Orange-blossoms " he calls them, star-fish dry as a bone wreath for a wedding gay." On the grey shore, till the tide-wave I do not know that I care for poems though hymns are sweet brought back the pulses of life. But does not yon queer evangelist I do not want to be talked of, or sung

in secret, and hoping that no one would know it. So then he brought me some poems,

"A

tell

a good story, dear wife

some day

in the street.

Done them some good, you think ? And at the time I was plagued with Ah well, we will hope so at least; these horrible tradesmen's books. God is a chemist who works with And maybe my words were dry, and
!

stuff that

would sicken

a priest.
girl

listless also

my

looks.
verses, I
bills
!

I think
lover

it

did good to that

whose They

was drowned at sea. Gave her some comfort she needed " but it would not do good to me
!

are nice

enough

fancy

but oh those dreadful

And

he

just laughs at
it

my
of

trouble,

and

calls

the care that kills

terror

Thus

come home heavy-hearted

is

he
still

faithless

bakers

and

ready to mock. Turning from anything serious, with a good-humoured joke.

always

butchers and Philistines,

Unworthy

a true believer in orthodox,

sound divines.

December J 18

Well, they are pretty verses, and so 1

will write them here But how can he pen such trifles with face that shadow of debt so near ?

Now

know why he

sits

so late and

alone in his room.

And why
that

there comes over

like

his

shadow
falls

I took for gloom.

Which

sudden haze

all

summer sky. And makes him look stony and cold

over the

ORANGE BLOSSOMS

with a dream-like fix^d eye. Seeing not what we see, for the outer vision is dim. It was the gloaming of the day. As he looks on a world unseen, and And first pale glimmer of the moon.
hears it singing to him. The fishing-boats were in the bay. Often it filled me with fear, for I And to and fro they seemed to sway. thought he was wroth with me ; Rhythmic, to a mystic tune, But he is not angry at all only trying, In the pale glimmer of the moon. he says, to see

Thoughts

that are hard to get at, and sat us on a thymy bank, hardly worth getting when done ; Wheresea-pink and the wild-rosegrew. But the fool's habit of dreaming he And blue campanulas were rank. learnt when living alone ; And wild geranium blossoms drank

We

170

Hilda among the Broken Gods

sunsets that enriched their hue,

Red

And And
And

pansies twinkled, gold and blue.

And where the fountain The ice had clutched it

used to drip
in its grip.

fronting us the broad sea-sand crew, Spread, ribbed and freckled, to the spray Chanticleer at barn-door Geese were gobbling 'mong the stubble, Crisp-curving to the curving land.

plashing on the pebbly strand Beyond, the vague, vast waters lay Lazily heaving in the bay.

in circles round me flew, Barking loud at its shadow-double. And ploughed the crisp frost with his

My dog
nose

Three children played along the beach Right where the

cluttering partridge

With

laughter,

as

the

small

waves

rose.

broke
I heard their laughter and their speech

Crowding

close, the dainty

sheep

Nibbled by the bridled brook. Though fear and trouble in me woke The hare pricked up her ears to leap Like the waves surging as they broke. Behind the ricks to a quiet nook. Knee-deep in straw the black ox lowed. I told my love, and for a space His every breath like a steaming cloud. She gazed out far away from me.
throbbing heart,

Rippling along the sandy beach.

how
lit

still

the place
?

Was
Or

that a smile that

her face

but the

moon drawn from

knew
need

the sea

Jenny, looking tossed and tumbled, Stept out with her milking-pails

To

kiss the lips that can bless

me

Yawning Robin crept and grumbled, Blowing on his finger-nails.

Tingling fingers, purple-tipped, Sharply by the frost-wind nipped.
at ice and snow, Shouting to the shrill north wind She is mine, I said, and no

1 told the love you

before
to tell.

You

said, I did not

And
For

that

you would not answer more,

that I also

knew

before

The

secret of your heart so well

But I laughed

It did not

need that you should

tell.

bleak

November morning
bare,

chill.

Winter in the world I find Love, my life is filled with thee. And all is summer now with me.
;
!

When trees are

Hopping upon

and haws are

sill

ripe

my window

1 heard the cheery redbreast pipe

And

through the crackling twigs there

of birds since day began.

pathway through the meadow green.

the thorn,

ran

A twitter
With
white,

And thou, grey stile, beneath And murmurous river softly

borne

great frost-ferns the panes were In dimpling ripplets hardly seen.

The

fields

were white with dust-like Sweet path by happy footsteps worn,

If
all

snow.

our visions linger there.

The

trees, all crystalled overnight.

The

poet

now

shall find thine air,

In white robes made a ghostly show.

More

fancy-full than early morn.

171

Hilda, Saint-Wife

We

wandered in a dreamland fair, At large on the shopkeeping world, Beside the huge, coiled willow trees, exempt from all action at law ; Discoursing of a life to please Honouring bakers and butchers enough The Man who took our grief and care. by eating their things ; For angels pay not a jot for repairing Not ours the dull, ignoble ease the plumes of their wings. Of cushioned seats, or routs and balls, And bees are not charged by the Brain-dulling dinners, civil calls, flowers they visit for tapping the And poor respectabilities ; honey I am not quite sure what he means, but Not ours to care for marble halls I know he is loose about money. modest home, and frugal fare. May, 18 With love for cobwebbed wines and

rare.

Sick

am

sure death

is
;

coming

And

peace for pictures on the walls

care:

never have

felt like this

For more than these we would not

But generous culture should be

Such giddy sinkings and swimmings, and fainting away into bliss
!

ours.

Life

in the

swooning of

life,

as if the

And And

pious use of

all

our powers,

knowledge,
all

as the primal pair

soul fluttered within. Panting, exhausted, in hope to escape from the body of sin
!

Knew

the

beasts

and birds and Heart,

O my
life

heart so unquiet,
?

why

flowers

wilt thou not be at rest

And with our best we'd serve the Best, And in His goodness find our rest,
Untroubled through the years and hours.
April, 1%

Clinging to this
ing from

These were the first of the poems he read to me up in my room By and by others came, soon, like the coming of spring with its bloom
;

And we

are rich

now and

happy, and
;

everything goes quite smooth

All the newspapers

I

praise him, but

:

do

not say half of the truth

keep them

all

in a
;

book, and read

at times,

life of trouble, shrinkof the blest Better to be with Jesus yet husband and home too are dear ; And oh if my love be a sin, I cannot help sinning, I fear. All other idols are broken, this one I never can break. Could I be shut out of heaven because of the heaven that I make Out of my true love to him, and out of his great love to me. Arching as deep blue sky still over a deep blue sea ?
!

them

often alone

They make me angry

they speak in a

when If this be
fain

death, as I take
I do.

it,

one thing

critical tone.

would

for now I Ere I go hence to the world where all nobody's debtor. things are made new : Paying odd things with a verse which Again with my husband I'd walk, on he writes me as fast as a letter. the quiet Sabbath day, He laughs at me, vowing that poets When bells from the old kirk chiming should never pay bills, but draw call Christian souls to pray.

But I am happy and proud,

am

;!

172

Hilda among the Broken Gods

by the green footpath, and the

Down

What had come

over our pastor, he so

sweet-briar hedge that leads

Straight to

gentle and mild.

the house of the Lord Leading his flock to stUl waters as through the clover-scented meads father leadeth his child. Under the high - arched roof there That day of all days, to preach terrors meekly to sit by his side. of wrath and hell. In love to remember the Love that Darkening God's house with the bled for us once and died. smoke of those in the pit that dwell ? Oh it were good to think, if I should Oh it was dreadful to listen The be taken from him. very Psalms that he chose That once we sat there together, where Rung in the ear like curses hurled at falls the light chastened and dim the heads of foes ; Through the tall thin-shafted windows, The prayers were dry and dewless, and on hallowed, bread and wine. hard ; and my heart grew sick. And vows that we vowed together, of To glance at my husband's face with life for the love divine. its curious laughing trick I cannot die till we do it : God would I knew, in that furtive glance, that my not call me hence, hope was worse than lost, broken life and unfinished, with a And that, in my effort to save, I had fruitless influence. perilled and harmed him most. Pained there we sat in our pews, the June 18 victims of one man's mood. Ah me we plot and plan, but the And vainly tried to be patient ; and great God orders all vainly tried to be good And that is not good to Him, which E'en the sweet symbols of sorrow and good we are fain to call. love of the Crucified Oh how I longed and hoped for the Failed to lighten the gloom, for he high communion day took not his place by my side. Oh how my heart leaped up when he Never I sat at the Table so barren of did not say me nay grace as then. Oh how I prayed, and was glad and Joyless and undevout, and wroth at tremulous through the Fast the thoughts of men. Oh how happy I was, with my hand I had brought to the living water a thirsting soul with care. on his arm, at last. As gravely we paced together, down And there was no living water, but a by the broomy brae. broken cistern there. Along by the sweet-briar hedge, and the clover-scented way. All the maids robed in white, and the When we came home he sat alone in his room for a while ; men in their sober black, Sweet birds a-singing, and sweet bells But all that night he was gentle ; and said, at last, with a smile, ringing ; and Paradise back Better I never had spoken ; better he "You want to know what I think of our minister's work to-day ; had not gone Better a yearning sorrow than a heart But shrink to ask me outright, for the wild words you fear I may say. that is turned to stone
! :

',

Hilda, Saint-Wife

173

Why

dark moment of Time when must cease to be. So did the parson, no doubt, if he But will you hear what I thought as only had understood that sermon thundered on. The right way of going about it. He With lurid flashes of horror, and God's made a mistake ; that is all ; heart turned to stone ? Hell is the weak point, you see, and a
should you dread me, Hilda
to
?

Any

You wished

do

me some good

Hope

cleverer general

Were

where So then he read to me this " Otherworld ballad " he calls it But he is honest, and plays his tune by Of the meek soul that for love heeds the regular score. not what sorrow befalls it. You are vexed that I happened to hear Heeds not the bliss and the glory, but only that loud devil's chorus longs for them that are lying Very well done by the way which Dim in the outer darkness, tossed in
fain to conceal the spot

the foe might thrust

him

sore

brought

all

the horror before us,

the anguish undying.

When

you had hoped to have only the lyric of love and endurance,

What

can I think of

it ?

what

who

will guide

Swelling out high, at the close, to the Me, a in the joy and the hope and assurance. straight pathway of Light ? But it is all of a piece, love, whether Sometimes it rings in my ear as deadly you like it or no, as error could be All of it close-knit together ; branched, Sometimes I feel in my heart it is true but the branches grow as the gospel to me, Out of the same deep root. I heard thing I would do, myself, just then but the part of a whole ; when my faith is most. I know that the chorus needed the As I remember the love that suffered lyric to melt the soul, to save the lost. The lyric implies, too, the chorus But through the years and the ages, whichever you chance to hear, the Church, unchanging, cries. Always the other is present to fill the Sad are the foolish virgins, and glad heart or the ear. for ever the wise.

me aright weak woman to walk

not an unbeliever, love ; only I Dare I trust my heart's voice against cannot wink the voice of the whole ? At things I had rather not see, and Yet should the roar of the crowd ever thoughts I had rather not think ; drown the true voice of the soul ? Does it not seem, too, an odd way of Oh, if clear it were only quickening love and faith. Picturing wrath that refuses e'en the
I

am

grim mercy of death

THE SELF-EXILED

The

of God, the There came a soul to the gate of Heaven and pray ; The better I seem to know Him, the Gliding slow broader appears the way soul that was ransomed and forgiven. God and charity grow together ; and And white as snow
higher
vision

my

more

I can trust

I cannot see

And

the angels

all

were

silent.

: :

174

Hilda among the Broken Gods

" If
I enter heaven I

A mystic light beamed from the face

Of the
But
also

may

not pass
bitter pain,

A mystic shade
And
As
So
the angels
all

maid To where they be, there lay on its tender grace Though the wail of their
radiant
:

alas
silent.

were

And
sunlit clouds

Tormenteth me " the angels all were

:

silent.

by a zephyr borne
stir,

Seem

not to

" If I enter heaven

may

not speak
distraught

to the golden gates of

morn

My

soul's desire

They

And
"

carried her : the angels all were silent.

For them that and weak

In flaming
angels

are

lying

fire

"

Now I'll open the gate, and let her in, And the
wide. she hath been cleansed from stain
fling it

all

were

silent.

And

For

"

had a brother, and

also another

of sin,"
St. Peter cried

Whom
What
if,

I loved well

in anguish, they curse each

And

the angels
I

all

were

silent

other

"Though

am

cleansed

from

stain

And
"

In depths of hell?" the angels all were silent.

of sin," She answered low,

How could I touch the golden harps,

When
all

"

my

praise

came not hither

to enter in.

Nor may

And

the angels

all

go " : were

Would
warps

be so wrought with grief-full

sad days
all

silent.

Of their

"
?

"I come,"
door.

And
she said,

the angels

were

silent.

"to the pearly

"
see the

How love the

ing,

loved

who
?

are sorrow-

To
Where
Floor,

Throne
on the Sapphire

sits

the

Lamb
alone
all

And And
"

yet be glad
I

How sing the

"
:

songs ye are fain to sing,

With God

While

am sad?"
all

And
"
I

the angels

were

silent.

the angels

were

silent.

come

to hear the

new song they

sing

To Him
And
And
" But
spring

that died.

note where

the

healing waters

Oh clear as glass is the golden street Of the city fair. And the tree of life it maketh sweet
The
lightsome air"
all
:

From His
the angels
I

pierced side
all

"

And
:

the angels

were

silent.

were

silent.

"And
their

the white-robed crowns and palms

to see,

saints

with

may not

enter there," she said,

Are good

"For

I must go

And
:

oh so grand are the sounding

!

Across the gulf where the guilty dead Lie in their woe " And the angels all were silent.

psalms

But not

for

me "

And

the angels

all

were

silent.

Hilda, Saint-Wife
"

175

come where

there

is

no night," she


176

Hilda among the Broken Gods

Sometimes I try to think, oh, what a Trusting to pick up a husband somejoy to have given where away in the bush, Child of mine to the host that serve Or, maybe, to set up a school, or to and praise in heaven open a shop at a push. He did not need to be christened, his May Grant, the wildest of us, has robes were clean and white, married a Low Church vicar. Touching the earth but a moment, he Who holds by the orthodox faith, and passed to the realm of light. port as the orthodox liquor ; Sometimes I shudder to think of the While Helen, her sister, is all for earth and the little grave chasubles, roods, and stoles, Under the great church tower where Liftings and bowings, and Catholic the budding poplars wave. manner of saving souls my baby, my baby whether in Elphie Deering has sold herself to a heaven or there. widower. Why am I here, and my baby left And drives in her carriage past his son with no mother's care ? who once courted her 1 thought I was dying at one time Others are strumming pianos, or would I were dying to-day working in Berlin wools
!

O my

baby,

how
?

could

the Father Pictures of foolish youths for catching

the youthful fools she was jilted Lizzie Morrit is dead August, 18 by a dragoon. Winnie has come : my husband When all her fortune appeared to be thought it might cheer me a bit. railway shares in the moon. Having an old friend near me, clever Winnie is clever, but sharp and and sparkling with wit. sarcastic ; and lays herself out Sharing old memories with me, full of To please the men by her wit, which the gossip of town she scatters like sparks about
take thee

away

The

last

new book

or

picture,

or

No

matter

fashion of bonnet or gown.

herself

who may may shine

smart,

if

only

And

she was nice, at

first,

with her

With her

spirits unflagging, that sparkle

and gleam like wine. When we were schoolmates, and I do not quite like her way with my sauntered under the oaks and limes. husband ; but all the same And heard the hum of the bees, and I laugh, and she does me good, and I the hum of our future in them. really am glad that she came. Or watched the swift, brown squirrels September, 18 climbing the grey beech-stem ; Bright little pictures she cut me out of Surely Winnie is changed ; we ne'er the old school-world had been friends together, All about how we were dressed, and Had she always been ready to sting drilled, and scolded, and curled. like a wasp in October weather. And lectured ; and then she knows I think there is hardly a name she has where all the girls have gone not some story about This with her husband to India, that Of all that we knew long ago a story to New Zealand alone. suggesting a doubt.
chatter about the old times.

Hilda, Saint-Wife
Each

177

face that I used to remember as Like witches, ghosts, and miracles dreams of the slumbrous night beaming with kindly light, Is smirched with something or other, Which the great dawn of reason has and no one escapes her spite. driven away with its light Sneering with scornful laughter, turn wherever she may. All the glory is dimmed of all that Thereto my husband made answer and oh I was proud and glad ; come in her way She creeps on the noblest natures " Look you. Miss Winnie," he said, " it's your method of science that's stealthily as a cat. Now with a bite of venom, and now bad; Good for its own end, of course ; but with a wanton pat. here it is clearly at fault Leaving them not till crushed. And God is not found by the tests that one thing I cannot abide. detect you an acid or salt. The way that she flatters my husband While you search only for secrets that even when I am beside, process of science sets free. Now flopping down on her knees, and Nothing you'll find in the world, but staring up in his face. Clasping her hands, and feigning an matter to handle or see. ecstasy quite out of place ; Here is a book I am reading now Pumping up tears at his pathos, or what can your method find there ?
it, or burn it, dissect it, let microscope scan it with care What does it show you but paper and when his humour is wickedest. He is weak enough to believe her, ink and leather and thread. which makes me colder in praise, All made of chemical simples that, no doubt, you have in your head ? And I care for poetry less than I ever did all my days. But where is the thought, which is all She flatters him daily with words that the end and use of the book. are silky and soft and sleek. And which flows on through its pages And no true wife can be pleased when clear to my mind as a brook. seeing her husband weak. Rippling and singing sweet music to him that hath ears to hear ? Have you an acid will test it ? a glass 'Tis growing quite dreadful to hear that will make it all clear ? her now and then, when she speaks Or scalpel to cut it ? And yet paper Jauntily of a Faith that needs no God, and leather and ink nor seeks All are but trash, if I find not To trace His work on the earth, or the thought which the writer can follow His way on high. think. Noting His glorious footprints clear in What, now, if Spirit and God are the starry sky the thought which is written out For Nature has in herself the reason plain for all that is. On the great page of the world, And God is an unscientific, needless and your method of seeking is

sighing with heaving breast.

Boil

Or

giggling and clapping her hands

hypothesis,

vain

"

178

Hilda among the Broken Gods

October f 18

I'll

not bear this any longer.

is

know

that his heart

mine

Yet I heed not her sneering ; but oh to be once more alone, To lay my head on his shoulder, and

thrill at the old true tone house no girl shall make my life sicken and pine. Of love that cherished me once, ever When dead which may soon be petting his fond little wife, they may do what they list ; I And, making a nest for me, rounded off shall be all the angles of life. With my sweet baby, who now smiles Not that I care for petting I'm not of the March-blossom kind. out of the darkness on me ; My baby, whose soft little hands pull Best in its velvet-sheath wrapt up from

But

in

my

steadily at

my

heart,

the blustering

wind
I

To
But

think of the better land, and cleave

Rough weather
his heart

could bear,

if

only

to the better part.

The is what troubles me most. time was I prayed him to read If she respected herself she might see Daily the Book where my soul found that the west and the east help in my sorest need. Are not more sundered than he from a Light when my day was dark, and

this is my home while I live, none shall bring trouble to it And he is my own while I live, she, with her saucy wit. Shall not come between him and me. That

were true and Unto the love he once bore me, and unto the God he once knew. and

He

cares not for her in the least

woman who

stings

and pricks

strength to

my

fainting will,

of wit, but he Comfort in time of trouble, and healing sees through all of her tricks. from every ill. dread so much I know what is due to a wife ; she Now there is nothing thinks me a poor, silly fool, as a text from him. But I can be dignified too, and I don't It is as if all the old stars of heaven
laughs at her
sallies

He

mean to sit down and pule. were changed and dim, Only last evening my ring slipped from Were not in their old places, and had

my

finger,

and ran
chair

Under her

my
how

not the same clear sense.

finger
is

and wasted and wan

And picking it up, she my eyes, on her own.

Bidding him look
tight to the joint

put

it,

spirit the dews which gave it a gladness intense. before Changed is the meaning of all, though he keeps to the words and names

thin

Nor dropt on my

it

fitted her,

They

are

new

pictures that look

now
now

and the bone.

!

out of the antique frames

Just as if
this

meant

was

my

for her hand. marriage ring

And They

are

to the old tunes I

new words that he know

;

sings

How
in

can she

sit

by

my
?

fire,

and smile

And

strange

is

the taste of the streams

my

face and sting

now
!

that in the old channels flow.

it is dreadful, a woman who has " Lo as the rod of Aaron," he says, innuendoes and arts. "to minds perplexed And looks so simple and eweet, while The critical art brings water e'en out of the flintiest text. she is breaking hearts.

Oh

; ;

Hilda, Saint-Wife

179

Clears a

way through

the desert, and If there's a chance for your gospel to

live,

gives to us angels' bread,

which

I very

much

doubt,

And

quickens anew to life the faith It is in this new resurrection the critics would fain bring about, that was well-nigh dead." But when I'm fain to learn the faith he Laying aside the grave-clothes,
is

fain to boast,

Oh
No

but

it

seems like another

God

dogma, miracle, myth. All the dust that the ages have covered

and died, Loved and loving and worshipped, and hated and crucified." the wages of sin No more is there a curse now crucified So does she cap his wild words with others more wild, and a sneer on the tree No more any Redeemer, nor ransom Hardens her voice as she speaks, and grates on my heart while I hear. paid for me. Nothing is as it used to be ; nothing is November 18 what it seems Nothing says what it used to say ; and Winnie has left us at length. I had the old Faiths are all dreams some trouble about it Blindly the saints read the Scriptures, He laughed at her flattery, vowing he hardly could live now without it, and like dotards obeyed them They've taken away my Lord, and I Called her a nice little goose, his Caberfae, with the head, know not where they have laid Him Brown, of a startled deer just raised Now when I say this to him^ he laughs from its ferny bed ; And not a thing would he do, and in his good-humoured way, Putting me off with a jest, as one with never a word would he say It was no business of his ; the girl a child might play. Which is not fair to his wife, however might go or stay silly I be, He would have nothing to do with it And I am no fool, although I be not women had ways of their own, so clever as he. No man could venture on trying, of But Winnie, seeing me vexed thus, letting their wishes be known. silently smiles where she sits, He trusted I did not think his heretic Turning her eyebrows up, and sharpenheart was smit ing her scornful wits, By a girl, because her tongue had a Adding perhaps, by and by, " Ye trick of heretical wit buried your Lord in a creed. Sure, he was sound in heart, whatever Dark as the Golgotha tomb, and there his head might be ; He lay dead, indeed And, if not very devout, he was devoted Should you complain that He is not to me ; there for you still to embalm And held to the saying of Paul as the With unguents and spices, the while strong hope of his life. ye praise your dead Christ in a That maybe the faithless husband was psalm ? saved by the faith of his wife.
as
^

speaking to men not lost more the gate is strait, nor heaven is hard to win, No more the world is fallen, nor death

His glory with, That we may look on

the simple

man

He lived

i8o

Hilda among the Broken Gods

is the way that he speaks now, Till the slighting of him made me always with some poor jest, wroth, as a wife should be. Leaving a text in the mouth with a Pity I lost my temper ; but, all the strange and a bitter taste. same, truly I would So he left me that morning. Oh, how Lose it to-morrow again if they say of my heart beat wild him aught but good. As I went into my room, and prayed Altogether it was a weary and heartto be kept then meek and mild, less day, Speaking the truth in love ; and I said But there is light towards evening, and to myself a psalm peace, too, for she is away. That nerved my soul to be patient, and

That

dignified too

and calm.
followed.
tell
;

Hardly

know what

BOOK THIRD

meant to be

firm, but kind.

And

for her

own

sake
it

her

the

thing that was in

my mind

WINIFRED URQUHART, MATERIALIST

At
On
For "
Prinkle's Establishment,
principles strictly religious.
finishing girls," I spent
;

But on the hint of

broke out
in

only,

Winnie

wrath.

Scornful, vowing that I had all along

darkened her path,

her life fruitless, and that she laughed at my pious advice ; I was but a watery saint, and lapt in a fool's Paradise ; And she could shatter my baby-bliss, if she cared to do it. Oh how she pitied my husband mated, and now, too, he knew it. Wived by mistake, with one who was wife of his weakness only. Hardly a housekeeper even, and leaving
!

Made

A year in a manner egregious

'Twas Meant
It

a school of the calender kind.

to put a fine gloss

on the mind.

And
And And
Just

I met Hilda Dalguise, thought her enchantingly fair. With drops of blue heaven for her

was there

eyes,

bands of sunbeams for her hair. the form of a dainty, round dove

made

for soft touches of love.

his intellect lonely.

part in his genius, meeting I was not of the gushing-girl sort no play of his wit. My soul with ambition was fired. Standing outside of his true life, only a My tongue something sharp at retort. And the people were few I admired drag upon it Vain and weak as he was, had he met And I know I detested a saint but a woman of mind More than gambling and powder and He yet might have run in the race, paint. but now he is left far behind. Thus she broke out in her wrath, and Yet I once had a fit of devotion. packing her boxes the while, And worked in the Sunday school. Stole a look as she stabbed me, hiding And whipt up a frothy emotion. And prayed, and behaved like a fool a venomous smile. Furtive; but I was heedless of all Till ray eyes were opened to see I was growing a small Pharisee. that she said about me.
:

Having no


:;

Winifred Urquhart, Materialist

But with Hilda I felt I could sit All the day, just stroking her hair, Now to smile at her sweet lack ot
wit.

i8i

How
What

much

have lived since then

rubs I have gotten and given

Some whine for their childhood again. Some pine for the quiet of heaven
:

Now to kiss her, for love, anywhere. To pat her soft hand, or be near
The
pink, pearly shell of her ear.

But

my

tent,
it

have no mind

to

strike

'Tis a nice, wicked world, and I like

it.

Sweet-breath'd as a baby, her mind Old Prinkle I took for a prude. With her hands in her black threadSmelt all of the mother's milk still Infant prayers, childish hymns, and mits, the blind. Chap-fingered, and painfully good, Yet half-scared out of her wits Pretty faiths they are fain to instil And she seemed, in her white, fluffy And at first I could not make out
dress.

What
caress.

troubled a soul so devout.

Like a bird I must stroke and

I pitied the beautiful child.

'Twas not the mere burden of care For a score of commonplace girls,

Knowing life as I thought that I did. With her pure soul as yet undefiled, Always doing the thing she was bid.

Whose manners and

Their
finger-nails,
curls.

dresses and hair,

teeth,

and

their

And believing all hearts were as true With their As the one little heart that she knew. laughter,
'Twas her
was just a year older than she, But twenty years older in thought She hardly knew more than the bee That wots where the honey is got, Nor dreams that the great purple bell
I

morals

and dinners and

calling in life to look after.

Has

poison hid in

it

as well.

But parents and guardians then wanted. For girls at a " Finishing School," The old wine of Faith well decanted Into flasks which must also be full Of the world, and of woman's ambition

To
Yet now I'm not sure that I knew So very much more than she did
:

better her single condition.

So she had

to

be worldly-wise,
;

There's an

instinct for all that

is

true,

And
I

for

all

by wise Nature forbid.

Which

deeper than such wit as then For the earthly young soul must be life and of men. given I was young, and I thought myself At least a top-dressing of Heaven. old;
is

And train us for " marrying well " And she had to put on a disguise. And warn us of Death, too, and Hell

had gathered of

fool,

I ran

my

That

me wise ; 'Twas against the grain, I admit, crude thoughts in a mould For she'd fain have beenhonestandtrue shaped the crude thoughts She had neither much culture nor wit,
and conceited

into lies

With

a kind of Byronic belief

full

She was simply a woman that knew About womanly ways and things.
grief.

In a world

of baseness and

Such

as colours

and dresses and

rings.

l82

Hilda among the Broken Gods

A good soul, kindly and

just, And taught us to wet our hard pillows But timid, and living in ways At the lightest of light peccadilloes. She would never have chosen, but must, If she meant to live out all her days Oh, the old-maiden morals we had, In the highly respectable station So scrupulous, prim, and demure
!

Of finishing

sound education.

What
Our

the decalogue never forbade consciences could not endure

sad.

Not a person to train the young mind, For she was not at all intellectual.

But life was so low-pitched and It was quite a relief to be bad.

And
All

oft

her religion would find

its efforts

were quite

ineffectual

Then, the wearisome lessons!

proper.

the

To

fix

her stray thoughts on devotion,

the least touch of emotion.

Or show

Dull prose that we read every day.

Which

felt as if

boiled in a copper

To take all the flavour away Thus, when sermon was over at noon And the colourless paragraphs writ On Sunday, she'd question us on it But her speech would wander off soon Without reason or fancy or wit To a ribbon, a gown, or a bonnet Yet the poems were worse ; they Or anything pretty or new were so She had seen in the minister's pew.
Lack-a-daisical pretty-sublime.

She used to bubble and bell About ladylike manners and ways.
In soft purling accents that well Suggested her own brighter days ; Then sighed and looked timid about. As if sure that she should be found out.

Spurting upward in little jets d'eau To fall with a musical chime ; And we mouthed the sweet verses,

Good Heavens

How
Then

we mouthed,

all

at

sixes

and

And Was

the terror that haunted her so

fear of the Governess,

the darning

and hemming and

Lane,
as

stitching.

Who

was dismal and dreary

snow

The

broidery and the brocade.

When it thaws in the drizzle of rain. The Berlin-wool figures bewitching. And sharp-eyed, and wanted the school. And the wonderful trees that we And held our dear Prinkle a fool. made.
Lane had laws
for all that

we

did.

Like green triangles in bloom Stuck hard on the stick of a broom

And

hour of the day ; This and that we were strictly forbid. So and so we were always to say ; And we lived, like nuns in their cells, 'Mid an hourly ringing of bells.
for every

And
Till

the

scales

that

we

practised

for hours.

we

And
With

the evenings when,

hated the sight of the keys ranged out

!

like flowers.

We
On

never did any great wrong. Such as schoolboys would do on a hint And therefore she had to be strong
the tithing of anise and mint

We had our assthetical

teas.

music, charades, and advices, While the parents had biscuits and

;;

Winifred Urquhart, Materialist

183

French was taught by a starved refugee But Hilda you could not help loving She was not too prosily pious ; And a student, who stormed like And often our ways disapproving. the sea. Yet she always stood faithfully by us ; Administered globules of science And did not pretend to condemn Well wrapt up in texts to make sure Earthly things, while she coveted them. That the bane should have always its cure. She was not at all clever, except That she warbled a song like a bird And thus we were " finished " at last You'd have sat through a whole night, On principles strictly religious. and wept Made ready " to come out " and cast In a trance of delight, as you heard

Who had hurled at all tyrants defiance

Our

lines in the

ocean prodigious

The

thrill

of that exquisite

strain.

And begin the true business of life. To find some one in want of a wife.
I

Like the

nightingale's lyrical pain.

Why do I dwell on all this, Recalling those tender, low notes ? do not blame Prinkle the least She did what they asked her to do And why would I give for one kiss They did not wish knowledge increased Of her lips all my long-treasured thoughts ? Of the wise and the right and the true But they would have a gloss of devotion Pshaw who ever yet understood On girls who had not a notion. The why of each whimsical mood ?
; !

Except

just to

marry and

dress,

Besides,

it's

not true

it is

only

And

to see to their

cooks and their

A waft of old sentiment blown

O'er

dinners,

And And

live

on

in soft idleness,
call

on Sunday to

sinners,

my mind, as I sit rather lonely Recalling the days that are gone themselves But now is far better than then. For I live in the thoughts of great men.

And be mothers, ere long, of more fools

Tobesent to more "Finishing schools."

When
" Life

I left old Prinkle's I said,

is

good, and

I'll

seek

my

good

They were
Hilda;

all

odious

girls,

except

in it;
if my hand and my head Cannot work for success there, and win it But I have not much beauty to boast,

'Twill go hard
pest

And she was a saint, and a To Julia, Maria, Matilda,

Amelia, Joan, and the rest For her conscience was sure to forbid Many things that we all of us did.
I never liked saints, as a rule,

I shall ne'er be a

"

belle

"

or a

" toast."

So I felt as I turned from my glass, Having looked at the brown little

features

Always flapping

their texts in your face,

eyes and the forehead might pass. For they were an intelligent creature's ; be dree'd in that sulphurous place Meanwhile they do no good in this. But the mouth had a sneer rather bitter. As they strain at their glamour of bliss. When a young-lady simper were fitter. dule

With warnings of sorrow and

The

To

184

Hilda among the Broken Gods

But

my

brains

could trust to
to write,

for

thinking,

My

fingers

were clever

I had " finished " my education. But I found it was now to begin For formless and void as creation,

And And
For
I

thus

when my

heart was

half

With

sinking,
It rose again higher in

On
might
and gold.
that I

the

the wan, diffuse light breaking in first day of darkness, I knew

Neither what nor

how

I should do.

vowed

would not be sold

treasures of silver

So I read from morning till night. Brows knit, and with resolute brain.
Till darkness turned slowly to light

do not

affect to despise

The
With

riches that

make

full life.

pictures

and books and

fair eyes,

Yet For
Till

it

I passed not a
it

came with an aching word or

gave up
its

pain. a jot.

Beaming on you, of mistress or wife Were I man, I would purchase, of

course,

treasure of thought.

A mansion, a maid,
But
it's

Yet vague and unguided, I missed

and a horse.

The

right path

among many ways.

And
And,
not the same thing to be sold, perhaps, to be laid on the shelf,
to have
chattels

and to hold and goods for yourself; And, besides, I was tired of the way Then the first thing I learnt was, Men talked, who had nothing to say. to know I had everything yet to learn So I gave up the young-lady life. To begin with the taproots that grow The novels, the calls, and the moping. In the life we can faintly discern. And the hope to be somebody's wife. And trace from the great mother-earth And the cherished girl-dream of The growth of our thought and
it is

As

in mist metaphysical haze. Till I went up to town, and began The true science-study of man.

found myself folded

Of a dim

These

eloping.

our worth.
dull

Or

doing some thing that would ring

Unlike the
I said.

commonplace

thing.

It

was

to an uncle I

went,

A learned physician in town.

Men
our
are stronger than we.

Whose
as

evenings of leisure were spent

Though
theirs

minds

be

as

subtle

In converse with

men of renown.
alliance

For they train the high Reason to While we put on fantastical airs.

see,

Who joined in a happy Of politics, letters, and

They
talked

science.

And
Our

are fain to look

folly has

silly, although cunning below.

of

the

small

and the

great.

But I would be

true to

my

sex.

They spoke of the near and the far. They searched the dim secrets

of

Would learn with the boldest to think, Fate, Would grapple with things that perplex. They traced through the fire-mist Would stand on the verge and the brink and star Where the seen and the unseen are met. The growth of the marvellous Whole,
There
to gather

what

truth I could get.

And

birth of the

mind and the

soul.

Winifred Urquhart, Materialist

i8S

They They

To

asked for no God to explain, All realms of dear nature I sought. asked but slow shaping of time Far and near, both the vast and minute, account for the thought in the What from depths of the sea had been
brought,

brain,

And the conscience of duty and crime. What had lain in the rocks at the root And the rich, varied life of the creature, Of the hills, and the dead and alive
With
its

changes of organ and feature.

From the lair and the

nest and the hive.

What

a world of high
all

wonder was

this,
!

Girls called with their mothers to see

Growing Crowned
bliss

out of atoms in motion

at length

with the glory and

Of life in the earth and the ocean And all by the pure force of law,
Without error or
failure or flaw
!

The treasures my patience had stored, And talked with a simper to me Of the wonderful works of the Lord, And the beautiful butterfly wings. And the fishes andinsectsand "things."
They knew
not the thoughts that I

So

I turned to

I had tasted it But I broke up that foolish alliance. Seeking truth, and the truth does not need Poor safeguards of faith to secure That the heart shall be humble and pure.

hard study of science mixed up with creed.

thought.

They dreamed not the visions I saw, They wist not that, still as I wrought
In the footsteps of
infinite

law,

Their creeds seemed as vanishing cloud Which had wrapped the dead mind in
a shroud.

Truth only is good for the, soul. Truth only is safe to pursue. And Truth will her secrets unroll But to him who is fearless and true.

How
I

I laughed at their priests,

now

knew
high priests of nature serene.
but the clear and the true,

The

Who sought
Where
a

And

will

search

out

the fact
is

with

his test.

And the law which for ever hath been. And scorned every meaningless phrase
lie lay,

And bow where

I

the reason

best.

perdue, in a haze.

I thought how they spent their rich clear courage of truth, lives, plunged into H'ackel at once ; The way was not easy and smooth Sweeping heaven for lost links in the stars, As they make ways in England and Or brooding o'er bees in their hives. France Or watching the ants in their wars. But then it was thorough, and that Or peering with keen microscope Was the end I was fain to be at.

had the

And

Where

the vibriole whirls in the drop,

had the key, Or freezing through chill Arctic And gathered up fact and example winters, How the world opened up unto me As knowledge grew lucid and ample Ice-bound in the Polar sea, Or daring wild beasts and adventures I hewed through the jungle a way For a tropical bird or a tree From the dark into clearness of day.
I toiled

How

now

that I

; ;; ;

i86

Hilda among the Broken Gods

the vicar grows

While

wheezy and

fat,

Not

And
The

the minister sleek as a cat.

apostles

Where

a lapse, but a law of survival. the fittest treads down its weak

rival.

and martyrs, I said. we keep wrapping our Of our new modern world are these Poor fools They have struggled and suffered minds and bled, In the old tattered rags of the Jew, They have sought neither honour And shiver and shake as fresh winds. Cloud-driving, make larger our view nor ease. But they lead the great march in And we draw our rags closer about.
;
!

the van

Though
doubt.

the faith

be as chill as the

Of

progress and freedom for man.

skill.

Facts, ordered and tested with

But

this

is

the truth that alone

They gather, which surely declare The law which all beings fulfil. And how through all ages they fare From the cell to the organ, and soar
Ever up from the
less to

Can save from the fever and fret. That the high law changeth for none. That it holds all enmeshed in its net.

And

that life and death and endeavour

shall be for ever.

the more.

Ever have been, and

How my bosom

swelled high as I rose And life is the fuller for each To the height of that formative thought. Whose death makes it richer for all And saw the dim fire-mist disclose Immortal the race, bound to reach

The worlds when as yet they were not. Ever onward but singly we fall And the life which was one day to Into dim silent graves on the road. flower As the weary soul lays down its load. From its subtle and manifold power.
;

But the dim,

silent graves

by the way

What

a
it

poem of nature was

linked
all

there

How

being in one.

the footprints of progress for man And we are not so selfish as they

Are

The tree and the bird in the air, Who only will die, if they can And the lichen that tints the grey stone. Hope to knit up again from the dead And the coral that builds the wild reef. The old tangled hank of their thread.
With man and
his glory and grief!

A nobler faith ours

They They They
Ever
of a Fall bringing thorns. talk of a Lost Paradise, prate of a devil with horns
tell

for

we know

That

the organs, dissolving for ever.

Shall paint the spring-flowers as they

grow.

plotting
will

some wicked device.

it

But we
in,

shall return again never

They

have

that death entered

And we grudge not the life that shall give

Larger
life

When Eve
But

ate the apple

of

sin.

unto them that do

live.

truth, searching out the old myths. Sees growth evermore going on, And, breaking old fetters like wyths. Finds death when no sin could be done

We work for the good of the whole We work, and the rest cometh soon We work with no fear for the soul We work in a light as of noon
;

Winifred Urquhart, Materialist

187

And
Of

the peace, by and by, shall

be

Even

so

was I merry and glad

ours
the

long

drowsy

grass

and the

flowers.

As I walked in the law and the light And so was I not very sad When I wandered at times from the
right

We have faith
the mist

we have

passed from

And And

ever a needle was true. showed me the thing I should do.

Of doubt and
kissed

denial and fear

Into high and

realms that are I did not sin and repent. And then fall a-sinning again. By the sunshine of certainty clear ; As if conscience were properly meant And the great thought of duty is To keep up a blister of pain ; But I tried to walk in the truth. freed From the dross of a self-seeking creed. And to lose not a joy of my youth.

calm

Oh

the gladness I

had

as this

grew

They
That

Into clearness now day after day At first, I shrank back from the new.
Startling thoughts that
play.
it

Makes

say that a vanishing creed the heart very weary and sad.
its

wounds

must

open

and

brought into
that
it

bleed.

That
courage

And And

the

of
it

truth

needed,
the loneliness as

its ways must be evil and bad But I ne'er was in happier mood. Nor so true to the right and the good.

proceeded.

just then, I heard, by the ; way. That Hilda was wedded, and wrote I flung off the shivering fit well-meaning letter to say As the current swept stately and wide. How it pleased me to think of her lot. And I cast myself wholly on it Reminding her, too, like a fool. And slowly the loneliness found Of a promise she gave me at school. gladsome life gathering round.

Well

But plunging,

at length, in

the tide,

No

Lay

shade of a drear world to come dismally now on my earth ;

fruitless regretting

I offered a visit, to share

No
I

struck

dumb
;

The

laughter of light-hearted mirth

to

In the joy of a life that I loved ; But I fancy she did not just care To be kissed and " honeyed " and

had conscience
course.

prompt me,

of

" doved "

the

Before me, but would be alone

to sting with remorse.

But never

Till

honeymoon

sweetness

was

gone.

The

needle that points to the Pole

prick the poor sailor

Does not
errs

who So she put me off for a year With this and the other excuse.
;

As
Or

the big billows tumble and roll,

the long swell throbs and stirs But simply, by night and by day.

Not one of them simple and clear, But all of them shifty and loose And yet when she finally sent.
;

The

needle just

tells

him the way.

And

asked

me

to

visit,

I went.


i88

Hilda among the Broken Gods

I dropt on a scene quite idyllic,

Then

A nook of the old Paradise A rose-embowered cot on a hillock,

With
a garden
saint

But her Poet was

really a

man

Not
But

a clinker only of rhymes. one who could thoughtfully scan

And my
At
the

sunny and nice, and her poet too yawning

life

The

world,

and

the

men,

and the

times,

commonplace

that

was

And
The

see their meanings, vision of life

dawning.
I cannot describe

and sing which they bring.

He was not the least of a saint but I know ; country was not picturesque ; But worked, with a patient might. In the Artist's unconstraint, granite lay barren below, And a broad moor, as flat as my desk, With the Artist's frank delight Stretched inwards, and down to the In the quaint and the unexpected Moulds which his thought selected. sea
The The
There was hardly
a

bush or a tree.
Still mooning in twilight dim. His humour was just to croon Any song that was pleasing to him, Fresh words to the old, old tune,

But inside was pretty enough The rooms all so fresh and so sweet Not a jar, or a word that was rough. Not a thing but was dainty and neat. And Hilda so gentle and still. Though the meek little fool had
;

And his thought was but half-expressed

In the manner of mirthful
a
jest.

will.

He
much
take to her

had ever a kindly touch In his quips and tricks and mocks.

I did not

now

But playfully hinted much

She seemed
flat,

to be stunted in growth,

A pale, sickly bloom on a bough, tasteless thing in the mouth A A chaste, cold, passionless ghost.
Weeping much
lost.

Abhorred by the orthodox ; Yet he trifled, when he should have

;

smote

With
had

the

sharp

battle-axe

of

his

for

babe she

thought.

he was a poet hardly could flatter enough And you did not need to show it. But she did not interest me ; He could swallow the rankest stuflF; She never did smack much of wit. Though he laughed at himself as he But now she was dull as the sea When the east wind blows its grey did it. haar, Yet next time he did not forbid it. As it moans on the sand and the bar. He never was thorough or strong. But fanciful only, and odd, It was always that baby, forsooth Never sure of the right and the wrong. As if blossoms had never been nipt.
I tried to cheer her a bit.

He

was vain too

You

As if lambs never died in their youth, And he still would believe in And talked, with a vague As if no other babies had slipt beauty. Away to the peace of the worm Of the soul, and its hope and From life, and its trouble and storm.

God,

kind of
its

duty.

; ;

; :

; :

Winifred Urquhart, Materialist

is the way with most men They dare not much more than to doubt They dare not, one man out of ten,

189

But that

am

sure that I have

I

it

For

wrote

it

all

down

somewhere, the next

day

To think their thought thoroughly

The

out

Here
It
is

it is ;

and a sorry

affair

practical plucks at their sleeve,

to have

made such
it

a fray

And

they're frightened to shock and Yet 'twas like him,

must be confessed
jest.

to grieve.

To make

sentiment flower out of

I played

And made

Now Now Now

on his foible awhile ; myself useful to him, giving a touch to his style,
setting his papers in trim.

JUDAS ISCARIOT
The very Prince of Darkness Came once to Heaven's gate. Where Peter and the angels
Talk together

glancing at nature to

show

it

In lights that are

new

to the poet.

But he never could cast off the shapes Or shallow and silly romance

And

as they wait he brought with him a

state.

spirit

In a very dismal
:

The

frost-work that dims, as

it

drapes.

Our window, and hides from our glance Then Satan " I'm in trouble. And come here to get advice The beauty of truth, and the story I've been going up and down there Of life with its wonder and glory.

Where you The

poet wiU
will
still

think

we

are not nice,

be a child.
the sun
to his

And And

curtain

And they will not have this Among them at any price.

fellow

slumbers

At the great chemic laws he half smiled, " I

laughed at the rhythm of numbers. And joked at the glass or the knife Detecting the secret of life.
its

took him first to Lamech the bloody race of Cain, But they rose in flat rebellion, That so mean a rogue should gain place with gallant fellows Who in simple wrath had slain.

And

Yet

liked

him

but

Hilda grew

jealous

"Then

thought

of

those

wild

Herods She cared not for verse or for rhyme. With their burning diadem. Except as the wind in the bellows, That brightened her hearth for the time And their spirits, ever haunted Yet she would have the whole of his By the babes of Bethlehem But they would not have the traitor heart. Coming sneaking among them. And was touchy and sniffy and tart.

And

one night he read us a ballad.

" After that

looked to Ahab,

And the panther Jezebel As we sat the work-table around. Which his humour composed like a salad But she sprang up like a fury, It were shame unspeakable Of any green stuff that it found
'

Cropping up on a fanciful soil, And he mixed it with wit as with

To
oil.

Where

lodge a half-hanged felon a queen of men must dwell.'

; ;:

go

Hilda among the Broken Gods

" I'm afraid there's not a corner Into which they'll let him in
;

A grey morning by the sea.

And a weary, On the shores
broken
spirit

The common

rogues are furious

of Galilee.

To confound them with his sin, And my people are excited, And the place is full of din."
Then Thou
Peter
:

" Oh, once, too, I despaired. For my Lord I had denied.

And
" Traitor
what he
Judas,

once

my

heart

was breaking.
I lied
;

For
I

I cursed

Him, and

hearest

says,

did not slay myself, but yet

How the
Who
Then

murderers and demons

I wished that I

had died.
Satan,
duly.

Abhor thee and thy ways, Thou betrayer of the Holy,

the Ancient
is

" Leave thy burden with me,

of Days."

He He

is

not too bad for

'

me

; '

will get
it is

his

own

place

Judas answered meekly " Yea, Peter, they are right Cain and Lamech, Ahab, Herod, They were godless men of might.

And

not mine to be breaker of the bruised, Or the judge of such as he."

I praised
it
;

But not so

vile as I

am

but she gazed to heaven

Oh

they loathe me, and are right.

"Jezebel that slew the prophets.

As if he had sinned the great sin Which is not atoned or forgiven. And no touch of pity can win.

Fawned not on the life she stole Ahab only smote the servants. Not the Lord who bare our dole

And
She

nobody knows what it is. But her soul sat and trembled for
said,

his.

There should be a hell expressly For my miserable soul.

"

It

was

jesting with sin.

And nothing but grief came of that Few may play with the devil, and win.

" Let my
horror,

Let my Let me

with Whatever the game they are at And Heaven was not surely a place For one who despaired of its grace." place be wrapt in gloom. even be hell's lone outcast.

name

be

named

With

a solitary

1 that kissed

doom Him, and

I said,

"

It

was quaint and

bizarre.

betrayed

To

the cross, and to the tomb."

Him And its humour was what I liked best And I thought they were much on a par.

Who
Then
Satan: "There's the mischief, He goes whining like a saint I could keep my people quiet. But he'd have them penitent. It's as bad as if a parson

spoke, or in earnest or
souls of the

jest,

Of the

When

bad or the just, their brains were a small pinch

of dust."

Made

their very hearts

grow

faint."

She fired up at that " Did I mean That the soul was all one as the brain
;

Had
But, as Peter looked on Judas, Sunk in utter misery,

I only a faith in the Seen,

?

With its animal pleasure and pain

Had I left the

old paths, that were trod

true

Lo

there rose before his vision.

Bythe saints, and the

men of God."

!; ;

"Winifred Urquhart, Materialist

I could not help smiling to see

191

I hear that she I

blamed
useful to

me

because
;

Her

look so bewildered and scared, When her anger broke out upon me, As if I had her husband ensnared In some terrible plot to disown All the gods that have ever been known.

made myself

him

But what could I do when she chose To be distant and silent and prim In truth, she was never his mate, Poor thing she was only his Fate.
! !

"
I

It

was

made

him

mock and Of

course,

he was nothing

to

me

blaspheme

And her life had

Whom
"
I

him low on her than the cat been bright as a dream knee. And serve with the breath of her life Till I came with the dusk like a bat For I hated the name of the Lord, And there's nothing I ever abhorred Like a man for my Master and Lord. every true woman adored.
was impious,
false,

who knew no more

He wanted a slave in Who should worship

his wife.

My Master is science divine. and cruel My Lord is the truth that I seek. and sing My service is Freedom, and mine I would fain rob her life of the jewel Was ne'er the poor heart of the meek She prized above everything Yet all that she might have forgiven. I would lean upon none, for I live But I mocked at herGod up in heaven." On that which great Nature can give.
I could sit at her fire

Poor Hilda I give her my pity. he behaved like a man, soothe her, and smooth And I pity her husband still more ; He will rhyme away life in a ditty. matters down, She will make of her soul a heartAnd then, backing out of it, ran

Of course,

Tried to

Away

sore to some job of his own ; Religion will quarrel in time But he got me persuaded to stay When I should have at once gone away. With Romance and he'll put
;

it

in

rhyme

Was

That was weak, I confess but the place nice, and his humour was
;

And
The

be comforted, too, as he reads

tale
it

pleasant.

And

there

was such a

light in his face,

his

of his sorrow and grief, Binding up his poor heart while

bleeds.

Now
That

and then, when

wife

was

not present,

With
his

the balm of a smooth-rhyming

well, I remained for a time.

leaf;

Enduring her moods and

rhyme.

He
;

will

drop for his Hilda a

tear,

And

gloat o'er his verse for a year.

But her temper got worse every day Now I think of it, somebody said. She feared me, and her I despised And he still let her have her own way. That the crash had come some time ago; meekly She had either gone off, or was dead, and her, Only soothed And a poem from that was to grow, advised Which was certain to touch every heart So I left them, at last, in a trance With its feeling of fine tragic Art. Of piety, love, and romance.

192

Hilda among the Broken Gods

For
partly Antinoraian

If I had not that paper to write On the dawning of mind in Molluscs,

now, and partly

Manichee,
blundered back to Church, and that he was orthodox, And stormed at modern thinking as the raging of the sea That cast up mire and dirt upon the

And that other to set people right On the subject of Molars and Tusks,
I think, I

He

deemed

would

like just to see

What

he says about Hilda and me.

BOOK FOURTH

everlasting rocks.

was right, although thought was so confused tangled knot of broken thrums he Evangelist and village smith,' a man could not extricate of good report. All ordered thought of reason and And cunning among cattle, known to of science he abused. all the country near, But he was full of pity, and his love Luke could make the bellows snore, was very great. and also painfully exhort. And feared the Lord, and had a new And because he was so earnest, and religion once a year. because he spoke good words He had been a Chartist leader in his Whose meaning none searched nicely, hot and hopeful youth. and because he seemed to stir Talking gunpowder and bayonets about Serious thoughts in careless hearts, as the rights of man, if he touched their higher chords. Until he got converted, when he He was sought, and he was looked to preached about the Truth, as a chosen minister. The Blood and the Atonement, the Covenant and Plan. great broad-headed fellow, working Tired of his parish kirk, he tried tlie hard through all the week. Baptists for a season, And thinking hard, the while he Tired of them, and turned a Methodist, worked, upon the fate of man. recanting all the past. He was fain to save the sinner and Tired again, and took to shady faiths the erring, and would speak that shun the ways of reason ; world about the chaff and wheat, And every change, he vowed, had and sifting with a fan. brought the peace of God at last.
yet his heart

LUKE SPROTT,
EVANGELIST

And

his

every change had left a stratum There was a thick husk in his voice of belief on him. that weirdly rose and fell, With fossils here of Presbytery, there As with a knotted fist he smote upon of his Baptist time. a horny palm. Then traces of the Methodist, and And poured his prophet- burden about

And

now

the footprints

dim

sin

and death and

hell,

Of

creatures that

the later

mud

had sprawled across and slime.

Now like tender,

pleading Gospel,

now

like bitter cursing

Psalm.

;;

; ;

193

Luke
The man had

Sprott,

Evangelist

power, for certain, for Not that it was good to hear him, for he had a human heart, it did not raise you higher Gleams of humour, tender touches, It showed your baser self, but did not too, of pathos, and throughout rouse the better part vein of clear sincerity whose might He could search the hidden evil, but is more than art. he never could inspire And the firmness of a soul that had Unto any nobler life by his unveiling not any wavering doubt. of the heart.

And when

he came about our house,

hear
if

Man was
The

not lovely to him, nor yet

at first, I liked to

lovely was his

God
breeds
;

His pithy words, good-humoured you did not say him nay ;

cynic
sees
its

thought

mostly

bitter faith in things divine

And
From

stories

of himself that were like of

an
far

Who

no beauty
but
little

in

the soul that

flotsam drifting near

bears

human load
glory where the

tempests

unknown
away.

sea Shall see

whose storms were

gods of glory shine.

He

had

keen shrewd humour, but

it

There was

humour

in

his

sayings,

though he meant them not for jest With the meaner part of nature, and Too earnest he for mirth, except a was blind to what is best hard and bitter grin ; He put his finger on a blot that Yet his shrewdness had an oddness shamed and humbled you. being quaintly oft expressed. And thought he read you truest when And I laughed with laugh the keener that I had to laugh within. you showed unworthiest.

mostly had to do

Though God was

you did not

always

in his

mouth

feel the

awe

Which hangs

about the Presence when he spoke of the Supreme ; He was more at home with Satan leaves, dog-eared and brown, then he spake as if he saw ; But to me his speech of God was Held bits of the rough poetry that about our feet. like an echo, or a dream.

fresh to me, to follow slowly up and down The windings of his tangled talk, and make the thought complete I perused him like a volume whose

'Twas something

lies

And

yet I liked him, swinging with There was a rude ideal struggled to attain, long strides at gloaming late, poem floating in his And stretching his vast limbs beside

which
mind,

he
but

the blazing winter

fire,

mangled by the lack

hair,

With

pale, lean face, and lanky and speech deliberate.

Of ordered

thought to shape the hope,

;

the passion and the pain

That never ceased to flood the house, and never seemed to tire.
13

And

he blundered

into

broken paths

to shun the beaten track.

194

Hilda among the Broken Gods

puzzled
still

about him was, to Priest and prophet try to save, and so their work is blessed ; but mine So changeful, yet so certain that his Strove only just to see, and reproduce way was always right the picture true. And that his vision was so dim, Making sacrifice of duty for the trimalthough his heart was pure. ming of a line. And that he could so grossly err, yet Heeding not of higher wisdom in the be a child of light. itch for something new.
see

What

me

him

so sure,

and its misgivings I am never wholly sure. Dimly traced upon the vellum under Was the art of Greece so perfect that monkish hymns and prayers its life was also high ? And trumpery tales of wonder ; and I Is the heavenly vision only seen what understood him best time the heart is pure ? When I watched his human kindness Is the poem but the poet as he dares taking up our human cares. to live and die ?
I read his

meaning

partly, as

one reads

Oh my heart

a palimpsest.

He

fancied

views,

when

was smitten with was only

for

his

Could
see

I be a mere onlooker, and yet what should be seen ?

Making him a curious study work I had to do,

sat in silence lonely,

the Standing calmly on the outside, could

I paint this life aright
?

Just a theme for long reflection, as I

Nay,
Could

that

could

never

come

to any

perfect fruit, I ween,

Shaping out the world around

the poet's large review.

me

in

yield but sickly blossom nipt

by

any frosty night.

to trifle with the Better wield a pick or spade, or drive of a friend. a furrow in the soil. Or to play upon his humour to find Bear a hod, or hurl a barrow among matter for a book ; fustian-wearing men. I might have known that that would Win humblest daily bread by daily come to some unhappy end. sweat of honest toil. For to toy with human hearts, is more Than live to find in life but stuff for than human hearts will brook. scrawling with a pen

But

had no right

follies

'Tis the sin of art's fine passion that only seeks to know.

it

One

evening
I

Luke,

as
ills.

usual,

held

discourse of

human

Not

to perfect,

any creature that his

And

turned

me somewhat weary

from

lot

he may

fulfil

his everlasting bleat.

any rankest Monotonous, like sheep among the solitary hills. weeds that grow Unto any picturesqueness, and to leave As he mooned away to Hilda sitting on the window seat. them growing still.
It has charity to bear with

Luke

Sprott,

Evangelist

195

Something, I know, had fretted me But he was sure of all things in earth I cannot now say what. and hell and heaven, Only living among dreams, and sitting Sure that we were devil's children all, far into the night. and heirs of wrath to come, With none to bid good-speed unto the Sure that on the bitter cross a sum of labour I was at. ransom had been given And a pained, though dumb suspicion To purchase men from Satan, or at that, perhaps, I did not right least to purchase some.

To

peril

all

the tender bliss of

home

And

this

so

certain

dogmatism she

for such

an aim,

took for
Infallible,

faith divine.

Bred an
not
all
it

irritable

temper when I was

intrenched within a wall of

alone,

texts and creeds,

And

so

fevered

me

to hear

though
and

they were not to blame

Her weary

stitching needle,

weary preaching drone.

believed in him entirely, while she turned from words of mine As from henbane, hemlock, nightshade, his or other deadly weeds.

And

That night he went

on, ceaseless, in

He
The
His

had, somehow, raised the wonder

sense of

his hortatory tone

that begets a

woman's faith. power and mystery

that

Half-saying and half-singing, and could not choose but hear

Broken snatches of his doctrine, like awes her with belief the melancholy moan God was not the Father that giveth life and breath. Of the wind that in the crannies sounds so dismal to the ear. Yet she looked to him for guidance, and for comfort in her grief.
Luke's Discourse

Women

cling

to

any
a

spirit

that

is

confident and bold.

It
sin,

is

not our sins that send us there

are

heavenly choir. an untrustful mind souls as sweet as the summer air And 1 was sure of nought ; I saw the And to their lips in the lake of fire. Up shadows round me fold, And felt that life was very dark, and Stained with vices, as black as night. Some shall be found on the narrow I was very blind.

Taking doubt

to be

the sign of

There

sinners

as

bad

in

the

way;

For seen by the Lord from His holy

fit to guide her, for myself I height could not guide All your virtues are black as they. Through the valley of the shadow It is our unbelief slams the door, only groping as I went. And rams in the bolt too, right in Step by step, and never certain of the our face shepherd at my side, But so much the more are our sins,

was not

And my soul was often troubled, my heart was often faint.

and

the more Glory there

is

to

abounding grace.

196

Hilda among the Broken Gods

if
?

one wronged you, meaning Children make-believe anything, whiles They have got plenty to eat and drink, What, if one hurt you just by a word ? Make a grand feast out of slates and tiles, No great credit to wipe that blot, And water is wine if you only wink. Or to forget what you need not have Oh how nicely they carve a stone heard. Oh how pretty they drink the toast
it

What,

not

if I hate you, make you a liar, This is the shortbread, that the scone, Slay your dearest, and mock at his name. There are the platters of boUed and Oh, the mercy that rises higher roast The higher the sinner's guilt and blame But let the thirst and hunger come, And give them for bread their slates

But

Only

believe in the
in

Lamb
that

they slew.

And
Only

the

blood

from

Him And
is

and stones, poor little hearts

all

their prattle

did flow
believe that
it

dumb.
make-believe ends
in

He died

for you.

And
as

tears

and

And

shall

wash you

as

white

the snow.

whelks and clams Passed by the door like a hideous Of rational thought and virtuous deed. dream But let him see the guilt and gloom. Blood on his raiment made the Priest But let him smell the burning lake, Holy to stand where the Lord was And hear, as it were, the billows boom seen ; Where is no shore for them to break. Blood on the altar wrath appeased ; Only the Blood then that atones, Only the Blood can give him rest Blood on the sinner, and he is clean. Science and learning are but snares. Hence with your make-believe slates Reason and knowledge they are traps ; and stones. Better lie down with wolves and bears He must have truth, for truth is best. Than with critical principles, books, Hell and the devil (I thought the words and maps. Once I starved in the Hebrides, Came from his lips with a kind of smack. Nearly a month, on whelks and clams. And fishy birds from the grey salt And round and rich, as the singing birds Dwell on a choice note, and call it seas. While I tried to think they were beeves back) Hell and the devil will have their due and lambs Oh, you may rush at a ditch or hedge. So is the soul that feeds on stuff And scramble through with a scratch Reason gives it instead of bread ;
shall
it

Oh, but the Blood is the life of Faith So Even one drop would a world redeem. So Blood on the lintels, and ancient Death So
!

is

the soul that plays with shams.

there comes an hour of need
starve on
;

till

or two. is the man who is swollen with flufl^ And a tattered skirt to the other ledge ; Science is fain to put into his head. But there's no bottom to yonder pit, These cannot take one sin away, There is no other side to hell, Bring no peace to the troubled heart As well down on your knees and pray There is no make-believe in it. To the graven image of heathen art. And there for ever the faithless dwell.

So

Luke
Sprott, Evangelist

197

A terrible picture
I

aye, and whiles I thought it was righteous to rebel, have almost thought that it could I thought that it was for God I spoke.
!

not be,

When
its

wrestled against the

pains

As

I looked on the bay with

sunny

smiles

of hell, Like Jacob, until the morning broke.

Glinting over the laughing sea. But who am I to reject His word There the fishermen trim their boats. That tells of the deathless worm The wives at the door are baiting lines, and fire ?

Mirth of the children blithely floats And where were the mercy of the Lord Up from the beach as they touch the If it plucked not brands from the
spines

burning pyre

Of round sea-urchin under the dulse. Or hunt the crab in the shady pool, Here I And the small waves beat like a heard
tranquil pulse,

broke in. You should have your heart, for it was true ; I think it was the voice of God for
pity pleading then.

And

the seal comes out of the cavern

cool.

And

you have crushed your pity with

are surely

Bobbing his head above the sea. There where the white gulls dive and swim.

a text that deadened you.

And texts

meant

for quicken-

ing nobler thoughts in men.

And

the swift ships pass like clouds

He took no notice of my speech ; I on the grey horizon dim. wot not if he heard, Then I have thought, till my heart Because there rose a gust of wind, grew faint. shrill-whistling from the sea ; And myhead swam with the vision dire: But by and by there came a lull, and " O beautiful Earth, is it really meant with the lull a word Thou shalt be wrapped in the flam- I was not meant to hear, though it was ing fire? shrewdly meant for me. These happy homes where I oft have sat. Truly you tell me his faith is gone. These hands I have held in friendly Truly I see only doubting in him : grip. He has buried the Christ, and sealed
that be

Hung

Those

curly children I love to pat.

the stone.

night 'mid the shadows dim, Can they be fated one of them even That none may quicken his soul again, Yet in the outer dark to lie, That none may quicken his hope anew Far away hid from the glory of Heaven, And I have noted the sorrow and pain And gnawed by the worm that cannot Of the great love that was wasting die? you. Oh, the anguish that thought has sent Lady, as slowly the cloud came down, Thrilling all through my heart and Slowly and coldly the mist was creeping brain Over a soul that is dear as your own ; And Word and warning and argument And angels were watching with you and The Spirit has pleaded with me in vain. v/ceping.
to press their

Or

cheeks with a prayer-

And watches all

ful lip.


198

; ;

: !

Hilda among the Broken Gods

Yea, I have grieved for him, and I High in the heaven he would sit and have prayed brood. Through the long night, as I watched With a flickering smile on his dubious
afar,

lip;
life

Sign of the poor part in

played,

that he

And down in hell would find some good

In trying how loud he his whip.
could crack

The lamp from his window that gleamed

like a star

There he

is toiling,

I said, for a bubble,

it,

You

are

wroth with
;

me now,

for the

Which when he

touches

shall

be

truth that I speak

no more. You would have Reaping the harvest of sorrow and and cringe,
trouble,

me

to smile,

and beck,

And
till

not

let

the gate of darkness creak,

its

Here Long

I will pray
as

his labour is o'er

But smoothly work on

hinge.

well-oiled
soul.

his

lamp burns
mine
that

for

folly

of fame.

And
his soul

silently close
just

on an erring

So long

shall

With

a snap

when

the

deed

is

may win
?

done

Shall he unwearying toil for a name. And then I must whimper and condole. And I grow weary to save him from sin With a lying hope that the goal was won.

Although he never had run the race. Never so much as made the start. All the more that he laughed at me. But I cannot be sweet before your face, Just that his soul might to me be given And false to you in ray inmost heart. All the more we could never agree. Tell me not of his love of truth. I see that he mocks me, and flouts me, Kindly spirit, and thoughtful care. and jibes Or the pure love of his noble youth
I

Thus have

stormed

at

the

gates

of heaven

At all the things that I honour most. Tell me of faith, if faith be there. And seeks the lore of the clerks and Water the coals, and they will burn.
scribes

Sun-dry the faggot, and

the seal of the

it

will flame

More than

your turn, He would put me into a book, I know, And make you ready for wrath and That wits might crackle their jests shame. Faith alone is the master-key so droll. And laugh at the preaching smith whose To the strait gate and the narrow road ; The others but skeleton picklocks be. blow Could smite the iron, and miss the soul. And you never shall pick the locks of God. Yet I have loved him, oh so well Yet I have prayed for him, oh how long His thunders are in the But he would risk all the terrors of hell But hush
virtue or vice will serve
!

Holy Ghost. So

For the

point of a jest, or the

rhyme of

heaven.

Rumbling low through the clouded sky, a song. Oh, he is just like a schoolboy that cares Like the roll of wheels that are swiftly driven Only to hear his whip go crack In the dim streets, and the silent squares. With flames from the whirling tires that fly. While the echo comes ringing back
;

;;

Luke

Sprott,

Evangelist

199

Who
To

knows

They

are

maybe

sent

A wild, black night of tempest, such as

a sleepy

men remember long awe and fear In the dull undated life of Close we the windows and sing a hymn, country town.
for him,

clothe his spirit with

And
Well Well

pray while the

Lord

is

plainly

When

forests

fell

before

the

wind,

here.
to improve the solemn hour.
to smite while the bar is hot Surely the Lord is great in power,

streams swept off bridges strong. And church-towers, lightning-shivered, reeled,

and then came crash-

ing

down.
stricken,

Woe

to

him

that believeth not.

Awe -

yet

entranced,

He

had been speaking low

to her,

and

watched, with tremulous joy, each

phrase

wist not I could hear

though I heard I heeded not, my And movement as it registered itself thoughts were so intent upon the mind. Watching the signs of coming storm While the strained sense, exulting in that darkled far and near. the wonder and amaze. And all his words fell off from me, like Jarred at a common sound amid the arrows blunt and spent. thunder and the wind.

And

From

every part of heaven the clouds

rifts

Thus when

crept, slow, across the sky.

Black clouds, with lurid edges, and

of leaden grey.

I heard his husky voice 'mid nature's grandest tones Of so transcendent harmony, for

harmony was
and breathless
as

there

And

earth lay

still

In

all

the roll of thunder, that

awe-

they mustered there on high, thrilled my joints and bones, Nor lark nor throstle noting the dimly It smote me like an insult dying day. suggestion of a prayer.

-that

Now,

all

was wrapt

in darkness, without I did not

speak at
wrist.

first

I did but grip

twinkling of a star. And the big thunder-rain came

sullen

his

bony

down in And

whisper to be

silent,

and led him

warning drops

to his seat,

Beneath the silent trees the silent kine Imperious in a wrath whose stern were grouped, and far resolve was only hissed The sea moaned, and a shiver passed Into his ear ; and he was cowed, and
along the
tall

tree-tops.

sat in silence

meet.
little

And And

then

it

burst in fury

rain

and Silent only for a

there

by and by

hailstones

coughing, he spake something about the wrath of heaven ; With awful lulls, and shattering peals Then I said. When God was preaching that nearer grew and higher ; other sermons sounded dull. And one great ball of hissing fire fell And I wanted no " improvement " of almost at the door. the lesson He had given.
across the stony moor.

mixed with fire. sudden gusts of wind that howled

came a

lull,

And

; ;

200

Hilda among the Broken Gods

I said that, for myself, I did not wish to be improved,

And God

was good

to

me, I

said, in

And doubted
the

if

he could
;

at all

gathering His cloud, improve I saw a special providence in letting

loose the

work of God

wind

But

he thought the wrath of heaven That He cared to feed the hungry every against himself was moved. pious heart allowed. He might pray there like a worm on But He must doubly care to feed the whom his Deity had trod. hunger of the mind.
if

I added that the tempest was a

clear to

me.

The
It

very thing I^needed for

mercy The more he stared and gasped at me, the more I pushed him hard the volume Saying, Surely the book-harvest was

that I wrote

came in time precisely, and was sure to be

picture in the plot.

my book The Church

Were

heaven's peculiar care might be God's vineyard,

but the verses of the bard

A great
I

success, with such a glorious

the ripe fruits of His orchard, and the flowers that made it fair

had

just

come

to a point whei'e I

And

novels were the poppies, red and

in the field.

required a thunderstorm.

sunny

heaven was kind to send it in the And histories were wholesome oats, very nick of time ; and essays were the rich And I was very grateful not to be a Clover-fields that fed His kine, and trampled worm. made the butter that they yield. But a favourite of the gods who gave While sermons were the small weeds me matter for my rhyme. growing in the hedge or ditch ;

And

If the Father cares for sparrows.

He And
To

tracts

were

for his horses, like

may

surely care for books,

the vetches and the tares

And

send a troubled author storm or

be

munched up by

the bushel, being

and dry If winds were sent to farmers for the But songs were his ripe apples ; and winnowing of their stocks. his apricots and pears Surely poets might get weather for Were ballads and the lyric strains of
savourless

sunshine which he needs

recording of His deeds.

love, that never die.

And why should men

fine potato crop.

be grateful for a I wot not

why

I chattered so

amid the
and

sullen lull,

Or

sunshine for the oats, or rain to

the turnips grow,

While the tempest took

It

its

breath,

make

gathered for another burst

And thankless for the wholesome books

that fruitful authors drop

For

a publisher's

good season up

in

Paternoster

Row.

was his face that tempted me, it looked so blank and dull And partly I revenged me for his talk with Hilda, first.

Luke

Sprott, Evangelist

world was blind and faithless, and full of vain conceit What no one else had dared to say Of wisdom which was foolishness, and would not know the Lord ; without her proud rebuke But any thing that called itself a And I might write brisk words that, one day, I would fain delete Christian minister She heard as she would hearken to the When He came in His glory, whom the Universe adored. Volume of the Book.
Because he was a preacher, she had
let

The

him say

to her

Low
see

in

my

heart I laughed then to I did not bid

him

stay,

although the

storm burst forth anew. and gasp At that imagined book for which the And snapt a grand old pine as if it had been but a reed ; thunder had been sent, And at his puzzled horror as I buzzed There were five behind our cottage, and I loved them, and I knew like stinging wasp, Too swift for his slow movements, in Their features and their voices, for they spoke to me, indeed. my wanton merriment.

him

stare

No

book then was I writing that needed storm or calm. Nor could I copy Nature in that hard
and
soulless

They were

like living things to

me,

with thoughts and memories And passions of the women in the

Barely cataloguing

untamed Druid times although I I heard them sing their skalds at night unto the raving seas, heard, as 'twere a Psalm Of awe-inspiring joy, the grand And moan their rugged lyke-wakes in the ancient Runic rhymes. orchestral thunder play.
way.
facts,

And truth may

wisdom

lie in

laughter too, and I called

sparkle to the

in a jest.

that they
its

them Druid had seen

sisters, for I

wist

And

black priests in the forest, and the and the smoke ; And solemn fools shall talk to you And in the evening still they talked to me of what had been their wisest and their best. wit

may

lend

The

reverential thought

altars,

And

leave

you very weary with the Ere the

Roman

smote the savage, or

nothing you have got.

the Christian morning broke.

startled by the sudden crash, I did not think of him. That might be smote with judgment But of the tall grey sister who was growing bald atop, for the blasphemies I said : Would I jest at the Eternal, while His And grey with clinging lichen that had feathered every limb. thunders rolled aloof. And His awful sword was flashing in And in my mind I saw her bow her

At

length he rose in anger, would not

Now,

stay beneath a roof

the lightning overhead

lofty head,

and drop,

; ;

202

Hilda among the Broken Gods

o'er
their fallen sister all the I

While

others scream and

moan
;

In unrestrained anguish

bid him stay The night was wild and fearful, and the road was dark and lone,

looked out from my window to Orion and his belt so I did not She looked out from her window to the lone star near the Pole

And
in

But he had the wild-beast surely find his way.

instinct to

not a word we spake as yet, but heart I felt shadow creeping coldly, like

my

eclipse,

across

my

soul.

And

so

let

him
I

go,

and then

There she

sat, pale

and anxious, with

thought that

did right

a wistful frightened look

Could any

soul have sat there to be That seemed to shrink from me, aldrenched with commonplace, though she neither spoke nor stirred Slushed with dull ditch-water preach- There I sat, dull and listless, with my ments, when the awe of that great eyes upon a book

night

Had

strung the

mind

to highest pitch,
?

Whereof, although I read and read, knew not e'er a word.

and touched the heart with grace

My

being was at white would have plunged it

Very
heat, and he
so.
;

Hissing, into his cold water

and I

silent were we both ; but how I yearned for her I loved As gazing through the candle-light, I
!

saw her quivering

lip.

did rebel at that

And

there are times

when

And how
silence, if

the

great

tears

gathered,

the preacher did but know.

Shall preach to better purpose than a

and how the loose ring moved, Unconscious, from the knuckle to the
slender finger-tip.

sermon

stale

and

flat.

had done right ; but I was not so sure next day ; sweet and thoughts are stride Morning tender and I whispered my regret into the stormy night I sat in silence, ordering all the pictures I had been vexed and angry ; and I might have bid him stay I had got. Or glancing now at Hilda through the But hinted that his head would be the

Thus he went

forth in wrath,

and

I thought I

had no regretful thought Hearing him bang the door, and

glimmering candle-light.

cooler for the wet.

By

and by, the storm abated, and the

forth, at length.

Ah me
Ah me

ah
!

me

that thoughtless itch

!

moon came

for saying clever things

In a clear breadth of heaven, with all the countless host of stars, And nature did assert the calm tranquillity of strength, And bridled with the Pleiades the

what a

me that word may do

ah
!

little
!

sense of

Ah me
Words
grief

the woeful

echo from the

weary

past that rings

that are very old

is

now, but the

wrath of angry Mars.

always

new

Luke

Sprott,

Evangelist

203

That day was full of rumours sad, of And what she saw, or what she heard, boats swamped out at sea, or what had touched her wits, Guns booming in the offing, and Our handmaid wist not only, she wrecks strewn along the shore, came home so ghastly pale. And the fierce-rushing river had And spoke not any word to her, but

flooded

all

the lea.

fell in

swooning

fits,

And

left but. stones

and gravel where

And

the clover

grew

before.

then sat with a stony look, or wailed a piteous wail.

Weary and

sad, at evening I hasted Just then I heard a trampling

all

and a
with

home, with

shuffling at the door.

My

budget of ill news, to find yet worse awaiting there. For Hilda, with a face that did my
very heart appal, Sat, white and chill, beside the with fixed and stony stare.
fire,

And men came

me on

in

thereafter

heavy, clumsy tread. And laid a wet, lank

beside

burden there

the floor.

And

every face that looked at

me was

ghastly as the dead.

fixed and stony stare at me I They had been going home, and think she knew me not. turned to look at the old pine But shivered when I spoke, and Thunder-blasted in the tempest, when seemed to shrink from me in dread ; they saw him lying there And but for that long shudder my Poor Luke he was a godly man, and unwelcome presence brought, eloquent divine, I hardly could have known if she were And also shod the horses well, and living then or dead. acted just and fair
! ! !

life

misery to think the only sign of So clumsily they should be speaking, sad at chiU and shrinking quiver at the Losing a faithful tender words I spake weary grief and
! !

told the tale,

heart.

lowof

friend

in

days

care

What was

it ?

what had done

it ?

who And now

the truth flashed on

me

as I

will tell the truth to

me

looked, and saw a part

And now
reel,

I thought ray head would and now my heart would break.

Of his

hard features through the

fell

of

moist and matted hair.

But bit by bit, I gathered that she had Scarce had he left my door, or but a gone out at noon score of paces gone. To walk across the moor, and see the That evening, when a sudden fate had shepherd's sickly wife. laid him with the tree. And nurse her sickly babe a while, And Hilda, coming home, had seen the dead man lying lone and sing a quiet tune To still its ceaseless wailing, for it had Among the pools of water, with refaint hold of life. proach of her and rae.

204

Hilda among the Broken Gods

wits,

And that

had driven her from her and now she sat and stared,

BOOK FIFTH
and

And shivered when And

I

I spake to her,

was distraught and wild

as I held her hand,

REV. ELPHINSTONE BELL,

and prayed,

PRIEST

vowed, too, that I shared Her sorrow and her faith and hope, " Yea, the world is very evil, full of vanity and lies. and would be as a child. But the Lord is very patient, and the
Yea, I would be a child of God,
I

Church
if

is

great in might.
traditions,

she

would only look, her sacred mysteries would believe whate'er she said, if She can cleanse your sins away, and she would only speak, turn the darkness into light. would not care for fame or power,
for glory or for book,

With her

orders, her

and

If she

would only

kiss

me

with the

kiss that I did seek.

seal of Power the grand device. Handed down through all the ages in a long unbroken line.

" She only has the

apostle's

weary, woeful night broken night to her.

all

it

was,

un-

The

glorious

right

to

minister

the

bloodless sacrifice.

Through

the dismal hours, and oh

And

offer

it

for

you

in sacramental

the anguish unto

me

bread and wine.

light,

But with the morning

the day

" Only her Priests may wear the robes began to faintly stir befitting that great act With faint gleams of returning thought When bread and wine become the body as lights upon the sea. and blood of God's true Son, Only her prayers avail to realise the But from that day we were estranged : awful fact she spoke no word of blame. And put into your mouths the life that Or only blamed herself, but she was by His death was won.
silent

and apart

We

never spake about him, and never named his name,

we " What
they

can

your sects do for

you

But yet his shadow coldly lay between But the child me and her heart.

may

bring the child to birth,

is never born, and the mother's breasts are dry ;

So you
It

pine

away and
little

perish, for their

was
her

as if

my fate

had been

to drive

prayers are

worth

Without the priestly unction, and the away, from all emblems and grace that comes thereby. helps of things Divine ; And she must walk without me now " You build an ugly barn, which you along the narrow way. call a Kirk, and then And she must make atonement for the One preaches in Geneva gown to men guilt that had been mine. predestinate,

God

To

part

her

a ;

Rev. Elphinstone
This to go

Bell,

Priest

205

down

into the pit

with

all

And
And

weekly
at all

in

the

Kirk the

pulpit

his virtues fair,

thundered at his views.

Beast might

And

that with all his sins to pass to heaven with heart elate,

who to the Woman, bow the knee.

now

or the

"

And

this

you

call

the grace of
will,
in

God,
His

pretty Church-revival
up, with dainty

sprang

electing

whom He

hymns

And

sung, and prayers with high intoning read, And the ransomed sing the praises of And holly-wreaths at Christmas about that grace inscrutable, the cherubims And your angels tune their harps to That smiled with puffy cheeks beside laud that monstrous sovereignty. the tablets of the dead.

passing

by the others

Artistically

absolute decree,

"

Little help such teaching brings to that wrestles with the lies,

him There were candles on the was incense in the air,

altar,

there

The
all

rogueries and vices that tarnish

A reredos, and a
up
like a mast

crucifix that

towered

our days

Therefore do

we

lift

the banner of the

And
And

with forty minutes' singing, and

fifteen

Church

that loudly cries

forty minutes' prayer.

To

repentance of your errors, and the

minutes'

preaching,

we

cleansing of your ways."

were coming

right at last.

So preached the Preacher to us once Then he needed a new organ, and we an Oxford scholar, young, had a grand bazaar. With bare, thin face and sallow, bare And raffles winning money as you and shallow too his mind might at whist or pool

A narrow

spirit,

with a pulpit rhetoric

And

a lady-volunteer

who

carried on

high-strung,

a pretty

war

Something

stale

and commonplace, but With a

its

very telling of

kind.

choir of surpliced children, badly trained at Sunday school.

Rounded

periods,

rarely

natural

fit

movements of the hand Tones liquid, but monotonous

ejaculations oft

'Twas not the simple worship of our homely Presbyters,

Nor

To
In

emphasise a commonplace manner gravely bland

private,

yet the stately worship of the custom Catholic, But a modern imitation, smacking of

but

with

women

winning, gracious, soft

the milliner's ; very Brand-new devotions fashioned on the model of antique.

These had won the hearts of many, To me it felt all hollow ; but yet the youth had zeal. gathered crowds into his pews, Though he had little light to give, and Played pastor very diligent, had he had aught to say, none at all to me ;

206

Hilda among the Broken Gods

Spent days among the sick, and by the fevered bed would kneel, And patter o'er his little book, and hurry on his way.

And common, And common

earthly love

homely duty now a

life

daily burden grew.

was trifling, and was cold.

People told

all

Hilda took to him amazingly, went

his daily prayers

to

What was

it ?

me

he

And

school and district

rarely found at
tinsel

was verging toward Rome work, and But Roman or Genevan, mattered

now was
Quoted
full

home

little

unto
a

me

his

pretty words,

was

God had His little children

in

out at nurse

of church
as

affairs,

many

home,

And when
to

I jested at

him was

as crisp

Who

me

foam.

laid their Bible on His lap, or Cross upon His knee

Day

by day the church she haunted, That could never work this mischief; all the churches had their popes ; Took to wearing dingy dresses, russet- And I cared not for Pope Calvin more
quite forsook her parish kirk.

brown or iron-grey,
Fasted often, made her penitential work,
life

than Pius
a weary

as for beads

And

crucifix

and censers and chasubles

and copes.

With

all its

natural brightness

now

put If she had a fancy for them, they were

prettier things than creeds.

carefully away.

Scarce an hour but had its service of reading or of prayer, Scarce a day but was a saint's day, and her saints were very grim ; They frowned at every pleasure, and they smiled at every care. And still she spoke to me of God, and
giving
all

What was

it,

then, that

chilled

her

for

Him.

now. As days went dimly by, without the wintriest gleam of mirth To brighten up her wistful look, or clear the clouded brow ? And wherefore did she sigh like one a-weary of the earth ?
into frosty silence

We

all the more the For all the house grew silent, and her was obeyed. laugh was never heard. The lonelier life was growing, and we That wont to ring so cheery, and she sang but doleful hymns drifted more apart had not any words, but something About the pilgrim's travail, and the

Keenly I

felt that,

priestling

And

on her spirit preyed, ever-widening waters seemed to sunder heart from heart.

comfort of His

Word,
is

And

the

home

that

eternal,

and the

shining seraphims.

led her on a way divine which was not human too, And that, I wist, was not the way that Christ had walked of old
;

He

comprehend now

better

what

it

was

that preyed on her

As

she brooded in her loneliness, and yearned for higher love

; ;

Rev. Elphinstone

BelJ,

Priest

207

For her heart went upward, dreaming Inventing

of that
little visitor

Whom

atonements, as the betrayed God had taken from her arms Their failure in the cravings of the into the heaven above. still remorseful mind.
fresh
restless heart

She thought we were not worthy

rear the child of

to

God,
too worldly for so

Our home-air was

And

pure a soul to breathe, while she meekly bowed beneath

She was daily in his thoughts, and she was ever in his prayers He watched her sickly thought with pride, and nursed the deep disease
;
:

Oh
To

the honour to his work, the rich

saint in evil

the chastening of the rod.

About the rod of sorrow she would

twine a holy wreath.

reward of all his cares. have the training of a days like these

for the life But this I knew not at the time ; and as I cast about not here, And love that death can never touch For any likely reason this new sorrow to explain. with withering of its bloom, And for the tender blossom that she And could not find it in my work, nor laid with awe and fear. in my deepening doubt, Yet with absolute assurance, in its There sprang up in my brooding heart

Ever her heart was longing

that
is

little

grassy tomb.

a thought of bitter pain.

her daily musings soared in For calling up the former days which happily had flown, wonder, hope, and awe. The heavenward meditations of a heart I paused at Winnie Urquhart, with her talent and conceit that found no rest. Save in thought-reflected vision of the Hilda was jealous at the time, I saw it in her frown. glory where she saw The children with the Father folded And heard it in the tapping, on the
in

Upward

among the

blest.

carpet, of her feet.

All

this I learnt long after, when I Was this the shadow on our life ? and could her love expire read the secret Book Of her solitary musing, blurred with In fumes of jealous anger, and in selftormenting thought ? many a tearfiil stain ; I had thought her cold unto me when Had she so little faith in me, and in

I saw her absent look. But her soul was longing that cometh not again.

the altar-fire
for the lost

Which

I had tended like a charge that from the heavens I got ?

I also found the priest upon her tender

scruples played.

My

heart

had never wandered

its

for a

moment from
saint

place

Eager

to

make

now

of the

My faith

mediaeval kind,

had been unshaken, and unshadowed for an hour

208

Hilda among the Broken Gods

But now a chill crept o'er my soul, a And my heart went back a-dreaming gloom came on my face, far along the changeful road. And my distrusted love became a deep Till thought passed into tears, and all distrustful power. the scene grew dim and grey.

And

thus

the strangeness

grew

Oh,

silent gulf

between us twain,

flush of leaf

A wan,
A

sad our withered hopes amid the and flower ;

still water, drifting us yet more Sad the winter of the spirit with the summer's wealth around ; and more apart life of wrested meanings, and of And the weird feeling came again upon keen mistaken pain. me in that hour. While each, with wistful longing, That life was but a shadow flitting wondered at the other's heart. dimly on the ground.

Yet once

I tried
is

to

draw her

close

Shadowy

again, for love

strong.

shadows
!

And

oh my love yearned for her love, The and oh my heart was sore on me again ; But cold love is slow to warm again I had dreamt, and I was waking, and and now the nights were long. the morning air was raw. Like a stretch of barren sand upon the Or perhaps I only dreamt that I was day's unhappy shore. waking up to pain.

and shadowy sorrows and saw old sense of unreality came back
joys,
all
!

I felt

But one bright summer evening

the sadder for
its

a fate upon me, and it drove on and on. I sat in the green arbour looking to the And I must "dree my weird," alas, sleepy town ; whatever it might be Slumbrous-sweet syringa-blossoms hung Yet was I but a shadow among shadows
all

There was

brightness

me

And

about me in their whiteness. the summer in its glory bore the burden of its crown.

sitting lone.

And waiting for the doom

around

that

moaned

me

like the sea.

Sat the coney on its haunches 'mong Then Hilda came up softly, and softly the grey sand near its hole. sat her down Crouched the hare in the long furrow I knew that she was very pale, and very often sighed. where the tenderest barley grew. And I bade the living creatures loving Although I looked away from her unto welcome in my soul. the sleepy town For life was not so lonely with them Expecting that sure fate which from frisking in my view. afar I had descried.

A
A

yellow bee was drumming in the foxglove, where it showed spire of purple-spotted bells upon
the sunny brae,

'Twas

all

as if

knew
;

before

the

thing that was to be

'Twould not have

that I

startled

me

to hear

must die that night

Rev. Elphinstone
Bell,

Priest

209

Yet 'twas as if a shadow of no moment And there was that Greek-feeling of unto me, the coming on of Fate, fate and yet a dream and very Which dulled me with its shadow like the gloom of an eclipse. strange, yet very right.

In silence and constraint

while, side by side,

under all there lay the petulant, brooding sense of wrong. While leaf by leaf she plucked the That her jealous love distrusted mine, that trusted once for all, flower in pieces at her waist With thin and trembling hand; and And had been true to her as is the
sat,

we

a short

And

Senseless

with mechanic foot I traced music to the song scores upon the gravel, to That subtly links its movement unto every rise and fall. be speedily effaced.

" I would do right," she said, " and Then, something seemed to break in yet I know not what to think, me. I thought I heard it snap. For things are not the same now as Like string of lute or viol, and I did they used to be before; not seem to care ; And from the cross appointed us we There was no more to win or lose may not dare to shrink, my life had lost its sap, Nor close the ear to Him who standeth And shook but leafless branches creakknocking at the door." ing in the wintry air.
I

knew

this

was her woman's way of

little

drawing near to me,

A hint that, like a bud, a

would unfold,
ing sympathy,

know what I answered, but it had no touch of grace ; sunshine 'Twas something about making crosses where no cross was meant
I scarce

A feeling out for any touch of answerThat

all

The anguish and the deadness me into commonplace.

drove
like

the burdened secret

of her

And

the commonplace

fell

on her

trouble might be told.

a heartless argument.

And oh I
I

should have

let

my heart flow And

still

I see the great

blue eyes,

freely out to hers,

strange- gleaming like a ghost,

should have met her longing, and From out of her pale face, as she made mingled it with mine, answer with a moan ; I should have wooed her o'er again, " At least, I shall not have to pay the pleading with all that stirs price I dreaded most The woman and the human, till she God's love will break no human heart,
felt it

was

divine.

unless

it

break

my own."
me
her burden, vain

But

I was never ready yet, was always She had brought to wise too late and she brought it

all in

Right words come swiftly to

but slowly to

my

pen,

cursed conceit of being right which

kills all

my

lips

noble feeling

14

Hilda among the Broken Gods

A A

little word of kindness would have She, hoping not for motherhood, had saved a load of pain, tidied all she had. little word of love had wrought a And writ out full directions for the miracle of healing. time of her release.

to tell me all her grief, and They say, the strange new life that her young heart's care. throbs beneath a mother's heart And all the fond atonements she was Feels often liker death ; I cannot tell minded then to try but when I came
all

She meant

then, on the sorted drawers, and understood, in part, On a scrupulous, troubled conscience Their meaning, oh the anguish, and that was sorely vexed thereby. the fear, and sense of blame !

She meant

to seek my counsel for the purpose that she bare

By chance,

And

I, I had not heard her; but And now again she hung above her with blankest commonplace boxes all the day, Had turned away from eager eyes that And went about the house, too, with pleaded as for life. a look premeditate, Had spoken in tones of iron, with an Silent, counting all the linens, putting

unmoved

iron face.

things in drawers away.

And

every word a cruel stab as with

And

by the

less disorder

making home

a cruel knife.

more
;

desolate.

then she Books were gathered from the tables, and shelved in order due, And by and by I rose, and passed Things that crowded on the manteldown to the moaning sea, piece were laid aside in drawers, Until the moon arose, and spread long Familiar old disorder now took shape
sighed, and
tresses

Now

both again were silent went away,

And

silent

on the bay, stars, with

as neat

and new.

sad

rebuke,

And

there was bundling of receipts,

seemed looking down on me.

and labelling of jars.

Next

day, I watched her going, calm, She wrote out for our maid some about her household work, thoughtful counsel for the days Putting everything in order, sorting all When I should be alone, and where

with bated breath,

Desk and drawer, and banded

and her face was
like a
in
its

letter

mask.
place, as

While she

put

all

prepares for coming death.

what I might need, what my special likings were, and what my common ways, one And ended with a prayer that Heaven might bless her in her deed.
to find

And

remember how, when hope made us glad, Which ended in a little grave in the dim land of peace.
I could not but

knew

not this

till

after

and

could

that

not then divine

The

meaning of the order, and the look of rooms to let,

; ;

Rev. Elphinstone

Bell,

Priest

The

packed and sorted

linens, neatly
fine,

Now

longing that the darkness might

never see the light. And careful noting of accounts, and Now praying for the light to scare the clearing of her debts. horror of the gloom.

marked with numbers

Only the days went by, as haunted by I have it now, that letter it is brown and tattered now. a coming Fate, That well I knew was closing on me, Often read, although its every word is
like the darkling night.

burnt into
evening,
nest
I

my

brain

Till

reaching

home one

And
And

found no loving mate

Fluttering around our
little

well where every falling tear had blotted it I know.

amid

every blot

is

in

my

heart a scar

the waning light.

and aching pain.

Instead,

there

was a

letter

on

the

THE LETTER

Husband and Dearest, be not wroth Against the marble clock a blotted with me. letter, sealed with black ; Because I leave you for a little while I did not need to read it then, to find Only a little one day to return, out what it meant, better wife, and make a brighter

mantelpiece, that leant

As

I saw the tremulous letters, faintly scrawled upon the back.

home. For therefore do

heart

I go, with breaking

And

stunned me for a while ; I And secretly, for it would break your my hand. heart Staring at the superscription, though I To let me go ; and yet I needs must wist not what I saw ; go. I know I locked the door too ; for That worse may not befall, and we, my sorrow could not stand the more The gaze of the scared housemaid, rub together, be but more half in pity, half in awe.
yet
it

held

it

in

We

estranged.

Alone my soul would be alone it Often I thought to tell you all the was a lonely lot thought That henceforth must be mine; but That brooded in me. But you did now I wanted solitude ; not care Like wounded deer that leaves the To speak of what might grow into herd for some secluded spot debate
!

To

die in, so I shut

it

me

in,

and

felt

And
To

was

fearful,

knowing you have

that

was good.
and read
I

much

Upon
I broke the seal,

knew

not

what, but

all

the night

your mind, and that it is not well the current of your larger thought
fret

I paced in silent anguish up and the silent room.

down With

small
is

obstructions.

What

mean

this

212

Hilda among the Broken Gods

Indeed, I did not mean to hide from

Had

I but loved

my God

as well

you

My

purpose, or to purpose anything

;

But there, The more I strove that you should

cleave to

Unworthy

for

wherever I

may

be,

Him,
I

My
I

wifely heart goes with me, and the troth

to

The more
of

seemed to lose

my

hold

Him,
soul,

vowed

you

and that you know

And drifted as
Your
as

right well.

you drifted, helping not and hurting mine own faith,

day

they were Slipt after day, with ever dimmer sense with us Of things unseen in me, and harder Somehow the light has gone out from thoughts our life. In you, until I felt my darkening way And we, together living, live apart Was darkening yours, and dropping In joyless solitude. I blame you not, into death, Except that your too tender cherishing As we more alien grew in all our Fostered my self-love, making much thoughts. of me. In feeling more estranged, in ways Petting myself, and pitying myself more sundered.
as

But things are no more

Too much
blame

already.

Mine

alone the

And God
us both.

appeared the farther from

bitter

Of
The

that

dim

separateness.

For

That

is

the

end of

all

my

was not
wife you needed, though I tried
to be.

striving

Harm

to

my own

soul,

cruel hurt to

thine

And

never woman's love was more than mine. I have not shared the burden of your thoughts,
I

And

yet I meant so well

only I tried
;

A
Do

work beyond
the Lord,

my power

except

build the house, the builder builds

have not understood you, nor forgot in vain. Myself in your high purpose; my small lamp Bear with That feebly glimmered, failed, of reproach,
course, to light

me

am

full

of

self-

As
life.

well I

may

be,

and I must atone

past, ere peace Perhaps, will come. I never should have been a wedded I have shunned sorrow, comforting wife myself Perhaps it had been better had I Till I have lost all comfort in myself died, And now I must seek sorrow for When God took baby from us. I a while, have been And wear the crown of thorns, and Foolish and fretful, selfish, useless bear the cross.

The two

large chambers of your

For

that so fruitless

only loved
excuse.

so

absolute

And
that
is

find a

new

life

in

them.

Do

my

not try To hinder that on which

my heart is set.

Rev. Elphinstone Bell, Priest

213

Which

will

redeem
its

my

life

from

shallowness,

You cannot doubt the love I bear to you, You cannot doubt the grief that weeps
for you.

And make
helpful,

homely
;

service,

by

and by, Truer and purer

You
both to thee more
self.

cannot

doubt the purpose that

for

you
school

Would

my

heart

by

earnest

And

happier to myself, forgetting

while, and then I shall
lessons gathered

discipline

little

come You cannot doubt me, even in leaving you

back,

A
As

little

while, and but a

little

Wiser by

where the For surely

I

God will spare me

while, unto you.

shades the Eternal fold around man's life. Saying, Be still, and know that I

Of

read
in

that blotted letter, with

its

love so fond and true.

the
I

while and but a little while, Not long enough for either to forget. Yet long enough for you to look beyond, And find the fountain of a surer peace Than ever I could give. little while.
little

am God.

Again

stung with

Why

had

dim morning, new regret mooned away the

was

night,

when

there was that to do

still

Which

might heal our sorrow,

and restore
misery
!

my

darling yet
to

And we
a

shall

wed

again,

and make

misery

have been

home.
will dwell with us, as

rich indeed.

Where Christ we recall

to have wasted all that wealth of love by cold distrust This break of our young marriage. And what were I without her, but a Farewell, now shivering, withered reed 'Tis hard to write, and could not With the glad water at its roots all have been spoken gone to summer dust ? And yet it must be : farewell, my beloved. 1 did, not wish a wiser wife I only I have gone over all the house, and left wanted her ? Some tears in every room, and take How could she think I cared for with me bookish women or their praise ? Its picture in my heart. I think If she only saw my heart, and if she that all only felt the stir Is left in order ; if there's aught Of pain and shame and self-contempt

And

forgotten,

had for

all

my
our

ways

Forgive me, for heavy.

I

my

heart

was very
I

hurried
sure

to

priestling

was
;

he had

to

do

know

you'll not forget to plant fresh

With
I

flowers

this fresh sorrow of misjudged him not

my life

and

Around
ing
;

the
yet.

little

grave.

'Tis nothlike to see

He

was fain to make atonement where atonement was not due.

manufactured Providence forgot.
crosses

When

I return I

would not

And

when

Another

picture than I bear with me.

; ;

214

Hilda among the Broken Gods

The
rain

found liim high and haughty in a saintly kind of way, But he allowed that she had joined a
I

came

down

in

plashes,

gusty, sputtering in

my

face,

And

little,

gushing

runlets
;

flowed

pious sisterhood

down by me

to the sea

Who

from a distant harbour would I felt their chill, but recked not, and be sailing on that day, shivering for a space To nurse the wounded in the war, and Sat on the dripping stones, and leant do the dying good. my face upon my knee.

followed then I cannot tell, cannot tell how long He had the true ascetic heart that Sounds that made my blood to tingle, laughter mingled with long sighs knows no tie, or care
I waited not for
;

dispute with

more him

'twas idle to

What
I

Of wife

or child or kindred, and

was

And now
choking

was

athirst,

and now was

fain to sing a

hynm

in a throng.

For " those in peril on the sea," when I was fain to swear.

And
me

ever one pale visage looked on

with yearning eyes.

the that journey to the seaport thoughts that surged on me ! the the reasons I would urge triumph I must surely win But the anchor had been weighed, the ship was dropping out to sea, And I only looked on crowded decks, and heard confused din.
! !
!

O God
my

forgive us, Hilda; and

!

God
was

be good to thee

cold, distrustful silence,

it

not the better part

And oh what would my love back from

Whose
break

give to bring

the sea

billows, ever breaking

on me,

my

very heart.

saw the ship sway o'er the saw the hurrying crowd,
the
sailors

bar,

Where

art

thou

Where, ray darling

is stilled.

the noise of war

And

sang light-hearted,

The wounded
1 ask
tell

sun them at the doors,

and the landsmen gave a shout But song and shout were in my ear lamentings low or loud. And whether all were truth or dream,
I could not well

or cripple through the street

them of

my

darling, and they

killed.

me who were

Of

the soldiers in the trenches, or the

make

out.

sailors in the fleet.

I rushed along the granite

mole that They

stretched far out to sea.

tell me of the never speak of her

sisters,
;

but they

Where

angry waves

were

loud, like hungry beasts of prey

howling There was a Sister Bridget, they never name without

whom

the cry that

waves whose crashing drowned Rubbing a sleeve across the eye, and talking of the stir. came from me mocking waves that heeded not, When they broke out of the trenches to assail the great Redoubt. but bore my love away.
cruel

!;

;;

;;

;;

Epilogue
I wait and ask, and wait in vain

215

she

passed

away from me
glimpse
that

Hark to the call of the bugle horn, Or the quick rattle of mustering drum!
!

The

last

had was

when

the ship swayed o'er the bar

the hope of love went

Swift to the summons, at even or morn, Bronzed and bearded, the gallants
Balls

And
And

all

down
it,

into the

stormy

sea,

never tidings came from

come. from the rifle-pits ping about. or Great guns boom from the big Redoubt,

from the storm of war.

And the angry hiss

of the burning shell

fire

EPILOGUE

Screams through the

of
hell.

and smoke

A MIGHTY city of tented

And And
As
beats
if in

streets.

never a house of brick or stone,

the pulse of the city throbs and
a fever burning on

Far on the

outskirts stands a tent,

And

over the tent a great red Cross Balls lie round, but their force was
spent

Nothing but tents in all the plain. Long ere they rolled o'er the silent Nothing but bronzed and bearded men. moss; With clashing sabre and jingling spur. cross is over the silent gate, Plume of feather, or crest of fur. cross on the arm of them that wait. Emblem of pity and healing and peace, Here are banners, and there are flags Bidding the wrath of war here to cease.

A A

All of their bravery

now

is

stained

As the wind
1^0
!

flutters their tattered rags,

One comes

out of

it,

grave and sad

where the powder and blood

:

are Just a whisper, and then returns

grained

What
:

are the tidings

now ? good

or

And
Is
it

the heavy air has a foetid breath

bad?
Still

How

of blood ? or is it of death ? the wild dogs and the birds

lazily

Then

she lives, but the fever burns. again silence reigns all about. the
twilight
pales,

are fat.

And
perch
or

and a

star

Gorged where they

squat

comes out. But yet the air seems

throb.

to pulse and to

at a tent- door steeds are Now and again, with a stifled sob. champing, Now they are galloping forth with Sudden, the sob is turned to a wail speed What is it ? where is it ? Hush the Down the long streets there are comdoor panies tramping, Opens again now, and all hearts fail ; Grimly silent, on some fell deed He too is weeping, for all is o'er. Some in the wine-shop are drinking It is not night, and it is not day hard. Calm in the twilight she passed away. Some are gaming with dice and card Just as the star, where the cloud was Many a jolly stave trowls from those. riven, But these are coming to oaths and Pointed her way through the opening

Now,

blows.

heaven.


2l6

;: ; ;

Hilda among the Broken Gods

sickly group,

Near the tent-door was a

And oh the tears

like rain

L'ENVOI
I

ran

down their cheeks

is

One

said,

" There

not

man

in

How

DO but paint a picture, just to show cracks the old crust of Faith

our troop

But would have died

a pain
I

just to save her

beneath our feet. Partly by light from heaven and fervent heat.
fierce

would have iied

a score of us
;

for her

so

would Partly by

upheaval from below.

;

Broken and maimed, she was worth Here but many more of us
;

fissures

deep are gashed

there

a rent

God
is

help the poor fellows,

now

she
I

Scores the shrunk surface, thirsting for

fresh showers

gone
last

She was like my mother when was down."

To

water

its

dry herbs and drooping

is

flowers

But ever)rwhere

great bewilderment.
well, nor

When
The

it

was told

at the

drinking bar.

God's ploughshare trenches

will

flagon untasted

was dashed on the

He

wait.

Hushed was

And see His fallow lying all unbroke. the chorus of glory and Because another's heifer takes the yoke, war Nor is His furrow always clean and Others were trusted, but she was adored. straight,
one shuiBed the cards again. Rattled the dice now, or called
main.
for

board

No

a But

still

He

maketh ready

for

His

sowing.
the trenches?
time, lads,
to

"Who's
have
it

we must And
try

scatters

with the sweep of unseen

life

out

Now

is

the

hand the Fresh seed of

land.

upon the fresh-turned

Redoubt."

And gathers cloud and sunshine for its growing. Belted with hell-fire, and shrouded with smoke. Oh, weep ye for the Home whose Girdled with rifle-balls as with a tottering wall wall. The trembling heart with unfeigned Yet with a yell from the trenches anguish saw. they broke. And with untempered mortar daubed Plunging through rifle-balls, hell-fire, its
flaw.

and

all.

Faith lacking Faith that

rejoice
!

God is over all.

her unselfish

'Twas not for glory they stormed the Weep, yet Redoubt deeds. 'Twas that the grief of their wild
hearts must out.

for

That was her monument

cried,

and they
as

Mightier than doubt away.

words,

have

bidden

" God and Saint Bridget " man died.

!

each

And And

led

him

into light of better day.

is

Love, which the Creeds

the soul of

all

RABAN
smiles upon his words he knew Affairs and books and men, and it When first I knew him, Raban was was like Great music just to sit beside the fire. already Verging on age, yet full of lusty life And hearken his discourse.

Flitted like

RABAN

With

One of a race. and the sweetness of the Often much slighted, often serving earth, much. And all its beauty ; and with all his mind Who miss their aim in the first spring, Perfect to do its work to reason well. and fall, To play with graceful fancy, or season, out of sight among the waste
all

his senses perfect to enjoy

The

fatness

mirthful jest

Of
like spark

prodigal

life

yet better so kept

That rushed from him,

glowing
steel,
I'

from

back

In the young bud, than in the bloom of promise soar To be frost-bitten, for he found a way, Still into realms of thought that touch And filled a larger space by having
the clash of argument
:

and he could

the

stars.
;

failed
first

And lie about the Eternal and his heart Than Was very young, and nothing loved He
80

success

had given
office,

him.

much

had once Sought the Priest's

to be

well content

As

the fresh hopes of noble-purposed

youth

The humble

pastor of a

humble flock
hills,

Not yet desponding of a glorious world. Of shepherds 'mong green Trim and erect, with locks of iron-grey, dull hinds

or of

A large eye
thin

full

of light, and features

in

Whose
Hard

thoughts are of the mixen or

the calves

That grew with age

manner brisk

beauty speech

a
for

And
Or

breezy;

ready

of

sharp retort.

to lift Heavenward. But he was not made For the Priest's work, whose Sundays domineer

flowing period
delicate

given to dainty

The week
about

with preaching,
till

as

he goes

humour.

Where

touches

of

quaint

Slow sermon-grinding
is

his thought

character

thin

; ;

2l8

Rabat!

As

As the fresh art of a new age still holds All past achievement in its scheme And hears the parish-gossip, and grows of progress. small And moves on the old lines. He
the shrill
fife,

the while he makes

his rounds,

With

its

small

interests,

only,

now

kept their
joinings

spirit

and then. Lit up by broader

athwart

Only the framework, and the

lights

rigid

that shoot

Clamped,

as

with
texts,
;

iron,

by much-

From
all

that dread door

which opens

for

hammered

men.

He

loosened

for

he deemed the truth

was there. Orthodox? Well; I think he had But yet in forms too rounded to be true, not any And clothed as with an armour which Cut-and-dry scheme equation nicely grew not framed Though the man grew within, till With plus and minus quantities and what was meant powers. For a defence brought weakness. Subtracting or dividing human sins Thus, at times, And sorrows of the Highest, till the end He seemed to assail their most secure Brought out salvation neatly. Somebeliefs, how he And sap the main foundation of their Could never work the problem out hopes. so clear, When he was merely setting free the Having an Infinite quantity to deal soul with. Of Truth, on which they lived, and That would not balance with a sum which he loved

of

littles.

Only they knew

Therefore he
for
faith,

it

not without the

However

multiplied.

husk.

No

had handy formulas shunned

he called

Nor could they

and
the straw,

live

on

it

without

Which

they were used

refine.
all

to,

while he

Familiar phrase of preaching, which

would

And

from

gross admixture purify,

it

Old pulpit-dust beat from the cushion when Thought is most lacking ; also he
would
try

Till he could sip

like an

odorous

^dew.

So have
by,
his flock
their

heard him

tell

that,

by and where

Perilous flights, at times, into far realms

Of fine imagination, where Followed him only with

as

No flock would eat

he came

his pasture

eyes,

one
a cloud soar up,

They wandered
and fade away
yet his faith
left
fire,

off to

sit

beside the

Watches

Into the setting sun.

And Was
true to

Or saunter in the fields considering The lilies how they grew, or to rehearse
Questions once learnt beside a mother's
knee.

the old Creeds he

behind,

219

Rabat!

And

pray for the old gospel of then- That played about our cloudy politics

youth.

With
were right,"
he said;

ridicule

like

reason

now and
social

"And

they

" man cannot live Without his formulas I was a fool Your disembodied, unfamiliar thought. Like disembodied spirit, frightens him

then Unfolding, too,

right,

new depths of

And

hopes for

men

that staggered the

dull brain

Or he seems

And

left, as naked in the cold dark, amid the crash of break-

Of rural squires believing in their game. And rural priests believing in their
teinds.

ing ice,

And polar fogs wherein he sees no light. And burghers cushioned in old customs, But the ice-glimmer everywhere. And good
yet

For people well-to-do,

life

but quickened

'Tis well for you to-day that I was left To play the fool ; I think ye have

more That I
larger

light
lie

And expectation in the poor oppressed. Soon this man grew, by writing and

in the

shade

your

life is

That

mine

was

straitened

A
freer

by speech, power among us seemed

Firebrand fain
ablaze.

unto some he
set

through
I found

my

bonds."
his papers

to

the world

sundry traces Class against class, and all against the Faith ing faith Which anchored men to God by Just as he learned it, day by day, and oft prophet-forms. Erasing one day what he writ the last Where prophet - vision was not : but Upon their puzzled minds ; a hint to some or two He brought the hope of better days Of hope and failure, and some things a-coming,

among

Of that old

time,

when he was preach-

he called
"Crystallised sermon," tied up with
a string.

And brighter future for their dismal life.

But when
his pen,

knew him, he had dropt

his

So he forsook the priesthood, trying

first

And

done

work,

and took his

well-earned leisure

Scholastic tasks, and in his leisure hours Cheerfully, as a man who had not lived Penning brief essays, quaintly humorous. In vain ; but could look back upon Or thoughtful with the flavour of a soul a path Fresh from the vision of a dewy world Troubled with battle and turmoil, hope That still seemed very good : and and fear, people noted And frequent disappointment and

The

promise in them of an unknown defeat. power. Yet brightened, too, Ere long the breakfast table mirthful success

by trophies of

grew

By growth
incisive

With an

and sarcastic wit

of right, of freedom, and of knowledge,

220

Raban
to

And power
he had

grow

still

more, wherein
his restful

On

chair and table and floor; pale-

No

little part.

Now, round
love

vellumed classics Sound English calf, respectable

paper

greylike

years

Honour

and
out

were

gathered

German, soon dog-eared

buttercups

French

gratitude

Grew
But

of

service

lightly

once Aldine editions costly, beautiful

esteemed.
in its full

And many
achievement plainly seen Imprints

tiny Elzevirs

and Scotch

at

Capmahoun

tall

copies

To fruit with good for all.

Of evening feel

A happy lot
in the

scarce

Wisely to serve your day, and glow

its

Of him who,
monk,
hear

Fair tomes emitted by the press beloved praising Folly, smote the

calm

steal

over you,

And
Of

see

the people glad, and

them speak
the
ill

grinned out of his hood everywhere, times you helped to better Folio and quarto, duodecimo,

And

books

for

them.
first,

With
I

Luxurious editions titles quaint curious woodcuts travels,

met him, a book

the
ing too.

when hunting

for

stories,

poems

All precious rubbish that a Book-worm

stalls,

Among

where he was huntbusiness,

loves

And
and
as

there I revelled

who
we had

so

happy

Now
its

his life's chiefest

I?
joyous hours
there as

joy
I,

What
being fearful that he sought
at

And

the same Rare volume, looked askance and weighed

he showed How this was precious

blunder.

for a curious

him,

My

scanty purse with his, doubtful

That for an autograph, one for a comma Oddly misplaced, another for its margin.
Its type, its title, or its

till

he

colophon

Who

knew book-hunting minds, and

Skilled in this lore, he yet laughed at

his skill.

slender means.

Saluted me, and

long,

we grew

friends ere

And passed a thousand jests upon a

So
foolish,

taste

while

he fondled some

loved prize. Having a common love of curious lore. Thus meeting, by and by, I found Quarto or folio,

like a babe beloved.

its

my way
Into his home, which once had been

And

told the story of

search,

and

capture.

made

bright

And how
:

he brought

it

home

like one

By

a fair helpmate, and by joyous girls but

it

who walked

L ightsome as flowers
now.

was lonely

Among the stars,

and sang for very joy.

And silent,

had gone before found his rooms All lined with books, and littered too with books
for they all

We
And

Into the silent land.

friends

grew fast friends, for all his were young. that which linked him with the

Past, his love

Raban
I've mostly ancient lore, was less than that And yet who knows ? which drew found His heart to the opening Future ; full That secrets are but sorry stuff; of hope And those that lie beneath the ground He hung about the dawn, like morning Perchance are commonplace enough.

Of

star.

And

watched the coming day

not I've lived

fearing greatly,

Although he saw the germs of

larger

my life it has not been What once I hoped, nor what I feared And why should that we have not seen
;

Be other than has yet appeared ? change, And deeper movements in the thoughts There are no breaks in God's large plan. But simple growth from less to more ; of man Wrestling for birth, than centuries had And each to-morrow brings to man But what lay in the day before. known.
But falling sick, at length, he slowly sank Beneath a wasting ill that broke his
strength.

The river has its cataract. And yet the waters down

below
flow
:

Yet not

his spirit, for

he

still

was gay,

Soon gather from the foam, compact.

And grimly jested at his

Made merry

racking cough. with his bones that flesh-

And And

on

like those

above

it

so the

new

life

may

begin

Where this one stopt, with finer powers. less grew. Cheating the worms, he said ; and Perhaps, a subtler thread to spin, And years to work instead of hours. under all Lay a great calm of Faith and surest What has my life been that my heart Hope. *
by the fire Should be so tranquil at this time, me, black-bordered, So free to ply the careless art Of guessing, and of tagging rhyme ? sealed With skull and cross-bones, yet his Here on this solemn brink of doom writing plain, I seem not much to fear or care. I opened it in fear, and there I read But peer into the gathering gloom. And mostly wonder what is there.
evening, sitting lonely

One

A letter

came

to

THE LETTER
I begged hard for an hour of grace

And that has been my bane all

through

From

that grim ferryman

to the

who

plies

His wherry

fore-doomed place

Of all
Nor

the foolish, and all the wise. But not an hour the churl will give.

That never yet would life appear So real that my hand must do Its work with earnestness and fear Still I could dream and speculate.

deigns to answer me, though

I,

always was in haste to live. Would rather take my time to die.

Who

And And
Or

turn

it

nothing

somehow into play. woke a perfect hate.

its

love that had

perfect way.

Another

sun,

and I

shall

know
well

I tried the highest life

The secret Death has kept so What wonders in a day or so A letter writ by me could tell

A lower, with a small success

I loved ; I

and

failed
;

sorrowed ; laughed and railed

;

At

fortune and her fickleness

! ; ;

222

Raban
But they
that hold

And powersi might havetrained togrow

I frittered, for I

by the Divine,

was not wise

is

And now

their fire
is

burning low,

Their smoke

bitter in the eyes.

Clasp too the Human in their faith. And with immortal hopes entwine The silence and the gloom of death.

and trifling gains I read, and, hastening to his house, I by the abysses played. found And partly knew the griefs and pains 'Twas even as he said. In his last hours That from the depths their moaning He wrote, and gave strict orders not to made, send And partly felt them too, and yet The letter till his final breath was drawn. Could be content to dream and write. And now he lay there mystic, beautiful.
!

Ah Ah

wasted

gifts

life

that

Or

in old story to forget.

all

And never wrought with

Of that life,

my might

Never,

in

all

those years, had I once

You'll find, in an odd drawer, the sum

rich in nought but friends

dreamed

That

he, in secret, plied the Poet's art.

A grasshopper's dry-throated hum, A hank of broken odds and ends

;

He flaunted in the face the hardest facts,

Brought reasons
strokes of wit

by the

score,

had

Do

with
to

it

as

you
;

will

I give
it

My all

you

perchance

may

When

reasons failed, and bubbled o'er

with fun ; Beacon another soul to live More wisely through its changeful day. But never passing word, or tremulous
they are notlarge Hinted of Love's You'll pay my debts You'll bury me where the poor folk of song,
sleep

tone.

sweet

sorrow, or

Long brooding o'er the tragic bliss only charge o' the heart Is that the dear old books you'll keep. Till now I found these lyrics scattered, If ghosts come back, mine will be met most. Upon the steps among the shelves, Loose in a drawer, and cast them into Searching for mildew, moth, or wet shape In the small quartos or the twelves. As I could trace the thread : and gathered up And now farewell, my lad ; fear God, The broken fragments with the care And keep your faith whole, if you can. of love. And where the devil has smoothed That nothing should be lost of a true life. your road. For he that truly lives, and clearly sees Keep to the right like an honest man The truth wrapt in his life, and can See that your heart is pure and just.

And

for the rest,

my

See that your way is clean and true ; By and by we shall all be dust, Yet by and by I shall meet with you.

set forth.

Amid the trivial and the commonplace. The soul of truth for which he dared
to live.

The world

is

losing faith in

God,

Leaves

And

thereby losing faith in man. For now the earthworm and the sod Wind up, they say, our little span

Than

to the world a nobler legacy wealth of hoarded gold, in that

he kindles
Lights on the dim, uncertain

way we go.

Here

Preludes

223

the same marble forms a cattle-

PRELUDES
DREAMING
I

trough

For

brutes

by the wayside

to

quench

their thirst,

And there a god emerges from the rough

Unshapely block

DREAM beside

that silent sea

yet they were twins

at first.

Which
From

yet has mystic voices

to

low

That whisper potent words

me
;

One

pool of metal in the melting pot

;

the dim, haunted long ago

A sordid, or a sacred thought inspires

And

And

waves, with measured beat, Drift up the slow wrack, to my feet. Faces gaze from it, sad and sweet.
as the

of twin marbles from the quarry brought One serves the earth, one glows with
altar-fires.

So come they, as the stars appear There's something Even while you gaze on the blank
the soul

in

high purpose of
to
its

night

you wis, lo far and near The dusk is all agleam with light mighty host, uncalled, they come. And without sound of trump or drum. But yet their silence is not dumb.
ere
!

For

To

do the highest service

There's something in the

unroll

art that

kind can

Secrets of beauty shaping in the mind.

Yet he who takes the lower room,

and
tries

They speak
That

to

yet can

me of hopes and fears make my bosom thrill.

waste of years
reach,

To make
heart.

his cattle-trough

with honest

As o'er the weary The dead hands me still

:

and

touch

For that old Past Its phantom faces

still

lives to

me

could not frame the god with gleaming eyes. As nobly plays the more ignoble part.

And

still

I see

More

life-like than the living be.

And maybe, as the higher light breaks in And shows the meanertask he has to do,

He is the greater that

he

strives to

win
true.

WORK AND
Is
it

Only the

praise of being just

and

SPIRIT
life

the

work
?

that

makes

great
can.

For who can do no thing of sovran worth

and true

Or

the true soul that, working as

it

Which men may find,

shall praise, a higher task

Does

And

faithfully the task it has to do. Plodding his dull keepeth faith alike with God and common earth,

round
rising

on
in

the
the

man?

Ah
Or

well

the

work

But conquering envies mind.

is

something

the same gold

brass
is

And God
now
into a coin.

works

in the little as the great

all

fashioned
lips

A perfect work, and glorious over

Or Or
in the stars that choir
in

Now
To

into fairest chalice that shall

panting

hold the sacramental wine

:

with joy elate, the lichen spreading on the wall.

; !

! !

224

Raban
And
see

CONSTRAINT
I

would not that another eye should

I

with motherly heart she would sweeten our care O'er the mild cup of tea, and the

What

now write,

or'other ear should

homely

fare
in the Square.

hear.

Of the House

Then wherefore do I write it, being clear To her all the way of our life we laid bare To me, unwrit ? and oh the pain to me Its hopes and its fears, and she made

my heart, and yet unbare it here. hide what I have writ, and mean to burn I gather life's grey ashes in an urn. And brood o'er them with many a dropping tear. Dreading to keep, yet shrinking to destroy
I

hide

Then

them her own.

And

soothed

us, or

cheered
in

us, as

one

who had known The outlets that open

despair
;

depths of
light-

And we
somer

all

came away with a

in the Square.

air

The

treasured relics.
bliss

O my

Love
?

From

the

House

my
Is

The widow was

ters

kind

but her daugh-

it all

ashes now, that infinite joy

were
girls

Leaving no other joy to me but this. Bright That I must open the old wound, and Loo
take

our

rare.

Muriel, Myra, and

Nimble
it,

their fingers, their wits nimble

This blood from

will break.

or else

my

heart

too.

And like sunbeams and singing

unaware

of birds,

THE HOUSE IN THE SQUARE

Of

the brightness they brought, they

trip

would

up the

stair

THE HOUSE
O
! !

Of the House

in the Square.

THE House in the Square dear Never maidens more frank, never maidens more fair, House in the Square With the little grass-plots, and the Never maidens were simpler or truer than they ; mouldy green tubs Where the hoops fell away from the They could think as we thought, yet
pale-flowering shrubs
their hearts

were

as

gay

But the widow was kind, and her daughters were fair. And all the day long there was sunshine there.

As the feather-head fribbles that simper

and
stare.
all

When

In the House in the Square.

you speak as we spoke long evenings there At the House in the Square. Logic we
aired,

the

A poor
Of

scholar's

widow who

still

had There our

splitting

her share
life's

many

a hair
girls, skilled

vexing troubles,
life

how

kindly

And

the quick-witted

in

she took To our thoughtful

lecture and

book

mellow-toned Greek, busy with Reading just what we read, of their Plato would speak.

; ;

The House
Or
they sang an old played a blithe air,
discussion
affair

in the

Square

225

song, or

they

How

sweetly gracious she can smile

When

Yet she looks haughty all the while. grew hot about any And beams on you in the goddess style.
in the

In the House

Square.

Their father, a them beware

scholar,

would have
lives

Whoever spoke to Muriel, thought Her looks are nothing to her speech
That
girl

a noble strain has got.

;

How
They

they squandered their

should

on
to

And
And
Was

the shallow and sweet

soars beyond the common reach Yet with her high and daring mood.

know what men knew,

with her faith

in

human good,
?

be helps to them meet And the learning he loved he was eager

to share

Will she be ever understood

With the daughters he loved, until death

found him there

At

the

House
care.

in the Square.
;

it Mary Stuart, or Joan of Arc, Or Charlotte Corday that lived in her ? Did she bewitch with glances dark. Or make your noblest pulses stir ? Shall he who seeks her love to win,

We

were

all

of us poor

but

we

did Ere he gather

its

harvest

in,
?

not

much

Be
best

great in

spirit,

or great in sin

For we sought the wisdom and truth

riches

of

fair

enigma

Low-browed,

small.

With

courage of faith, and the Yet walking in her queenly grace. You would have vowed her stately, tall. ardour of youth And with Homer and Shakespeare for Like Dian coming from the chase. With bow unstrung, and flushed with friends, we could bear pride. The dust of the carriage that passed
the

with a

stare

The
in the Square.

At

the

House

Every
its

quivered arrows by her side. tip with crimson dyed.

she a
flirt

How

it

haunts me, that

home with

scholarly air

Was

whose roving eyes

Entangled hearts with cunning wiles ? Those brave, gentle souls 'mid the Or was she maiden without disguise. city's turmoil. Bright with sunny and artless smiles ? All so earnest in thought, and so patient
in toil.

What was
wrought.

the

subtle

charm

that

And

so true to the right,

and so patient
as I

to bear

So
I

that, hopeful or

hoping nought.
?

Ah

would

were now

wont
!

to

Still to

win her love men sought

be there At the

House

in the

Square

And when And when

pain,

she spoke in homeliest strain.

spell that

What was the

held them

fast

MURIEL
Whoever looked at Muriel, said That girl has soul, her heart is high.
;

she smote their hearts with

the glamour o'er

What was

them

cast,

That she had but

to smile anew,

And she has great thoughts in her head, And close to her again they drew And scorn of meanness in her eye Holding her all that is good and true ?
15

; ;

: ;

226

Raban
extremes of good or
bliss to
ill,

Still in

Loo, Loo

she will

toil at his

Greek,
speak

She seemed

to play a fateful part

Help

his prelections,

and

fittingly

Some felt it Some found

But
let

do her

will,

To

scholars of

Homer,
in

to

Burschen

in it

an aching heart

of beer,
Plato the reference-

Will search out them joy or let them ache. passage, The task she set them they would make

Their chiefest business for her sake.

And see to the CalPs-flesh, the cabbage

She did not wonder

But,
all

at her lot,

And

unconscious, held her way,

and sausage. the pipe and the household gear.

mug and

the old

Nor cared for incense that she got, Nor heeded what the world might say
Unwittingly her spells she wove, And proudly lived apart, above All the surmise of hate or love.

Loo, Loo

Can

boil,

she can sew, she can spin. stew and fry, see to flagon
!

and binn,

A beautiful enigma she.

Our

the " Birds " and the " Clouds with fine sense of the fun. Grasp Aeschylus' thought of the Fates,

Read

"

And
As

Muriel, with the dark bright eyes still her beauty seemed to be

and the

Human
gleams out
in

That

softly

Euripides'

Flashed on you with a fresh surprise

Woman,
seek the Beer-garden, and knit
in the sun.

And when they left her, men would look Then

by some great Book That did their meaner soul rebuke.
if

inspired

LOO
Loo, Loo!
pretty.
at

Loo, Loo what will she not do For a husband she loves, ever faithful
!

rather

handsome

than

Is

and true ? he off to the Sanskrit

the

she'll

study

Veds

Deft

Quick

And Babylon's stone-books and arrowhead letters. and keen in retort Oh, she'll find the trick of them as soon Knitting her brows now o'er polyglot
a pudding, or stocking, or ditty.
at a riddle,

learning.

as her betters.

Then

toiling

hard

at

her sewing and

And

then turn to making shirt-collars

darning.

or beds.
life,

Brimful of

or at

work

or in sport.

Loo, Loo where on earth can she be Frau they tell me in Germany, Seeing to Saur Kraut, plump and fair
!

Loo, Loo it was always her way She said men were failures, and had had their day. But women were versatile, nimble as
!

Now

in

the

store-room,

now

at

the

air.

dresser.

Fit for the humblest tasks,

to

fit

for the

Kitchen-maid, waiting-maid
Professor,

her
the

highest.

Pouring
at

life-blood
driest.

into

themes that

Just as she

was

the

House

in

were

Square.

Happy

Professor, put under her care

; ; ;; : !;

227

The House

in the Square

MYRA

LOVE

Oh, what is this that in my heart is She was the fairest of all the three singing, Yet not at first she caught the eye, Like sweet bird, caged there, carolling For in her maiden meekness she all day ? Wooed shadow like the primrose shy, And seventeen summers hardly brought Oh, what is this such gladness to me

Her

lissom form to perfect grace, the great purple eyes

still

bringing

And
Too

shot

That

life

is

bliss,

and work
!

is

merry

large a light on the oval face

play,

Yet she was fairest of all the three. E'en were she nothing at all to me.
wisest of them, though Not so nimble and deft of wit But her heart thought, and made her

And round my steps, lo

are springing

sunny flowers

She was the

As

go singing, singing on

my way

O
Ah
!

Love, glad Love

is

know

what

this that in

my

heart

is

What

was fit And when you touched on higher Like captive vainly moaning to be free ? Ah what is this so heavy in me lying ? chords. No rest there is, nor any work for me. With eager eyes and parted lips, You caught her listening to your words, And leaf and flower are drooping now and dying Quick mind the finger-tips
for the loving heart
!

sighing.

with

to

For she was

wisest of

ail

the three.

As

I go sighing, sighing wearily

Had

she been nothing

at all to

me.

O
What

Love, sad Love

is

She was the sweetest of them

sweet

As summer air from clover field And had a charity complete,

And
That she would laugh as
But could not play

thing

this

my

foolish heart

is

A touch, too, and a word that healed,

therewith, oh so blithe a heart
birds must sing,
a bitter part

dreaming, That I should love, and long for yon

bright star
?

I sigh or sing,

but she, unmoved,

is

That she might say a

clever thing.

Wisest, sweetest, fairest she. E'en were she nothing at all to me.

gleaming As in high glory where the angels are I but a glow-worm on the earth dullbeaming. While she is gleaming, gleaming there
afar.

And
And

she was

all

the world to

me
it

I loved her though she

knew

not.

Love, vain Love

she loved, though I did not see She gave me back the love I sought loved, and yet we never wist Till many years had come and gone ;

We We

SPEECHLESS
O
thou fire-edged cloudlet

never spoke

it,

never kissed,

But loved

in silence

and alone.

Fairest, dearest of all the three,

Oh, she was

all

the world to me.

Brimming o'er with light Like my heart thou hangest 'Twixt the day and night.

;:

228

Rabat!

Silently thou hangest,

How

fresh

in

powers,

in

faiths,

in

Seemingly

at rest,

thoughts

Yet there BoUing

is

strange tumult

How full
The sum

that fertile time appears

in

in

thy breast.

We jotted down
of
all

pregnant notes

O my

the after years.

heart o'er-brimming

With burning thought of her, Could' St thou only speak it, How her heart must stir
!

The scholar's aim we held aloft. The fearless search for what is true. As fresh discoveries called us oft
Old schemes of Nature
to review.

But my love is surging. Like the hurrying wave Breaking on the silence

And And
And

to adjust the thought and fact, to

make room

for

growth yet
act

Of the

more,
to believe that

dripping cave

God may

Breaking on the silence

In ways

we had

not dreamed before.

Of the tangled shelf. And falling back in foam-bells

Still

We had

upon

itself.

our passing hours of doubt, But did not nurse the shadowy throng. For we had work to go about That would not hold with doubting
long.

THE LICENTIATE
DILL'S LODGINGS
I SEE the little dingy street.

And looking back

on those brave years, Unspotted by the world and free. Meagre and poor to-day appears. When earth is so much more to me.

The The

little

little

room three stories woman, clean and

high.
neat.

With

kindly smile, and kindling eye.

CONFIDENCE
Strange, that for
the shore,
all

The paper chintz, the staring prints. The bird whose carol would not cease. And the cracked china ornaments
Ranged
stiffly

the wrecks upon

on the mantelpiece.

And

all

that, helpless, drift about the

sea.

A dingy street among the poor,

Thronging with children day and
night,

We

never

dream

that

such our fate

With

sluttish

women

at

every door
light
!

may be. Or shrink from

wreck more
But
fresh

life

that

may

be one

Gossiping

in the

waning

Yet oh the nights I there have seen The humour kindling every face,

hope comes

to each fresh soul,

The
That

play of wit, the logic keen

glorified the

as light
!

homely place
little

Dawns on
waves.

the waters, dimpling in their

laughter
tripping
o'er

Simple our

life,

with

change,

With

And

yet

it

was a bright romance.

running the graves

Fresh with the wonderful and strange Of youth's enchanted golden trance ;

Where former hopes

of sight.

lie

buried

out

The

Licentiate

229

And we are sure, and eager for the race, And crowd all sail, and deem not for
an hour

WAITING

That

life

is

power

not worth living, or that Wearily drag the lagging hours To him who, waiting to be hired.

Is not in us to master time

and space.

Is

More
Is
it

by enforced idlesse tired than by strain of all his powers

to play a

that Nature, with a wanton's smile. Wearily, having in his heart

Allures, but to delude, and break our

hearts,

The hope

worthy

part.
art.

And
than break them,

scorning each ignoble

Or worse

when

the

soul departs

Girt for the

?
!

fight,

he waits forlorn.
jest.

Of nobleness, that dwelt in us erewhile

Or
does she seem to us what
herself true, and

And oh it irks him sore to rest. And watch, too oft with mocking

we

desire,
all

Though
deceit.

hating

And And

all

we we
?

hear

is

but our

own

heart's

Things done that fill his soul with scorn, As he with folded hands must sit. While lesser men, with scanty wit. Get all the work, and tangle it.
life

beat,
all

see but

what our dreams So

grows
a

bitter

or perhaps
in his face.

inspire

Hope

flirts

moment

SCATTERED
Scattered to East and

Then

trips off to
its

another place.

And

pours

treasures in the laps

Some with
stout,

West and North, Will

went
it

Of some

dull soul,

whose easy
eat.

feet

tread the old familiar beat,

the faint heart, some the

forth.

Contented getting much to

Each

to the battle of life

all

And

alone

we must

fight

out.

And lo the work remains undone. And work is what he hungers for.
!

We

had been gathered from cot and

the

But cannot

find an

open door,
the sun.
fire,

grange.

And
Still

loiters idly in

From

moorland farm,

and the

waiting with his heart on

terraced street.

And

wasting with his great desire,

to hire.

Brought together by chances strange. And knit together by friendships sweet.

Waiting and finding none

Not Not

in the sunshine, in the night

not in the rain.

stars untold.

A WISH
Just a path that
is

of the

Shall

we

ever

all

meet again.
in the

sure.

Or
But

be as

we were

days of old.

Thorny

or not.

And a heart honest and pure. and more cheerily go Keeping the path that is sure. Having changed tidings upon the sea. That be my lot So I am richer by them, I know. Life is no merry-making, And they are not poorer, I trust, by me. Hark how the waves are breaking
as ships cross,
!

::

230

Raban
Just plain duty to

know, Irksome or not, And truer and better to grow In doing the duty I know. That I have sought Life is no merry-making,

But is my message true seem

Full of the lights

To-day, I

That from the bleeding Christ

grandly stream

so

And
!

lo

to-morrow,

it is

like a

dream

How

the

stiff

pine trees are quaking

Of restless

nights

Just to keep battling on.

And

Weary

I have drifted back into the shade. Unsaying what I said.

or not,

Sure of the Right alone. As I keep battling on, True to my thought Life is no merry-making. Ah how men's hearts are breaking
!

which I should have found Before I tried To preach, with unfixed heart, the faith profound
I seek a gospel

Which

tells

the

captive

that

he

is

SELF-CONTEMPT
I bear a

unbound

And

message to the sons of men, Faithful and true, it should drop on earth like tender

By Him who died To ope his prison door, and

From
all his

set

him

free

misery.
true
!

rain,

heart that

would be

O
my

hard

estate. But yet I bear my message all in vain, To falset bound let For me do Whate'er I may, and plead howe'er I This only comfort is there

in

fate

can,
I touch

My
To

no heart of man.
I
?

message I did ne'er prevaricate With tinkling sound tickle ears, nor played with showy

How
Is,

should

Though

bear a

trick

message

true.

Of tinsel
live,

rhetoric.

The

thing I want

room for me to

and work to do

I've
;

mocked

myself, and laughed with

And

so I go about to places

new

bitter jest
;

At much I saw With patience scant. And tell my tale, and then go on my way. But yet I kept a true heart in my breast. Nor turned, in all my trouble and unrest. And life grows dull and grey.
From

And
Thus,

am

full

of self-contempt and

Of present

scorn

To

the high law duty ; and my peace Even in this hard estate.

is

great

go about

falsely speaking truth to hearts

forlorn,

And jibe myself that I, some ugly morn.

HOPE

To

Shall be found out be no prophet whom the Lord hath sent, Or for His service meant.

little

Kirk, beneath a steep green

tall

hill.

With

a grey spire that peeps o'er

elm-trees,

; ;

The

Licentiate

231

In a still, pastoral land of brook and rill, To stand beside the cradle and the grave. And broomy knoll, and sleepy, dripping And tell them how the meek and true
mill.

and brave
stir

Far from the

of

cities

and of seas

Turn
is

graves to cradles where the sleep

sweet.
!

And

near the Kirk, low nestling in the

clad,

copse,

O happy lot
fire.

With honeysuckle

and roses red,

with one, to brighten life. Smiling soft-eyed beside the evening

all

little

Manse, whose sweet-flowered

garden slopes

Sharing the sorrow, sweetening

strife.

the

Down to the river where the river drops,

With murmuring
bed.
ripple, o'er a

pebbly

And And

leaning on her lord, a loving wife,

cherished by her lord with fond

desire.

How
long.

happily

the

days

and

years

Dream

of
!

the

golden

morning of

might flow

the day

Among

the silent shepherds brooding

to

Dream

of the night beneath the foldthe

ing star

In pious labour, studious

know,

And patient service, till their life should

grow

From
ful

the river rippling soft away thoughtful silence into thought- Into the tremulous moonshine which

Dream of me lay Dream by

!

hungry heart that

in

song

dreams

are.

To pass from house to house in visit free,

Welcome
hearth.
as sunshine at the

smoking

THE BROOK AND THE

RIVER

To take the little children on the knee. And bless them, as He did in Galilee

stream

from

the

heath-purpled

Who

came with
;

blessing unto all the

mountain

earth

Comes, with a gush.

From

the star-moss round

its

fountain,

Breaking the hush To speak to them of Duty and of God, Of the silent, songless mountain. And of the Love that clasped the bitter
Cross,

And

Pewit-and-curlew-haunted,

of the health and comfort of His

Foaming,

it

flows

rod.

And

go before them on the way

He
in

There where the wild deer undaunted

Bells, as it goes Pewit-and-curlew-haunted.
It plays

trod.

Who
its

found Life's glory and fulness

loss

with the rowan and bracken grey lichened stone. To share in all the joys and griefs But never its pace will it slacken. they have, Still hurrying on. To bless the bridal, not else thought Though it plays with the rowan and

And

complete.

bracken.

; ; !

232

Raban

A river winds 'neath the shadows

Of pine-wood
and oak,
the

A shepherd's wife comes to the door.

Shading her eyes with large brown
hand.

And

hums meadows,

to

bee-humming

He

is

away on the upland moor.

she sees but a kestrel soar. far over the land.

And
That

the white flock

And nothing

bleats

from the mists and the Keen-eyed, spying

shadows.

There

is

no voice but the rushing

rills.

Down
And

to the

still

river hastens

The

swift-flowing stream.

And creak of frightened pewit's wing. And bleat of young lambs on the hills.
Heard only when

And

aye as the distance it lessens Its bright waters gleam, it leaps and sparkles and hastens

The

soul,

and

all

a silence fills the space of things.

What made my
Till in the calm-flowing river

eyes

grow dim and

blind

Softly

it

sinks,

And

hears not and heeds not for ever

What

fern or tree thinks,

river.

But only the low-whispering

Ah, when the heart is heavy and low. The beauty that on earth we find. Or strain of music on the wind.
Shall touch
it

like an utter

woe

O
O

love

my my

river full-flowing.

Wait, wait
love
!

for

me
I will

love, ever-growing,
to thee

SUBMISSION
remember
it

Hastens

For

rest in

thy river calm-flowing.

for aye,

Though
It

there I

was forgotten soon

FAILURE
I see the

The The The

Kirk beneath the hill. elms rustling in the breeze. modest Manse, so calm and still. dripping of the sleepy mill
tall

A A

sunny day, And under stars and moon. It was the only hope I had That unto near fulfilment grew while it made me very glad while it made me very sad
haunts
in the

me

That hides among

I look

the nutting trees.

a

And then I knew 'Twas but another thread He wove In the mixed web of Father-love.

down, with

hungry

heart.

On

the broad river rippling cool

fisher plies his patient art.

The The

MORALISING
fair

and the May flies dart Roses About the slowly eddying pool.
trout leaps,

And

they

tell

on thorns do grow me, even so

virtues

Low

sunbeams on the meadows play,

like a film of cloud,

Sorrows into

grow

The moon shows

Heigh-ho
from
the
flinty

It was a stroke Brought the stream Peeps to another star far away. rock. And the hill is wrapt in a misty shroud.

A star from the red skirts of day

Sermons
common
folk

Crystallised

233
with

And

Frosty winter kills out weeds they tell me, evil seeds
that bleeds

For

common

thoughts and sins

Die out in the heart Heigh-ho

And
To

sorrows, and

no reaching out

of hope
find a larger faith in Charity
;

And

some have faith That dying is the death of Death.

!

Yet notable
Starting,
valise

for a Licentiate

on

Saturdays,

with

little

Ah
As

the loss

Bitter bliss

may yet be gain, may spring from pain.

!

And

threadbare

garments, for

some
village

the bird-songs after rain

homely kirk

Heigh-ho

Among
green.
to

the hiUs, or

on the

But nought shall be Ever again the same

me.

Whither he went, and

shot.

fired his aimless

Then

passed

away

again,

and was

CRYSTALLISED SERMONS

forgot.

NOTE

SACRIFICE

He had no written sermons, only took " And there he builded an altar unto the Brief jottings upon any scrap of paper Lord that appeared unto him." Gen. xii. 7. Bits of old letters, envelopes, or Is there Bridge-maker who can throw labels And there the thought was scrawled, An arch across the gulf of years.

That we may travel back, and know roughly etched, a kind The brooding thoughts, and haunting fears, Of hieroglyph whereof he had the key, Now lost for ever : etchings strongly And clinging faiths of them who raised Their altars 'neath the evening star. drawn, With a clear eye for form, and touched And offered to the gods, and praised. with humour And drave the dogs and birds afar ? Or pathos ; so he penned his similes. But certain thoughts that took his Vainly, I seek to know his mind Who smote the lamb with gleaming fancy more,
but half the matter
illustration

Was

And,

as I guess,

had troubled hearers

up,

knife.

more.

And
and put
in

sprinkled blood, and

hoped

to find

These he had gathered

verse.

As

sermon-matter crystallised, spoken In amplitude of phrase, but compact Not to be preached, but crooned in I gaze back from the brink of time On shadowy forms of early days, quiet hours Of musing by the fire. Poor sermons That in the morning, loom sublime, God-guided on untravelled ways truly
! ;

peace of a diviner life. Far off he seems, I cannot tell once Whether beneath me, or above. Or compassed round with shades of hell. now Or trembling in the bliss of love

The

234

Raban
And piled the logs upon the hearth. And called the gods, in stormy words, To send the hungry ravens forth To fatten at the feast of swords.
Yet darker rites were theirs who kissed Their hand unto the placid moon Or who the Tyrian Moloch wist To pacify with choicest boon Of babe or maid ; or where the Priest Stood grim beneath the Druid oak Or Aztec fed with ample feast
;

But o'er the vague, vast chasm that parts Their thought from mine I cannot go I wot not how their troubled hearts Were calmed by making blood to flow.

Yet once wherever man had Or sin had grown from base

trod,
desire,

He

built

And And

an altar to his god, laid the faggot on the fire. brought the choicest of the flock
frolic

From

And
The
The The The

laid

by its bleating dam. upon the unhewn rock

tender kid, or spotless lamb.

knife into
its

The

captives for the fateful rock.

throat

was driven.

What was

it

entered thus the soul.

blood was sprinkled on the stone. To give it calm, or promise bliss ? smell of fat went up to heaven, Strange that the ages, as they roll. That on the leaping flame was thrown ; Have dropped behind a thought like this. And he before his god was glad. Which held the universal mind And prayed, and sang his evening hymn, Of all the world when it was young ! And laid him down to sleep, and had For now the key I cannot find Bright dreams until the stars grew dim. In all that men have said or sung.

Hebrew on the plain In mocking scorn, the Prophet laughed while Heaven, many-eyed, Loud at a hungering, thirsting God Unweeping, saw the throbbing pain. craved the flesh of bulls, or quaffed Or smiled even as the victim died. The reeking blood that died the sod. And smelled a sweeter smell from blood, For every beast is His, and all He wist, than from the myriad flowers The cattle with their clover-breath. That breathed, from shining bell and And Love, that quickened great and bud, small. Their incense through the dewy hours. Can feel no pleasure in their death.
Thus did
the

Of Moreh,

Who

The

subtle-wltted

Greek with

art

They

say the Giver of

all life

Was And

fain the anguish to adorn.

Is fain to take the life

He

gives.

singing with a sprightly heart,

Led the young kid with

sprouting horn.

Flower-garlanded, into the grove. And there by crystal fount or brook. Into the life of Nature wove The slender thread of life he took.

And May And

But

will not spare, unless the knife

gash some other thing that lives they are sure, and they are clear. While I in dizzying darkness grope,
trust that God will yet appear In star-gleams of a nobler hope.

The Norseman slew the mighty steed That bore him in the battle fray,

would not heed, though that old Faith

spread
its

Had

roots o'er

all

the earth,

And And

and drank the mead, If they were withered now in death feasted Hella-thoughts away, As having no abiding worth
ate the flesh,
:

Crystallised

Sermons

^35

That shape our thoughts of

right,

But from those roots still branches spring High on the heath are the Standing Stones, truth and
Great, gaunt stones in a mystic ring. Girdling a barrow where heroes' bones Crumble to dust of death that owns

And still of Sacrifice we sing, And blood that maketh clean and white.
There was some passion, fear, or guilt That emphasised expression thus. As by a mighty oath, and felt
it
?

Them
Not

and their wars and

faiths

and

thrones.
far off is an oozy spring Feeding a black and dismal pool There slow efts crawl, horse-leeches

A peace
To On
I
;

But what

cannot give to us. Was it the soul's consent

it

die for sin that

had done

cling.

Nay man's strong life was not

know

yet spent

And And

the dragon-fly whirs on restless

threads by morbid conscience spun.

wing.
near by the adder
is

coiled in

Into the

the anguish that is wrought web of highest bliss

the ling

I know the Cross must be his lot once an oak made a shadow cool. Who thrills with Love's redeeming kiss. And Woven of its green boughs overhead.

But when the Lamb or Bullock fell 'Neath the keen blade, or shattering
blow,

And blithe birds sang in the leafage full

Now
But

but a raven, bird of dule.

its

How
Or
Or

that could

make
I

Croaks on
the sick heart

stump from

May to

Yule.

well.

nearer

God

do not know.
of

And And And And And

Root

yet the

Lamb

God

was

slain

ere the age of sin began.

wrapt
all
all all

in that prophetic pain

Is all the history of

man

silently watching the silent dead Stands the grey circle of sentinels. Scarred and lichened, as ages sped With snows, and dripping rains overhead. And suns, and the wasteful life they

the fulness of his

life,

bred.

the greatness of his thought. the peace of his long strife

Now, evermore where

dwells

the dead

man

in that Everlasting

Ought.

The
Or

living

have gone to seek for God,

And the

Altar-fire of the

Unseen

tells,

THE STANDING STONES

" God at sundry times and in divers manners spake in time past unto the fathers." Heb. i. i.

the swing and the clash of Christian

to

bells

Summon

Lauds and

Canticles.

abode lapwing and shrill curlew. To circle and cairn they carried their moans. load Eerie and weird, to the curlews there. Of burdened thought, as they wearily And the greedykiteand the kestrel scare trod Singing birds from the lightsome air. On to the brink where they lost the road.
there, of old, in that bleak

A rolling upland, open and bare, A blasted heath where the night wind

And

Of wily

Raban

;;

236

Seek but provision of bread and wine. High-ceiled houses, and heaps of gold. His earliest beams ; and there he met Fools to flatter, and raiment fine. The Bel-fire kindling its answer true^ All the wealth of the sea and mine Light for the light in heaven that grew, And nothing of God shall e'er be thine. Worship-light to the Light-god due. But who seeks Him, in the dark

There dipped the Sun

in the dripping

dew

So men acknowledged, and paid

debt.

their

and cold.

In the old days, to the powers above. Giving back that they were fain to get. shall hold. And piling the faggots, dry or wet, Though round his spirit the mists Still as the keen stars rose and set. may fold, With eerie shadows, and fears untold.

With heart that elsewhere finds no rest. Some fringe of the skirts of God

Was

not the instinct true that

wove

Fire-worship thus for the god of fire ? Give from below what ye get from
above.

THE ANCIENT CROSS

"God
manners
fathers."
at

Light for the heaven-light. Love its Love, holy soul for the Holy Dove.

for

Heb.

sundry times and in divers spake in time past unto the

i.

j.

God tunes for Himself the hallowed lyre

That
shall truly

There is a long, green spit of land That juts into a loch ; the sea

His

praises

show
will desire.

He

gives the song that

He

Not

far off thuds

upon the sand.

Or

crashes where the red rocks be

Ever new from the trembling wire. Ever new from the heart on fire.

But here the peace is very great. Small brooklets murmur as they list.

Back

to

its

fountain let

it

flow
;

And, green with

oft-enfolding mist,

Whatsoever He sends to you Mercy, if mercy of His ye know,

The The

hills

stand round in quiet state.

And if your

joy

He

lady-birch, with drooping bough,

graceful
his red scales

has

made

to grow.

Up

to

Him

Shows

let its

gladness go.

And

by the sturdy pine more ruddy glow

;

So in all faiths there is something true. The more her silver branches shine ; And here and there the rough-kneed oak Even when bowing to stock or stone Something that keeps the Unseen in Spreads its sharp-dinted glossy leaves
view

Where
Its

the slow fisher, oaring, cleaves

a lazy stroke.

Beyond the

stars,

And

notes

His

gifts

and beyond the blue. with the worship

shadow with
on the
spit

And
With

of land a stone.

due.

lichen tinted and with moss.

For where the spirit of man has gone A-groping after the Spirit divine,

Stands on the tufted grass alone. Its face graven with a simple Cross

Somewhere
Throne,

or

other

it

touches the There

And

sees a light that

is

seen by none,

Nor Nor

is no word of pious lore, wreath, nor ring, nor ornament,

sacred letters nicely blent

Butwho

seek

Him thatissittingthereon.

A simple Cross,

and nothing more.

Crystallised

Sermons

237

Not other is the stone from those That in the mystic circle stand An unhewn slab, and yet it shows

And when
knife,

Norse axe, or wild kern's

New

light risen on a darkling land

Unpitying, smote bare head or breast. They sweetly sang themselves to rest

In monumental speech, it tells The story of the ages gone. The story of the Pagan stone

With

songs about the

Crown of

Life.

By
Christian

suffering thus subduing wrath.

New-charmed with
spells.

sacred

They conquered
them

those

who

vanquished

And corn grew on the waste war-path. Men had been giving blow for blow. And nets dried where the long ships And wrath for wrath, and tears for tears, came, And reaping duly grief and woe And there was wealth where had
Through the long
years
Still, with

tale

of blood-stained

been

loss.

the summer, long ships steered

Up the calm loch with Norsemen fierce.

Whose
gleaming swords were sharp
to pierce,

And ringing bells for clash of swords. And needing no explaining words. On the old stone they graved a Cross.
They conquered yet for many a day The fierce old spirit lingered still,
;

And

neither gods nor

men

they feared.

In vain the coracle was hid In cove beneath the branching trees In vain they practised rites forbid. Or sought the hills, and shunned the
seas
;

And And And

the hot passion had its sway, the old war-gods wrought their
rites

will.

of fear and blood were done

Amid
They Upon

The

Viking came with brass-beaked

the mists, and on the moss had but scratched a shallow Cross

ship.

the grim old Pagan stone.

And wrath and sorrow came with him, Ah me and still we hardly know And many a shining eye grew dim. The depth and glory of the Faith And quivered many a smiling lip.
!

That opens

life

to

man by

slow.
;

then there travelled o'er the sea, From the lone isle where saints were
!

Lo

Meek

suffering, patient unto death

We
To

still

are fain, with wrath

bred,

seek for gain, to

and strife. shrink from loss.

A peaceful, unarmed company

Who
said

Content to scratch our shallow Cross brought good news of God, they On the rough surface of old life.

They suffered much, yet did not grieve, And there it stands, the cross-charmed stone, They laboured much, and wearied not, On the green spit beyond the trees They bore with joy a bitter lot. And sang their hymn at morn and eve. It hears by night the faint sea-moan. By day the song-bird and the breeze, They sang about the dim grey seas. And Christian bells, and sounding trains. And One that walked upon their wave; And the hard grinding of the wheels They sang about the streams and trees And now and then a pilgrim kneels.
In a far land beyond the grave
;

And

tells

to

it

his griefs and pains.

Raban

238

THE ABBEY
at sundry times and in divers spake in time past unto the fathers." Heb. i. i.

Some went hunting the red-deer stag, Some would travel with beggar's bag,

"God

And some

sat

long by the old red wine

pleading a cause in
far

manners

Near by the

river the
fruit

Abbey

stands,
fat

Some would go Rome,

Among
With

old

trees,

and on

And And

still

found cause to be

from

green lands.
a weir

home,
near to St. Peter's costly door
all

not all bad, and they were good And cunning cruives at the salmonWho wore the Monk's girdle and leap sandal and hood, And the beeves on the clover are But some of them padded the Cross
the mill, not
fetlock-deep.

on the river to drive

They were

And
'Tis

the sheep are nibbling the grassy

they bore.

hill.

Yet was the Abbey a

but a ruin, spreading

fruitful stage

In the slow growth, and the ripening age Broken gable and cloistered side 'Mong lichened pear-trees and Spanish Of the long history of man For beaming Virgin and Holy Child nuts,

now

wide

Here

a pillar, and there a shrine,

its

Made many a fierce heart meek and mild,

Or

niche where
:

sculptured lords

And

the mastery there of

mind began.

recline

Long

a quarry for walls

and huts.

Oh, stately the Lady-Chapel there Once reared its cross in the upper air Near by the river among the trees,

The footsore pilgrim there found rest, The heartsore too was a welcome guest. And who loved books, got helpful store. It is God who guides the world's affairs.

And sweet bells rung, and censers swung, And matins and vespers and lauds were
sung.

And

ever

life rises
its

by winding

stairs.

Screwing

way from

the less to more.

With solemn-chaunted

He
litanies.

reads the story best,

to find

who

reads

Ever

some germing seeds

O'er the high Altar a meek face shone, Sprouting up to a nobler end. And God's long patience working still Through all the good, and through all Fashioned by art beyond the sea;

A Virgin-Mother and Baby-Son,

And

there, in linen or purple dressed,

the

ill.

priest

gave thanks, or a soul con-

And

always something in us to mend.

fessed.

With a psalm of praise, or a bended knee. From bud

And And some would feather

hooks,

to bell the wild bee strays. Seeking the sweets of the sunny days. somewould pore over vellum books. Probing deep for the honey-cell

And

some would

the sharp fish- Yet well for his theft he pays the flower, For he brings to the blossom a quicksee to the sheep ening power.

and kine;

And

a richer

life to

bud and

bell.

;; ;

Crystallised

Sermons

339

Narrow and poor was

life

the old

Church-

And stars and tides ring out

the chimes. Telling the seasons and the times.

As it

And many guests there come and go, themselves at home in it. With scourgings many, and fastings And make Some restless, hurrying to and fro. new; Some lounging where the sunbeams flit. It knew no letters, it spurned at Art, Some with a curious craving smit. It had no pleasures, and lived apart Doomed to die the world's life grew. Some with the laugh of careless wit.
strife,

prayed in

its cell,

amid storm and

as

All through the woods they hunt the But something of wisdom the Monk game. would know. Or snare the fish in brook and mere. Something of gladness here below. They bake the wheat by the ruddy Something of beauty, and what it can flame. He was not sinless, and yet he brought Or roast the flesh of the fatted steer. larger heart, and a freer thought. And draw from cellars cool the clear And a fuller life to the sons of man. Old wine that has ripened many a year.

not the end are a stage too This stately mansion is their inn, Others will come yet our work to mend, Where many fret, and all make free And they too will wonder at our poor They set the tables to lose or win. ways. They tune the strings to dance with Ah Life is more than our sermons, glee:
!

And we

prayers,

Only
machineries,
multiplied

their

Bourses,

And many
They

Host they do not see. doubt if Host there be.

wares

away. by right Still is a feeling of something in me They think, if He were coming, they Which yet I am not, and I ought to be. Could bear the searching of His light Vaguely reaching for more and more ; They think He is a dream of night. And the gain is loss, when I do not win That morn will banish from the sight.
Still

the heart sighs for the better days.

think that

He

is

far

And

that the place

is

theirs

A larger A

life

for the soul within.

And

But there are some grave men and wise lead the guests to a silent room. Wherein a golden volume lies. PARABOLIC DISCOURSE And picture of One in youthful bloom. Whose face a glory doth illume ; "A certain man planted a vineyard, and And by His side are a Cross and Tomb. let it forth to husbandmen, and went into a far country. " Luke xx. 9. And this, they say, is He who made
hopes of an ever-opening door.

Who

First

Head

of Discourse

The

great house

'mong the oaks and

limes.

A stately mansion in

And He is living who once was dead. its park But far away in heavenly climes. Stands fair amid the oaks and limes. Where are no stars or tides or chimes. Throstle and ousel, cuckoo and lark, And flowers and shrubs of many climes, Telling the seasons and the times.

340

Raban
some of His guests

And

He

keeps for

He

bliss,

But prayed that

right,
seals

did not argue nor dispute, God would lead him

sat

And some of them He keeps for gloom,

Some

He

And

some of doom.

He

with a loving kiss, stamps with the brand

And

and brooded

still

and mute.

Some He

saves by Cross and

in their

Tomb,

Until he saw, as 'twere, the white Thin sickle of the new-born moon

Meekly dying

room.

That

yet holds
all to

all

the round of light.

clear as noon,
like a bird
its

These He loves of very grace But those He leaves to die in sin, Not evermore to see His face,
;

And And
That

him grew

he came singing,

sings for very joy

it

tune

Nor
For

ever hope of
all

life to

win

the unbelieving kin

Wrath

Eternal shuts them

all

the Eternal Word, He The glory and the life of Heaven, Which his entrancM soul had heard.

deemed

in.

Lo

have sought, he

said,

and

striven

And

should bow the knee To find the truth, and found it not. At the glory of His might. But yet to me it hath been given, And glory of His justice see. And unto you it hath been brought. That surely doeth all things right This Host of ours our Father is, And so in Him should they delight And we the children He begot.
therefore

Whether

He heal their hearts, or smite.

Upon my brow
Second Head of Discourse
Once, pitying much
lot,

I felt

His

kiss.

His love

is all

And He

about our steps. would lead us all to bliss

their

One came who

gentle

was and meek,

And

burdened

with

thought.

For though He comes in many shapes, His love is throbbing in them all. no soul escapes, long-brooding And from His love And from His mercy none can fall.
speak.

foredoomed

And when he heard the wise men

Third Head of Discourse

He

deeply questioned them ; and they Replied that he was vain and weak
this

Now, when
rose,

they heard his words, they

For

had been the

faith

alway

And
And
That

Of all the martyrs and the saints. And all the ages stretching grey

With many
all all

drove him forth into the night bitter words like blows said that all would now be right.
their trouble

now would
full

cease,

Among
Or

the mountains of events,

And
Yet Out

the house be

of peace.

Since Luther held the world at bay, Paul was busy making tents.
silently

Then

he turned away.

And

to himself the question put,

Searching the matter, night and day.

dark and in the cold, among the dews. He ceased not fresh discourse to hold Amid the limes and elms and yews ; It was " a still small voice," and yet They heard it in the wind and wet.
in the

in the night

Crystallised

Sermons

241

He
Or

wandered there among the

in

trees,

And

the day, or in the dark. in the whistling of the breeze

singing like a lark

Of Nature for a witness true, Affirming what thy words have said Of Him who liveth, and was dead, And liveth to make all things new ?
In vain,

They heard him

He

is

our Father dear, he cried.

And
And
It

for the love of

man

He

died.

we

try to reconcile

His
somehow, ever as he sang. seemed as if the great Book shone.
mystic, pleading yoices rang

hapless lot with love divine,

Who
And

Is brought

born with taint of lust or wine, up in the lap of guile.

And
And And

About
it

the rooms of vaulted stone.

gets

no chance

his infant eyes

tears

were on the pictured face. was like a haunted place.

as

Look

out on

But they went on

Still eating

they had done.

And And
And
That
But

lies

and hate, and blood, and horrors great,

riot, vice,

learn to look without surprise.

of the earth's increase,

yet I hold with

them who say

Laughing or lounging in the sun, And vowing that they had great peace But no one heeded now the old
Strange story that the wise

God

is

love, and
it is

God

is

light

this is faith,

And

not sight. waiteth, hoping for the day.

men

told.

And And And And

And

yet the wise men were content, said that they had faithful been ; to the chamber door they went. not by them the lights were the

Though
seen,

'Tis vain to wrestle with the doubt, Or think to reason it away, As well go wrestle with the grey Cold mist that creeps the hills about.

Yet I can

trust,

and hope and

as
is

praise.

read

Book and

sang

and

Weary and dark

prayed.
ate their viands

the road. Because I see the heart of God,

undismayed.

When

on the

bitter

Cross I gaze.
1

Fourth Head

of Discourse

fellest

deed of wrath and Wrong

evil-seeming slept

Ah

Yet
!

in thine

which is truth ? The sovereign Will That worketh out a purpose vast. Beyond our ken, to end at last In severance of the good and ill ?

A large assurance, that hath kept

The
Faith of goodness calm and strong.

ELIJAH
z

Or

love that sweetly

would enfold
It

Kings

ii.

z-ii

All creatures in a large embrace. And with the tears that blot its face.
Blot also out their sins untold
?

was the great Elijah in the chariot of heaven, With the horses of Jehovah, by a

Dear
Is
it

story of the Cross and Book our fabling hearts that speak
in

And
we

mighty angel driven, the chariot wheels were rushing

'raid a mist of fiery spray,

Fond dreams
seek,

Thee ? and
field

shall

Through glory of
and nook

the night to higher

In vain, through every 16

glory of the day.

242

Raban

was the great Elijah but meek and And was not that the road by which was he, from Carmel he had run For he trembled at the glory which Before the chariot of the king about his flesh was soon to see, the set of sun ? Going, girdled in his sackcloth, as the Yea, God was backward leading him prophets were arrayed. to heaven along the path To the splendour of the Presence where Which he had erewhile travelled o'er
It
still

the angels are dismayed.

in fear or grief or wrath.

Unwonted was

its mingled memories his heart Master would accord He might prepare To his true and faithful witness, For the grandeur and the glory and the bravest servant of the Lord ; crown he was to wear. Yet better had he borne, I trow, the Now, as they drove, careering, with

the honour which his

That by

sad, old

human way
by the gates of Death
had he borne
into

Of entering
Aye,
better

the fire-flakes round the wheels.

And the sparks that rushed like shooting

stars
!

from the horses' flashing heels, he was aware of a throng of men face unto the wall, lay strewn along the road With his kindred in their kindness And straight at them the angel drave gathered round him, one and all. the chariot of God. And to lie down with his fathers in " " then cried Elijah,
to turn his

eternal day.

Lo

Stay,

stay

the dust for

some

brief space

"

rein

For
It

the death, he once

now

had dreaded, They

up the fiery steeds ; will mangle those poor people

;

appeared a tender grace.

;

lying there like bruised reeds

stir

they are sleeping ; or their thoughts are far away. In the presence of King Ahab, and And they do not hear the wheels of his Councillors of State, God to whom perchance they pray.
not
;

was the great Elijah that would dilate

and the form See, they

bowed its head in lowliness, as if " Full oft have I been praying so, and dared not cope chiding His delay. With the terror of the glory, and the And lo the work was done, or ere my wonder of the hope. lips had ceased to pray Away from earth they travelled ; yet For our ears are dull of hearing ; stay, he somehow seemed to know and put them not to proof The road, as if his weary steps had Beneath the grinding of the wheel, and trampling of the hoof." trod it long ago :
it
!

Now

And

was not that the wilderness to "Nay, it boots not," said the angel, which he once had fled ? " they are but the ghosts of those And that the lonely juniper where he Three hundred priests of Baalim who had wished him dead ? fell
beneath thy blows

And

was not that the cave where he That glorious day on Carmel ; let them had sat in sullen mood. perish, as they cry Until he heard the "still small voice" To the gods that cannot help them when that touched his heart with good ? they live, or when they die.

Crystallised

Sermons

243
and mocked you, and I

"Drive

on, ye horses of the Lord,

I flouted you,

across the weltering throng.

It is the great

deemed

that I did well

Elijah ye are bearing

now

along,

When I smote you in the name of Him, the God of Israel.

see him once again in the " But He hath no pleasure in the death triumph of his faith. of any man that dies. And hear the bitter mockery, and taste He delighteth not in blood or smoke the bitter death." of such a sacrifice ; It was the great Elijah, the prophet Yea, not a worm is crushed, but the stem and grand. writhings of its pain Faithful only to Jehovah he in all the Touch a chord of His great pity who faithless land. made nothing live in vain. Zealous even unto slaughter for the " He had patience with thee, Sidon, God of Israel and patience I had none 'Gainst Ahab and the minions of the For the art of Tyre,

Let them

perchance.

Tyrian Jezebel.

He let

the sin of

Tyre

alone.

But he answered, " Stay thy running, Something He saw to stay His wrath ; and let me here descend. but I would nothing see For the Lord has brought me hither Ye were the Priests of Jezebel, and surely for this very end hateful unto me. Ah this thing I had forgotten day " I did not think how hard it is to find of glory and of dole the way of truth ; And I wist not what did ail me, but I did not think how hard it is to shake its weight was on ray soul." the faith
;
!

of youth

down from the chariot, Yet, if I was walking in the light, the looking oh, so meek and mild, credit was not mine, For the burden of the glory made him But God's who in His grace to me humble as a chOd had made the light to shine. And he lifted up the prostrate head of " If ye were walking in the dark, and
stept
;

Then he

one and then another.

was

in the light,

have brought its help to you, and plied you with its might " Ye priests of ancient Sidon, and of But I made my heart a flaming fire, my purple Tyre," he cried, tongue a bitter rod,
I should

For the burden of the greatness made him tender as a mother.

"

I have heard a

still

small voice that

And

I did not hear the

still

small voice

hushed the storms of wrath and pride, which is the voice of God. And God who was not in the fire, and " I said ye might have right to was not in the wind. Tyre beside the sea. Was in the stUl small voice that spake But not in high Samaria, or to the unquiet mind. Galilee

live in

fertile

"

worshippers

of Ashtaroth,

and

And

smote you there on Carmel, as

priests

of Baalim,

I thought,

by His commands,

I thought to please

grievM

Him

Jehovah, and I only But I smote my own heart also when your blood was on my hands.

244

Raban
as

choicest songs of angels are the anthems that begin And in an unloved loneliness I nursed With the sorrow of a contrite heart unhallowed pride a-breaking for its sin. And I wist there was none faithful on the earth, but only I, And ever as the prophet wept, the And sat beneath the juniper, and prayed angel sang more loud. that I might die. And his face was shining more, the more the prophet's head was bowed ; " For Jezebel and Ahab did as they Until the task was ended, and the had done before.

" For the strength departed from me

the pity in

For the

me

died,

were exalted, and were more. And the land was nothing better for the blood that had been shed. And I sat beneath the juniper, and wished that I were dead.
the
idols

And

flesh

was
lo
!

crucified,

idolaters

When

they were at the gate of heaven, and the door was opened wide.

Lo

" Then

they were at the gate of heaven, and there a mighty throng.

!

it

was I heard the

still

small

voice, and

bowed me

Ten

to the ground,

their shout,

Humbled by the

thousand times ten thousand, raised and sang their song.

gracious burden of the But the

rest,

mercy I had found. But I may not enter into

the

Lord

Lord remembered he was flesh, and downcast for his sin, or with And Enoch who had walked with God
came
forth to lead

abide.

him

in.

Till ye

humble with your pardon him that smote you in his pride."

Then, one by one, he bore them gently from the angel's way. And, one by one, he laid them down, and kissed them where they lay And he never was so human as in his So
meekness then. And he never was so godlike was like other men.
till

LITTERATEUR

NOTE
he forsook the
in time.

priesthood

just

he

And

only just in

time

for

there
there,

And he said in

yearning pity,

about Doctrine unsound, unsettling, dangerous. Hapless souls that are in darkness, and In rural manses, and at cleric meetings ; who know not what they do " And the tearful eye was swimming, and In smithies too, and where the shuttle clicked, he heaved a weary sigh ; Sharp wits discussed him, and the He was very near to glory with that ploughman even
I might die for you.
!

"Oh that

had been Ominous whispers, here and

great tear in his eye.

Ceased whistling Arid the angel watched him

in his chariot sat,

in the

furrow, brood-

and

ing o'er

toiling long.

The

And

the angel's face shone radiant, and he broke into a song j

thoughts that came to him, and drove his soul

its

From

old furrow into a fresh

soil.

Litterateur

245

! There was Which stood in peril from the hand of one peace While the tea-table gossiped, and the should have stayed the ark. smith High Cardinals Told his coarse stories to the laughing Bourgeon in all the churches ; there red-stockinged, clowns

Unsettling and alarming

Who

(Heard

also

by the maids that bleached

And

crimson-hatted

here

in

sober

the linen

black

Upon

the green hard by)

peace when
and blood-

Now bald with age, now shaven to look

like age

the weaver

Talked treason with

less lips,

his thin

And gravity and mostly portly men Of large discourse, and excellent taste
;

Starved into revolutionary dreams peace while men grew brutal as the steer They harnessed to their plough ! Then

in wines.

And

They

cultivate

the

wisdom of the

serpent.

And

leave the rest to play the harm-

went well There was no danger

all

to

Church

dove, alarm the Fulfilling thus the scripture by division Of labour, as the modern law reless

But thought disturbs the world, and

thought of God Unsettles most of all ; for it is life. And only life can comprehend its force, Or guide it. 'Tis as lightning in the cloud ; knoW' not what, or where its bolt

quires

You do

the simple

dove,

as

Christ

enjoins.

And

I will do the serpent. For the Church, As a world-kingdom, they are worldlywise.

We
But

may

strike.

Subtle diplomatists, far-seeing schemers

fear for the

church -steeples, and

Of crafty
For
its

policy, yet often

men

ourselves,

Who would not sacrifice a dearest friend

may be
blessing even

Nor dream
in
it.

there

advantage, sooner than them-

selves

are surely times when there Would bleed at the same altar ; yet alas nought They offer sometimes, what is holier So needed as unsettling, just to get still. Out of old ruts, and seek a nobler life. That charity which is the Church's life Raban forsook the Church, whose For the world-kingdom which they call God's Church. service once Had been his fond ambition. But ere that Men of long sUence, they will seldom There had been meetings of the speak Till they are ready to strike ; and so cardinals At the headquarters, moved thereto they held by letters. Many a quiet meeting, letting not Representations, visits, urging them whisper of its purport from their lips. That something must be done to save Only they looked more grave than the Faith customary,

Yet there
is

246

Raban
they

As
.

who have

grave business on

Of

ill

reports, of plans to

wreck

his

their hands.

hopes.

In truth, they wist not what they ought If hope still clung to him ; nor any to do brother The evil might be great; but then Came in a brother's love to him, and

he was

said

So

slight a

man,

so inconsiderable.
;

Unbeneficed, unpopular

and

to break

Lo we will reason it together then God will give light perchance, and
!

fly upon the wheel was apt to rouse thou shalt be Unreasonable laughter, and such men Saved from much sorrow, and I shall Like not such mirth. And then as to be blessed. these views They looked askance at him ; they Who could pin down a shadow to the crossed the road. ground, And passed on the other side ; they And take its measure ? who could try lifted up the notes Their eyes to heaven, and saw him Of a wild bird by proper rhythmic not ; or with laws? Broad, brazen stare they sUently wenton. Or say if the wind whistled by the He noted them, but heeded not, or gamut ? thought They understood not what he would But ho w the herd sweep past the stricken

be at:

deer.

A mystic, vague and unsubstantial, true

To

the wild wolves, padding o'er no laws that they knew ; but they the waste, were sure Eyeing a wounded comrade, note how That he was vain and foolish, and soon would melt The time may come when they shall Like sugar in the mouth, and be forgot lap his blood, Save by some sweet-toothed children. Or gnaw his bones. But nothing then Let him be he knew Contempt would kill that, like a nipping Of their complaints, or of the storm frost. a- brewing ; Which, grown notorious, might live on He only thought that people had not
a while,

Or how

And work
The
knew

some mischief.
cardinals,

They were His

very wise.
portly

and yet

loved preaching, and would hear his voice no more they Else had he stayed it out to fight
the fight.

not

of trumpet and the clash of swords Works sometimes from without as from Roused in him joy of battle, even then within. When hope of victory was none in him.
the truth

All that the future knew, and

how For sound

Meanwhile, he wist not what they So, wotting not his peril, he forsook communed of; The pulpit where they welcomed him None spake to him of trouble in the air. no more

Litterateur

247

The wandering life that, weekly, pitched

its

tent

SECULAR
Who

In some fresh home, where children laughed and sang. And all the hopes that like the ivy

once has worn the priestly robe, and seen The upturned faces with their look grew of awe, Green about old church towers : and As unto prophet giving forth the law sat him down Amid the hush which, even when In a small garret with a new-made pen. thought is lean. Once they complained his sermons were Devoutly listens, having erewhile been 'Mong holy things within the altar rails.

like books,

Might read
tate
;

Essays original and quaint, which men in print, and wisely medithey said
his

Is

fain to

hide his head, what time

he

fails.

And

seeks his pulpit in a magazine.

And now

books did

Unfrocked

of

his

own

will.

He

shrinks with fear somewhat smack From buzzing critics carping at his wit. Of homely preaching, such as long ago past he drops a tear, Spoke to the times. He brought a And on the buried

sacred spirit

UntU he

finds the secular life

is
is,

knit

Unto

the secular task, and called on

And

braced by freedom, and

full

haply,

men

To

follow lofty

more Large and aims and noble deeds.

than his

life before.

Even when he laughed at fools, his mirth would be CONTENT Pitiful, and when he would edge his tool Howe'er it be with some, the broad Sharper to smite the wooden wit o' highway
the time.
it

Yet was

in

Or

large

some cause of righteousness. For when humanity, that might have

to

Is better than the priestly path for

it

me

was

my

task,

from day

been

day.

Theme
devil.

of a prophet mocking at the

To

And

thus he breathed into our

common

and pray, might have grown a Pharisee, Pumping my heart, when it was dry
official pieties,

do

I think I

as dust,

life,

And

round about the church, an atmo-

For words of
I must.

faith

and hope

because

sphere

That changed them both, and loosed Then are we at our highest, when we touch their bonds, and wrought As none might work within the Temple The Infinite and Good in worship due. Bowing in lowly reverence to such gate ; For oft the Church must learn from As we deem holiest, and trusting much
those without

Who
its

paste the
wall.

Because the holiest is most pitying too prophet-broadside on Nothing so nobly human as the quest

That
on the busy
street.

seeks true

man

in

God, and

there

Or

sing their burden

finds rest.

248

Raban

But he who all day handles sacred tasks, For the cloud-incense of the altar hides While his thoughts travail with the The true form of the God who there world, and he abides. Nor hopes to get from God the thing he asks. But now I do my work with hand

Nor

yet to hide from

God

the heart
soul to be

he masks

To others
sin

how

And
it

and head, do my worship with a separate

a

wounds his

heart

Praying-machine,

until the day's chief

With

good conscience earning daily

fed,

bread,

Is the chief duty he has

done therein
;

And And
it

by the Heavenly Father duly

I did not turn a Pharisee

I keep the worship and the

I fought
life beset,

work

apart
in

Against the

perils that

my

yet
too,

the

work has worship

And when
I sought.

felt

no worship, wor-

But willing

service, not a task I do.

shipped not.

And when my

heart

was merry, mirth

heart is more calm. more Entangling jests like gay moths in a net. And laughed, and made laugh, though My Sunday more
I saw, the while, to

My

at

one,

my

soul

welcome

joy

me.
rest
is

They

fancied

not

a priest so

given

Whose
palm.

sweetened by the folded

knee, and the
uplifted

to smile.

The bended
Be the road stormy, be it calm and
Yet
are mild,

psalm.

snares are spread there, pitfalls too

dug

While once it was a fretful troubled sea Vexed by the thought of human praise
or blame.

The

pious

mother, longing that her

child

And only partly lit by the

peaceful parsonage and

Great Name,

May

keep his white robe clean and

undefiled.

Dreams of a
snug.

DISCONTENT
Sitting apart,
I

Where

the world comes not, neither any snare ; Yet world and flesh and devil, too,
are there.

hear the murmuring tide of life.

Just past their teens,

souls to

we

task

onward rush, and foaming strife, Yet bid my heart young String dainty words in fancies quaint.
Its

do

And

be content.

What

needs a large experience deeply;

And
And

Lying abed, marvel they remain so true, I dream, with method in my dream, Freshening the old, and bringing forth And catch up any lights that gleam Into my head. the new.
tried
oft I

with the growing

life still

grow-

And

fondle a conceit, beguiled

ing

wide

As by

a child.

;;

Litterateur

249

Poring o'er books, Dingy, old volumes, by the hour, Which only I and moths devour. My eyes find hooks In each dim page, and I have peace
In their increase.

And now

I laugh, and

now I wonder at

Myself, that I can be so vain and weak.

But when I think, here

will I

make
is

my

nest.
!

Ah me
cold.

the nest unfeathered

and

What would I more, Since I have dropt out of the race,

But eddy
in a quiet place

But sticks and thorns whereon there is no rest. And never love its weary wings could
fold.

And make

A
The

Beside the shore, a play of life, and smile little while ?

then,

There

is

little islet

that I

A something pricks me, canst thou see

No
breaking waves that surge by thee And has thy pen service, but these fancies odd.

Yet now and

Blue with forget-me-nots a lonely spot. And no bird nestles where their gold
eyes

know,

grow

'Tis just a

home of long forget-me-not.

For man

or'

God

So lonely and
Still

so barren is my lot. dreaming, where the quiet water

Ah
Rebellious
!

vexing heart,
all

sleeps.

fain to seek the fight.

Though broken

thy force and might,

To win a name that shall not be forgot And that is all it either sows or reaps.

Thou
In
life,

hast no part

but with a patient will See, and be still.

A WALK A clear, crisp.

Autumn
day.

Autumn
hills.

SUCCESS
I

is

Scotch
lingers lovingly

And
have done well, I found
in

among the

My place in life,
And

have Knee-deep in golden bracken, and golden grass the work that I can do. That tints the moor, what time the
said, for

my

garret, spurning the

low

purple heather

ground,
I can, at least, be manful, free, and true.

Withers to brown, and golden pendants hang On the slim, drooping birch the

Nameless, I go about, and sometimes golden time hear Of all the Northern year. The whisper of a fame that is to come They wot not who I am, and I appear You shall find spring. All unconcerned with that low-gather- Joyous with bursting life, in English
ing

hum.

lanes

Where
and hearing what Verdict of history may one day speak ;
It is like being dead,

the

May- blossom
hedge

wafts from

straggling

Its incense like a

white-robed Thurifer,

250

Raban
the

While
soul,

meek

violet, like a saintly

Around

me, and looked on ;

the

window-eyes

Hid

Its sweets, unseen,

green obscurity, breathes out Yet I was glad, for I had found my and the pale primwork. rose woos And when I reached the country, and The shadow at the foot of lush bluebeheld bells. The loaded wains with the last harvestin a

are the meadows there, and green the leaves Opening, with various shade, in chestnut whorls.

Green

sheaves

Led homeward, and

and brown.

the reapers blithe the rustling

And
By

felt

my

feet

among

And
And

feathery birch,

and plane and

leaves

beech and lime, late ash-bud and oak

tints

the

wayside,

and watched

the

the

many

shining spikes

Of frost in
colours, yet one flush of I

shady nooks beside the burn,

but
leaped,

Like many
green

could not walk,

and

From

the young

life o'

the year.

laughed at nothings In very joy of life ; for anything Serves for a jest what time the heart
is

The
The

ferny braes, the

hills,

But Autumn loves brown heath on

gay.

the

lichened rocks, orange and grey

harebell and the foxglove in the
brisk

And

So on and up I went, with tireless feet. fertile mind suggesting victories

and black.

My
air

The
The

shaws,

pen should win for me, as the slow years Ripened the powers which circumstance disclosed.
critics

and nimble
cloud that

upon the
across

moor.

And
scuds

now approved.

had the

The
Its

flying

trick

the blue.

Of hoping
Of

to the full,

and building up

shadow hurrying brow

the
still

o'er the sunlight Dream-palaces, creative, out of nothing.

Collapsing into nothing at a touch

Of

mountain, and the sleepy

in

adverse
in

fact

and that

day

loch Quivering as and heron.

was
a

dream

of coot

The mood

to

make whole worlds, with

homes by

suns and stars.

;

Or

leaping trout

thither the antlered

And

flowers and birds, and

stag

love
his hinds to water at the

made

glad.

Leads forth

dawn

But crossing a waste moor, where

pitch of beauty then.
its

hills

And life is at full When verging to

of slag

close.

Rose

bare,

and sluggish pools were

fish

at

their feet.

That Autumn day,

wandered forth alone, in sober ways While yet the shadow of the houses fell
I

Where no
I

swam, but red

village

lights

ever glowed,

came upon a

mean and

poor.

Litterateur

251

Which no one cared for, save to draw I had not seen before a place so dreary. much wealth So God-forsaken in its ugliness. From seams of coal, and veins of Each house alike, the people too alike
:

Dismal and brutal ; and the only spot one long string With any brightness was a drinking of huts. house Ugly and dirty and monotonous ; Shining with glass and brass and painted And no bell rang there on the Sabbath barrels. morn. And only Death e'er spoke to them Therewith the thought again knocked of God. at my heart. Swart, stunted men were plodding Urgent and loud : Was thy life given from the pits. to thee Weary, with little lamps stuck in their For making pretty sentences, and play
ironstone

That undermined

it

caps

Of
;

dainty

humour
;

for

the

mirthful

Instead of flower or feather

children

savage

heart

To

be more merry

or to serve thy

Were
Did

skulking at the doors, but none

kind.

Redressing wrong ? And all the long of them run to meet their fathers, and be way home That thought kept ever knocking at kissed Say heart. And borne home shoulder-high ; the mothers, too. Were fierce, and smiled not when the

LOST

men came home.

For they were weary, and not with Sick, sick at heart and in despair. Through crowded street, and quiet woman's work. square Oft had I seen the peasant from his
plough
I seek

my

lost

Love everywhere.

Plod slowly home, but gladdened by

while, with shamed and broken his girl, mind, Curly and sunny, chattering at his side, And by the baby nestling on his breast. I hid from her, content to find And by the mother smUing at the door Her shadow nightly on the blind With the mUk-pail ; and often watched Content to hear her even-song the fisher. Hard-faced and weather-beaten, leave Go up with tremulous note or strong. Go up the angels' hymns among. his boat. At early morn with children gamMeanwhile I stood beneath the lamp, bolling, Barefooted, on the sand, or leading And fretted on the pavement damp At the slow Watchman's patient tramp. him Home in the pride of love, with the Or noted where the shadows flit fresh spoils Of the old sea ; but such a sight as this, On quaint old gables, or a bit Of carving by the moonbeams lit. So without hope or heart or any joy

252

Raban
Unutterable things, would tread Earth, after, in a trance of awe. Nor might he ever bow his head To bear the yoke of meaner law.
lo
!

The shame of failure on me lay, And led me on a lonely way,

Hoping
for

dawn of a new

day.

Yet now the day has come, and It is like morning creeping slow
Into a blinded house of woe.

saw the people sad and dumb.

to utter their complaints. to of a

With none
!

But preached

world

to

come.

Gone

and she has not

left a trace

And damned
saints
:

because they were not

is

And Oh
!

while I haunt the silent place. I am haunted by her face.

And

there, I said,

work

for

some

Whose heart with hunger in them faints.

fool

and coward

not to see
trusted

That

love,

which would have

be

thee,

Must

die

if it distrusted

BAD TIMES
An evil time And thoughts
!

a time of deep unrest,

that reached out for a

CHANGE
Ah
!

larger

life.

to have lived at L ove's high pitch. When bread was dear, the sore distressed And then fall back on level lines Of commonplace to have been rich. And work was scanty, and As one who ventures deep in mines. rife. And then to toil at hedge or ditch, And dream of costly fares and wines Often, at night, I walked
! !

poor were
the taxes

about the
silvering

Gone from my
strain

life

town. the impassioned When the broad

street

moon was

That gave

it

all its

And now
But
I

its

gladness

tender grace, is the pain

That draws deep furrows on

my

face

and square. And all the loathsome now was lovely grown. For only light and shadow brooded
there.

To

can never stoop again the dull round of commonplace.

Stately and fair the gabled houses rose,

Another passion must knit up These flagging energies of mine

And
;

hazy legend, or historic light Clung to each winding stair, or murky

close.

No muddy
But
fill it

full

water for my cup with generous wine

!

And with
not
night.

the past day

filled

the present

Who
sup

knows what Love

which
is

is,

may

On

that

not

still

divine.

And

in

dream of history

went
sin

He
To

Along the centuries of pride and That me o'ershadowed, till my who was caught up, as he said, was rent the third heavens, and heard and

heart

With

pity of the sights I

saw therein.

; ;

253

Litterateur

For

often from the

gloom and from

in a

And And

the cold

The spawn
dusky

Where
nook,

they lay shivering

faces glared at me,

with hoarse clamour cried aloud of Tyrants not to spare ; from the throng he took his

way

and children Into a waste and desert land. told In loneliness to brood and pray. Their misery in a wan and wasted look. And bring back order and command. Then coming from the desert place. And pest and hunger there went hand Again the market square he trod. in hand. With shining glories in his face, Invisible but strong, and some went And laws that had the seal of God mad, "Behold," he said, "the gods While good men licked their lips, and command looking bland That ye shall keep these statutes good. Over their port, allowed the times And they will give you fruitful land were bad. To dwell in, and ye shall have food." And they had faith, and writ the
:

Gaunt

NOW AND THEN

One

laws

In

And

rode amid a rabble throng. laid about him with a sword

his

of gleaming gold. order every plea and cause But that was in the days of old.
letters large

To
His heart was high,
!

Nor did he stint an angry word " Ho lurdanes, earth is full of bread, An ye will work for its increase,
But an ye
idle here, instead,

hand was strong. But now this pinched and sunk-eyed mob, 'Tis work they ask the Powers to
give.

Hating But

to filch or steal or rob. to

'Twere
cease.

better that your breath should

Ashamed

beg that they

may

live.

silent is

Get

to the mattock

and the hoe.

And

the clicking loom, silent too the birring wheel.

The distaff and the spinning-wheel The flaming forge is quenched in Ods life who will not work, shall gloom. know The mill is grinding little meal. The bitter taste of cord or steel. The ships are rotting in the dock, Away with crutch and beggar's The cage hangs listless o'er the mine, whine The hammer rings not on the rock. Away with ballad- singing rogues The spade rusts on the unfinished
! ! !

And lo ye shall have flesh and wine, line. And hosen warm and leathern brogues And gladly would they toil and sweat. And there shall not be rags or debt. Without the taste of cord or steel, Or hunger in the land, or cold. And gladly keep the order set
!

If ye will only dig and sweat But that was in the days of old.

"

By any law

the gods could seal.

But I have only tongue and pen.

And
One
looked upon a wrathful crowd That surged about the market square.

neither force nor faith to hold

My way
As

among the sons of men they did in the days of old.

;;

Rabani
laughed as our doings

254

HOW WE
Erewhile
our
oppression,

But sometimes

DID IT
hating

we vaunted, The work was

so

common,

the words

forefathers,

were so grand.

bows and arrows, and slings, muskets and swords, Scoured the old musket, and took to But just that we now should be the hill. peacefully weaving Loomed in the front of them scaffold Far mightier spells by the virtue of and halter, words ? Hunger and weariness, battle and death, Only the mists of the mountain for
Confession,
shelter.

Sware a great oath they would spill. New-hefted scythe,

that their blood issued

Yet what have the ages been slowly

achieving,

plea

and

By

Only

the raven

to

watch

STORM-BIRDS
their
last

breath.

O
;

creatures of the storm

Times were heroic then

peasant

e'en the slow Shrill birds that scream but

shrill

when

the

winds blow, Felt his heart swell 'mid the trumpets And fish of monstrous form and spears ; Which the long rollers on the sandAnd if our commonplace way is more beach throw. pleasant. And with the tangled wrack drift to Yet we have lost the great soul of and fro
those years.

You
- meetings,

well I know.

We
And

held

monster
all

signed

tons of petitions.

snowed leaflets and

forth
conditions.

the

country
desires

creatures of the storm with That creep out of your holes to meet
!

tracts.
all

the rain.

Setting

our

and

Foul toad and slug and worm.

And

bristling
facts.

with arguments,

figures,

And to your proper dark return again, When the sun shines, and merry birds
are fain

and

To
With weekly
committees.
pennies,

sing amain

and working

And

and printing large. knit together the towns and cities, And rallied the battle, and made our
secretaries,

Yet the storm

also brings
to

We

The

Master to the helm the ship

guide,

Aiui shape her course amid the wind Heroes we were not ; they were not and tide. wanted And so the best and worst are side Power now must yield what the people by side.

charge.

And

deftly trim her wings,

demand

While storms

abide.

; ; ;

! ;

Litterateur

25s
she told of madness,
the
story they

And when

sin,

RUMOUR
Open-mouthed
street to street,

or crime.

The worse
Rumour
ran

believed

from

the more
foolish world, be-ruraoured of thy

Telling of flour devoured by rats and

mice
Telling of old stacked corn by wet and heat Wasted, while waiting for a famineprice
;

wits

How
Amid

had a spark then

thy
heats
fits.

set thee in a

blaze

and

chills

and

trembling

And

Telling of fortunes speculators made Out of the miseries of the hapless poor ; Telling of mothers starved and lying

turned to grief the glory of those days

TRIUMPH
Upon
a

dead,

While

babies

gnawed

day of triumph some

the
bells

will shout.
in

their

breasts

upon the

And

set

a-ringing

the

floor

steeple.

Telling of men devouring grass and hay To stay the hunger that devoured
their bones

And And

fountains spouting wine for all the

lights in all the

people.

windows round

Telling

how gamesome

children

now

about.

would play

They must
on the paving stones
squib,

At

funerals only

have and gun,

the

noise

of

cracker,

Telling

how

And
soldiers did their sabres

at

market-cross with loud

hurrahing,

And

whet. kept their horses saddled day and

And

shaking hands, music playing.

and bands of

night.

And

primed their muskets, when the

to

They
is

will proclaim that

now

the day

won.

people met.

Ready

quench

in

of right

blood the cause For me, I went old book,

home with a

quaint

And
Telling of speakers threatened for true

shut

me

in to

have a long night's

reading

words
Telling
pleas
;

That was
of lawyers framing treasonStill

my

payment, for
restful, quiet

my

soul

was needing
waters in a
;

nook.

Telling of harsh things done by angry

lords

Well
of
statesmen

each

man

has his way, and this

Telling

who were

ill

was mine
1 could not care for fizzing squibs

at ease.

and

crackers.

And men

Many-tongued Rumour had a busy time, Hallooing crowds, and empty boastful talkers were greedy for the tales Made eloquent by vanity and wine. she bore.

;;

256

Raban
I

Tramp, tramp,

heard them marching

With

here and there.

And

lessening interest : a tragic tale, yet without a grand catastrophe.

with noisy So Raban judged it, when he summed his days that surely calm In broken ends whereat the once full life Oozed out, and he went on his way Fresh clamours rose with rockets in alone. the air. Making no loud complainings, blaming none And at my door they paused a while, But himself only, and seeing good in and gave allringing cheer that set my heart Some touch of grace which showed a- beating. that they were human, And flung their caps on high with Or broken link which proved them kindly greeting, once divine. And slowly ebbed back like a broken wave.
strutting bagpipe, or

With

drumming And when I hoped was coming.

RETROSPECT
As
As
they were glad, I
let

them have

their

way
glad, I took

The

traveller in the desert lone

was

my own

good Looks back,

regretful oft, to think

pleasure

Of the sweet wells where he could drink,

And

while they bawled and shouted Ere Fate had lured, or driven him on without measure, Into a wan and wasted land I read old chronicles till break of day. Of Wadys where the streams are sand.

And

wistfully I, too, look

life,

back

ENDINGS

From
That

successful as they say.

has no water by the

NOTE
Rarely
is life

way

compact

into a plot

And it is water that I lack. And there was water for my thirst, When failure of my hope was worst.
no life so commonplace you search it, you shall find secret chamber of the mind. Enshrining some fair sainted face. Where worship still is done with tears That freshen the grey dusky years.
is

Carefully laid, with deepening interest.

Dramatic unities, and characters Entangled in a tragic Fate that works To a foredoomed catastrophe, and melts All hearts with pity. Unto most of us There comes no great event for winding up

There

But,

if

The

story

only

chapter broken short,

And, one by
thread,

one, the snapping of

some That was

Once twined with

ours, making it full and strong. And now by loss enfeebling it, till life. But oh, the desert wastes that spread Grown thin and lonely, tapers to its close Where L ove lives on, and Hope is dead

its living water once. Sweet-singing ever by the way, And gleaming through its darkest day, The glory of its young Romance

Endings

257

Who

rubbed
a

his

sleek

chin with a

OMEN
Afairwhite dove came to my windowsill In the faint morning light, Preening its feathers with a pale pink bill
Daintily
in

vulture-like claw,

And

grin

of conceit at the wellpulse throb.

managed

job,

Which made my
So
I stood

my

sight,

up
!

to speak.

What

a greet-

Nodding its head with

pretty curtsey

still

ing I had

To left and right, And then took flight.

They
ill

hooted,

yelled,

whistled,

and

cat-called and groaned,

O fair, white dove, I meant to thee no Why did' St thou then take fright,
And
vanish from

Hissed, jeered

my

sight

" His " Cough

and "

throat sure
it

up

me, howled ; cried " is bad " " Try an orange "
at
! !

THE PUBLIC MEETING

I stood up to speak. a score

Was I not glad To address my dear friends "

?

Then

At my

back was
solemnly

they hooted and moaned. And sang and intoned.

Still

Of

held

my

ground stoutly

re-

broadcloth
hall

respectables

plied as I could.

stewing.

For the vast

was

filled

from the roof

At

times ready-witted, and

then got
I thought

a laugh,

to the floor.

And

But always good-humoured

that their

they swarmed, thick as bees, at each window and door. And I knew, at a glance, that a storm was a- brewing For my certain undoing.

mood
by,

Would change by and

saw
that I stood

when they
all

With

unruffled

temper, and bore

riff-raff.

the chafl^

Yet

stood

up

to

speak.

Almost

Of that

stormy

under

my

feet,

With

pencil and newspaper men

notebook,

were I had often stood there with a ringing

hurrah
!

Some
the

staid-looking working lads kept

first seat,

That greeted each

hit; and I

would

not be beat. Then students and snobs and the cads As I watched that long Limb-o'-theLaw looking grey of the street,

With

woman, perhaps,
a child,

for each three-

While he

score and ten,

And
I

now and

then.

signalled his Claque ; so I stood there at bay, Though the Kentish fire rung out from three thousand feet

was not ta'en aback, in the least, With a fierce dust and heat. though I saw That the meeting was packed with a But scanning their faces, I saw that loud senseless mob, the most And standing near by, was a Limb-o'- Were brainless or beery, or big-jowled, the-Law with low 17

2s8
Brute foreheads, and must be lost

Raban
our cause Rose in clouds, until hardly a face could be seen a white-chokered Chairman as they roared themselves hoarse
felt that
!

With

How
Each

pale as a ghost,

What
respectables,

a coughing between
!

And

those
in

broad-cloth
a row,

verse as they sang out of tune

ranged

for they

must
rust.

Full of dismal dumb-show.

Clear their throats of the

It

Never mind I would try ; I had lungs that would shout Like a boatswain's, and ring with the
;

was

all in

the programme, of course

so I stood

And

patiently

edged

in

word here

storm

at its height

and there,

I knew people liked me ; and half of the rout Was the clamour of friends who would have me hold out.

And

Now Now

lost in the clamour,

now

half-

understood,

Though

had

to

gesticulate

till

caught by the grinning reporters, good. the But as often bad ; and I did not much

now

daylight

care
that stormy night.
It

Broke on

was spent on the

?

air.

So

I plucked

up

my courage,

and threw Should I try any longer

What hope

back the hair there to speak From my brow, scanned the Lawyer Words of reason to men who all reason from top down to toe. eschew ? Who gave back my gaze with an Highest truths to such ears were but impudent stare Hebrew and Greek, Then I nodded, and smiled to my And logic no more than the doors friends here and there, when they creak. While I watched the dim crowd as it And pathos like wind in a cranny that swayed to and fro. blew; Seeming wilder to grow. And they'd laugh at it too.

Now,
Then

a score of cocks crew, as to Leave the fools to the fate they arc
fain to

welcome the day,

a wild caterwauling of cats in

provoke
distress.

They

will

know what

it

is

in

the

the dark

coming
;

Through the galleries ran donkey would bray.

then
in

When
And

they've damped down the furnace, and cleared off the smoke.

Or dogs

horrible way.

As if all Ark

emptied the yards, and begin then to croak the creatures shut up in the That taxes grow bigger as wages grow
a
less,

yelped

and howled

Came
save the

to yell, scream, or bark.

And

the hard times press

After that arose a chorus of "

God Let them

be

till

the

workshop

is

Queen,"
of
boots

empty and
keeping

still.

With

tramping

And

the clock on the wall does not

time.

How

the dust

wag any more,

; !

Endings

259

And And
The

the

fire

does not burn, though the I have stood for an hour in the roar

winter

is chill,

and the heat,

nothing to there's nothing to fill

there's

pawn,

and I

will stand
at

till

the day dash

its

light

my

feet

pale and pinched children that But she shall not go home with her cry at the door, faith sinking low Or squat on the floor In the dear long ago.

Just then, looking

in the aisle

down,

my eye caught That moment

near the door

lull

came, and

stir

white oval face sweetly turned up

to mine,
in eagerness, tipped

Some were weary

went out for beer
I
slipt

of shouting, some
joke,
setting

Lips parted
a smile

with So

in

some

in a roar.

As the great purple me a while.

Or
flashed on the

eyes

beamed upon Then a story that

that o'er. that

tickled their

humour
were

crowd with an anger For one

like wine.
in

still

hissed, there
!

divine

That warmed me

twenty cried Hear And my way was

the But

all clear.

'Twas the House in

soul

face

had loved
!

the Square
it

my blood now was my Limb-o'-the-Law

up

Ware

Just that look

had worn when her

Who

was

inspired.

As we

read of the heroes of old who could dare The rage of the Demos, when madness His cheek grew more

would drown voice of reason with clamour and shout With the laugh on my side now, at each hit I saw
livid, his vulture-

was there. Or wrath of the gods, when was fired.

claw their anger Twitch and clutch

like

at

the chin

it

went

feeling about,

And

their patience expired.

As my
I

wrath was poured

all

out.

She had haunted

struggled to
rise.

my

dreams, as

" 'Twas the way of

Tyrants to gag

She had cheered me time I had failed.

in vision,

what

And

our free speech. the sign of a bad cause to shrink from debate

there she sat, and I saw in Let them look to their freedom when her eyes those who should preach The fond love of youth without let or Law and order, brought rowdies whom disguise. nothing could teach, Till she wist that I saw it, and trembled Beered up to the lips, to roar like a

And now

and quailed. And the glowing face paled.

spate.

Drowning truth which they hate."

I

Then
She

I said in

my

heart

" No,

Then

I tossed

him

aside,

and took up
they thrilled

will not be beat

shall

the great theme

not regret to have trusted

me

so

Of Justice and Peace, at my words

;

till

Raban
flush

26o

Yet I saw but the

and the gleam

on her

face,

And the joy of young Love my heart and my brain.

Like a
after rain,

flushed

Of the
That

great purple eyes, as she drank

fresh aftermath breathing sweet

in the

stream reasoned against the unreason of

the Lord's.

With
and

all

the birds singing

on
?

bush

swords

tree

For man's law, and " There was

in the air,

And now

where was she

a wild madness abroad

rulers

longing for war which the had nursed They had roused up the wild that still had his lair

Could my eyes have played false ? Could there be a mistake ? No there was none else with those
;

In the civilised heart, without cause that would bear The quarrel of nations ; and with a
blood-thirst

wonderful eyes. beast And there was none that could make
'

else in the

world

My
And

heart so to flutter and beat for there

her sake.

was none

else

could

my

The
Then
I
ringing

land was accursed."

sat

soul so surprise

With
'mid
a

dear memories.

down
!

at

last,

Hurrah

And
As
I

kindly pet names,

the

and a
carried
;

hum
and

of content.

Later on in the night I sat by the fire, Alone, and in silence,my heart verylow, All the triumph gone out in a longing
desire.

motion

was

hasting away,

watched by the great door, and

stood in the grey

Watery light of the moon, till of them went Very weary and spent.
not her gaze.

I saw the moon pale, and her glory expire In the dull drizzling rain falling steady the last and slow.

As

When
met
I

the wind ceased to blow.

past

I peered at each veiled face, but

mused on the
the Square,

on the House

in

On the hope that had clung to me all in each bonnet, but the long years. she was not there. Unspoken, 'mid struggle and failure point at me, white figures heard Saw and care
Poked my head

And
But

whispered praise. remarks on my pluck from a cab

;

And now

in the

hour when I

felt I

or a chaise

my

heart sank within

me

in

very

might dare. She had come

she
to

had gone

as

despair.

phantom appears

And
I

I heard unaware. to lose

And my
Then
there

eyes

swam

in tears.

had seen her once more, but

came

my

door

just the

her again, faintest of taps. Through the storm she had burst like Like the sound of small fingers that timidly knock ; a sunblink on me ;

;:

;! ;;

; ; ;

Endings

261

"Come in";
moments
In
stillness
;

I look

up,

and some Called

me " Sir "

down

me

that

would

elapse

have gone

at her feet.

and then again two or

And

grovelled to kiss her wet frock,

for

tljree raps,

or to be
it

But never a movement of latch or Trod upon,

of lock
if

had been an honour

she

On

the dull silence broke.

Should use me to carpet the stones on

the street.
;

And go dainty and neat wanting to bed No wonder, poor drudge " So I Did she speak of a husband ? I opened the door groaned at the thought. " No supper to-night, Jane," I wearily Sick at heart I who loved so had said never once kissed But it was not the housemaid I saw Her lips, save in dreams of a happier in her stead lot; Was the white oval face of the sweet And now all my loving and waiting days of yore. had brought Gazing at me once more. What was it ? a vision that passed
she
is
!

" Oh, the housemaid, of course

ere I wist.

breathed a long breath : was I Like a vanishing mist. dreaming ? or what ? Tongue-tied there I stood, as if bound I rushed out of door, up the street, and by a spell then down. Then she dropped me a curtsey ; still But saw not a form in the dull drizzstood on the mat ling rain, Called me Sir " ; and " Felt sure I And heard not a footfall the watch had seen where she sat of the town And she could not go home without Flashed his bull's-eye upon me from coming to tell toe up to crown ; I did bravely and well. " No, no one had passed " ; so I crept
I
:

" Her husband was waiting her

the street

out in

home

again

In wonder and pain.

And
me

oh she was proud to have heard

that niglit

She had gone from

my life, and

its

light

Had

Who

her mother but witnessed my was all gone triumph complete, She had gone from my life, and I saw had always believed in me " her no more Then, with a sweet it was eerie Drip, drip let it pelt Smile, she glided away like a ghost and lone out of sight. So was I ; and my heart lay within
!

Ere
I

my

senses

came

right.

me

like stone

And
had been quite bemazed
curtseyed to
:

I cared not although the slow

she had

pitiless

pour

me

Should drip evermore.

262

Raban

heart, I said, that gavest

me

all

thy

MISGIVING
Has he done wrong, who,
go
past,

wealth.

Of love's
as the years

rich treasure,
service,

And now
stealth,

by open

now by

As

In loneliness, knowing it all in vain, he has loved before, to love again. Brings to his home another bride
at last
?

Were't

fain to pleasure

My
from

sickness or

my

health

faithful heart

and yet thou had'st

me
Observance only

Tender and kind, he cherishes his mate More tenderly, the more he feels that
she

And

Gets not the perfect love which ought

to be

thy wistful, hungry look would be Like one who, lonely. Gazes far out at sea
still

The

guerdon and the

bliss

of wife's

estate.

Gazes
sail

far out to

catch the hoped-for

For while he gently kisses her fond lips.

It is another face that

Film the horizon,

And

he

is

But only ocean, fretting in the gale meets his gaze She sets her eyes on. stung by words of love

or praise

And
known would darken

hears the

sea-mew
had
;

wail.

Which
with

the truth
eclipse.

1 gave thee

what

but that was

not

sorrow and shame

lies

that,

while he

What

beside
in

And when
the silence hears
for

love expected ; the fond heart for a fond

The trusting one, he

His heart throb
years,

heart sought.

the love of other

Thy
The

love detected emptiness it got.

And

calm to her

whom

he has made
I took thy gold,

his bride.

and gave thee but

my

brass

REMORSE
When
she did not long with me abide. But pining slowly. Like waning moon, she faded bymyside With melancholy,

Though deep indebted. thou would' st look for more, I

Alas

let

thee pass.

Or

even fretted
should'st sigh, alas
!

That thou
I

And
1 lifted

in

our

fifth spring,

died.

gave thee kisses, but

cold.

my

kiss

was

up the face-cloth from her face

And
I

dainty dresses,

Upon
Stony and

its

beauty.

still,

yet lay the tender grace

trace.

did not grudge thee jewels set in gold

Of love and duty. And patient sorrow's

For thy

caresses.

As

if

they had been sold.

; ; ;

263

Endings

Opening its gates to show thee all the But that alacrity which doth prevent truth Our wishes even, And all the folly ; That pleasure which on pleasing still The secret of the sorrow of thy youth, is bent, And melancholy That was not given. Which touches me with ruth. Which might thy soul content.

Thy

heart for love was longing, and Farewell

while thou had'st being here

mine had

A ruin haunted by a memory sad.

That would not
leave
it

No

and breath.
love to give
it

Though
I called
it

truth

and duty bade.

silly,

The truth was hidden. But now before the majesty of death My soul, God-bidden, Speaks out its better faith.

sentimental,
it

wrong
grew more

But yet

nestled
it

The

closer,

and

I think

AFTER DINNER
Returned from had found
Ballarat,

strong

The more

I wrestled.

where

he

And

I did wrestle long.

!

Gold nuggets

pardon

that I

was not
it.

true to thee

1 tried to will

in the early rush, and more Golden experience, Martin Lusk, one

And
in

then the Past arose and wailed

day,

me,

Bearded and bronzed, dropt

the quiet
sea.

in

upon

Nor could I still it More than the sounding

Where

with treasured books

mine
knew

Ah
Yet

ancient friends
!

to be true to thee, and false to

her!
I could not
to

Was

communing.
not.

At

first,

do

him
it

be

false to thee a baseness were,

But soon the name recalled a form,

And
In
life

I should rue

it
!

and character

From
we wot
the knot

a face the dim past, that might perhaps

have grown
Into this son of

So

life is

ravelled almost ere

Anak.
I

So we
his

fell

And

with our vexing

it,

To

disentangle

we make
lot.

A-talking, and well stored

found

mind

But more perplexing.

Embittering our
Farewell, true heart
in
;

With

fresh,

quaint

pictures

of that

Digger-life

my

sorrow

stirs

Fighting with Death gambling, drinking.

and Fortune,
in

me
With no
self-pity.

Thieving and
squalor.

pistolling,

dirt

and

But shamed and self-condemning.

I see

But Brutal-heroic, yet with touching gleams Of human tenderness, and gradual sway

The Holy
Opening
its

City

Of Law that, self-evolved, yet mastered

self.

gates to thee

264

Rabat!

And

were all This keen observer was a thinker too, Eager to hear of pouched kangaroos, Patient and tolerant, with the stuff in And duck-billed quadrupeds, and great him emus For building up an empire. Being Piling their eggs amid the sandy scrub. lonely Black fellows, and the pig-tailed In his hotel, and so conversible, Chinamen, I made him promise he would dine Bush-rangers, and the cradling and with me. the crushing,
Reluctant he agreed, reluctant came, And sat uneasy and silent, changed
as

rough -shaped that wild chaos. could see

And

listen at

their

best.

For they

And nugget-finding
loam.

in the

deep-delved

much
the
clear-sighted

And
As

other strange adventures of your

it;

From
at

man

met
of

life.

As

noon from the bright-eyed

as a lad,

youth

they romanced they know.

glitters.

for

the

less

early days.

The more

their fancy bubbles

up and

was bold and confident, An only son, spoilt by a doting mother. Yet there you replies Spoilt, too, by sisters proud of him,

Lusk,

sat,

and stammered curt

feather-heads. even spoilt They'll vow admiration of his college mates That my old friends are stupid as For a rich nature foremost in all games. myself: Well forward too in studies and in And oh, if they had seen what you speech. had seen And yet not greatly spoilt by all their If girls might only do what men may do.

As

frightened at their

By

spoiling,

Just frank and

position.

bold and sure of his

They would have

tongues to

tell it.

But now he

sat there, like a bashful girl

ball, blushing,

Nothing

ails

me,

At

her

first

and hardly
alone.
?

He said
life

I did not

know I was

so rude

spoke Save yea and nay, until

But coming from our rough unmannered

we were
you,

Among agroup of happy girlslikeyours.

Free
in

Then

What

aUs
to

Martin

their innocence,

is

like the

wrong ? Have we done aught you sit

is

What

passing.

vex you, that Sudden, from dark noon

raven
?

into the blaze of

Dumb

as

moulting
girls,

My

Your eyes
is

blink and are blinded.

It

home-bred
Untravelled,

when

long they heard that you Since I have sat beside pure-hearted

were coming.

maids

Donned

to their words, my thoughts went back Meaning to show their best, and talk To dear old times ; I seemed to hear
their

their best muslins,

and

And,

listening

gayest ribbons.

their best,

again.

; ;

Endings
Dreamily, echoes of old
fireside mirth,

265

Turning up, now and then,

black

in

rusty

And And

chatter
?

of the
it.

table.

Was

rude

And
mean

dirty linen, rubicund of face,

paltry loan.

I did not

half I

Half I envied you. Begging a feared that some ill-sorted much

We

wondered
the

word

How
might break the charm.
'Tis
If,

the world-school

reversed

Of mine

classic school.

strange that

we

And jumbled reputations

fancied what
pair

May

wallow with the swine, and grunt

by some chance, another

were

met, Till those fair customs which were That evening, in the bush, beneath native to us, the Cross, Grown unfamiliar, make us pick our Or Indian dusky city, or London club. steps They might of us be saying, as we

with them.

of them Laughing, I replied Then we sat silent, musing for a space. It was the last thing I'd have dreamed, that he Then he : What came of Muriel Who, like a young Greek strong in Lumisden ? grace of raind You used to haunt the widow's house, And manhood, used to fire young I think, maiden fancies. With the fair daughters. What a flirt While he himself was cool amid their she was tremors, And how she kept a score of silly lads Should sit abashed with home-bred Dangling about her, every one quite
silence.
!

In fear and

girls.

sure

To

talk

This led of College days and College

He

friends

was the favoured, and the rest were gulls Flirting came natural to her you could
!

one was mossing in a drowsy see it manse In every movement, every dainty curl Another loud on platforms, half a priest. And fold of her black hair, in every Half demagogue, who played on tone. prejudice And glance and turn of the eyebrows, With evil skill ; another, wigged and and in all gowned, The gesture of her lithe and supple Bade fair to lead the Bar, and win beauty.
the

How

Bench
this,

To flirt was in the marrow of her bones

kindly humorist whose

And
Was
Some

Even

as a child

she'd

make

eyes to

speech

her doll

charming to the lecture-hearing

:

And

just to

keep her hand

in, I

have

Public

doctored west-end patients,

known her some Beam on the

glance

butcher's boy a winning

the east

While some were dead, and

worse than dead,

others

That

sent

him half-way heavenward

to his calves.


266

Raban
all

And

yet there have been times when Rankling, unhealed, through she has seemed changeful years, noble creature to me, all compact Wronging himself and her.
grace, with

the

What

Of womanly

heart

that

answered true every noblest impulse, and inspired bear ? High-souled enthusiasm, till I have felt Or the fresh anguish which the truth I could have will give ? been content to do some deed But I So my mind balanced it. That she would smile upon, and then resolved ;

should I say ? Better the old pain Custom helps to

To

to die,

Better the truth restoring the old faith,

that

Keeping

smile for
!

ever.

How

Even though
!

it

shame and break him.

she fooled us

Then
!

I said

Yet oh how
scorn

beautiful she was

Melting with

thoseeyes Poor Muriel her story tenderness, or flashing

so

you have not heard

And
!

you have held her but a wanton

At

any baseness, and those lips for all Emotions eloquent But such a flirt

flirt.

Heartless, and with her beauty breaking hearts

;

Hearing this passionate strain, which So high an inspiration, yet so mean had been lying nature too Well ; maybe ; only In wait for opportunity, I think, flirts All through the night's discourse, the Have not such souls as make one feel

storm broke out

one's-self

So unexpectedly,

I called to

mind
and

Little beside

them

as a rule, at least.

Some

passages

between

them,

And
a

Muriel who, you say, was such

the talk

flirt.

That buzzed about went away

them when he Rebuked me by the greatness of her

soul.

How people
a
life

said that she

had wrecked

And

of her sorrow. what,

Shall I

tell

you

promise ; how they pitied I fear, may pain alike by gain and loss ? him. All blaming her, and >yet they nothing Then he What mean you ? Loss knew. is long since lost, But that he loved, and that he loved And gain can never be from her to me.
:

Of splendid

in vain.

And And

that he

wooed, but had not won

off,

her hand. that he rushed

failed,

when

had

her not as I did. What remains When bubbles burst i' the hand ? not his luck even the glitter. Is she a maiden still, and fancy-free ?

You knew

To the
on

far

ends o' the earth.

Musing Why,
ever.

so

am

I,

and free of her for

this.

And

I marvelled

on his passionate upbraiding now, Is she a widow ? I should gain a loss. how he kept this open Indeed, to be her second. Is that your
riddle
?

wound

Endings

; ;

267

Or is she mated to a life-long sorrow ? She must not What else could come of such a way was gone. as hers ? And sit apart,
:

play the nun,

when he

as ticketed " Engaged," But take life as it came, like other girls. Listen, I said You were not gone Not making him, far off, a haunting fear, a year shadow on the sunshine of her days. When one came from New Zealand, But being joyous in her truth to him. who had been Which was her freedom ; so would Sheep-farming in a patriarchal way he be glad. To win his Rachel, long since won Thinking her glad.

to love,

A happier man than he

Now there was none,
home Than that
she
pretty ways,

What

time the lad was schooling at

nor yet a brighter

her father's.

A fine young fellow, cheery as the spring

At
pairing

made him, with her

time,

when

songs are in

And

the woods. in the air, and in the furze and

;

And pretty babes, and large intelligence.

Pshaw
!

and full of trust In Muriel, though she went on as before With speech and smile and charm of
too,

broom Manly and kindly

he broke
;

in

of course, a
;

blessed pair

Of doves

the usual fashion

haunted

And

witching beauty, winning manner

scenes

they By no regrets for broken but behind the They twain sat cooing.
thing else
It

lives,

the while Pass to someso

They knew
her love

each other, and he knew

does not interest

me

'tis

all

common.

Was

his alone. He liked to see her Tell me about yourself, for you alone worshipped, Have made a name that even our Being proud of her, and sure of her. wild lads Perhaps Have kindly in their mouths. She liked, too, being worshipped ; who But I : Nay, you can tell ? Must hear me out, seeing I have You say she was a flirt and you begun knew best There came a day when hemust go again I tell but what I saw. Well, by and by. Back to his flocks : there had been The wedding came, and every one summer droughts was bidden, That parched the grass, and heavy And every one was there of her old winter snows. friends. When many weaklings perished in Or lovers, and the joy was very great. the drift But from that moment she became to all And over all the Colony a cloud The staidest matron, with a kindly Hung lowering, for the Maori distance threatened war. And dignity of noble womanhood Fenced his strong Pah, and sent his Hedging her round. It seems that fighting men he had said To waste and burn and stealthily to kill

268

Raban
off together
:

So they went

at

first

That down the Mersey dropt with

he urged That she should stay behind, for war was ill To face, with wife and children in
the rear

And

favouring breeze. ringing cheers upon the crowded

wharf.

And

blinding tears upon the

crowded

deck.
in front

Plucking your heart, and savages

And many hopes, and many a sad regret.

down
the

Who had no law or pity

It

she would find

the bush, and But in the night she, bearing

hard to be alone quake

ing wind.

i'

Channel
at every

For her dear babes

whisper- Through a thick fog, struck on a hidden

rock.

Or

rustling leaf, dreading the

foe.

A year or two, and

And
at

cunning Yet in a quiet sea. The sailors thought. With the next tide she would be floated
off;

all

he would

sell

his run,

would right itself, and live

but

And many
heeding

went

to sleep again, scarce

home
love
her.

With nought to do Thus he spake

In
reason and
his heart

Whether she sank

might
rest,

or

swam,

if

they

right

Was sore at
him,

parting.

But sleep and dieam of home. by and by. But she answered The Master grew uneasy, muttered
feeling,

though

And

somewhat
which used
to fire

With

the great heart

:

Of cranky ships that

in

scarce

would

float

our youth
fight

ponds.

If war were coming, he would better Dry-rotten in the

boats

docks

of

useless

That

and one ; heard him To bind his wounds, and to call pitying Murmur a prayer for wife and babes, thoughts the while Up in his mind, amid the storm of wrath. He paced the deck alone, and resolute For savage women wailing in their Issued his orders. Then a whisper went, kraals ; Gloomy, that she was leaking, and Exile would be to part her now would soon from him. Break up amidships ; but as yet there
his wife his

bound

sword on, and That were but painted tinder

was near

And home

was

just

where he was

was

for herself.

No
lose a year of happiness.

panic, for the land

as the

was not

far off.

on the fog. Nor give a year of loneliness to him. The timbers 'gan to crack, and great For worlds ; and life was there where seams yawned. duty was. And with the rushing tide the terrorrose. Not elsewhere ; and their God was Then hands unhandy loosed the painted
eerie,

She would not

But

day broke,

also there,
I'

boats,

the bush as in the city.

So they sailed

And swamped them

and from near

In a great ship crowded with emigrants,

four hundred throats


Endings

269

A cry rose to high heavena pitiful cry

Of
As
anguish that might touch the heart of Fate,
to

Try, dearest
but yet

you are strong and brave

life is all

Be

not too bold, your

to us.

and

fro they reeled,

and wrung Oh, can

God
?

hear that cry, and help

their hands.

them not

Muriel stood with her husband and Fain would he still have borne her first her babes, to land Calm, on the poop. She saw the dim With her two boys, but that she would grey sea not hear of. Deceitful, and the shore loomed through Thrice, therefore, from the ship he
the mist. swam ashore, Uncertain, for there was no gleam of Burdened with chUd or mother, light with both ;
or

From

fisher's

hut or farm

a lone waste

And thrice again he left to

seek the ship,

Strong swimmer borne up by his work Of unthrift and neglected husbandry. of pity, Where neither glebe nor sea was For nature makes the brave heart
land
harvested.

strong to save.
fast

Then, holding
face

her

little

ones, her

And,

at

the next time, Muriel from

Just a shade paler

Lowered the children to his loving it was always pale She said in a low voice You can swim, arms, Malcolm ; Her great eyes swimming in the The shore is near, I think a sandy shore pride of him By the dull thud o' the waves ; could And love of them, until she hardly saw you not save
:

the poop

Some mother and

her
?

child, setting

Aught

else, or

heard a warning cry

example Others might follow

afraid.
;

and then,

Oh, we're

not Just as he, confident and cheerful, held The children, and was waiting for
;

My little ones and I God cares for us

And
you
will

her coming,

come too

ere the danger

spar

fell

from the

falling

mast,

comes. The Captain says the ship will an hour At least, and it is misery to see

and smote
float

Him And

smiling up to her, and with a cry.

flinging

up his

arras, before

her

eyes

Those faces, and to hear the bitter cries. Nay, not us first but speak a word
!

He

sank with their two babes.

fact.

Yet

she was spared

to them,

A tragic agony by tragic

what to do
;

And show them

be
still.

we

can

For the

great ship that instant brake

in twain.
;

But they are frantic, and their madness In death they were not'separate soon works Their ruin ; we will wait in patience The quiet waters, smiling in the Rippled where they had been. here.

and

sun,

; !

;!

270

Raban

There's healing in such sorrow; but Here Martin rose, Pale as a ghost, and shivering as a reed. to-night Alone in withered Autumn, that is I could not meet your girls ; I have smote done wrong By sudden gust of storm. Unto all women by my thoughts, and dare not And I have railed. He gasped, at such an one as this Look in their eyes. And I must for years be alone : Have rated her and called her Beg my forgiveness ; I must be alone I will to the old worthless flirt God help me Who broke my worthless life have seashore, quoted her And hear the dull waves thudding on To lads who still had faith in truth the sand and love, As my thoughts break in me. O Muriel To cure them of their folly, and have held With that he gave my hand a silent Myself the one wise man grip, God, my God And gulping something down, pulled To have so wronged the woman that his hat low I loved Over his brows, and strode into the To have so 'stranged my nature from dark.
! !
! !

all

love

have so grossly slandered truth and love Alone, alone, I fell into a strain God's beautiful one Of musing melancholy, My broken life, forsooth Recalling, with keen sense of shame poor self-pitying fool But lost and pain, is lost man whom, living, I had reckoned vain. And this is gain though it be shame to me, And to his calling holy Sorrowful gain by loss of evil thought, Untrue, until I read, with blinding tears
! !

To

And

love

restored

yet

better

so

Which

give clear sight, the story of

restored

his fears

Amid my self-contempt, than as before And clingings O Muriel, weary years. Blurred in my self-conceit.
yet
1 loved

unto

God

through

Till peace

you through
!

it

all-

a hateful
And

To
said.

came slowly him grown meek and lowly.

love

But clinging to thee, seeing no one worthy Save thee, and thee unworthy, and
with
this
still

I have sinned against a soul, I

Noble and good and

true.

So worthless love Good-night

thank you, friend done me good

has gathered with the wronging thee blessed dead. And put the crown of glory on his yes, you have head.
!

Whom God

And

am humbled

too

Stray Leaves

271

But by

this

shame,

Lord, thou
with

And

must
all

range
the

them

like

his

teachest me,

regiments.

He

only walks aright

who walks

Though
him.

country

laughed at

Thee, Meek, in the judgments of that Charity

Ere long
to Parliament

He

went

and made

Which

And

unto all is due. never heart shall rue.

speech,

Although he was no Senator-^that too Needs headpiece ; and he wanted me

to plant

STRJr LEAVES

The

speakers
sat

and
;

the

members

as

they

NOTE
Riding
the

To

hear his oratory

that

but that I

would

not

one

day from Cairnoch on

And
sir,

was

how

I took to horses,

hill

Across the moor, Dick Ostler flicked

the ear the brown mare, then jerked his elbow and thumb To bid me note a rounded hill that lay

Me who
days.

had lived

in forests all

my

loved the trees, and knew their forms and times, And every sound of every swinging branch Well to the setting sun, grotesquely When the wind blew ; and I must planted handle brutes With various forest trees oaks, elms, Because my lord would have it he and pines.

Of

And

Upon
Just

the

lower slopes were hollow

corner of the

must serve

squares

The
no

nation
soldier,

fighting,

though he was

touching each a
in the
little

other.

Or

parliamenting,
!

though he could
believed
that

And
Or

not speak bay between, a single tree group, but on the heights If he had
interspersed with

just

God

above

made some

Were

stay at home, and see the farming done. Carelessly strewn about. And look to cottar's houses, and " Queer woodcraft that," consort Dick Ostler said ; " and yet I planted With neighbours on the market-days them. But he, You see, our last lord went a soldiering He was my lord, and must as other In his hot youth, and brave enough he lords.
solid masses,

To

some

looked.

Though

not

much of
;

a soldier

And
that

would have writ

his foolish life

in trees

needs headpiece

And coming home he took to forestry When I was in my teens. He said

the

Duke
battle so at

Ordered the

Waterloo,

Sprawling about the estate for folk to laugh at. Then That's how I took to horses." he gave The Brown another flick on the left ear.


272

: ;:

Raban
screwed
his face into a look of

And

strong

Disgust.
I laughed,

Old customs live there, unaware That they are garments cast away, And what of light is shining there

and vowed I did not Is lingering light of yesterday.

;

wonder

At

his

displeasure
:

but

he

set

musing

me Never to her the new day came. Or if it came she would not see
life
:

Had

not

my

old friend writ his

paths a
little

likewise,

This world of change was still the same To our old-world Penelope

Planting along

its

border
not

New
But

fashions rose, old fashions went.

Of verses
In

like so

many

daisy-flowers

still

she wore the same brocade.

memory of his
preacher,

failures.

He was
writ

patch upon her face, A sermons, nor A politician, though he joined a party. A tinge of colour on her cheek, service. Better sure for A frost of powder, just to grace And did
little
it

though he

With some More

lace of Valenciennes or

dainty by her darning

Ghent made

him

The
he believed
to write,
life

locks that time began to streak.

to the

Had And
Or

God
with

makes some
gleams

men

brighten
life,

better
oil

wheels with humour. seemed Her scorn of upstarts to conceal. To me, when turning over articles, Reviews and essays, and the odds But of a Bailie's wife would speak As if she bore the fisher's creel. and ends Of verse, that lay among them all She said it kept them in their place. Their fathers were of low degree ; confused. Whereof some samples follow, like She said the only saving grace Of upstarts was humility. the thrums Remaining when the web has been The quaint, old Doric still she used. wrought out. And it came kindly from her tongue And oft the " mim-folk " she abused, LEITH Who mincing English said or sung : MISS She took her claret, nothing loath, Her snuff that one small nostril curled ; Last heiress she of many a rood. Where Ugie winds through Buchan She might rap out a good round oath, But would not mince it for the world braes treeless land, where beeves are good. And yet the wild word sounded less And men have quaint old-fashioned In that Scotch tongue of other days ;
its
:

it

poor without reproach ; But from the causeway she was sure So To snub the Provost in his coach In pride of birth she did not seek
;

A stately lady

of

Her manner was

PENELOPE

And And And

The

ways, every burn has ballad-lore, every hamlet has its song. on its surf-beat rocky shore
eerie legend lingers long.

'Twas

just like her old-fashioned dress.

And

part of her old-fashioned ways.

At every fair her face was known, Well-skilled in kyloes and in queys

Stray Leaves

273
she would ne'er have

And well she led the fiddler on To " wale " the best of his strathspeys

Though
;

harmed

fly

Lightly she held the man who rose For buzzing on the window pane. While the toast-hammer still could And she had many a plaintive rhyme

Of noble Charlie and his men brought her gossip to a close, For her there was no later time, Or spoilt her after-dinner nap ; All history had ended then. Tea was for women, wine for men, And if they quarrelled o'er their cups. The dear old sinner yet she had They might go to the peat-moss then, kindly human heart, I wot. And fight it out like stags or tups. And many a sorrow she made glad,
rap,

And

She loved a bishop or a dean,

A surplice or a rochet well.

At
all

And many a tender mercy wrought And though her way was somewhat
odd,

the Church's feasts was seen,

Yet

in

her

way

And Was
But

called the Kirk, Conventicle

civil to

the minister,
at

And thought God

By By

she feared the Lord, she best could worship

stiff

And
As
if

and frigid to his wife. looked askance, and sniffed

her.

holding Pharisees abhorred. being honest, fearless, true. And thorough both in word and deed,

But yet

Well

she lived a dubious life. his sick her cellars knew, stored from Portugal or France,
a savoury soup and stew
to the

And And

by despising what

is

new.

clinging to her old-world creed.

And many
But

Her game-bags furnished

if

Manse.

WAGSTAFF
With
supple form, and radiant face,

there was a choicer boon

all else

Above

she would have missed. It was on Sunday afternoon

And shock of swirling Auburn hair. And brown plaid, worn with careless

To have her quiet game at whist grace, Close to the window, when the Whigs He sauntered, loitering everywhere ; Were gravely passing from the Kirk, For his swift-glancing eye must look

And

some on

foot,

Would

stare at her

and some in gigs, unhallowed work

On all that met him by the way. And every street was like a book
;

She gloried in her "devil's books" That cut their sour hearts to the quick
Rather than miss their wrathful looks

Which he could read the live-long day Nor sun nor moon nor star nor chime
Set punctual tide for him or time,

She would have almost

lost the trick.

For

all his

habits

were

at strife
life
;

With

orderly mechanic
in the
shai-p wits

Her

politics

were of the age

or Bolingbroke
;

And

Mart when he was

seen.

Of Claverhouse
Still at

Where

drove their bargains

And

Dutchman she would rage, keen, Grahame she spoke. His wayward thoughts were oft astray. She swore 'twas right that Whigs Brooding with Ruskin on St. Mark's, should die Or dreaming on some broomy bi^e
the
still

of gallant

Psalm-snivelling in the wind and rain,

Among

the linnets and the larks.

18

; ;

; ;:

274

Raban
flower that in the garden grows
all its

No
But

And
Than

still

his speech suggested

its

more
him,

way of

No

wilding in

he knew, the green hedgerows

life
;

lay in

familiar sense

And we who
young

gathered

round

But he could tell its story true And where birds nestled, how they
sung.

And

eager, inspiration caught

And where to find the honey bees, What varying notes were heard among
The beech-woods and
trees.

From broken fragments which he sung, Or glimpses of far-reaching thought.

some, and some in Art, in Science took their part But all ascribed to him that they Had found their true life and its way Meanwhile he struggled lonely, poor. Indebted, slighted, and obscure. And went through darkness into rest But yet his thoughts with us abide j
In
letters

the

stiff

pine

And

some

All sights and sounds of Nature, well Their nicest difference he could tell For where the careless footstep trod He saw the glory and power of God. All beauty thrilled him like the kiss Of young love in its early bliss And so his life had great delight. For beauty everywhere he met moss would make his eye grow

He He

lives in us,
is

when we

are best.

but changed and multiplied,

bright,

PEPPE
Ugly was not the word for Peppe His cheek was scarred with a crimson
:

A cowslip or a violet.
The The
music of the ancient days,
pictures of the age of faith.

gash,

When

He
of

had

Song was
had

squinting eyes, and a limping

still

the

voice

step.

Praise,

And Worship

And
its vital

breath

In forms of loveliness divine Virgin and babe of tender grace He would be drunken as with wine On holy hymn or saintly face. And oh to hear him (when he met. With some new loan, an ancient debt) Come back to Keats's picture-words

a long lip furzed with a red moustache. Sharp-pointed teeth, like a saw, and black
Finger-nails, like a vulture's claw.

And

all

the skin of

him spotted and

slack,

Like a mouldy old parchment deed

of the law.

Like flowers and

birds

fruits

and singing

Yet never a maiden had

touch

silkier curls
;

Or Wordsworth's who saw

of Truth, Scented and glossy and soft as a dove And never silkier voice among girls Lisped, in soft accents, of beauty and All nature wrapt in love and awe love ; Or Shelley's strains, like lark unseen Oiliest curls, and the oiliest speech In mystic sweetness rippling on ; Or the choice words, and vision keen. Talking the wildest thoughts ever I heard And perfect art of Tennyson
!

He

Thoughts of a kind it were fitter to screech, had large weajth of curious lore. And freely would his wealth dispense. Dropt like the notes of a singing bird.

; !

Stray Leaves

275

Sofdy he spoke about fell Revolutions, Jewelled and furred like a Rotterdam Of Rank, Rule, and Title and Capital Jew, gone. Hardly I knew the fellow at first Swift overthrow of our old institutions, But he came up with a smile, and a look And blood from the Barricades splash- Nothing could ever the least embarrass, ing the throne. Saying, " Ah here is your wished-for Burning of churches, and burying gods, Book,
!

Treating the
their holes,

priests

like

the rats in
its

And I picked it upat the siege of Paris."

Eh ?
was I wrong to give him
his price,
?

Ruin of

all

our old

life

with

modes

Of

building up order, and

saving of Instead of giving

him
it

souls.

A book so scarce
off,

straight in charge

Offered for sale I so longed for it just at the sight, expected, I felt a knocking about my knee : But to come back, when as little desired. And in the fury of that wild night. Now looking haggard and lean and Strange that the rogue should have dejected. thought about me Tricked now in garb that he plainly admired ; I knew that one in the Louvre lay : Leaving, he went where no seeking Oh what a hang-dog look he had could find him. And something within me tried to say, Returning, no care could escape from " Now, if you buy it you're just as bad." his view. Yet I must have it ; there is a score And when he went, he left trouble Will give him his money if I refiise behind him. To think of me, now, in that wild And coming back, he brought trouble uproar And he saved it perhaps from the
!

was only twice to the world at large

!

Sometimes he went

when

little

Ah

Petroleuse

For, be

his luck

what

it

might,

we

were sure Storms would be brewing the moment he came. Chills would be falling on friendships Alas
pure.

JOHN MEFF,
!

M.A.

Doubts would be honoured name

:

cast

upon

And some And

Or

he had outlived respect. the sharp sting of cold neglect, cared not wisely to reflect
his ways,

Upon

Mischief followed wherever he went, And some bright eyes would with
tears be

to look back, or to expect

More happy

days.

dim

And yet he looked smiling and innocent. Once a rare scholar, ripe and full. And we never could bring the thing Famed Latinist in Classic School,
home
to him.

Whose

biting satire scourged a fool

With
Last time
;

lash of scorn

we met was in seventy-two. An Epigrammatist by Just when the mad Commune had burst And native-born

rule.
;

7$
Well could he
tilt, and featly Opponents with quotation fit

Raban
hit

All

else forgetting

A happy home,
And God
blame,

pride of fame, an honoured name.

truth,

Of Attic
Or
Sneer

or Horatian wit

and

and praise and

That made them wince, Nor heeded if his weapon smit

Priest or Prince.
he, too, with

He
His
frail
lip,

will not let

old mother

know

the shame

Well could

mocking
slip

Of want,

or debt.

at the sciolists

who

On

niceties of scholarship.

Nor would

abate

The

lash of that contemptuous

whip

For love

or hate.

She wots not how his days are spent, But fails not of her yearly rent. Nor homely fare, nor clothing sent From him threadbare. Nor weekly letter kindly meant

she tells of him with pride. with the minister he vied Until he stood. In learning, and had never lied Having nor lover, friend, nor wife. As boy or man. In solitude. Nor from his mother aught would hide Since life began. Then nights and suppers, deemed divine Symposia of Falernian wine, dutiful and loving son And Syren songs that turn to swine scholar who great fame had won Who list to hear. She other wish on earth had none To these he greatly did incline Except to reach Both heart and ear : Some place, before her race was run, To hear him preach ! At first with shame ; but soon he fell
still

And Had

So wrath had gathered round his life, love had fallen away, and strife grown its crop of quarrels rife

To
And

ease her care.

How

A A

A willing captive to their

And
grew
a

spell.

taproom Oracle
well

mystic shuttles,
life's

how

ye dart
!

To

yokels fuddled.

Through
that art
Still

dim web

thou

Or mad with fiery drink, or With beer bemuddled.

clinging to a better part

'Mid
from him Professor's chair, And High School with its classic air. And to the Kirk he may not dare Lift up his hopes ; For he is bound to shame and care
far

Now

And

all thy wrong oh the pathos of the

! !

heart,

Believing long

LATTO

By
Yet
far

devil's ropes.

A deep grey eye,

Grey sandy
lot.

away
first

Where
His

moorland cot he tasted life's hard

in

hair and garb

A limp loose form,

That
loitered never

meek grey face. worn grey,

by the way, and no play

a hurried pace

early promise, ne'er forgot,

Has

ne'er

grown dim.
a bright green spot

And knew
As
if

And

there

is still

A wistful look of pained thought.

he must, yet feared to think.

no

leisure

On

earth for him.

; :

; ;

Stray Leaves

277

For his too daring Reason wrought Dread of itself, as on the brink

And And And

all

to

which the heavens gave

birth.
all

Of

chasms from which he

fain

would

the rocks and hills and trees.

shrink

grass

and flowers and birds and

Much-pondering, his soul could see But God in all the things that be. In subtle matter, and changeful force, In joy and anguish and remorse No dual empire could he find. But all was matter, and all was mind. So had he lost his early faiths.

bees.

All were but pictured thoughts which shone As sparks from rapid wheel are thrown, And gleam out in the dark, and then
Pass into nothingness again. Yet while the world he thus refined Into fine forms of subtle mind.

And And

glory of his simple youth. this had been like many deaths,
into larger truth.

The

Though dying
This world, he

said, all things divine

subtle mind he made again Gross by material forms of thought, And chemic forces in the brain Our vices and our virtues wrought.

Are

but

the
is

great

God's

uttered
Still

thought

gathering knowledge, day by day.

in his search for light, gathered scruples by the way.

His work

not like thine or mine

Unwearying

Which
It
is,

brains have planned, and tpols

He
Till

have wrought
yet out of

scarce one

way of

life

seemed

Him
light.

is

not.

right.

He

makes the
limits
it

He
;

makes the
yet light

shade

And he was He scrupled

To
honour

in a helpless plight. at

the Church's creed,

That

with form

Is nothing but the ripple

made

Although he held her mission grand He scrupled at all paths which lead
in

rhythmic motion, giving sight And wondrous vision of delight.

By

an ancient land

Whose

bridges have the ages spanned

And shadow

too

is

nothing.
is

Why,
;

My

shadow

surely

not I

'Tis nothing;

yet I

make

it

well

and features it shall tell. And yet I use no art to make This nothing, which for me you take. Thus dreamily the mystic spoke. And ever as his thought was spent, It rose again like wave that broke In never-ending argument.

My form

scrupled at the tricks and lies, Unscrupulous, of merchandise ; And while all science he pursued. He held no art or practice good. Till, as by threads of cob-web dim, All paths of life seemed shut to him For still the scrupulous conscience stood And barred the way when it should
lead.

He

And made him

and mind Were shaped by hard material law And yet no matter could he find. But mind created what it saw. And of its shadows stood in awe And God was all. The solid earth, The rivers and the shining seas,

helpless unto good.

For

all

his thoughts of soul

That he from

evil

might be freed.

Fain would we laugh his scruples down, But there his truth rebuked our mirth He sought not riches or renown Nor any fatness of the earth, Might he but keep his honest worth ;

!; :

278

Rabat!

No No

envy had he of the great, drop of bitterness had he. He was contented with the state Of noble-minded poverty. Well-pleased of no account to be.

Now, Now,

at length, I shall find all

the love

I have sought,
at

length, I

shall

bask in the

bliss

I have got.

And my heart shall have rest. To hammer great thoughts out of stones, And fossil leaves, and scales and bones From me thy life came, and by me Shall its young powers be nourished, To give imagination wings. alone And frame the universe of things No wanton shall poison its pure springs From chaos, or from nothing that to thee Was all he cared to labour at. With milk of coarse passion, but it And so he drifted still along.
;

Having no

social roots or ties.

shall all be

Self-fettered

by

his scruples strong,

Sweet and clean

as

my

own.

Yet making many good and

wise.

And
His

so,

life,

MOTHER-IN-LAW
O my boy
And how
So
!

And
!

with pained pleasure, he drew day by day, out of mine. mine was the one tender hand

that he
1 suffered
like

knew
none
else, for his

O my heart,
!

it

will break
sat

kiss

was

like his father

he

dew.
sweet wine.

cruel and cold

and

his voice did

And

his breath like

not shake,

When
Of a
Not

he shattered

my

life

and

my

my beauty my hero
!

hope, for the sake

creature like that

1 dreamed, as

he smiled

in

What dreams my face

with laugh-

What

hopes

lit

my

life as

ing sun-gleams.
that
it

matters

My
to

poor dregs
are

how soon of life may depart

for,

When
With
but

I kissed into silence his lustiest a mirthful embrace.

screams

What

we mothers made

croon
a slow-breaking heart
?

A soft cradle-song to a low cradle-tune.

With

Now,

I pictured

him

soldier of

fame

Battling on in the thick of the fight

a statesman whose eloquence kindled a flame Woman whose love is thy life. That fired all the land, till they Thy love-life is sorrow and pain ; shouted his name As the girl's love dawns, so her As the symbol of right.

Now,

troubles

grow

rife.

And

they darken on the mother and wife. Drip-dripping like rain,

down through Then

I sighed,

and

said.

Let him be
is

good.

And
But

I heed not
!

what

else

in store

My

ah that was not what the mother's heart would. my boy and I hoped, when they And still itwent back to its loftier mood. brought And panted for more. baby to lie on my breast.
!

;;

Stray Leaves

279

And

what, if God, wroth at my pride, That another Has humbled me now for my sin ? caressed For I knew in my heart, when I said With the love
it,

could

ever

be fondly

I gave him.

I lied

And
The
I

knew

it

was

dull moral prosing

And
I

to hide

went back
and
case,

proud thought within.

And

then as he grew up apace, to schooling once more, took up old studies of number
the great tale of Troy, and of

gave up all, all for my boy All the world where, they said, I once shone

And
By

that

haughty race

the

brown Tiber's

shore.

And

the

girl-wife,

tremulous,

timid

and coy.

For
in the pride

I trembled to think

Grew strong
great joy.

of a mother's

What

he might read from youth should be hidden

And

for

him

lived alone.

And

I grudged every
I

moment away, grudged every task not for him thistle-down seed, As he lay on my lap, I would croodle Fly about in the air. and play, As he lay in soft sleep, I would watch O my boy Oh the bliss of those days. him and pray When I pored o'er his Latin and Till my wet eyes grew dim. Greek And I knew all his thoughts, and I I grudged even his father, when he saw all his plays. Would toss up my child in the air. And I noted him manly and bright in Or when he would ride the high-horse his ways. on his knee. And gentle and meek. Or the little one laughed aloud in his glee. And now comes this woman to steal As he tangled his hair. All the fruit of my life and its bliss, All the joy and the hope that I ever shall feel, But sometimes, I thought, it were good That another should come to divide Ancf plants me a death- wound, nothing This so jealous love with its passionate can heal.
!

with care. be smirched with some grossness of word or deed, Or filled with false thoughts, that, like

mood
Yet what other baby,
could
like him, ever

With
She
pride
?

her Judas-like

kiss.

is

years and years older than he.

Be my joy and my

And
to

has trapped him, I know, with

her guile.

Then

there's nothing he'll hear now, and nothing will see And kiss him, body and limb But goodness in her, and unfairness It was wicked to dream even, or say in me. it in jest, As he basks in her smile.

I'd

clasp

him

close

my For

breast.

28o

Raban
!

Poor boy
smile

if

you knew

That wan But she

that

woman

her child

Has been tried upon scores before you ; 'Tis a well-worn look, you might see
by
its style,

Do you wonder it makes me sad, When I know that my boy has

so beguiled
It
is
?

been

weeks and months since ever

it's

duty for years, for her eyes, the meanwhile. Are not smiling nor true.

Has done

I've smiled.

And

making me bad.

Charm

ay,

such

as

practised

ones

She is deep game

!

Oh,

she well

knows her
;

wield

And
hungry look
in

is

ever so gentle and

meek
;

With

a hard,

her eye.

She

sees I don't like her

but loves

all the same Every one that he loves, every one of Which no love can touch, and which his name. no love will yield. All the days of the week Till the day that she die. And that drives me mad, for I know Of course he must marry her now ; He believes every word that she says. He has gone quite too far to draw back ; If only by word or by look she would But oh, what a sorrow is hid in the vow show To love the unloving, and make his The false, scheming heart that is hidden heart bow below To the yoke till it crack Her soft, silky ways

And

a lithe, supple form,

is

and a heart

that

steeled,

She has poisoned

his

mind

And will poison it more if she can Oh that poor jealous heart of hers
:

Can he not
can be

see.
?

It is not like a mother's

her cunning is breeding hate. wickedest thoughts in me : She might be another man's happy mate, But to me and my house she is like a But no one dark Fate That I shudder to see.
against me,
!

And And

Half

so blind as a man.

God, keep me from

sin

and wrath

No

their

wedding I

will not

go near

I never will darken her door.

Had I lived in the old Greek time When hate killed the King of men
have sown
!

in

Nor

break bread of hers, nor partake his bath, of her cheer I too might
his bier

the dread

Far rather I'd follow my boy on

aftermath

To

his rest

evermore

Of a

horrible crime

I have thought, if I only could see

A baby of his in my lap, Who knows what the heart might do A baby of his smiling up from my knee. Oh the thoughts of guilt I have someOh,
to nurse both

Who knows what one might have been

times seen.

? ?

mother
!

and.

baby

would be

The

blessedest hap

Trying the shape of their From my doubtful view

guilt to screen
!

:!

; ;

Stray Leaves

28r

And my
Daffing

husband goes, meanwhile,

He'll speak of young fellows the best

that

Careless and easy of heart,

he can.
the rogues

my cares with a mocking smile; Though

was ever
his hatefiil style

may

be learning to

Ay,

that

curse and ban.

Of playing

his part.

And
Well

play, too,
;

and drink.

And my

boy grows like him in that, Liker him every day And oh so cruel and cool as he sat And oh so light he jested at

that never struck

it,

me

until

I said

and yet

it is

true

Good men could not do what good women will.

In pure love to you.
I

your

What

I tried to say.

And they call it a duty they have to fulfil

am
not good, myself, as you know,
I never pretended to

Once how I hoped he would wed For I know that she loves hira dear That saintly child of the sainted dead

And And
Than

I've sometimes
to purse
as I

be thought I was

They were born

always said,

for

each

other,

happier so

The
But
I

self-same year.

glum

up go

my

mouth, and look

my

am
are

For

At the things that I see. wishes are nothing to him But your mother is virtuous, lad blind, of course, as a bat. Whatever she is, she is that my eyes with the tears of love
dim
is

A virtuous woman, for good or bad,

And
At
she's fretting

And

ray cap of sorrow the brim

creature like that.

filled

to

her
at.

soul,

till

it's

really sad.
this

For a

wooing you're

She won't let me rest till I speak whose love is such bliss My mind on't, and here's what I say : While the baby lies soft on your knee. Maybe her reasons are poor and weak. With each fond word, and each rap- And she's hot and hysteric, and not turous kiss. very meek ; Ye are sowing the seeds of a grief But she'll have her own way.

mothers

like this

Which

has

come

to me.

Don't insist upon your way, at least, It was always my plan to give in, And to make as if I would do as she
pleased,

FATHER-IN-LAW
Never mind what your mother may say She was always hard on the girls
:

down a bit ; for her keenness ceased As she thought she would win.
Till she cooled

Your

virtuous

Of saying
About
It
is

Well ; I know that she always meant women have all a way the bitterest things they may You, some day or other, should wed That putty-faced doll of a baby-saint. them and their curls.

With
different,

her breath smelling ever so sickly

faint.

now, with a man

is,

and

The

better he

I think.

As

if

more than half-dead.

Raban
glad you are out of that mess ; If she had but a trifle of cash would never have turned out well I don't mind the two or three years ; She has not the breeding, the mouth, They're not here or there; but it's
I
!

am

It

or the pace,

A.nd what your mother can her face I never could tell.

see

in

To

something rash dive into wedlock, you

splash.

see,

with a

When,

for aught that appears.

And

you should choose your You have not between you, I think. Enough to pay for your tour ; And how you're to live, and to eat I did it, and every man should and drink. It is hard that another should tie you for life. Is more than I know ; but it's all rose-pink Maybe to bother, vexation, and strife To-day, to be sure. Though she means it for good.
it's

right

own

wife

But you'd better give up your first Now, I have not a shilling to spare. "flame," Not a penny to play pitch-and-toss ; Nearly every man does that I know ; And you'd not like your mother to sit down with care Your mother is wild when I name but her name. Before she is Dowager, and you are heir And it would not be nice for a girl, if Of the peat-hag and moss.

To

she came be ill-treated

so.

You must
But
as
I'll

not count on

me

I never could

And

is quiet and good. handsome and ladylike too, She can ride too, and talk and dress

I allow she

keep out of debt leave you a name, and a family

in

tree

Long held
three

honour, and

bills

two or

she should, And she is not at

all

of hysterical mood.

That

are not honoured yet.

And

you say she loves you.

can't bear her,

But your mother

There's the old coach I had to renew. horses not fit for the road, see And the cellar quite empty ; and what That don't go for much, I admit could I do ? Our mothers are fain we should For the rents were all spent ere a guinea always be was due, Still the small babies that sat on their When I last went abroad.

you

The

knee.

Admiring

their wit.

You'd not wish to see me drive out With a chaise, and a pair of old screws.
older than you
;

But I'm told she

is

And
do No,

bring from the grocer's a bottle

Of course, that's a matter of taste. And old or young, they will always
Just

of stout
there's things one must have, and yet cannot, without The help of the Jews.

what they

like

yet

it's

also true

You

should not be in haste.

; ;

Stray Leaves
But one should be able to do Without luxuries, now, like books, And pictures and china and ormolu.

283

DAUGHTER-IN-LAW
So, there

And

a wife

that

will

always

want

something new. For her handsome

And

you have told me all ; you want to know what we must do

love
small.
is

looks.

Your

great,

but your
free,
if I

purse
like,

Have you thought

to live.

at all

how

is

you're

And

you leave

me

With taxes to pay, and your rent ? From my word You may run into debt, and your
tradesmen grieve

to fall

to you.

With your name, you may borrow, But what,

if

am

not free
?

although you must give heavy per cent.

it's

To

take

my

freedom again

What,
Rather
that long.

if this foolish

heart in

me

far

would be bound than be

chain
?

But

ticklish

work doing

Without
It

its

And you can't trust thecards or the dice. And betting without ready money is
wrong And what can you do
old song.
that
is

is

not the promise that binds.

But the love that changeth not

worth an

And

pledges taken of faithless minds

idle winds.

I hold
it

When

you've tried

twice

them but as the Heard, and forgot.

I

A Lawyer that has but one brief, A Doctor one patient who tends.
May
By
marry,
in

am

hope that

in

turning

the leaf.

Bound fast, for Bound by the own way.

bound, be your lot what it may. t would not be free. love that will have its
will hold

healing a fool, or releasing a thief,

He may

make what he

And

me

for ever, whatever

be.

spends.

But there's no kind of work nowfor you. And nothing to hope that I see,
Unless I should die for fond lovers

you say. And whatever you

and

true.
is

Which
With

hard for a man

to do.

be richer without have given to you ? be abler to go about. in his sixties Doing your work without fear or doubt.

Would you The love I Would you

Were

but gout in his knee.

I less true

You must
She

think of

it

better

and mind.

Not a word to your mother that's rough

is hot and hysterical, and blind. part, But then she's your mother, and ever While I pined away with was kind sick dart, And that is enough. And its life-long ache.

well ; it might break my heart. But yet I could let it break. maybe, If I thought you would play a nobler
!

Ah

this

love-

; ;

; ;

284

Rabafi

not ? Your life would be With the son who made her life full wrecked ? and bright. Nay, I dare not say that yet I fear And to think that another woman It would not be good for your soul has right to reflect, To his whole true heart. How the bloom and the glory of love I know what you must be to her. had been checked For I know what you are now to me In the spring o' the year. I can feel how her bosom must throb It is bad, having once known the right, and stir. And the impulse of nobleness prized. As if some robber of love I were To accept the less worthy, and order With a master-key.

You would

meaner, and walk But I will not part her and you I could not enter a home To sever old ties so tender and true ; Yea, [let me rather bring fresh and new I am not afraid to be poor, For the days to come. I am not afraid of toil, With you I could labour, with you too Ah me we are often unkind. who live for our love alone endure think of ourselves, and are cold But I fear to lose what keeps the flame

For

the fight a cause that

is

by a light That you once had despised.

We We
To

As
Or

of life pure with sacredest

and blind
oil.

the anxious heart, and the troubled

mind

But we must not hurry or

fret.
;

Half-turned to stone.

think of ourselves alone

set.

Love
be

waits for love, though the sun

Like the dew in the heart of the flower That bends with its burden of bliss.

And

are wet.

And

and the dews Folding it close in the petalled bower, You have lain in her heart from the first mother-hour the night winds moan.
the stars

come

out,

And
That which
is

the

first

mother-kiss.
heart's

thine must be mine

Home

and friends and affairs. Father arid mother mine and thine I have thy love, but I long and pine To have also theirs.

And now

from that

warm

core
?

Shall I drain off its fondly-clasped joy

Nay, but you more

shall be

only her gladness

Than
Your mother
dislikes

all

that

you ever have been before

me, I see
set

As

man

or a boy.
I like her the best
?

Her
But

face

is

hard and

The moment she enters a room with me

if

Do

you know that

father
is

love will

do

it,

mean

that she

Your

nice and free.

Shall love

me

yet.

With
light

Be
It

still, is

and wait for the

his pleasant talk and his lightsome jest. But he speaks and smiles unto all the rest

hard for a mother to part

As he

does to

me

"

; ;

! !

Stray Leaves While she has a freezing look Whenever I come her way,

285

I cannot join this alien pair,

And

the formal
I see,

book

I cannot say the wedding prayer speech of a printed I cannot lie ; nor God nor man Could ever make them truly one
in a quiet

Though

with a friend

nook She is bright and gay.

But I know 'tis her love of you That makes her distrust me so ;

Her Not

face

is

pale, her

hand

is

cold,

love has brought

her here, but

gold.
I paused
I
; and all was still as death ; looked around, but where was he ? I watched the quick heave of her

And And

I like her

for that, for

I love

breath

you too.
I think that her love of be as true When she comes to know.

me

will

She dare not lift her eye to me. 'Twas all a lie the solemn vow.

The

And

orange-blossom and the veil. wedding-ring ; the prayer, I trow.

sobbing, like a wail

Came from me
Daughter
to her I will be,

Love me

she shall in the end

dutiful,

Thoughtful and

My love

will find

you shall see out the way, and she

For broken faith that breaketh hearts There was no blessing in its words, There was no oneness in its parts.
It

was a

jar

of broken chords.

Shall call

me

a friend.

Let her be

cross for a while,

THE RIVAL BROTHERS

I will

I will only be sweeter for that

Let her frown meekly smile.

if

she

will,

And let her To be rated

But love

scold, I will
at.

walk a mile

There were two brothers loved a maid, Well-a-day Side by side they had grown and
played.

me

she shall,
it

if

Is as true as I think

her heart to be
I play

Yet were not liker than sun and shade And the woods are green in May.

Be

patient,

and see

how
!

my part,

And oh, my love will have When I think of thee

perfect art.

One was

lord of the house and lands,

Well-a-day

From

the heather

hill

to the rippled

sands.

A MINISTER'S DILEMMA
" Does any one forbid the banns
I asked
; :

But the other he had the brains and hands

And

the

woods

are green in

May.

and something in me cried. And cried Yea, I forbid this man's One was sullen and hard and proud, Well-a-day Unloving claim to loveless bride. She is my friend's he loved her well. The other he mixed with the common crowd, And they were plighted years ago. Blythe as the lark that singeth loud. And still their coming marriage bell When the woods are green in May. Rings hope into his heart, I know.
;

!! !

! ! ! !!

286

Raban
tree,

Oh,

a maiden's lore must be wooed Merrily by the trysting Well-a-day with care,

Well-a-day
It
flits

She
and there,

told

the

tale,

and they laughed

like the pewit here

with glee

Hard

to follow,

and swift to scare

are green in
its

That
she.

night, the

winsome brother and

And

the

woods

May.

A maiden's love has

Its glances coy,

When
dainty wiles,

the woods were green in

May.

Well-a-day They went to the Kirk in the summer and its mocking smiles. tide, And is fain to linger by lanes and stiles, Well-a-day When the woods are green in May. gallant lover and graceful bride. Walking together side by side, The laird he came with a high demand, Oh, the woods are green in May. Well-a-day And mickle he spake of his house They went to the Kirk and vowed and land. the vow,

And the
sand

braes that sloped to the bonnie

And
woods
so green in

Well-a-day none was there but the

priest,

And

the

May.
laird that

I trow.

Lightly she laughed at the morn, Well-a-day

And
And

the blackbird singing upon the

bough.
the

woods

are green in

May.

When

I sell

my

love, she said with

scorn.
It shall be for more than cows and corn And the woods are green in May.

Oh, love issweetwith its Well-a-day

trust complete,

And
But

the rains
beat.

may

fall,

and the sun

may
it

When
But

I sell

my

love the price I

!

set,

cares not either for cold or heat

Well-a-day
it is

And

the

woods

are green in

May.

It will be an earl's fair coronet.

And

not going to market yet the woods are green in May.

He had the brains, and he had the hands,

Well-a-day But he was not lord of the house and
lands.

Ah

Fate is subtle and deep and dark, Well-a-day 'Tis not on the ship that he sets his mark. But on the tree that shall wreck the
!

And

the bonnie green braes by the yellow sands. And the woods are green in May.

barque.

When

the

woods

are green in

May.
laid,

To London town their steps were

To
Well-a-day the weary London
streets

bent,

Oh, the rotten plank in her life was

Well-a-day
!

they

went.

That day when the light heart gaily said And all but their wealth of love was spent His cowsand corn might not buy a maid. Ere the woods were green in May. And the woods are green in May.

! ! ! ! !

!! !

Stray Leaves

287

He
For

would coin

his thoughts into heaps

of gold,
his

Well-a-day hope was high, and

was bold.

his

that might not be, Well-a-day She would be content her boy to see heart Now and then by the trysting tree, Where the woods were green in May.
if,

Or

alas

How
And

oft is the tragic story told

the

woods

are green in

May.

It's

oh so wily he smiled, and grim,

WeU-a-day
Years came and went, and youths were men, Well-a-day They were ageing now who were
stalwart then,

The

while she pleaded so meek with him. And her eyes with the great salt tears

And
May.

grew dim the woods

are green in

May.

And

the laird like an old bear kept his den.

the

Wily and

Though Grim
With

woods were green

in

hard, as he thought of that, Well-a-day

as a bear in his

chimney nook,
lip,

Well-a-day
a curse on his
a pipe
in his look.

had been cunningly plotting at that," he said, " is your bastard brat"; and a frown And the woods are green in May.

He

" So

And And

clasped book;

and a mug and a great " 'Twas an ill market, I'll be sworn, Well-a-day the woods are green in May. When you sold your love for a wanton's
scorn.

A widow came with her sunny child,

Well-a-day

Which you would and com " ;

not

sell for

my cows

And

oh but her face mild!

it

was meek and

And
Oh,

the

woods

are green in

May.

And white as the daisy undefiled When the woods are green in May.
With
a woefid heart that

pale as death

was her lily-white

!

cheek,

WeU-a-day
was
like to

And
And

then

it

flushed with a crimson

break,

streak.

Well-a-day

the flash of her eye was no longer

She prayed him, when she

died, to take

meek

Her

little

boy, for his father's sake

are green in

And
And

the

woods

are green in

May.
he
ill

And

the

woods

May.
the glance of her scorn could brook,

Might she
Till

but keep

him

for a space,

Well-a-day
heaven should take her,
to look
in
its

grace.

Again

on her dear lord's face

are green in

Well-a-day Crouching there in the chimney nook With his pipe and his mug and his great clasped book

And

the

woods

May.

the

woods

are green in

May

! ! !! !

!! !!

288

Raban
right and round about, Well-a-day

She turned her

And And

she was a the

widow and

all

alone

woods

are green in

May.
as stone,

She could not breathe for a fearful doubt, Yet oh so stately as she went out, " O mother, your hand it is cold And the woods are green in May. Well-a-day

O
Stately and grand she turned from him,

mother, your grip

bone.

it

will crush

my

Well-a-day But I would not heed if you would not But her head was dizzy, her eyes were moan " ; dim. And the woods are green in May.

As

she dragged her steps through the

;

meadows trim the woods are green

"
in

He

did not mean

it

he

could not

May

know,"
Well-a-day
groaned, and her voice was hollow and low,

The steerswere slumbering in the shade, She

Well-a-day

And

she saw the deer in leafy glade 'Mong the tall green fern and the foxglove wade

And

her face was

:

set

with a death-like

woe

O
"

the

woods

are green in

May.

And
But

the

woods

are green in

May.

My

boy, your father loved us well,

Well-a-day Well-a-day You never must dream he had that And her thin hand shook, and her heart to tell grew faint Which might have sunk a soul to hell." As over the great paged book she bent O the woods are green in May. And the woods are green in May. She led him out by the low kirk-door, For wedding record there was none, Well-a-day Well-a-day She led him down to the yellow shore, And the grey old priest was dead and And they were not heard of evermore. gone, But the woods were green in May.

straight to the ivied

Kirk she went,

; ; ;

NORTH COUNTRY FOLK

crazy old boats, for we have wind and snow Soon from the north-east driving, if aught of the weather I know. Off with you, wee Curly Pow; ofF, But the bickering log is pleasant, with little kitten, to bed ; the collie coiled on the rug. You'll not leave a beard on my chin, and you'll not leave a hair on my head. And the kettle there on the hob to brew If you kiss me and tousle me so there us a steaming mug. What no more brewing to-night ? already it's bald on the crown. you would rather be still and And once it was thatched like a haybrood ? stack, the fuzziest head in the town. Will I kiss you in bed to-night ? Of So be it ; and well I can guess what has started your thinking mood. course, I will, when you're asleep

Out

in their

WEE CURLY POW

shall

And

you'll

know

it,

because you will

dream of angels O'er chatterboxes

that stand

and weep

You

that won't go to bed

to go.

are wondering who that child and what she can be to me,

is,

when they ought

A dull
angels ever
ill

old bachelor here in the farm-

And

all

these angels have beards that

house

down by

the sea

? ?

are three days old or so

A niece, a cousin perhaps

you had no
:

You do

thoughts in your head If you had, you would only have thought have beards ; they fly With beautiful wings, and their hair is what scores of people have said. Nay, no apology ; none is needed like sunbeams up in the sky ? I've learnt to bear Oh, you're a learned wee maidie ; but Harder suspicion than yours, sir, and yet it may well be true never to turn a hair. That I do not know about angels so I've nothing to be ashamed of; if all well, my darling, as you. the truth were known, There ; off with you now ; that's the
not believe
that
last,

the very last kiss you shall get,

It

may even go

to

my

credit,

when
hardly
sir,

And mind
Draw your
there
is

you, I will not be cheated,

you're twenty at least, in

chair nearer the

my

debt.

and I reckon alone ; Only that, good folk tell me, an orthodox thought
:

God

is

fire,

friend

Not

that

care,

in

the

least,

a storm in the air

Hark

how
19

the sea

is

moaning

God

whether it be so or not People here are afraid to

out of joint.

utter a

word

help the fisher-folk there

:;

; :

; !

290

North Country Folk

for

But

me, I

am

far

and away beyond

Down

which

brattles

the brook that

our minister's point Trouble has taught me, like Job, that

drives the wheel of our mill

Worst farmed land hereabout, all scarred like a pock-pitted face sometimes the veriest lies Get them a hiding beneath the well- Grey and unwholesome to look at poor soil it is at the best. ordered words of the wise ; And wee Curly Pow is my darling, But starved too, for money is scarce there, and work not so pleasant wee Curly Pow is my bliss as rest. God gave me her in my sorrow, as one Anyhow Lizzie came there, at Lammas seals love with a kiss.
!

some ten years

past.

Oh, my Lizzie
Except
ours

Lizzie Lizzie never was mine.

1

my

yet

as the thing

that

we

love
is

is

by

a right divine,
his

Except

as the beauty of nature

you'd see, sir, and merry and chaste ; At kirk or at market you could not meet such another, nor find At kirn or wedding to dance with a

As bonny

a lass as

clever and

who has eyes to see, Though not an acre he owns, much as a bush or a tree
;

partner so to your mind.

nor so

Always

so tidy

and

neat,

and always

as blithe as a bird.

And

so

my

Lizzie

is

mine by the love With a ready laugh

as

which

for her I bore,

for your joke, and ready a word for your word.

Yea, a possession which nothing can rob me of evermore. Blavick's wife was a
Perhaps I should tell you the story it is an old one now, And it calls up things that are best left
sleeping, I think
;

slut

or she
to

had
keep

been, for

now

she was dead.

And

Lizzie, you see, had

come

for they

grow
them,

house for him in her stead Sluttish women are mostly

rosy
tint.

fat,

of a

Into hard thoughts

when you
again.

stir

mudding your
Just

life

when

it

seems to be

settling,

clearing off sorrow and pain.

No

matter ; you have a right to know Littered the floors along with the milkwhat it all may mean. pails, peats, and logs friend friend, and a you are my For Hard to pick your way through, for should see what there is to be seen the place was dark with smoke, One should have no dark closets locked And that had been hard to breathe, in his heart to hide but mostly a window was broke. Aught from the wife of his bosom, or Oh the dust on the settle oh the soot
:

But she was a black-a-vised person, bony and hard as flint and Yet such a house as she kept, sir pigs and hens and dogs

from the friend he has

tried.

on the wall

It

is

some ten years now since Lizzie Pet's mother, you know
to be servant at Blavick

And
I

oh the dirt in the dairy, that was

all

Came

the worst of not at

all

that's

wondered how she could

that she died

live in

it,

the next farm as you go Landward, maybe a mile

hence

perched on a

bit

of a

hill

But for long years she had woman's natural pride.

lost all a

: ;

Wee

Curly

Pow

291

Blavick himself was always lounging Blavick used to be hateful ; but now it grew pleasant to me, about the place, hulking lump of a man, with a huge At first, I hardly knew why, but just that I liked to see expanse of face And if talk could have done it, all The change that Lizzie had wrought for that I would sit for hours would soon have come right. How he did talk, to be sure, through And hear old Blavick's chatter, as if it were sweet as the flowers. the long day and the night Maundering on about lime and guanos, Many a time when I went out just to look over a field. rotation of crops. Soils and subsoils, and ploughs, and And see how the corn was ripening, or guess at the turnip yield the makers of them and their shops, And all the new-fangled ways but Many a time when I came away from the thronging fair. none of the old-fashioned work Ever he put his hands to : there was Pleading I must go home for the task that I had to do there ; not a rake or a fork. Plough or harrow that was not broken, Many a time when I left for the kirk on the Sabbath day, and out of repair Just when they needed it most, and It was not the kirk I went to, for Blavick was in my way waste was everywhere. Somehow or other, something was always drawing me there, But Lizzie began at once to make As the tide runs after the moon and oh but my moon was fair everything nice and clean. To put everything in the house in its Then I knew that I loved her loved her with all my heart, place where it should have been ; Pity the pig that ventured to grunt As only a strong man can whose love is his strongest part. inside of her door Pity the hen that entered where it She was only a servant maiden, but oh she was my queen : used to cackle before The kitchen was like a parlour, none She was only a cottar's daughter, and I was the farmer of Plein ; of them dared to tread With mucky shoes on her earth-floor fathers had been here, sir, for five generations back, for she had a tongue in her head. Women need to be able to scourge a And never a lease ran out but the laird would renew the tack, fool with speech That is their only weapon to punish For they had money to farm with, and they could farm with skill, him or to teach ; And it was worth while hearing her And never a lease ran out, but the land looked richer still. hit them ofi^, one by one. Every phrase just a picture, lit up with Yet she seemed high above me ever so high above a touch of fun. Making them all, shamefaced, to do It never came into my head that I honoured her with my love ; her bidding at once. Till, at the last, she needed no more Nay, but she was my moon, my chaste and beautiful moon, than a hasty glance.

My

zgz

North Country Folk

could read
it

And I but the panting tide that followed You

her syne and soon
;

plain in his face,

true
;

he

neither

was manly nor

ought to have been ashamed to speak to an honest maid. I on And she too ought to have known the the earth below. weapon with which she played. Folk said that I might do better? I Ought to have known the fellow would thought, if she'd condescend lead her a devil's dance. To smile on me, I would follow her But now there was no getting speech on to the wide world's end. hardly I met her once ; of her
so bright, quick-witted, and

She was

He

and slow, She high up in the heaven, and

I so dull

But there was one

Partly
a

at

Blavick

and he

Always you saw them together

went with her
to the kirk.

he
sat

too the worst of the lot.

horse - couping partly, moreover, a sot

black - leg,

Chatted with her at the milking, with her in the mirk ;

In harvest she was his bandster raked for him at the hay
;

she

Fain to look
jaunty hat

like a jockey,

wearing a

wherever you happened to meet was far away. Ay and he made her tryste him But in his eye was a hot moist leer, beside the " Dancing Cairn," and he had a chin Although she had heard the story of That dropt inside of his necktie, and Bessie Lusk and her bairn ; a hard and tight-drawn skin. But she said it was all a lie ; the Other folk called him clever, but I sheriff had let him go.

And
!

Some folk called him good-looking, I am not a judge of that

her, he never

1 call a

should say only smart man smart when his head does not feel the want of a heart.

And

works best when

it

Bessie had fallen asleep, and died the drifting snow And even the minister found no fault has laid the that he could blame.
in

And

conscience high on the shelf. And it was wicked to rob a man of Regarding not God or man, and caring his honest name. for none but himself. All this I saw going on, and yet like
a fool, one

day

What

is

it

women
their

can

see

in

men Every man

sir,

plays the fool, I suppose,

in a

assured and bold.

once

way
herself,
;

That they give

warm

true hearts Finding her

to be
to

by

I asked her

she had said me nay, ere I turned to my lonely life, taint, nor Partly because I loved her, and partly dread what is hidden within ? because I feared 1 never could comprehend how such What might happen, if things went on things come to be. as they now appeared, And now it is more than ever a mystery I warned her of him, as none but a

and cold ? That they give their pure souls up

to hearts that are false

my

wife

And when

men that are foul with sin. Nor shrink from the outward

grown to me. That Blavick's son was a scamp,

as all the

fool
sir,

Of course,

would have thought to do. she blazed up fiercely there

:

country

knew

was not a word of

it

true

293

Wee

Curly

Pow
there's nothing

'Twas gossip of wicked people, and some folk's meaner spite ; And she would believe in him now,
though
I

When

for, it is all so stale

Tasteless and dry as proved it clear as the light chew, and you don't know why And she would hold to him now, and It's a bad way to be found in if the sink with him or swim. devil should hap to come by. I felt there was something grand in her womanly faith in him. So the spring passed with the tender Felt too that I had been little at green of the sticky leaves. least, that I must look small. The songs of the mating birds, and Though I said no more than the truth, the swallows' nest in the eaves ; and had not said nearly it all So too the glory of summer with the But then I should just have taken mine smell of clover and bean. answer, and gone my way. The hawthorn white in the hedge, and weary way now it was, sir, of lifethe daisies white on the green less work all day. And autumn also went with its wealth And brooding by night o'er the fire, of well-stooked corn. and eating my heart like a fool, And the kine that low for the milkTill things grew over my mind, like pail duly at even and mom. the weeds in a standing pool, Natui-e passed through her changes,

you fear or wish and flat. a rush-pith you

And

I scarce

or heeded a

knew what I was doing, word that was said,

but I was stUl the same

I ne'er

fished

pool

for the trout,

:

and market, and never and I fired not a shot at the game once turning my head People were wedded and buried, but I Doing my job of business, doing my was not there to see. bit of prayer. At harvest-homes the lasses might With a changeless thought in my heart, none of them dance with me. and a changeless aching there. There was nothing I heeded, except People, I daresay, wondered why I to put cash in the bank
to kirk

Going

brooding alone did it matter to me ? I let them go wondering on. I hated the talk of the market, the glee of the curling rink. And the rough jokes of the smithy, the ale-house too and its drink ; Yea, and I hated my life so brightened once by her smile. So haloed and hallowed to me by the dream of her love for a while.
sat

Not

that

I cared for that

either,

at

What

least not

much
I

but I thank

Heaven
But for

that

grew not a miserly

Curly Pow, and her

churl as I might have done.

my wee

laugh like a blink of the sun.

But there ; I am going too fast there was not a Curly Pow yet But I never can think of those days
without thinking too of

my

pet.

had all gone dark, and I And what she has saved me from, and did not seem to mind how I am in her debt What the clouds might be gathering, Perhaps she was given me for this, to or what might be in the wind. keep me from being a churl. Maybe, sir, you have known, now a For my heart was set on the gold, feeling something like that. until it was set on the girl.

For now

it

294

North Country Folk

;

Well

one evening

that
all

winter

it

Why

was

sure

that

heard

her

moan, though the raving wind And now with the dry small drift the Shrieked till ray ears were as deaf as wind was making rough play, my eyes with the drift were blind ? Rolling it low o'er the earth, and toss- Heaven only knows, for I had no

had been snowing

day,

ing

it

high

in the air,
it

reason to think that she

cliffs

And
Not

whirling

over the

to toss

Was
Yet

up the white foam

there.

out of the house that night, or near to the rocks or me :

I

a night to be out in ; but I thought I must go and look After a hirsel of sheep that were pasturing down by the brook In the hollow there where the rocks have opened to let it through ; There the pasture is good, sir, and the pools for trouting too.

was certain of

it,

as if

it

had

So

had seen

to the sheep,

and was

fighting

my way

again

through the blinding drift that smote with a stinging pain. When something flitted close by me, and moaned as it made for the shore Just where the rocks stand up, two hundred feet and more. Out of the wild wan water, with only a narrow ledge.

Home

been revealed Clear by the word of the Lord, and with miracle signed and sealed. So in a moment I rushed off after the fading form Into the pathless night that was dark with the blinding storm ; And not five yards from the cliff I passed her with labouring breath, And stood in front of her there, stood between her and death. Pallid she was as a ghost, with a wild gleam in her eye. Gleam of the madness that drove her out that evening to die : Ah, poor soul so lately rich in a fullblooded life.
!

Here and
build,

there,

where the

sea-gulls

And
bee

merry

as bird in the

summer, or
all

and their nestlings fledge. Even in quiet weather it is perilous walking there At night, for the cracks and fissures you come upon unaware, Where the waves rush in so madly, tossing the white foam high But on a night like this, one who was not wishing to die Would have kept far off from the windswept cliffs, and the drifting snow. And the loud roar of the waves that were plunging down below.
:

when the clover is rife. Glowing and singing, and laughing through the work of the day.

Ah

what anguish had broken a

and gay
?

spirit

so blithe

What

cruel

wrong had dethroned

reason so sharp and clear

That had not a moping doubt, and felt not a shadowy fear i " What did I mean ? Let her pass.

And what right had I to ask Whither she went, or why ? And, forsooth, it was not my task To
be her keeper," she said. not a time for speech :
It

was

What was

it smote my heart, that the Vain in the tumult of feeling to order form, which dimly fell your words and preach : White on my eyes through the snow, So then I tore off ray plaid, and was the girl I had loved so well swathed her in it, ere she knew,


Wee
And
lifted

: :

; ;

Curly

Pow

295

Kittywake Rock. Ah! that was a moan of life, I think ; Wilder, fiercer than ever ; and after Can I do anything, mother ? If he struggling a while. were here now Well, She lay as one dead on my bosom for It would only be doing God's work to most part of a mile. hurl the villain to Hell." Ah was it only thus I should bring Then she " Leave God Himself to my love to my home ? do His own work, my son Only thus to my bosom now was she Vengeance is His, and surely, if slowly, ever to come ? His judgments are done No gay bridal for us, no Kirk's blessing Do not the thing that you ought not,
her up in
arms, and
strode through the tempest that blew
! !

my

Of the

or bells

for so our worst sorrows are wrought.

But a dead weight on my arm, and And sorrow, I fear me, will come yet something of sorrow that tells. from doing this thing that ye ought. How I got home, I wot not but I But happen what may, ye did right: strode on, slow or swift. only now you must saddle and ride ; With a great black fear on my heart, This will need doctor's skill. 'Tis a as I fought with the wind and drift. wild night, lad," she cried. " And you are down-hearted and cold and yet it is better for you My mother was living then ; and when Than sitting, helpless, at home, to have I laid down my load something set you to do. There on the sofa beside her, saying So let not your horse's hoofs tarry, but that Woman and God mind the bridge and the shore. Must see to the rest of this gear ; she And speed him as fast as you may, or gave me a sudden glance. death will be here before." With plainly a question in it, and something of doubt, perchance, As if she would say. There's something Four miles' ride to the village, but the wrong here ; can it be you wind was then on my back Has wrought this evU, my son ? God Four miles home with a gale in our
:

help

me

if that

be true.
I said,

faces that did not slack

for a moment ; a whOe to saddle the doctor's brute. And get him into his shoes, as he

Then, " Look you, mother,"

Once

"there has been villainy here. Double-damned vUlainy, sure, and the
truth of
!

it yet shall appear. growled at a gouty foot pluck his heart out to get at Yet we were back in the hour ; ay, the secret within ; that was the staunchest mare Oh I would have given my life to Ever yet stood in my stable, or ate save her from sorrow and sin. from the manger there. But something has to be done, or after But we were not in time ^Wee Curly all she will die. Pow came that night. Is she living ? I thought that I half- Came from the sin and the shame to

Ay

if I

heard a kind of shivering sigh.

She was making straight when I found her close

for the sea,

me as an angel of light. Strange that out of such to the brink blessing should rise.

evil

such a

!;

; ;: ;

296

North Country Folk

in her shame she had fled to the father of her child And they say that he carried her home

That from the very heart-breaking came the heart-healing likewise. But Lizzie was taken from me; she
never looked on her child,
trcvubled

And how

a mile through the drifting snow could have ever believed that in the tempest wild. Plein would have acted so ? Seeking to hide her with God, where I laughed as the tale was told, but I hiding is found alone ; tried to be still and mute. And oh so still as she lay now, trouble For the grief was more than the wrath, and tempest gone so the story had time to root And you cannot fight with a rumour

The

unhappy soul sped forth

And who

Mother looked sadly at me, and gravely which nobody stands to quite, For that is like hitting at shadows, and the Doctor too beating the air at night. Hinted that tongues would be clacking or ever the day was through. That the farmers of Plein had been Then it was that I found a blessing in always men of an honoured name

Which never till now had been smirched

with a shadow of
guilt or blame.

Curly
all

Pow

all of my love that remained, of Lizzie that I had now. What was there now to smirch it ? Every day she would lie for hours and Drily he smiled at that, hours on my knee Turned up his eyebrows, and said that I was but an uncouth nurse, but she the day would tell me what learnt to trust in me ; Meanwhile my heart within me was And I got to love her somehow, and wroth at the villain's deed it would have broken my heart. Meanwhile my heart was breaking to Had anything happened on earth to have failed her now in her need make me and the baby part. For I had loved her truly, and now I They might think what thoughts they was left alone pleased, they might say of me what And oh so still as she lay there, trouble they list. and tempest gone When she crowed up into my face, and learned to look up and be kissed. Not long had I to wait for what their It was all of my love that remained, it foreboding feared was all of my Lizzie I had. One day quietly passed the lull ere And Lizzie had been my all. But, of the storm appeared ; course, they said everything bad. like among burning the next, fire But on

She was

ricks, It

it

ran

was told by every woman, believed by every man. How I had played the deceiver, how I had brought disgrace On the good name that was honoured

Of

course, they said everything bad.

The

minister once
at

came

in.

And vowed

my own
sin.

fireside if I did

not confess the

must cut me off from the Church ; he was sorry, but what could he do ? o'er every name in the place How Blavick's son had been blinded. Some one, I said, must confess, for that sin has been done is true and all his people beguiled

He

; ;

Wee

Curly

Pow

297

Sin of the shamefulest kind, and covered I'll take all the vows on myself which with perjuring lies, I'll faithfully strive to fulfil. Sin that came nigh to murder, no art Will toil for her, pray for her, teach can ever disguise. her to walk in the way undefiled Sin malignant that shifted its guilt on Though there's not one drop of the Plein blood flows in the veins of the the innocent too.
child. Sin that took up ill reports, and spread I cannot lie even to get you to bless the false word for the true the babe that I love Verily sin all round. But for me I It is not my child but it's God's have nought to confess, and its name too is written above. Save that in pity I saved a life in its

great distress.

But maybe the Priest and Levite blamed

the Samaritan's sin

He was

mightily scandalised, and flung

:

For binding the traveller's wounds, and But I did not heed him ; I knelt there bringing him home to his inn down by my wee little mouse He saved an enemy's life, and it cost She was not my Curly Pow yet, for him money to do it hair on head,
;

right out of the house

It

was not a prudent

act, for

only the

Lord God knew

she had not a her But she always got some pretty name
as I took her upstairs to her bed,

it.

Who

Enquire then did it ? he asked. at your Elder's son. The horse-couping scoundrel, it's not the first of these jobs he has done ; You've had him through hands before.

As

Mousie, or Birdie, or Daisy, or

anything dainty or sweet. Or the Star, or the Song of my life, or my Lamb with its tender bleat So I knelt, and prayed to the Father Yes he swears he is not to blame ? to help me to train her for Him, But when you last had to deal with Since worse than orphan she was, and him, did he not swear the same ? I felt that my eyes grew dim. Yet he was guilty, you know, and was While I sought for the better baptism held to have doubly sinned. that she might be pure and good. And sat on the stool of repentance, and As no Kirk water could make her. stared at the girls and grinned. And then in a happier mood What do you think, sir ? It strikes crowed and played there together, me, that did not do him much good ; until it was time for bed ; And who is the better because her babe Where I lay and dreamt of my Lizzie, is unchristened ? or would who lay with the silent dead. Be worse if it were baptized ? It is
!

We

nothing, of course, to

me
:

who has Well ; yes, the house now was lonely ; but that I did not much mind should be Brought to the water of God, then People must go their own way ; and for me I was never inclined why should this little one bide Like one who inherits a shame, while To mix with the folk round about here, who mostly have nothing to say, her father has none to hide ? See, I will hold her up before all the Save about cattle and crops and the prices on market day. folk if you will.
But
if it is right that
sin,

the babe,

sinned no

298

North Country Folk

to pleasure the like of

them should For I found it was best for myself just ways be changed to let the thought of him go So they might do as they listed ; and Out of my mind altogether it was a most of them were estranged. dead fly, do you see ? But I always had wee Curly Pow to Spoiling the ointment, of course workhelp me to carry it through, ing no good, sir, in me. And life is as happy to-day as on ever He left the place by and by, with the a day that I knew. constable hard on his track. Ay neighbours leave us alone, and Making it certain enough he would not the Kirk has cast us away, be in haste to come back And every day of the week is as still Then there were rumours about him as the Sabbath day he had been killed, they said. Worse thing they had not to do ; it In the big Bull's Run affair, and found was all the length they could go. in the field 'mong the dead ; Baby don't mind, but at first I felt it a But others averred he was caught terrible blow horse-stealing, and lynched on a tree. To be shut from the table of God, to Bah he is out of the way, sir, and

Not

my

be held as an outcast man, that is the best thing for me : To be looked at askance like a branded There was nothing I dreaded so much sinner and publican. as to meet him some evening alone I went still to Church for a time, and Where I met poor Lizzie that night. sat on the square Plein pew. Ay, it's well that the fellow is gone. And heard the old Psalms, and the prayers, and bits of the sermon too.

Meanwhile

wept

like a child,

as I

DR. LINKLETTER'S

thought of the happier days

SCHOLAR

and mother and all of us loved the old Kirk and its ways. I WAS his master ; and from me But I stayed here at home ere long ; He learnt at a sitting his BC for I found more of God in the child. And step by step I led him through As I looked on her sweet pure face no Grammar and History, Latin and shadow of sin had defiled ; Greek, My Sundays were better with her than And the science of Form and Number there where my neighbours gloomed. too. As the minister preached at me some- And Rhetoric that he might fitly speak times, and I sat and fretted and As only the well-trained orator can. For speech is the noblest gift of man ; fumed. I don't say it's right, sir ; but God seems But speech that is not by the laws and nearer me here now than there. books My thoughts are sweeter and better Is but as the cawing of jays and rooks. Or the meaningless babble of running with wee Curly Pow in her chair. brooks As we read in the old Book together, and kneel for a brief word of prayer. And from the first it was plain to me What his role in the world must be. What came of the horse-couping black- It was my mind that was stamped on his. guard ? I never cared much to know : When his was soft as the melted wax ;
father

When

; !;

Dr. Linkletter's Scholar

Yet
it was not wax, but gold ; and it is Strong too and sharp, as the woodman's axe.

299

And

breathe into

it

life

so rich

The author of it shall hardly find What of it now is his, and which
mind

To hew him a way through

bush,

the tangled First smote the spark from the glowing

And

also to smite his foe at a push

Just the

mind that is sure to win Whatever the tussle it may be in, For in this world they only tell

A chit of a thing when he came to me

No shears had ever yet come on his head. And his mother could hardly bear to see

Who

learn to hit out straight and well. The golden curls which at last were Therefore I follow his proud success, shed, Day by day, as he rises higher, That he might be like the rest of Read what he says in the public Press, the boys And note what the critics all admire ; Who jeered at him, till she polled And this bit and that, which the whole his hair. world praises She kept it among her treasured joys, For its lofty thought, or its happy Wrapt up in her marriage lines with care. phrases, And I felt with her, as I must confess : Or its insight clear, or the counsel wise He was so beautiful before. That in its large suggestion lies So touched with a sweet and tender I could not have said it so well as he, grace Butlknowthere is somethingin itof me; And now we had made him commonI could not have worked "out so perfect place, a thought. Like the louts that were playing about But I gave him at firstthe true key-note ; the door. For I was his master, and from me little ago he seemed just a child. He learnt, as I told you, his Thoughtful yet bidable, gentle and mild.

ABC.

My little
Ah,
sir,

Nazarite, five years old.

great

only to think that you

With

his

black eyes, and his

Had not the fitting words at command hair unpolled To utter the thought that you felt And I felt he would be my Samson yet.

And

was true what hand

!

Not
it

for his brute strength

and clumsy

may grow

in a master's

sport,

At times, When it
flower,

I can hardly detect the seed.

But for his humour, and for his wit. Quick to reason, and keen to retort,

blossoms out in the perfect

And

for a

memory

that forgot

had been only a trifling weed by sun and shower. In the poor soil of a mind like mine hair Yet the germ of it all was there, I know, And now as the small face looked at me, Though onlyhe could have made it grow I thought, ah what if his strength Into a glory so divine. was there ? Wonderful, sir, that genius should And I felt my eyes like her's grow dim, Transform your thought, like its natural He was so changed when we gazed
it

For

If

left to ripen,

might teach him never a jot. Already I saw what he was to be. When he shook the curls of his golden

Of all you

food,

at

him.

300

North Country Folk

That was a foolish thought, but love Makes all of us foolish now and then,

We have to be pedants
Or
nothing would
!

and too precise,

but sloth

flourish

And

he

who

thinks he

when you chance is men to find Fond may be foolish, yet love is wise One who can answer to all your mind. They call it blind, but the seeing eyes Who hungers for learning, as hawk
Such things
;

and vice. the foolishest among But oh the joy

is

far

above

See best by the light

that
lies.

in

the

heart

for its prey.

And

never forgets a
skill.

word you
to

say
trained

A
Oh
For
but our

bright young

soul

be

work went merrily now.

that sing on the

with

Blithe as the birds

Ready

to take

bough,
all

Believing, loving, intent to

what shape you will, know,

Came

As

And clear as a mirror the truth to show. the lore of the ancient times But not like a mirror to let it go. with as natural ease to him song to the thrush on the stately That was a gladness he gave to me
From
the day that I taught

limes

him

his

Piping aloud in the evening dim. It was not work, it was liker play.

ABC.
Only once had
I ever seen

Teaching my pupil day by day Yet sometimes it was dreadful too.

He

kept such a resolute grip of

all

The gods and heroes mythical, They were all so real to him and

Such another, who so combined Memory, fancy, and reason keen And he from'the first had always been
;

true.

Sickly in body, though strong in mind.

had hates he knew, Ah the sorrow I had for him. As he wasted slow with an inward fire, Better than what went on around Among the boys on the playing And his eye grew brighter, as mine grew dim ground With the dying of hope in a deep And in his innocence he would talk desire Of Jove and Leda in our walk. beautiful spirit and when he parted And of the foam-born beautiful One, And the myths of the all-embracing From the shrunken form, and the

And all

their loves

aching pain, I said, as I sat down broken-hearted, pure to the pure in heart. And chaste as the marble of highest That I never should love, as I had, again. Art.

Sun.

But

all is

Ah How
!

sir,
it

you cannot know what

wears the patience

it is,

down

to

my life on him day by day. Only to steal his life away. For I ought to have noted the hectic
Spending
streak.

the bone

To toil through a summer day like this. When first it flushed on his pallid cheek, Sharpening fools on the grinding stone. And I I had only worked him still

While
fits.

stolid or sullen

And

nothing

will

their wits

they grow by Because he worked with so ready a will, And his mother, I kept the truth put an edge on from her And what, if I had been his murderer ?

; ;

! !

Dr. Linkletter's Scholar

Yet here was another
But brighter
still
;

301

like the
if

first,

And

the dainty gulls, and the cawing

and now

he

rooks.

Were

And how they were better than musty proud mothers that heard of me. books. Therefore I said, it shall not be That was not true ; but you have to hide will not always be poring on books. Your thoughts from the eager ones at will not study with sickly looks your side. will go up to the breezy hills,
also to die, I should be accursed

Of all

We We We

And

scent the smell of the old pine;

So passed the school-years, gathering

in

Harvest of wisdom from the wise. the sea-spray flies, Harvest of pictures for the eyes. and fills Harvest of song for the heart within The air with a breath that is also good. Harvest richer than all before. It is stupid indeed to be spending hours For it was not books that we read alone. Only seeking for vulgar health ; But God's handwriting, on earth and But then we can gather the lore of stone. flowers. Penned by Him in the days of yore.

wood Or down where

And And

drink in the wonder of nature's

fight off
shells.
life

Though

it's

only

now we

begin to spell

wealth.

The
Death with the weeds
in the sea

and

Oh Oh
Or Or

sacred writing, and read it well. so glad were those years to me

so fruitful of freshest thought
gull or the guillemot.

And

the strong, rich that dwells.

Watching the

So rarely a day then came and went. But we heard the plash of the rushing

searching the rock-pools by the sea. learning from the nest-building

swallows.

wave;

And often a
Where

day on the

hills

was

spent.

Or noting the woodman and his craft. As he felled the pine trees, and bound
the
raft.

the mountain ash, or the pine

trees brave

Or

The

mist and the cloud and the stormroots clawed

fast to

poled it shallows

down through

the rushing

wind's shock.

With
I

the grey-

At first, I grudged the hours it took. At first, I sighed for the half-read book,

Until I found that we could not see The world without for the world within. I watched if a flush ever dyed his cheek Nor gather the health we were there to win. Not his mother herself would have So the books and the maps were laid watched as I
fire

brown rock. watched if a

his eye,

And carried its thoughts about with me.

ever

burned

in

Yet

I only watched him speak For thinking of health

1 did not

aside

That we might look

forth open-eyed.

may

bring

disease.

As Homer did, on the world wide. And good are the pictures still, I find.
in the

And And

I did but talk of the hills

and Then hung

chambers of the mind.

his at college

trees,

the

bright

sea-pools,

and the

What

a career

was
it

running brooks.

Never the

like of

seen before.

;;

302

North Country Folk

know- But his mother and I were hid in
a nook,

Since Crichton, Admirable for

ledge,
Startled the schools with his
lore.

And mingled our silent tears, and shook.

wondrous

Ah
a defter spirit than he

is

there

anything

leaves

no

Not Faust was

sorrow

on its way. In Letters and Arts and Philosophy ; The mark of the human Medals, scholarships, honours poured When the hope, that brightened the looked-for morrow. Down on his head with one accord, And yet the small head was not turned. Drifts past at length into yesterday ? But only for yet more learning burned. Well, well it is idle to moralise. People would glance at the Honours' Wasting breath upon empty sighs ; List, And we have ourselves, no doubt, to blame, And say, " Is there nothing he cannot When bubbles burst we have fondly do?"
!

blown if you have properly played the His name was the first that came in view gamej In Classics and Logic and Rhetoric too, Shall you grieve that one of the tricks

For

ne'er at

the head of

it

was he

missed

And

Which

are the

things

that the wise

is

gone.
to

of old. More than

Which you hoped

all

win with the was

I

others, received to hold.

cards you had

Yet some
I

folk, envious, hinted that such

Or vow
I

that your partner's play

Prodigies rarely came to much.

knew
dim,

better.

Night Night

after

night,

worked with him till the lamp grew

till

bad? was foolish

thought

and

vain,

sir

for

I
after night,
:

was

filling

his

mind

like an

empty
and

the day

would

bottle.

break

When we
wrought

read

Justinian

now,

For

My

he will carry to many lands name like Ascham's, and for his
I said,

At

the politics, too, of Aristotle.

sake I too of fame shall yet partake For I am the clockwork, he the hands.
;

But he was not a vessel that I could fill He was a man with his own strong will. And I was wrong when I took it ill.

Oh, I was proud of him who but he ? Why is it people smile at me For was he not also a part of me ? Of course, he was more than I yet so In a pitying, patronising way ? What I, too, might have been, he They've always done it, even when they Were learning with my eyes to see would show. And when at length he was capped, The beauty of classic verse or prose
;
:

town Gathered to
the
praises.

see him,

and shout
he

his

They tried to hide it, but yet I saw. What can it be ? I am not like those Beautiful youths, I know, who draw

As, smothered down,

And blushed at
phrases

All hearts to them by their witching look. In a drawing-room now I lose my head. the Principal's eloquent Till I get in a corner, and find a book. And lose myself in its thoughts instead.
in prize-books,
sat

; ;

;
!

: :

Dr. Linkletter's Scholar

It
true, I

303

is

am awkward

in

company,

Yet maybe we led him,

ourselves, to

And blush if a lady but speaks to me, think And never do find the right word to say, That only for him did we keep our And my legs or arms are in my way, lamps trim, And I've no small talk, nor a spark That all our wells were for him to drink. of wit. And all existed only for him. And my laugh is not mirthful can And oh, what a mind he had what

that be

it ?
;

power
I

Well, well
shall be.

am

nothing, and ne'er

Unless

my

pupils interpret

me

What subtlest insight to detect The hidden analogies few suspect As the wild bee travels from flower
flower.

to

Just like a language few will take

The pains to learn, though it hide a store And

brings quick life to the barren seed,

Of precious wisdom and curious lore. So would he And those who learn it a name will What made
make. But I hoped that he would esteem
more.
yield
it

bring from far afield

the commonest thing to

life

Undreamt of meaning, and

indeed.

Yet

So it came at last that, in gown and wig, mother herself would some- I heard him plead in a fitting cause. times say. How the words rolled from him round He has no heart ; he is only brain and big There is nothing he loves in a perfect Not Tully himself more versed in the way. laws There is none that he would not grieve Of Rhetoric, how to turn and wind and pain Round judge or jury, and win their ear. To gain his end. And I also felt. Then flash a metaphor into their mind. Though he had no passion of youthful Or a stroke of wit that they smile to
his
vice.

hear,

But was ever as pure and cold as ice, And, when he has got them well in Yet was it ice that nought could melt hand, And he never was young like other boys. Close with a peroration grand Nor made them his friends, nor loved Or touching, if that is the vein most fit
their joys.

But, with our British mind, I

know

Hard reasoning, and a harder hi t and to dispute. Even when he saw that he was wrong Will often farther than pathos go. It was idle his arguments to refute, Or pictures of clients in stricken woe. For when he was beaten by reasons He hit the nail on the head, I saw Not once did he miss a point of Law, strong. He would ride away on a jest or two, Or fail the heart of the case to seize. In the triumph of laughter mocking you. Or to persuade and rouse and please At the lowly in heart too he would sneer, Nothing was showy or juvenile. And the simplein heart he held forfools. Nothing merely for ornament And there were times when he made Every word was in perfect style. Every plea to the marrow went. me fear He cared for us only as his tools. Clenched with a telling precedent.
was
fain to argue

He

304

North Country Folk

a gift
is

Oh, what

that, to stand

And

what he had grown with the help

Before the majesty of the Law, of me, And hold your argument clear in hand. And what in the future he yet might And state the matter without a flaw be: I had studied the case myself at night. Still it was wrong, and I see it now, And seen it, I reckoned, as clear as So to intrude with empty and vain light: Thoughts of myself ; and I ought to bow But I felt, as I heard him pleading now, To the fit rebuke, though it gave The cold sweat beading upon my brow. me pain.

And And
I

was a ringing in my brain. was dark, till he made it plain. could not have spoken a word for awe
there
all

As

I crept

away home

in the dripping

rain.

Of course, he loves me,

I surely

know it.
time to

Of the

ermined majesty of the Law.

But that was not the right

likes, in the hour of he finished, looked down. his pride. And complimented his able friend To have shabby old friends creeping The Bar had done, he was free to own. up to his side. All that the Bar could to defend weighty cause in a weighty way. What a brain he has for clearness and And to fulfil the hope which they. power And all who knew of his honours won What a grasp of principles and details In other fields, had formed of him. What would take you a year, he will So thegrave Judge. When he had done. seize in an hour My head went round, and my eyes And then his courage too never fails. grew dim. He may be Lord High Chancellor yet. And something I said I know not well But he will write as a scholar no less What it was, but a silence fell ( To think that a part of me may be set On all the court ; and I seemed to see To give law from the woolsack, or little boy at his teach from the press Sitting thoughtfully at ray knee. None of your idle poems, or flash

Now when

show it the Judge And nobody

ABC,

Essays, biographies, tales, or trash,

Of course,

it

was wrong

in

me

to

go

But

solid

worksTor the thoughtful few.

In the hour of his triumph thus, and show Writ with a golden pen and true. threadbare coat, and my withered I know it is in him. I put it there, And he will bring it out clear and fair, face At such a time, and in such a place ; When legal briefs and affairs of state Though it's true my coat was thin Slacken enough to give him leisure. But that must be soon, for I may not wait and bare That he might be garmented fitly there. Many more days for the Psalmist's date. But it cut me, at first, to the quick, When years are a burden, and not a

My

when he

pleasure.

Hard, hard he works for the fame he Turned with a freezing look from me seeks Maybe, I had said something wild ; My head was dazed when I thought Through the busy term, and the holiday weeks of the child,

Dick Dalgleish
^et he never
is weary, never complains, nothing of sickness, or aching

305

With

his

hands so

full,

and his mind

Knows
Or

so strained,

pains.

And
for
rest,

the splendid place by his genius

a wish
is

or

bile-clogged

brains.

That

the fruit of our happy days

By

the windy shores, and the

wooded
!

braes.

gained ; For they say he is not more in request At the Courts of Law than in stately Halls, Where his wit has made him a

Wonderful, wonderful such a man If he would only, now and then.

!

welcome

guest.

And
!

Drop me

a hasty scrape of his pen.

leisure to write, and can hardly reasonable, I know. In me to be looking for that, although hearth-stone. But I do not grudge him ; I only hope. I spent the wealth of my life on him. And all the knowledge of studious years. When his cup is full, he will spill me And filled his cup, as it were to the brim. a drop. With the lore that now in his life For my work is done, and my days appears. are dim.
!

When
It's

he has

Beauty swims through its routs and balls. Ay, ay and still I am sitting alone Among the old books by the old

heart grows thirsty to hear from him, Were it not for the scholar I trained to fly As the shadows of the Eternal fold With the bravest of them that mount Around my head that is grey and old. up high Riches and honours and fame to win ? And he has won them, and shall win yet DICK The ermined robe, and the coronet. And a noble name, and mine shall be Just a mechanic with big, broad head, Blended with his, too, in history. Carpenter, maybe, or engineer, And I've thought, now and then, in Deft with a skilled hand at winning that coming day. his bread. When they talk of us, they will maybe Scornful of varnish and show and veneer; say, Rough-handed, plain-spoken, strong in I was the Moses that saw the Lord, his youth. He but the Aaron that gave the word. Loyal to all of his order and craft But that is when I am vain and proud, Loudly maintaining the fact and the And sit by the fire, and think aloud. truth. Wondering why he only writes At all pretences as loudly he laughed scrap to say that he has no time Laughed at quill-drivers, and whiteAnd I'm ready to think that is nearly fingered dandies a crime. Measuring ribbons with yard-stick As I brood and fret through the long and tape dull nights. Laughed more at frowsy men doctoring But I ought to be grateful, indeed, brandies. that he And calling their drugs the pure fruit Finds even a moment to think of me, of the grape
I

But what of that, sir ? And what had Been but a grave to bury it in.

And my

DALGLEISH

; :

3o6

North Country Folk

slept

He

through the night, and he

And
and

the

new methods of working

what coal

toiled all the day,

steering.

And

nothing he diank but the brook

What

coal they needed, and

by the way.

could do

shrewdly projected a wonderful dream, Clean-washed, clean-shirted, his wife Into the future, of iron and steam.

And

Out on
by

a holiday, wholesomely dressed,

his side,

With

a small

baby she clasped

to her

I scarce

know why,

but I rather took

breast.

To

the

manly bearing of him, and

in

And

chirped to, and watched with a the fond Young pride which his wife showed motherly pride. every look. Proud of her baby, and proud of her

Man,
All her young face was
to see
like sunshine

Than

to all the rest, as their

ways

conned They were mostly broad-cloth citizen

No

folks, sickly vapours had she, nor a wan Fine-lady look, but was healthful as he. Each with his newspaper where he read How she looked up to him Who The markets first, and the price of
!

was so clever ? Who was so good

is

stocks.
as her

true

He

was blunt-spoken, would never

a poor

what at the bankrupt court sitwas said but then he They carried their business with them
?

Dick

It

And

tings

Harm

worm

or a

fly,

if

always he While their wives were towny

overdressed.

and
small

knew;

And And

he read everything

science,

and Talked of their city

ways,

life

and

its

plays.

poems, and

all

that

the news-

And
So

dinners and weddings and fashion

taste.

paper says.

and
I

Out on

a holiday, sailing

down
broiling

The

broad clear river that bore away

took my seat, with a frank good-day, By the big mechanic in homespun grey.
I
;

Thronging crowds from the town

was

fain to speak of his craft

and

To

the birch-clad

hill

or the sandy bay

trade,

But he went rather at first for books Shrewdly he glanced at either shore. Lined with the half-finished skeleton Did I not think that Darwin made
ships.

case for the

worms

as

against the

Spoke of their rigging, abaft and And what they might do at

trial trips
;

afore,

rooks

their

What had
like these

the

birds done for

earth

Plainly

knew

all

about

this

one's

Dumb,
soil

silent

ploughers

who made
its

the

gearing.

The

other one's engines, paddles, or

For rooks

to nestle to live

on

high

trees.
toil
?

screw,

And man

by

his sweat

and

37

Dick Dalgleish

That was a man, sir, with hardly a rival Their brow never sweats with the work they have done. For his power to see, and his grasp of Unless at some queer job that looks thought

And

as for his doctrine of fit survival, That's the new gospel this age has got And we must be rid of the drones in

rather

ill,

And

then

it

is

but for the risk that

the hive.

That the
thrive.

true workers

may

They're nearly
here to-day

all

drones

now

they run. When they shuffle the cards for a trial of skill. live and Now, I come home at evening, Kate, dirty and weary. on board But my conscience is clean, and my head, too, is clear
I don't
sit,

Our

lads went off with an earlier boat But wife, sir, and baby must have their own way.

and drink wine, and make

the house dreary,

As some
I

of them do half the days of

And
It
is

she likes the gentle-folks

so,

when

the year;

she's afloat.

take on no stains from

my work

or

you know, Kate

you're fain

my

play
a pail of fresh water will not

now to hear The sweet-spoken

ing your child

Which
damsels come prais-

wash away.
sell

And
With

if

we went down, you would They buy and they

or
fall,

for

the rise

rather appear

should be. Filching a profit still, great or small. Than stand at the judgment with For the doing of nothing that I can see. Dick, Tom, and Harry There's a little chap sitting yonder Not more than half-sobered with gulps look of the sea He's bulling and bearing all the day Oh, how can I say so, when you chose long
respectable folk, pretty-mannered

When neither a rise nor a fall

and mild.

to marry Such a blunt working chap, such

And
a

they're

fain

to

glance
his

at

his

jotting-book.

rough tyke as me ? That's true ; yet you cannot deny

For
it

they say that seldom wrong

guesses

are

was you Brought me here with

soft-headed crew.

I call
this soft-handed,

him the

big flea blood-sucking

commerce,

wish me, old girl, us, all our winters be just like these. and summers With broadcloth and white linen worn Swarms of them, sir in the handevery day, somest trim. And to saunter through 'Change for They make their game, and the stakes an hour at my ease. are laid, And call that my work, though it looks And they rake in the gold which the so like play ? workers made

Would you

these are the sucking him now, to And they live upon

And

little

fleas

blood-

;;

Men

; ; ;

3o8

North Country Folk

for the

Yet what have they done

by
then- strokes

world
to

trample on man, and they

course

make
to be

him a brute
?

Of

betting

and hedging

want

Though of

we ought

all

know that. And who is the

jokes
?

taking and giving.

happier hearing their

is

And whose
With
That
their

life
?

keep our good humour and manhood to boot. helped by the jobs But those who have tasted of slight

And

they are at

and neglect.
sharp
arithmetic

they

When

folk

grow too

civil,

are apt to

fashion a blade
cuts a big slice of our profit

suspect.

away
it

And

yet they've done nothing for

our line saving of labour to quicken the trade. And bring in more wealth than the his "gig-men," gold in a mine. And I still like the old fellow's rough Well, I spoke to the head of our firm ; tongue a bit but he turned. But he never yet said how the
in

except trade On the folly of some, for which all have to pay I used to read Carlyle, and laughed at

don't say it's right. time I made

plainly to

But
a

at

one
thing

What was

me

new

"clothes-men" and "wig-men"

With
at

a big oath,

and bade

me go work

Must make way

at

last for

the

men

my

tools

who

are

fit.

That's Darwin's discovery ; and how can you doubt These chaps, like the dodo, are bound
to die out
?

had heard such tales once till his were burned, And he found that your workmeninventors were fools. But afterwards, learning more truly
fingers

He

about

it.

When
About

you spoke
us, the

to

me

first,

you were Oh, he spoke me so bland, and would

fain see the thing
;

wishing to

know
working men
;

brought forth my model as proud, do not doubt it. thoughts are And whereto our strikes and our unions As Kate of her baby there, and with a swing grow And how near the end is, or, maybe, Of the big hammer, I dashed it in bits, Saying, What could come out of a how far. working man's wits ? Ah, folks are grown curious about us,

what our So I

who

once

Sniffed the grease of our moleskins, and I

had

toiled at

it, sir,

every night for

in

hurried

them

past.
sort, I

a year.

You're not of that perchance

allow

and So hopeful and happy thought

seeing

my

We

are crustier,
at last.

now

that our day's

Turned now
out clear,

into

iron,

and coming
inspiration

come

Than we should be. That comes the way we've been living
;

of

At

last,

through

plain

I got

Dick Dalgleish

39

For why should

minds
to invent

not

God

inspire

And

quaff

my
i

champagne

as

it

were

bottled milk

As

\vell

as to preach,

and be praised
and a
thrill

His gift ? Sir, it came like a that were sent

for

Well, I once knew a man with a headpiece to think.

flash

In a moment of
adrift

failure,

when

hands that could work out the thought of his head I was It is true that he had a bad weakness
for drink.

And

As " the

still small voice," which the prophet must hearken. Because it was God's, so the thing

And would whimper about it,

came to me. Like the gladness of

failure

and wish he were dead ; But he took to that line, and had everything
fine,

light

when

that

did darken
is

A house in a big square, with lamps at

the door,

Around me, and

And what

broken as he : the joy of their gold, and

I

was

as

And

their gain,

To

the gladness I had

plain
?

when

saw

carriages, horses, and flunkies, and wine. And heaven knows what that he had

it

not before.

all

You

think

it

ripe fruit

But the ladies were shy of his wife ; and the flunkies was childish to waste the The lazy fat rogues, I'd have sweated
thought.

Of my
whit;

labour and
it's all

Not

them well

here

At

As

clear in

my

head

as that day,

and

to boot

the back of his chair stood, and grinned there like monkeys. And down in the kitchen they laughed
at his bell
;

Some

riper thought

still

that

may some

time appear.

And

he had not

moment of comfort
him bare
as a sheep

But I told you this only to show how, in vain. Folk think all at once they can heal the huge rent In our social order where one's heart and brain Find seldom the right places for which they were meant. But why don't I patent the thing 1
invented
?

or peace. Till a crash stript

of

its

fleece.

No,

I'll

not take that way,

sir

I don't

care to rise

Above my own class

we

are happier so.

Oh, and rise in and grow rich.

of the Carpenter now, He was wise In the old town of Nazareth long, long ago. are not very pious, we workthe world, as they say,

The Son

We

men,

I fear,

And

have a grand house finely papered Don't go much to church, but we read about Him and painted. And mount me a-horseback to land And the things that we read are not
in a ditch,

quite

And dress my good Kate in her sealskin The

and
silk,

minister

what we hear blow off

like froth

from

the brim


310

North Country Folk

pot of small beer. Nay, I don't Not to take to the nice ways of lawyer blame the preacher ; or clerk. It's just what we want that we find Not to turn from the hammer, the file, in our books ; and the fire As the sun is a painter to some, and a But to stand by our order and stick to

Of a

bleacher

our tools,
it is

To others
You open

as the

eye

is

that looks

And
And
Not

still

win our bread by the sweat

the door to which you have the key.

I find the

of our brow,
to organise labour

by Christianall,

And
for

message that

God

meant

like rules.

me.

that some, but that

may

be

better than

But the Carpenter, now, did not care

to be great.

May
To

now. have homes of more comfort, and

with more leisure

lives
fine

And

to

ape what the

lords

of
in

read,

and

to

think,

and

to

well

Herod might do. Nor yet be called Rabbi, and

the gate

understand.

And

sit

As
The

a Judge, or a Parliament

man

to

to get, like us here now, some holiday pleasure For they do the work that enriches

the Jew.

the land.

fox had his hole, and the bird of the air

nest
;

No

I don't care to rise for myself, I see too, of rising

till

Had its And

but

He

had not roof o'er

The

rest get a chance,

His head.
heeded not purple and sumptuous
fare.

with me.

And And

borrowed a grave when

this is the gospel I

He

lay

with the dead.

read in the
story

You're a Christian, sir ? Well so am I, in a way, Though some of our fellows, and good
!

fellows too.
it

Though

I don't say another to you

mayn't have

Have no
say.

other gospel or

God,

as they

The Lord did

not seek

His own honour

fishers

and glory. But stood by His craftsmen and

all

Than Man, and what man's fingers may do.

I don't

brain and

go with them, but

reckon

my

through.
that their
ills

trade

He

held to His class he might cure.

May

be

my
is

church too,

if

the right
selfish

heart

there,

And

lift up the head of the needy and poor.

A-healing the wounds which the have made,

And

helping the helpless their burden

to bear.

Well, that
our Ark,

is

our gospel too, that

class,

Not

to rise

from our

is parson and priest, though his apron be leather. but to raise And he tuck up his shirt-sleeves to do
is

He

the class higher.

his job well,


Dick Dalgleish
Whose

; ;!

; ; ;

311

heart is most loving to sister And to leave all the rest of His brothers and brother, to pine Most ready to go where the sorrowful There's yoiu- thimble, and Christ in't dwell. but presto begone
! !

And

to

show

to the erring the right

to the faith of

Lo

the devil

is

there,

where the glory

!

way of truth,

divine

And

bring

them again

A short while ago sat in sorrow alone

Oh
blessed the poor blessed the

their youth.

if

they only get

if

money

Now,

the faith of my youth was that Christ would redeem

life

And
And

meek

they stand

to their rights
all

The

of the poor from

its

sorrow

who

are selfish shall have

milk

and

sin.

and honey,
\

Would wake up

the world from its For they are the salt of the earth and wealth-loving dream its lights To seek the true riches of manhood that's the new gospel, I call it,

Ay

of Gold In wisdom and worth, and the peace But we working men wiU hold which they bring. to the old. That's the word which I heard from
within.

fast

But now

Yes, I know we're divided, as other folk are. they sing. And what is yet worse, we are cursed And the light of her heaven has aU with that drink
old mother's
it's

my

lips

another guess-song that

suffered eclipse.

And many are selfish, and some of us mar

man may
are lords

Oh, we
rise in

boast that the poor

A good cause with bad ways, and some

And

do not think we've blundered, 'tis true, and in the state, been wrong now and then, A-driving in carriages, scented and And done what we should not as who curled. has not done ? Or making their bow to the Gold- But we'll learn by our failures ; we're Stick-in-Wait. only poor men, And where shall you find, now, a sight Kept like children till lately, now

And we

the world. point to his sons

who

that's so grand.

trying to run

Except

in this
?

truth-loving,

Christ-

serving land

sometimes, of course, we get tript up and tumble But stUl on our clouds, lo ! the rainbow
is set.

And

Well, well

what

rare tricks

we do

play, to be sure.

And
cards,

With our

conjuring
!

and our
here,

a light springeth up of the humble,

in

the hearts

thimbles and peas

WiU grow to more fulness,

us yet
!

and gladden
until

To

think that a
cross to

God could come

lordlings

and endure

make

and

ladies

But there I've been preaching I have got

like these,

A drop in my heart that

is bitter

and hot.

!;

312

North Country Folk

way with all preaching make one sweet.
?
;

That's the
don't
put

it

And

Who

Where's Kate and the baby

They'll
its

with a light heart turned from all once had loved her, and now looked cold.

me

all right.

Oh,
hands
its

so deep, etc.

Oh,

the ladies are praising

its feet,
its

and

And

mouth and
!

its

nose,

and

And And

by his side she shared his lot. gazed on his face with a tender

precious eyesight

pride
see, sir, that

Well, well

do you

green glen, the strip of dark alders, that show where the stream Flows on in its loneliness far from men.

narrow Poor they were, yet she murmured not. But with a smile would her troubles
hide.

With

Oh,

so deep, etc.

And
a

ripples,
?

and murmurs like one

dream

I speak like a fool,

had she died when her Love was young for of course you For she trusted him, and he was not
in
! !

Ah

can't hear

it,

true

Though I hear it singing away to itself. Oh that she had Or sobbing at times like a sore troubled wrung
!

died ere her heart was

this thing

spirit.

For there came a day when

it

Or
I

laughing perhaps as
there, sir

slides

down

she knew.

a shelf;

Oh,
;

so deep, etc.

was born
to try

and we're going

A week

with old mother baby and I.

Kate

There came a day when a beam of light and Searched his soul, and at length revealed Heart to heart, and she saw him right. And all the lie he had long concealed.

LOST AND
Broken

WON
And

Oh,

so deep, etc.

clear as a printed book. never a word to him she said She trusted him with her whole true But shot at him only a sorrowful look. As her heart sank in her, cold and dead. heart. Oh, so deep, etc. She trusted him as we trust in Heaven,

She read him

Whatever they

And

said, she took his part, loved with the love to the noblest Broken in faith and heart and mind. Yet no one knew it, but only he. given. For she was true to her womankind. Oh, so deep as the water flows And no one felt it, but only she. Oh, so pure as the lily grows Oh, so deep, etc. But Love it is deeper and purer
!

than they

Well-a-day

She turned her from all joy and mirth, In wifely patience silent, pale.
her father's Hall,

For him she

left

And
But

cared no more for a thing on

that

And

the happy

life

she had prized of

earth.

old,

dead love of her

life to wail.

!;

Lost and
Oh, Oh,
'

Won
could she give him her love.

313

so deep as the river flows so pure as the lily

it is

How
And

But Love

grows deeper and purer

!

than they

he so unworthy of it ? What were the great gods above Thinking of there where they sit.

Well-a-day

When

they sent her to fold him in

it ?

Parted
she passed. The one gold-thread that was there Out of his life at last
life

Ah

the gods

know what
life

they do,

Out of his

Whether

giving or taking
that
is

away
true.

They They

waste no
lose

How
He

She dropt with her burden of care had she ever come there ?
was not worthy of love Such as she gave to him
;

And
For

cast

no game that they play. no blessing away.

as she lay there in death,

And

yet, like the heaven above,

light the

She clasped with her

dim

for the first time he saw All her meek love and her faith. And there came sorrow and awe As its great beauty he saw.
!

Lo

World

that

was dear

to him.

she so cast away The love that was born of God, The wealth in her heart that lay, On a man who only trod

How could

Yea, there came sorrow and awe. As the gods entered his life.

And
Cut
?

the great

word of

the

Law

to his heart like a knife.

life.

Mean ways
His For

that

were

far

from

God

Seeing the shame of his

sorry heart she

had taken
be shaken.

a nature noble and true,

And he lay low on the earth, When from his side she had passed.
Loathing all gladness and mirth, Loathing himself now at last. When from his life she had passed
Stricken in heart, as he thought Of the waste of her love and trust,

And

slow was her

trust to

Though colder ever he grew, The closer to him she drew.

And

into his life she

brought

Some touches of tender grace. Some gleams of a nobler thought

Redeeming

Had And And

commonplace he known his day of grace

its

Of thegracethat to him she had brought. Of the glory he laid in the dust. When he slighted her love and her
trust.

She had been

the song

to
it

him
was

like a song.
silent

now,

Stricken

Or a stream that prattles along Where the life-roots feebly grow

what was
to

Ah me
my
?

he

said,

do not mourn good company

;

come of him now

loss

was not meet

all

for such

For he was selfish and cold. For he was earthly and hard. For in the guerdon of gold Only he sought his reward
Poor
soul, so earthly

Thou

these years didst bear a silent

right

cross.

And
!

it

is

thou shouldst

no

longer be

and hard

Comrade

to me.

314
I judge not others

North Country Folk

;

few

so

bad

as I
little

Nay, but

Enough
heart,

to

know my own

poor

it might have been, have been ;

it

might
that

'Twas

I that failed, not

;

nature

deceives As here in self-abasement now I lie, And feel that it is best for thee thou art Had I been faithful I had surely The better hopes, for which my From me apart.
grieves.

seen
spirit

love
true

my love

and yet I wonder

1 dare to call thee love,

;

how who was not

it

Gathered

in sheaves.

They are not

and I know
you.

false,

those golden dreams

to

Yet

I did love thee,

late,

now

of youth

Too

too

late,

when

I can only rue

But

we

are

false

them, and

fall

My way with
I

away

From

their

high

purpose,

following
praise

the smooth was not always worldly, hard, and cold, World-lies that win us empty I can remember yet a better day and pay, When love was dearer to my heart

than gold

And
I cast
it
!

lead astray.
been, ah

My

God, how could

so

away

Woe

worth the day

They might have

me

they

Ah me
The

where now the

visions of

my

might have been And oh the sorrow to look back, and

youth.
nobleness, the glory of
Its purpose high, its

not, and our life is poor and mean, Achieving only loss and empty show. truth. And shame and woe. Its hatred of the thing that only seems, And falsely gleams ? woeful They might have been ? word is this Where the fond hope of holy love I might have been a nobler truer man, and pure. That, in a cultured home, afar from I might have laid up memories of

dreams. eager search for

its

know They are

strife.

bliss,'

With

patient

service

of

the

and poor.

meek She would have now and wan

helped, but

sunless

Reckoned
fect life

to

make

great and per-

Is life's brief span.

With

a sweet wife

And

looking back, I see the morning

Was

but a cloud. it all an illusion Sun-painted in the morning, far away. And filled with lark-songs, by and by to shroud With mist and drizzle all the dismal
day.

glory

Grown

dim,

and fading
telling

'mid

the

earthly smoke.

My
Of

fond dreams
thoughts

now

a sorry

story
ill-marshalled,

and die

battle

broke
stroke.

And mud- strewn way ?

Without a

Lost and

Won
life,

315

heart, that

was so rich

in

noblest

Which mars my
heart within

and

taints

my

wealth

Of love and
thee
health.

joy

to think I slighted

And
full

Could be so purged. might live, in virtue of the rod.

broken heart, erewhile so

of
I
It
is

The
a

life in

God.
heart
that

How

in thy grief

my

bitter

shame

coward
pain,

shrinks

see

God,

pity me.

from

Humbled

But not from wrong hope to reach a purer air, God, I would say, lay on, and do not

Could

I but

Why should
1 have not

I care to live another

is

life,

spare

When this
made
spool

done

Smite hard and strong

this first

so

much of

There are no pains

inherit

that mortal

men

That I should crave

wool

for other lint or

I

Worse
had a grace

than I merit.
that should have

heart,

To be ill-spun my heart, have

:

made

you not made

me

great

enough

Of this
Would
More
I

poor stuff?
for ever, fain to
this gear

Which
and

had a love should have made

me

loving,

I thrust
gift

go on
of

weave

The

from me, and clave unto

More

the dust.

tangled thrums, ends of thought.

snarled

more broken

Till from above

God

stretched

His hand, and took

given.

More
knot

hasps, another hapless

again to heaven

What He had
But oh,
if in

An

and fear ? everlasting web of life like Would that be bliss ?

help

Of sorrow

this.

We yet might
As in And
I

another truer world meet.

the days that seem so long ago,

God
And
Or

me

if

I'm only

just to

do

this wretched heart of mine might throw

As
lay

heretofore.

Down
And
to

at her feet,

Better into a quiet grave to creep.

say I

wronged you, and

or you
!

was

me down

in peace,

and go

not true

sleep

To God
For evermore
Yes
!

better even right-off to be sent

I could live for such a

day

as that

For punishment. Yes

!

With
in the

patient

hope

Would heaven
I could find

but grant

me opportunity

some comfort

Of

clear

repentance

which her eye

thought

could see.
scourged.
this

Of being
Were
filing sin

there but hope that

Then let me drop de- Anywhere, out of sight, to

live

no more

As

heretofore.

3i6

North Country Folk

THE MAD EARL

And
that
is

That's

how the

that ne'er

curse came on them from his house should or a

at

our Earl

I should not have

known him

poor

fellow a
bit,

depart

lord

Had we
much
But
he
is

met on a street : how he's changed to be sure, he had never For

!

lady

who was out of his wits, who had not a heart.

generations

three

coming

wit,

least, so

at least

he was handsome, and

now But maybe

rise to

the old wives said, the woes of the house gave

bloated and

brown

as a toad,

the weird they read.

And

have a reason ; every snow when a thaw comes down on Everything must fire once had a spark the road. And what like the judgment of heaven It is years now since I have seen him, for clearing up things that are dark ? except in the woods far away None of his neighbours throve, and Pacing alone where the close trees none of his race had their wits
;
:

his brains

gone to

slush, like the

shut out the light of the day,

Easy
still

to patch

up a

tale

coming pat

to

Shunning

all

speech of man, and

to face
is
;

your hand so in

bits.

more a woman

Ay, ay

upon him that Anyhow, certain it is that the Stateshas to be dree'd by his race. man Earl had a son, gallant and gay young soldier, These grand old families now, there's
!

the weird

beloved of every one, a story about them all ghost-room, a tragedy somewhere, Till one day his charger stumbled, and they picked him up for dead a writing upon the wall Of course they are shy to speak of it, Better he had been, for henceforth he never was right in the head. but, on a winter night,
It's

the talk of the cottage fireside, in

the dusk of the

They tell

of the

Statesman Earl

dim rush

light.

he made the house so great and he shambled too with his shrewd-witted Parliament man, and feet; Councillor high of state But he knew the right side of a penny, How shifty and clever he was with and looked to his farms and woods ; the turn o' the tide to swim, Only nobody saw him at last, and And how when a Bisset or Cheyne they say he had wild-beast moods. died, their lands fell somehow to him.

followed this one's father; he slobbered a deal at his meat. 'twas His tongue was too big for his mouth,

Then

Folk

called

him

the great lord Spider

still

But

this

Earl Ughtred, he looked right

:

yet the small lairds

drew

near.

And

boy, for he took buzzed about him like flies, for I a rare fancy for me. he was the big man here ; And play ran high in those days ; you Chose me to go with him fishing, as well he might, for I knew might gamble a good estate Between the wine and the dawn ; and More about trouting and fly-hooks than idle keepers could do. his lordship's luck was great.

man could be knew him well as a

as a

317

The Mad
I

Earl

was bred, you see, from a child on So Ughtred would not be like him, the bank of his choicest brook. would rather be lavish than mean. And fished it with crooked pins, when And scatterhis gold, like the best, where I knew ne'er a word of my book. the nobles of England were seen ; And my father too could busk you the Alike open-hearted and handed, had daintiest deadliest flies ; he only the brains to know And the young lord saw that I knew Among all the ways that were miry the pools where the fish would rise. where was the safe one to go.

as we tramped Wild, then, he was for a season forand the heather. sooth, he must bet and race. Or dropped the spoil in the creel, or Though he scarce knew a horse from lunched on the banks together a cow, sir, unless she had horns to And what would he not do for me, her face So the blacklegs got at him early, and when he came to man's estate ? For still he would go off a-fishing, and sold him the weediest screws Which he backed, of course, at their I must still be his mate. bidding, till he fell in the hands of fine, frank lad, sir, he was ; and he the Jews. would have done all that he said Then he got frightened, poor fellow, It was not his blame that he did not but he never was strong in the head and something or other he did He had not a turn for books ; and he I never could make out what to men used to have dreamy moods of his order forbid ; But his heart was sound at the core, They did not say it was wicked, but as the healthiest oak in the woods. spoke of it as of a shame. And the great folks pitied his mother, It's true, he turned wildish awhile and shook their heads at his name. as all of his race have done He was handsome and wealthy and That don't go for much with me ; for young, and guidance wise he had I've lived on their skirts all my days. And I know that their honour allows none; them to walk in the doubtfulestways, I sometimes wonder myself, could I And I know that their honour forbids carry a cup so full, what conscience does not refuse And not spill a drop by the way, but And he never was strong in the head, sir, keep my head steady and cool ? and he was in the hands of the Jews. By this time his father was dead, but But it touched his mother ; who was he never had been of much good ; among us like a sov'reign law Vice was engrained in him, only he did Her pride was something the people it as cheap as he could ; whispered about with awe. What little mind e'er he had it never And now to be pitied that made her was much to be sure more haughty than ever before. Had been given to hoarding and hiding the pennies he screwed from the And she held up her head the higher, and hardened her heart the more. poor.

And many a talk we had

o'er the hills

a ;

3i8

North Country Folk

his sister, the

Then,
just

Lady Ion
to

she
but

came of age

that year

But my lady and Lady Ion, would not hear of the match
;

they

splendid creature
also a

look

at,

They mocked

at

her as a cottar whose

woman

to fear,

door was shut on a latch,

Features clear-cut as in marble, an eye For there was nothing to steal there, but only a wax-doll face that was bright and cold, Blooming on bread and milk, and just And a perfect seat on the saddle

rider as cool as bold

fit

for a milkmaid's place.

was

his lordship's servant,

and

it is

Ah

pride,

sir,

is

hard

as flint,

and

not for

But the

me to speak, Book it ^ays

the sparks struck from it are hot. that the strong Here and there flying unguided, to
to the

And

burn where little you wot came They hurt not her in the least, but see what they've made now of him. from the big house then. Better for him had he faced the wrath Moping and mooning about here whereshould be helpful
if all
still

weak

the tales be true that

and the scorn of men.

ever the light

is

dim.

she who's her ladyship now Cast on her morning sunshine, stigma That she had her wits about her was writ on her sharp little brow ; on her proud name ; But he was the head of the house, Pretty and clever enough, with a

'Twas hard for her, I allow, that shadow of shame

to

have

Then came

the Colonist girl

that's

And

though ever so weak in his mind. they were strong and cruel, who should have been strong and kind.

Ay

hard blue eye, she would see to herself face was not wholly a lie.
glittering
!

if

her

he fancied, sweet Colonial manners are frank ; she would talk to any she met All other girls in the county were only Cadger or molecatcher free, as she walked through the dry and the wet. as stars to her moon. All other girls in the county were but And oh but she won folk's hearts, for she neither was haughty nor shy as weeds to the rose That in the bloom of its beauty in But I liked not the cold blue glitter of steel that I saw in her eye. stateliest garden grows.

There was a

girl that

as a rose in June,

Her

fathers

the great Earl's house was small As the stable where their horses stood

were barons here, when She thawed the Dowager's frost like a breath of the coming spring. And toned her speech till it seemed like
in his stall

champing each
It is

not for

me

to say

how,

if certainly

What

ever I knew. But slowly their

the songs that the spring-birds sing could she see in her now to sweeten her manner so.
so much of a girl hardly a lady, you know ?

acres

had dwindled
grew.

And make

who was

as his lordship's acres


The Mad
Colonial
girls

;;

319

Earl

are

free,

sir,

and I'm frank with you

that

is

my way

colonial manners are frank,

but really I like you, though

good, as

But then colonial money

the gold in the

is

You

neither like

me

nor trust me, as

I

Bank

well

And

she had dollars in millions to patch the rents he had made.

betting,

And
am

by your looks I know now you are wondering why

set

on

this

weak-witted
girl.

earl

Racing and

and learning the

trade.

As

if

strong-witted peers would look

way

that the

Hebrews

at a

mere colonial

The Dowager, then, looked sweet, Now, I've told you the truth, you help me ? These women and the Lady Ion was bland, drive him mad As they led her over the Castle and

will
will

And they praised

Their nagging and sneering and mockshowed her the goodly land. ing have broken what spirit he had. Earl Ughtred to her, and the race from which he grew Folk talk of the fourth generation, that it would bring back their wit They were not clever perhaps, but I'm not superstitious, mind ye but their hearts were good and true. what if there's something in it ?

Meanwhile he mooned about but Most of the old stock here are needwould sometimes go fishing with me, ing fresh blood in their veins. And then he was like himself, and And I'm sane enough to set up a score would laugh with a boyish glee. of their weak scatter-brains
:

To

land his
Till

hear the birr of the reel, or to fish on the bank

What

he turned him homeward, and then Might get a new his face looked weary and blank.
in a rational

might I not risk say you ? just on the chance that they
start in life to

it

go on

way ?

Well

; one day she came up to me You smile it's a dubious smile, I've with the daintiest rod and reel, noticed it often on you casting-line twined round her hat, Oh, you do not trust me, I know, yet and hung by her side was a creel. you might, if you only knew Boots of porpoise leather, and petti- No matter ; you'll take me with you ? coats not too long, I'll not spoil sport if I can, In trim for a day of sport, and hum- I just want a lesson from you how to ming an angler's song. manage a moody young man."

"I want you to take me with and show me how you do There's nothing our Earl now
;

you,
cares

So we went
sport

off

on our
that

fishing, but

our

was

little

day

except an outing with you ; Of course, I am fishing for him, and they too are fishing for me, AJl the big house are in love with my money, save only he.
for,

was not once at his ease, and I saw that he wished her away Nor did she manage him wisely, she had not the delicate touch. As she chattered and laughed so briskly, to know when it was too much.

He

320

North Country Folk

well,
I

Yet she meant

am

certain

meant landing her fish, if she could, But yet to make life to him brighter, and banish his gloomy mood

a merry time then, they rode to the hunt by day. And kept up the ball till morning, or

That was

And

shuffled the cards for play, she bit her thin lip at the failure, All but the Earl, and he went moping and mooning about, when he went off in a dream ;
last

That was the

threw a gut-line on the stream.

time that ever he Alone in his dusky chamber, or alone in the woods without.

How

The young wife did as the rest, she it came round then, I know not rode to the Meet, at least, they wanted to wipe off the debt, And she with her millions of dollars Saw them throw off, and then came ambling home with a priest. would buy her an old coronet They settled it somehow among them, Chatted and laughed in the parlour, sailed through a waltz at the ball. and got him to church one day, Where he stood like a man in a trance, And, thinking nothing of Ughtred,
but he said what he had to say.

made
So
it

herself pleasant to

all.

The young

folk travelled abroad for a

;

went

on,

till

day when

bills

time, as their

And

We

snow-flakes white on the old house cast, in Paris, And duns had been prowling about it, threatening letters been sent and then in Rome, for a while, By and by on the Rhine river, then What could it mean, these people off for a trip to the Nile. growing so insolent ?
the
too, after a

way is, you know must be settled at last Dowager followed with Ion They had been falling like

month or so. heard of them sometimes

At

last, they came home, and were followed by visitors, princes and dukes. And priests with the subtlest smiles, and the sleekest of sidelong looks,

Where was

the chamberlain

Why

Black

bearded

foreign

nobles,

their beardless foreign priests.

had those men never been paid ? Where were the millions of dollars for which they had boldly played ? What had " my Lady " to do with it ? and was not her money my Lord's ? Had she not titles and honours for her
squatter father's hoards
?

And

oh but there were rare doings

feasts.

with hunts and balls and

You

Then they learnt what it meant, that was not an heir as glitter of steel in her eye Surely poor folk must be paid for the there did not seem like to be things that the rich folk buy. Our young lady, she wouldbe countess And her lady mother and Ion had and now there was money to free ordered everything nice, Every acre of debt, and to leave the
see, if there

Australian girl

And,
the

Enough to maintain the state of widow of Fingland's Earl.

of course, she had always supposed they were careful to count

the price.

The Mad
As
for her

Earl

321

honestly had

money her father, who What could they do ? They might rage, but she shrugged her shoulders, come by it,
and smiled
;

Had
Her

tied

it

up, every penny, as fast as

tie it

the law could

If they could not pay their

own trades-

men, why, then she had been bemarriage was not a joint-stock guiled ; each managed their own affairs ; Not a dollar of hers was Ughtred's, She had known that he was not burdened with brains, nor in vigorous health. and never a penny was theirs. But she took all their stories for gospel, Ay they had met their match ; it when they spoke of his greatness
!

and wealth. was even so as she said The lawyers had warned the Earl ; but So the ladies and princes and dukes he never was strong in the head. and priests all vanished like smoke. Folk even doubted, at times, if he And our clever colonial countess had knew what his marriage meant.

And

as for the signing

of papers
sent.

he
and

all

her

own way with

the folk,

had signed whatever was

And we And

soon had an orderly house-

hold, thrifty, yet stately withal.

So she

sat smiling there calmly,

spoke in the blandest

way

two years after the wedding there came a young heir to it all.
had honestly
tried to help

Soft lisping words that were daggers how could she know but that they

I think she

She was but a squatter's daughter had only to clap their hands, And slaves would bring dresses and
jewels,

the poor Earl in his

fits

And

and horses and houses and

moods, till it plainly appeared he was fairly out of his wits. Harmless enough, but nothing was left

lands?
But,

And
if

of course,

their

money was

of his brains but the husk. he muttered a deal to himself as he wandered about in the dusk.

gone, they must live in a quieter I had not seen

way;

No

ladies,

as

him for years, till I met him this evening, by chance. she supposed, would In the wood, and as soon as he saw
;

And she knew that one could be happy,

me, he looked with a fiirtive glance side and that, like a wild beast, as free from the burden of cares. to find what way he could go, In a hut with a maid-of-all-work, as For we were on the narrow path 'tween in a great castle like theirs. the rock and the river below.

wear what they could not pay

This

Oh

the glitter of that blue eye

yet

it

So he turned
for the Is longer

right round,
sir
;

and made

showed too a gleam of fun. As she told them of mutton and damper
and tea on her
father's

beech wood,

but

my stride

than his, and soon I was

Cooked by
It

" run," walking along by his side ; with a wild Irish I hoped that my good Lord was well ; and his folk would be glad to see girl who saw to the fire ; was spitefiil, no doubt ; but the More of him now and then : and did he remember me ? sketch was cleverly hit off by her.
herself,

21

322

North Country Folk

;

We used

to go fishing together and And there as you stand, at last, lookwould he not like now to try ing north and south and west. The stream was in beautiful trim to Far as the eye can see from the crag cast a line and a fly of the eagle's nest, " I seem to have seen you before," he Cornland, woodland, moorland, every knitted his brows, and said, acre is his, As if he were catching at something And the villages down on the beach " My friend, have you long been where the wild wan water is dead ?

Why are

And
you
all

so restless

this place

now is haunted with ghosts They come out singly by day,

there are three old burghs too, paying him stents and dues. With hamlets maybe a score, and

farms and crofts and feus. over the highland border there No one sees them, but I ; it's the are miles of moor and moss. second sight, you know. You cannot see from the Ben, where Sir Lachlan brought when he married the deer their antlers toss. the heiress long ago."
night they are trooping in hosts
;

but at

And

And yonder he is, poor fellow, wanderhad been fumbling ing by night in the dew. a while with his seals and chain. Hurrying by day through the thickest Still looking this side and that for a shades of the pine and yew ; way of escape, but in vain. once It's Nebuchadnezzar more Till now when he suddenly plunged out
Poor fellow
!

He

deep-sunk dell Strewn with bracken and moss, where the shy deer love to dwell.
into a

down

Among

summering, wintering the black horned cattle, or where the screech owls shout.
a heritage that, sir a

saw them leaping up near, and laying their horns on their back
they sought for a lonelier dingle, while he went on in their track ;
there

What

cup

filled

As

up to the brim, Yet never a drop can he

stands there

And
sir,

was

lump

in

my

throat,

There

is

taste, and it mocking at him my boy now, barefoot,

!

as I sat

And
and

His heard him mutter and stumble

still

me down on

a stone.

paddling about in the stream.

life

keep hurrying on.

it,

Earl's

is

fact at least,

but the

it is

only a dream.

Think of

sir

when you climb What can you make of

it,
?

sir

Is

it

there up to the top of the Ben,

Fate, as the people aver

Up

through the oak and the pine Our Lady is shrewd, and they tell me the young Lord takes after her. wood, and the birch and juniper, then Up through the belt of heather, and Is more of the squatter kind than the noble of high degree. past where the moss only grows. Till you reach the bare scalp of the But good at his books, and his manners, like her, are frank and rock with its lichens and rifted
free.

; ;

; ; ;

;;: ;

Provost Chivas
I have not

323

much

faith in weirds,
it is

though

It's

winter weather, see, without

I

the Lord's law says,

true.

And
may Old

would

talk with

you about

The
Yet

third and fourth generation

days, before our day expire.

reap the

wrong

that you

do
!

does not do much cursing, What will you take, now ? Nothing nor tie it in long entails, nay, Not in the female line, but still to be I know what you are about to say heired by the males. You know your place : but that is

God

And
it

I have

some

faith in

Love, that
its

pride

might have brought

all right.

You

As

sunshine quickens the seed with

And
Your
sir,

think you are quite as good as I so you are ; there, don't be shy
place
is

play of

warmth and

light

here,

man,

at

my

side.

Yet he never got much of that, from sister, mother, or wife.

And

that they wasted a gentle

Look, Martin ; we are growing old should you be so stiff and cold. I cannot get over the thought, And look as if you hated all

Why
The

life.

Never a pleasanter lad, sir, nothing The Turkey carpet 'neath your feet, The very pictures on the wall ? was wrong with him then Cast e'er a line on the river, or stalked I stopt you on the high street once. the red deer in the glen But they must thwart his first love, But you you gave me not a chance To tell you what was in my heart and none to give him had they And then, forsooth, it was Heaven had Though I was Provost at the time.

wine, the table, and the seat,

taken his reason away.

!

You looked

at

me

as if a

crime
the hang-

Ay, ay God and heaven, it's little man's cart. we heed their say. When good might come of our keeping And Bailie Webbe was at my side. the strait and narrow way. And vowed for such contempt and
But they're handy to lay the blame on, pride when things go wrong at last. He would have had you in the dock And you need a glisk of religion to Of course, I did not dream of that. glamour the days that are past. But yet you might have raised your
hat,

Might bring me soon

to

PROVOST CHIVAS
Come, Martin, don't stand stiffly there Be seated now, and draw the chair

And

done

for

once like other folk.

Nay, Martin, do not turn away Our day is short, our hairs are grey.
It's

little

closer to the fire

Why

' The story of Peter Williamson revealed, in the last century, a strange tale of the kidnapping of boys in our towns

time to grease our boots for going should we fall out, when we meet.
snarling

Like strange dogs

street
?

on the
quarrels

by the magistrates and leading

as slaves.

citizens,

and

sending them to the Plantations virtually That is the origin of this poem.

We

have small growing.

space

for

;; ;

: ;

324
I

North Country Folk

That
in this race of life,

mind me, we were boys together ; In summer's sun and winter weather padded, barefoot, to the school Boys were not nice and dainty then With shoes and hats like little men They bred us on the Spartan rule.

of course.

The footman

runs not with the horse.

several

We

And And

so

we took our

ways

I grew rich, and you were poor Yet you've the best of it, I'm sure. My money, man, it's like a curse no, I don't I wish you had it As lads too we were seldom parted. blessing on't. is no there For sure True friends and loving and oneAnd it would only make you worse. hearted,

Though now and

jars;

then

Each

night I would convoy you home.

Then

back, with me come, Talking of poetry and the

Yes, Martin, houses, lands, and gold Bring little comfort when you're old. which the world can give you needs must Or honours But you've had love to sweeten life,
stars.

we had

our

A happy home,
Though
grieve.
that

and

faithful wife.

wild laddie made her

Or

On
Or

of the sermon we had heard Sabbath from the Holy Word, of the minister, good and true.
christened us, and

Now, do

not sniff and sneer at

me

Who

made

us
fit,

sit

Together, when the time was Down at the holy table too.
!

Folk call me Lord by courtesy, But not in scorn, nor yet in sport

Remember

Ay, ay It's good to think of these Old days and high solemnities, You should respect my office, even That linked us close when we were If to the man may not be given
youths
:

And And

I've been Provost twice. given the government advice. was presented too at Court.

Why should we
Together
still,

The honour which he thinks his due; not have many a walk And for your son, no doubt, it's sad. and cheerful talk Although he was a worthless lad,
?

About

these everlasting truths

I

If

all

accounts of

him be

true.

Well, yes mine

grant the

blame was

They They

say he broke his mother's heart

say that he was art and part

that robbed the

At

first,

yet lately

it

was thine
to

With them
the

County

Who

would not help

:

heal

BankWell, well
;

breach

it's

natural for
;

you

And, man, it does not mend one's song To say that's false they say it's true ; To know that one was in the wrong, And sure enough he swore and drank.

When

friends

went

drifting

out

of

reach.
It could not well be helped, besides This man must walk, while that one
rides

Only

a thoughtless

boy

more shame
!

To bring dishonour on your name, And vex a mother fond and true And she was all that, I am told
Indeed, I know as good as gold And such a comely woman too !

And

even the holy prophet says

325

Provost Chivas

Ah
To

Martin, you were fortunate

They're
?

liker,

man,

to hold that

he

find so excellent a

Though she is Gone to a better,

mate gone now, is she not

happier land

Is guilty of lese-majesty

And that's a grave crime even in thought.

therewere some gutter boys Rogues, always bent on thievish ploys Who, for the town's good and their own.
It's true

Give me a grip, man, of your hand But death is our appointed lot.

of change ; Were 'prenticed to some honest men and strange. With ups and downs, and loss and gain, In the plantations, now and then And here to-day, and there to-morrow. Good riddance too as can be shown.
!

Ay, ay

this

A tangled hank
Enough

world

is full

it is,

And nothing certain here but sorrow

to puzzle heart

and

brain.

And
The
;

Nay, nay don't go yet, Martin, stay You've heard about your son, you say ? I'm glad of it for your sake, man And pious ministers and good But for this trumped-up story now, Who guide them on the better road. It's quite absurd, you must allow, And you must stop him, for you can. 'Twould do your heart, man, good
; :

read them I will lend they send About their happy life abroad. With plenty wage, and plenty food,
if you'll

grateful letters that

to read

He'll get into worse trouble yet Unless he holds his peace on it,
I

What
lead.
;

wholesome,

useful

lives

they

warn you

fairly

while

it's

time

Instead of prowling in the

street.
bits,

They

He
And

say that from his earliest youth ne'er was known to speak the

Now begging bits, now stealing And living badly on their wits.
With
ill-clad

truth.

backs and ill-shod

feet.

was convicted once of crime.

And
That may be
false,

for the Indians,

or

may
:

be true

These hardly ever come

now, they say their way,

to truck

You

But, Martin, I appeal to you are a man of sense just think

And when
!

they do,

it is

Powder and guns

for beavers' skins.

To

charge those

men who

represent

And
Or
!

Order and law and government, That they at any crime could wink

drops of drink for moccasins. horns of buffalo or buck.

A better country theirs than ours

The Provost, Bailies, City Clerk, The men of highest rank and mark, The rulers of your native town,
Where
cadgers claim their rights and powers,

And
I

And men

of Quality, beside.

Who
And
Was

shall be nameless, but are tried

faithful servants of the

Crown,

tinkers will have law on you ! sometimes wish that I were there, Free from the burden and the care Of thankless work I have to do.
for your son, you'll stop his plea
it's
it's

ever judge or jury yet

But
?

Could be persuaded these had set Common and Statute law at nought

Of course,
Although

nothing, man, to me.

hard,

when one

is

old.


326

; ; : ; ;

North Country Folk

To

have been Provost once, and then They'll plea it in the inner court, stealing boys and men, They'll plea it to the last resort And selling them for lust of gold. Before they let the game be lost.

Be charged with

I'm glad for your sake that the lad Turns up again, though he was bad
Before, and seems no better

Law
Nor

is

the hardest mill to grind.

water, man, or wind,
that

is it

now

But gold

makes

its

But

if

he

will persist to

blame

And

ere

the

Inner

wheels to go, House we're

His betters, there's against his name Enough to hang him yet, I trow.
Just
tell

through,
I doubt
it

will be

hard for you

A plack or penny more to show.

And maybe
Your age
But you can stop it if you will manage even to fill The purse which it would empty soon Now, do not play the fool, and rob
for such an idle job,

him,

if he'll

hold his peace,

And bid that lawyer's " clavers" cease.

Who
For

says whate'er he's paid to say,

The town
little

And

wants someone to engage plenty wage, I might put it in his way

work and

Which

is

like reaching for the

moon.

A bribe A

no, no

it is

not

fit

That you should look

that

way

at

it

Martin, you pull me up too short I only meant, if he should want job of work and work is scant It's well to have a friend at Court.

do not say the thing was right Exactly, now I have more light.
it at the time very ministers would say. Each time the laddies went away, It saved them from a life of crime.
;

Though no one blamed

The

And

he must chance

choose

between

this

We gave them
meat,

clothes,

we

gave them

And being
Through

led a bonny dance.

courts of

Law,

for

crimes

And

and debts, Hame-sucken,

theft,

Which seldom
stouthrief,

common

We

shoes and stockings for their feet. they had known before : saw too their indentures writ,

Smuggling, and heavy claims he left For gambling and horse-racing bets.

And signed and sealed as sure as wit Of man could do. What could we
more
?

Or man

or boy,

it

matters not

And when

the ship

would

sail

away.

These pleas against him will be brought,

We

had
oh,

a minister to pray

And

there's a long purse too behind

With

Think
Clerk

ye

that

Provost,

Bailies,

And
That

the poor laddies, as was right. how earnest they would plead

waifs and prodigals, the seed

Will let a messan-dog come bark Right at their heels, and never mind
It is not reason,

Of righteous
?

men, might yet get

light!

And now
Because They'll play their game, and find a cure pence For their hurt honour at any cost It was a
:

to charge us with offence.

man

be sure

we

made,

perhaps,

some

trifle at

the most


; ! :
:

Provost Chivas
Clearing
thieves

327

our

streets

of

rogues

and

And House
Than might
mouse.

of Lords, though there

all

Who

should be grew there thick as Autumnleaves No more of

are tossed!

my

property

That from November woods

Think, Martin
crime,
I
;

give

house-room

to

to

be charged with
all

who have

lived here

my
!

time,

It's war and all is fair in war Things can't be worse than now they
:

Respected

in

my
see

native

town

are

And, maybe,

my

little

gear.

And you and yours what should I heed?

I'm
to be once

Gathered through many a busy year. Escheated some day to the Crown
That's hard, you surely must allow

more Provost soon.

And
For

we'll
all

all

sing the self-same tune,

the Council are agreed.

And Was

all

for

what ?
!

Just

tell

me how
and

I to

know
fiends

We

will

not brook this our

scaith

and

these Chippeways

Incarnate

would

shame,

hack
:

We will not lose

own good name.

without

hew.

And
That

burn and torture, as they do

is,

For vagabonds and The town is better

gutter bairns,
far

if all

is

true

he says

Nay, Martin, do not look

like that.

And he is like the rest, no doubt. Of no more use than bracken ferns.

And knit your brows,

Well For
;

and grip your hat;

yes, it's true that I did make Some statement once aboutyour child

Ay
It

leave

shames

I with rage and fear

it

was wild

A fellow poor as any

Who
The
Bailies, too,

me now I tell you true. me to have bowed to you,

:

rat.

And maybe
I

was
?

thinks to fight the Clerk and me.

a mistake.

and Quality,

wronged him

yes

he may have With such

a trumpery tale as that

been All that you say ; for I am clean Distraught and maddened now about This business ; will you not have pity 'Twill bring shame on your native city And you could easily pull us out.

I thought at first

you had some

heart.

Some sense, at least to play the part Which any man of judgment would
?
: :

Give me some

drink, then, if
it's

But there I'm done with you away You'd better make friends while you may, you'll not You'll need them, for our names are
!

Take

it

yourself:

some I got
once again
not to be
let

good.

To
But

toast our friendship

that,
it

seems,

is
:

hand is shaking What was I saying ?

My

Yes,

me

see,

Woodside and
:

There's Little-mills and Chokit-burn, Tarvet, Drums and

it's

plain

Durn

You mean
Will
fight

to plea this case,

it,

and I and
Inner

till

the day I die.

And And And

Beeswood,
Bailie

too,

and Otterslack,

Webbe, and
Clerk

the

Town

Bailie

Sym,

take note of

Through
House,

Outer

House

him

He

has the bank, too,

at his

back.

; ;;

328

North Country Folk

you would mell with
all

And

of these

And blythe are the

wood,

birds in the Barley-

Man, saw ye ever

O'erturned, and
sting
I
:

a skep of bees

how

they buzz and

Where merle and mavis and woodlark

sing,

pity you, with such a

crew

Upon

you, and the lawyers too,

And the cushat croodles high unseen, And the cuckoo calls from the bracken
green sweet are the smells that the wind-wafts bring. When the morning airs are keen.

And

all

the heavy costs they bring.

And
Take thought,
It's a

e'en yet, while it is time grave thing to charge a crime On honest men and Magistrates Better your son had never come Than bring such ruin on your home. And also waste our braw estates.

But woe is me for the Barleywood There's a pang in my heart for every
!

tree.

And
Remember all our early days. Remember all our kindly ways, Remember that bit post of profit. With little work and plenty wage
might engage That you should have refusal of
I think I almost

for every bird in the for every waft of the

wood

that

dwells.

And
:

woodland

smells

The pang
For
all its

of a cruel buds and

memory
bells.

it.

For

fairest things

may

dreariest be.

You

will

not

Nay, then,

off with

And

you do the worst that you can do I've been too humble to you, sir.
(

And sweetest of songs most sad to hear, When tree and blossom and bird and
flower

All link them on

And
Solus.
)

The
land and

woeful hour. its sorrow near heart to overpower.

to a

bring the past and

Woe's me
gear.

the house and

There were two

lovers

that sought

And
And

Provost's chain and badge next

!

my

love
!

year

Ay me
make an awful
stir
!

but

it's

ever so long ago

oh, 'twill

MORGANA
Oh, green wood,
are the pines of the Barley-

young and brave. But the other was noble and rich and grave And how should a silly young maiden
beautiful,

One was

know
Fittingly to behave
?

And the drooping birches are fair to see, I had no mother to guide me right And bonnie the carpet that summer Ah, woe for a thoughtless girl like me weaves And my father he left me all the day. Of the green overlapping bracken And went to his sleep in the evening
!

leaves

grey

And
You

the spring bluebell and anemone might bind up there in sheaves.

And how

should a foolish maiden see Rightly to guide her way ?

;!;

Morgana
I loved

329
what
it

my beautiful youth
!

and brave

I wist not then

his

words might
and wild.
:

Lack-a-day I was still in my teens mean. Yet I longed for the vi^ealth and the But oh his look
noble name,
It frightened

was

fierce

But I had not a thought of sin or shame

me so, that I bade him go And my Lord he spake to me sweet

it

And how

should a girl
evil

know what
?

and low.

means To keep from

Next day and

fame
smiled.

next, and I heard and

My

And

did not say

him No.

Lord, he came, when the day was high But by and by a low whisper ran And oh but the hours went heavy and It should have blistered every tongue
slow

Ran through
stole quietly

the evil-speaking place,

:

But my Love And low at

sighed,

up to
the

my

feet in

my side, Whisper wicked of foul disgrace evening And I so simple and pure and young Oh it was vile and base.

And then would

the hours like minutes flow In the happy eventide.

My

Lord, he would hold

my

worsted

He was a villain, I said, and lied Ah me what can a poor girl do He lied, he lied I had nothing to hide
!

hank.

Yet, he struck
side,

me down
with
!

there by his
a

Pleased
plied

when my

needle was briskly

would not hear of work do When he was with me, and well he knew To make the happy hours swiftly glide With love that was always new.
to

But

my Love

Pierced my heart through :

falsehood

Oh how

the villain lied

My

And

close to his heart

he clasped

me
?

once

Oh

what

so sweet as a love-embrace

Lord, he came of a noble race, yes his heart it was noble too now, he said, this lie has gone All through the city, and there are none, But only I, that believe in you, And still keep loving on.

And Lo
!

My Lord, he

Of my little And then smile prettily into my And let the little hand slip.

would only touch the tip But hand with a dainty lip,
face.

I took his hand,

have trusted you, and I trust and I kissed it then

trust, for I

Yes, I

know you

true.

doubted you ; But my love he clasped me once and I scorn the women and viler men twice Who lie now as they do. How I thrilled all through in his fond Then let the wedding bells ring out, embrace And he vowed, if ever my Lord should And let the priest make haste and come Our name was ever without a stain. dare To hold me so, that he did not care And they will tattle and talk in vain, What might happen of foul disgrace. When we to the altar go, and home He would not leave me there. Return together again.
I should die if I
!

And And

;:

: ;

33
was a hard and a
every
spoke,

North Country Folk

cruel place,
his

It

Where

man of

neighbour

And And Had

I

evil report

of sin or wrong

Grew

Till on

as it went along, some happy life it broke, silenced its happy song.

louder

still

Sweet smelled the pines of the Barleywood, And oh I shall never forget the birds. They gathered about me, and had no fear.

And
His

sang

the thought

of

my

heart

as clear

I only thought

But

my

As if they were speaking it out in words;

heart
lie shall

cost

him dear

was hot

am

certain

For

there were

now that he was belied, women that hated me

fair to see

And
I

I too sang, yet I

it

I said I was, but

Because men said I was

False as the tale

sang as

was not glad was not so the mad folk I have known
:

And women will humblewoman's pride.

may who
I
be.
said,

Sing,

when

their heart

is

like a stone.

But

I could
fell

But

I
is

was mad

No
:

have wept with joy to know deed had been done.

and I

he

lies

Oh

there none

will take

my part

Just then, and ever so near, I heard

Were I a man, And who shall

blow.

would lay him low. give him a right death

all

Ah me
this

how

they ring in
a

my

heart

day
shots,

Two
my
heart

and

thud on the dewy

it

Him
For

I will love with

grass

slaying the villain so.

heart

my heart, how

sank, alas

Slowly, slowly

my Lord

Oh
he rose

cruel madness, and evil

day
!

oh but he looked grave and sad he bent him low, and he went Well did I know what had befallen his way. As well as if I had seen it all Never a word then did he say. Great Lords have asteadyhand and eye, And my heart leaped up, and I was glad. They sleep, and they do not fear to die Until the close of day. But my young Love for sleep would
:

And And

That brought

this thing to pass

call.

But all that night I found no sleep. And it would not come nigh. Tossing in restless, troubled thought I said I would love my Lord truly Well did I wot what had befallen and well, As well as if I had seen it all I said I was happy and yet there fell And out of the wood I rushed, and there Such gloom on my heavy heart as My Love lay dead in the morning air. brought Close by the mossy brambly wall. Horror on me like hell. Upon the moorland bare
;
!

on him, and I clasped him close Oh how the love of him all came back And rose at dawn in a troubled mood, Men were near me, standing about. And hied me away to the Barleywood, But I only saw the blood oozing out And through its dewy glades took my From his dear mouth in a thread-like way. track. Where the air was fresh and good. That killed all hope and doubt.
tossed.

All through the night I lay, and Wearily longing for the day,

1 fell

; ;

:! ! :

; :

Mrs. Coventry
Beautiful there in death he lay,

331

They made
boughs

a bier of the green pinepines

But ah the cold damp on

his

brow
!

Oh my

young, and brave have dug your grave And oh that I were but with you now For Death is the boon I crave.
I

beautiful,

Ay me
sweet
!

the Barleywood

are

it is

I that

A bier for him and a bier for me,

For
I

was

as like to death as he.

kissed

his

mouth
love
!

And
I

they bore us

down

to

my

Father's

kissed

his

seat,

cheek Love,

my

A woeful sight to see.

I wildly cried
:

The

red blood stained my mouth Yet I lived on, who would have gone and chin, And the stain of it was on my soul So glad with my love to his early rest My hair grew white, but not with years, within ; And I lived down all their lies and For I was his murderer yes, he lied sneers. But oh my sin, my sin But with a heavy heart in my breast. And many sighs and tears. It was in the madness of Love he lied
: : !

And

I loved

him

in spite
:

of

it

Come

my
For

back, ray Life :

Love

Will none of you thrust

knife
I surely

come back, Never I saw my Lord again, Never I wished to see his face in my heart a Yet he was sure of a noble strain.
yet.
; but it would be pain Recalling the tale of foul disgrace,

Trusty and true

might overtake him

true wife.

And

be his

own

And
it

all

that past again.

glad and me One thing only has made me Leave us here : how I hate you now ; After the healing mercy of God The day of the Duel now is past There's a lock of fair hair on his brow And never shall maiden stare aghast. 1 have curled it oft on my finger ; see As I did then, on the blood-tinged sod It knows my finger now : Where my dead Love was cast.

He

lied,

but I would have done

false to his love

too.

Had

he been

that lock of hair your lordship and your land But bury us both together here And come not hither to drop a tear, You who slew him with your hand. And me with the murderous cheer.
I

Oh

would not give

For

all

MRS.
Whisht
!

COVENTRY
;

John

why

should you aye

Mad I was and unjust What would you have

heart
?

to

him

complain

from a breaking
it ill

Of trade and profits being bad. And cry about your little gain, And moan at every loss you've
Your

had

He

was too noble to take

far

Besides, they hurried

him down the hill,

still.

You have more money than you know What to do with, man. God has blessed
labour, and you ought to show His bounty has not been misplaced.

And

away
is

to a foreign part

Where he

wandering

::

332

North Country
!

Folk.

Sometimes I almost pity Him, you give me all I need. O' ay Sometimes I'm clean ashamed to pray, And more than all I care to get Seeing our cup filled to the brim, For gowns and gawds, and meat to feed And so much goodness thrown away Us all, and ne'er to be in debt It must be hard to bear, I think. There's plenty on ourselves to spend. To be replenishing folk's store E'en more, I think, than's good for health With wealth of clothes and meat and But, think ye, was that God's chief end drink. And hear them crying still for more. In giving you that heap of wealth ?
!

how to win, I've heard you say it's hard to find wealth as we should and thought that odd Investments safe And though we gain it without sin, But here is one just to your mind, It's sin to have, and do no good good investment, John, with God With what we have ; and, what is worse, They never lose who lend to Him, It eats the heart like rust or rot They get good interest, indeed ; Think, now, if there should be a curse And that poor man who broke his limb. Wrapt up in every hoarded note. Has five wee, helpless bairns to feed.
It's easier learning

Than how to

use,

When we
poor.

were young, John, we were

far richer

Nay do

not grudge
giver
:

it,

man

God loves

; That you can help the bonnie doves no beggar from the door. Left hungry there at home and sad Nor grudged the wage of working men There ; take it back ; I want to get We had enough, and some to spare blessing for you, John, from heaven ; For them that were worse off than we ; But they who grudge to pay their debt And there was sunshine in the air To God, shall find no blessing given. Each night when you came home to me.

And

yet

we were

then

A cheerful
A

e'en be glad

We

sent

But now the pocket's buttoned up. The beggar comes not to our door, He knows there's neither bite nor sup
:

We have no

bairns at our fireside

Ah well

To hanker for the gold they see young. Yet none were driven away like dogs ; No ; this is not a house to nurse And even tramps' hearts may be wrung. God's little ones, as they should be.
:

For tramps, as used to be before maybe they're mostly rogues They'd only worse, There were rogues too when we were
!

God would not send His children here To folk whose hearts are full of pride, And set on hoarding worldly gear.
learn,

what makes them

There's none will speak to you as I

And
Are

who's

to heir
?

it all,
it

since

we

Am

free to do,

who

love you best

I dare not flatter you,

and

lie

With And,

a false

heart upon your breast.

John, but your wealth has made on that breast for me. And lift up for the days to come, That does not give an easy head, Maybe, some hapless child or wife And is not as it used to be.

A hard

bit

not a sin To leave a fruitful legacy Of quarrels to the next of kin, When we could gladden many a home. And brighten many a sunless life,
childless
Is
?

;;

;! ; :

Mother and Stepmother

333

How freely,

John,

we

used to give

O
;

To every holy cause and good. When it was hard enough to live,
For then you would do as you should The Kirk was never then forgot.

man, let 'Change and Market be Let others get their turn ; and come.
!

Just think

how

pleasant 'twere to see

Once more

the old sweet kindly home,

To

read together in the mirk.

You You

never did neglect the poor, pitied too the sick man's lot. And sought his comfort and his cure.

Together mercy to invoke. To walk together to the Kirk, And do some good to other folk.

Yet then your mite was more

to

you

I'm weary of
;

this

grand display.

your live-pound note to-day. For there was something you must do Without, to give the mite away
is

Than

And hearing of the rise and fall Of prices would I were away
From
Oh,
ships

and yarns and funds and

all

You wore

the old coat for a time.

if

the

Lord would only

take.
!

That some one might get warmth from And lift our hearts to things above you; Or else some bank, perhaps, would break And I I thought the old coat sublime. And leave us nought buthealth and love ? Because the heart beneath was true.

John, this big house, and the host

Of lazy servants, full of meat. And carriages and horses cost

;

MOTHER AND STEPMOTHER

!

The poor what they have need to eat Oh my baby, my sweet, my Own And cost you too you used to speak Oh joy, to have one to love like this Of books, and made me blythe and gay, And love like this to be so bestown
But now
it's

funds through

all

the week.

And

markets even on Sabbath day.

Oh the wonder of it, and bliss L ook at me, baby, with those deep eyes.
!

Smile to me, baby, with those

soft lips

And you must buy a fine estate. And shoot your rabbits and your hares. And dine and visit with the great. And sometimes even put on their airs. And send your poachers to the gaol. And set your keepers o'er the fish
:

Oh, the tremulous

thrills that rise

!

At

the fine touch of those finger-tips

And

yet

you

fill

me

God's

little

child, that

with fear and awe, He gave to me

To

man, can ye forget

how

well
?

Ye

liked to catch a dainty dish

rear you up in His Love and Law, For the life that is, and that is to be Lo, Heaven is looking out from the

blue

That's a braw greenhouse ; and it's true And solemn depths of those great eyes ; How shall I keep you pure and true ? 1 like the bonnie flowers ; but yet You made me happier, John, when you How shall I make you good and wise ? Brought me the box of mignonette. The greenhouse speaks to me of gold. I promised to mother those babes of his, And oh, I have tried to pay my vow And it may bide, or may depart But still I keep the box that told But I did not know what a mother is, I did not know as I know it now. About the kind and thoughtful heart.

; ;;

;; : ;

334
I loved

North Country Folk

them
for his sake,

and always

Still

I never

have seen

it,

and never
the
blood,

will;

may,
in

Poor motherless babes, I love them yet Yet these things run But motherless babes they must be still. I'm told. For I cannot love them like you, my pet.

He
They're very
so good.
nice,

does not speak of her

right

much

to

me.

and they've been Though he does

is

to his children,

which

they really are fond of me, as they say But they're not like my blossom of ladyhood, And they have not their father's gentle way. No doubt, they take after the mother,

And

him to do it, and sometimes he by their beds, and talks at night. For oh, were I taken, my pet, from
tell

Sits

you,
I should like

you
:

to hear

of

me from
a step-

your father

and she

Was And

vulgar

Should I like him to give you mother too ? her picture shows that Nay, let us die together rather.

right;
there's something in

them

it

is

plain to see

I talk to you, baby, as I can

They never
Well,
yes
;

will

grow

to be ladies quite.

Unto no

other but you,

my

pet

There's a nook in
she

my

heart which

my

was
curls,

pretty,

and so

own good

man

are they

And

he's

very good

has

not been
his former

She has sandy

a wreath.

and she wears

in yet
It is there

where I think of

And the picture up in the nursery, and grey. And her lips are parted to show her teeth. And wonder if they had peace or strife. She has dumpy hands, but she thinks And if he could love her as he
them
fine

And

her eyes

are

meaningless, cold

wife.

loves

me.

her picture, baby, dear And the painter has hinted a sullen line Across her brow, with a shade of fear.
It's all in

baby But yes more

it's
!

hard to

fill

my
her

post children

I will love

I often look at that picture

now
as
it

They
lost

shall not feel that for

you they

Which

hangs

in

the

nursery,

should,

One
for

touch of the love that they had

And
the

watch

the

faint

line

on

before.

brow

When

1 cannot give them my own baby's part. her children are ever in angry That's yours, my darling, whatever
befall
it,

mood
I never have seen

I'm bound
yet,

to say,

But oh, your coming has

heart

filled

my

Though

it

may come

as

they

grow old

More and more with

the love of

all.

; :

Bailie Butters

and Young Dinwoodie

335

BAILIE BUTTERS
Two men
By
While
in a

AND
sitting

YOUNG DINWOODIE
cosy Hostel
fire, in

Hating a rogue and a thief and a robber, And playing a fairly good knife and
fork

For

a sea-coal

a cheerful light,

He

past the

window were shadows

a dull

I admit that if one is dyspeptic. cannot well live as a good man should
:

flitting

His bad digestion

will

make him

sceptic

Through the fog of

night,

November Of

all

that

is

happy and right and

good
let

Were cracking their walnuts after dinner, With dry-palate olives to flavour the But
wine.

him be sober and prudent and

as

willing

Hardly feeling like saint or sinner, But that it was good for a man to dine.

To

work,
his

he should,

till

his sixty

years.

With

wits

about him to turn a

One was
bellied.

a smooth, smug, florid, pot-

shilling.

And know

good

thing,

when

his

Clean-shaven man, of a portly mould. chance appears, With tremulous cheeks, as if nicely Let him be civil, and follow the leading jellied, Of common sense just, whatever he's at. And coloured with port-wine rich And his life shall be pleasant as novel-

and old

reading

The

other an Exquisite, long-limbed,

And

am

myself

now

a proof of that.

sprawling

on an easy soft-cushioned seat. I was poor enough when I was a Lisping his words, and slowly drawling lad, sir Thoughts that ran on at a fever-heat. Hadn't a copper for some folk's pound ; Yet most of them, by and by, went to Quoth the pot-bellied one : " You were the bad, sir. saying And God knows where they are now Life's not worth living ; you're wrong, to be found ; sir, quite But I worked at anything that was This world, though it's not just for
idling

Low

and playing.
worlds
if

going,

Is the best of all

it

you take

right.

And I saved up every penny I could And my ventures grew as my cash was
And
Yes
growing, whatever I promised,

It is not the

heaven folk see before 'em.

fall

When

they

in love at

a country

my word

dance.

was good
its
!

But I've seen more than you of

variorum.

was poor, when

first

I started.
still,

And

I'd live

it

again, if I

had the

And
If

chance.

should have been according to you.

poor

Not worth
sober.

living,

sir

If you

are

God does not care though we're broken-hearted.

just goes
;

all

But
to

His own way whatever

Honest and willing

do

its

work.

we do

; ;

336 Yet here I am,

debtor,

North Country Folk

sir
;

I'm nobody's But mine have been mostly benevolent

crosses.

And

I lay a

calm head on

my

pillow

Where

the balance

came

right, as the

at night.

For God has been good

scarce have been better

He

ledgers will show.

could So in

me He

finds nothing but thank-

fulness truly

To

order things rightly, because I That I am not like some who have wasted His gift. did right. That I never gave way to a passion
if I

Now Do
am
With

had taken

to

gambling and

unruly.

drinking.

And when
I always

things at the worst were,

you think I should be where I

to-day

made

shift

funds in the Bank and the Stocks they're sinking Almost a quarter, I'm sorry to say ?

though

But there's a God Never, sir. in heaven Who always takes care of respectable folk
;

believe in His providence ; and I have seen it. For every thing throve with me well up from the first I am sure not an hour of my life, or

To

a minute,

And what
I feel

better proof of
?

it

be given

But He faithfully saw to my hunger could there and thirst. But it all depends, sir, on doing your
placed firm
duty,

that

my

faith

is

on a rock.
I

And
shilling

carefully laying

your doubts on

the shelf.

had not a
determined

once

but

And

keeping
it

your
beauty,

head
all

clear

of

women and
I

That I would take warning by what had seen

To make
To
him
meet,

the best of

worlds

for yourself."

And

look to

me now
port

not a

judge
then,

ever ermined

the Exquisite

" Ah,

Drinks

better

wine,-

with

it is

pleasant

conscience more clean

To
children are

now and
is

then, an exceptional
really

My wife
My

is

model
is

my
;

case,

pictures

A
my
home,
all

man who
his present,

content

with
in

business

thriving

come and

see

Content with himself, and his prize

the race
:

How
And

its

happiness wholly refutes

a plain tale for

your strictures.
tells

Not

that I think,
;

now, you should be

my Maker

contented
sir,

and me.

I could not, though I

instead
life

had your
that

luck,

Oh, I'm
There
is

grateful to

Him
;

Yes

of

Of

course, I've

had

losses

the emptiest invented

call

was ever
until

no

life

without ups and downs But I

is

no one

happy,

he

here below

dead.

; ;; :

Bailie Butters

and Young Dinwoodie

I don't say yours will
;

337
but
rather

You've not seen the end yet. The cup running over May be dashed from your lips, and its
treasures all spilt
likely it will ; and your friend then and lover Will look on your trouble as if it

it's

bewildering

When
ills

we have

our mercies turn out the worst had.

it's all

Most

You

think

goodness that sends

fall in

you your

treasures

were

guilt.

And
And
all

yet your heart sinks at a

there
there a bitter drop

We

are

playthings
is

of

Nature,

and

Consols,
is

Nature

cruel
to break

mixed
still

in

She mocks us with favours

our hearts worse To-day, she adorns precious jewel,

pleasures.
is

And

a vague longing

in

us with

some
is
its

our souls

Why
What

can this Goodness not heartily

cannot be
?

To-morrow,
curse.

the jewel

of

life

give us
lost,

and what

fills

up

our peace

We

We

have pure thoughts of love, we have high thoughts of goodness. glow with fine feelings, and call
raging in wrath, or in

And why

does

He

grudge

all at

once

to relieve us,

And
Was
The

bid fear and trouble and sorrow

?

them divine. While Nature is

lewdness.

to cease
it
?

tiger

Goodness that fashioned the and hollowed

And

planning an earthquake, or twisthas she

fang of the cobra that bites in the

?

ing the spine.

dark

And why

made

us so, but for

And what was

which
it

the keen edge Which conscience can put on the pain

the fond line of thought followed

we must bear ? And we fondly look on

serene age.

it planted the teeth in the jaws of the shark ? to a happy Or the love that created those lizards

When

and dragons.
sure of
its

While she has made

and care.

sorrow

And
It

mail-clad the fishes,

but slime
!

when

earth

was
has been
filled full

Oh, your
Wife and

life

mercies and blessings. children and heart can desire

all

could wait through long aons for ploughshares and waggons, But for carnage must not lose a that your moment of time
of has been

Your God whom you

trust

We
We

blame our

fierce

soldiery lusting

kind and caressing, And how can you praise and admire

for battle,

Him

enough

number

their slain with a horror

aghast.

Well

; I hope it may last, sir ; but We mourn the waste land, without homestead or cattle. sometimes one's children Have broken the hearts that they once Through which the fell march of their

made

so glad

armies has past

!;

338

North Country Folk

Yet what have they done but what

doing On a yet grander scale and the years,
is

To a grander and happier life than they!

Nature

A happy
all

life

the days

in fever

A
its

noble
in the

life

racked scrambling
gout-

or tossing
for pence

For she

either

is

battling, or else is

mire
pity the poor Chartist cobbler

renewing

Oh, you
for

Her

strength
its

the war, with

or weaver,

woes and

tears.

Just look at the ants on their slavestealing forays

;

But you leave him by the fire

for all that to pine

What
to

And
Our
in

then,

sir,

what need of our huge

goodness and mercy impel them

?

grated prisons.
gibbets and soldiers and batoned
police.

go

Or

gaze on the tender young lambs

the ravens scoop out their

the corries

As

And
meek
it

other the like most convincing of

all

reasons

eyes in the snow

And

In the best of
this,

possible worlds like

perhaps

was love armed the

midge and mosquito But that the stronger would keep down That curse the bright warm summer the weaker,
day
to us all,

And And

But that the cunning would outwit

and the hornet are
hid
in

the the

wasp
to
it

the fools.

owing mossy
too,

too.

centipede
wall.
is

Nay, but Nature

fierce, sir,

But that the poorer of us and the the old meeker Must needs be their victims, or else be their tools ? and false

And

and cruel. all through

her

realm there

Well
is

war

to the knife.

; but here yonder a palace.

is

manor-house,

All through her years runs the long deadly duel.

Or

lot

of trim

villas

sure

God
in

must be good

The

constant unpitying battle for

life

life.

Ay

but

what

of

the millions

And

what is such what of its donor ?

worth

and

closes and alleys

When

each creature takes what advantage he may Of cunning or sickness, and no laws of honour Can stay the fierce hunger, or shelter
the prey
?

Scant of all and food.

raiment
that

and
are

light,

sir,

And
And And

the

babes

suckled on

whisky or

fever.

the girls that ne'er maiden's pure thoughts.

Bountiful Giver

knew

the pains and the aches that the

Oh,

it's

not so with man,

is it ?

He

Dispenses as freely as dust and motes

it

has a higher And nobler law which

to

he

is

bound No,
it is

obey

life

is not worth living, this hard of sorrow ;

is

Though

sprung from the brute,

But there
bear on,

no other, and we must

his to aspire

339

Deacon Dorat's Story

Toiling

to-day without hope of todull

till

Oh

best of all worlds for the selfish

shifty,

morrow, Weary and

I

and
the light
sir
;

is

gone.

Thou

art not so

good

for the noble

once held with you,

trying to

and true

dream on,
In
spite

Oh
the
facts,

life

well rewarding
the

the prudent
travail

of

in

fool's

and

thrifty.

paradise

How
a
deity, sure

shall

Christ-spirit

But

if

there's

he's

demon

Who

wrings us with tempts us with vice.

anguish,

with you ? Oh worst of all worlds to the proud or heart and faithless And yet thou canst perfect the meek and the brave
a

Well spoke

the wise

Greek

Strange, sorrowful
in

life

his
is

that in dying

Glory and majesty, found in a grave. he pictured the brave heart Fate held in his mesh. Evil the world is ; Life a long battle, Hurling his scorn at the gods and Wrestle with anguish, and warfare salvation with sin, With the spikes of the Caucasus Proving the heart of us, trying our

tragic elation.

deathless,

As

piercing his flesh.

High-souled the Greek was, moral and fearless. And his gods must do right or his soul would rebel But we must be weak when our life is most cheerless,
:

mettle

By

troubles
;

without

us

and

terrors

within And yet

'tis

worth

living,

to-day and
in

to-morrow.

The

life

which

God

lived

the

With
all

lie

in

our mouth saying, It

is

well."

So they

sat there

the two of

them

wealth of His love, Life He made perfect in patience of sorrow, God-life on earth like the God-life above.

talking and drinking.

And

eyeing the

ruby light-gleam of

DEACON DORAT'S STORY

the wine,
their talk, for they This is the saw that cut him down. thought they were thinking. The last in our place that was hung And each deemed that he did the in chains. secret divine Left to bleach in the suns and rains And each took his bottle there, On the gallow-hill of our Burgh town. pleasant and merry, And each with an easy mind then had What he had done I remember not
his nod.

Well pleased with

And which
claret

was the
?

best

judge of

Which

Sheep-stealing, forgery, some offence rich men hate with a hate

intense.

and sherry

And who of the from God ?

twain was the farthest Nought can appease, but to see the

man

rot.

"
;

340

North 'Country Folk

in those days
it

Of course,
to
kill,

was wrong In a wildish way o'er a drop of drink. And the gallows, at any rate, spoilt
our play.

Yet murder often escaped the rope ; But for him there was not a gleam

Who

of hope. wrote your name to a cheque

or a
bill.

A dismal night
The
sullen

remember well
the restless sea, plashed on hill

moan of
rain

And
and

the
tree.

that

I say this because, though I

am

not

And how my
midnight
bell

heart

thumped

at the

aware, After all these years, what his crime

might be.

Ugh
left

how

the creature grinned and

about,

Had hewrought a murder,it's certainwe

Would have
him
Yet
it

the corbies to

mowed, pick As if he knew what we were

bare.

And thought that his Was better perhaps

for that

airy perch without

than a grave and

was not
;

we

cut

him

shroud.

down

But the gallow-hill stood

the Links,

at the

end of

Now
The

and then from the town we heard night-watch call, but he came

And

it

spoilt

our game at the golfing

its

not near,

rinks,

That ghastly thing with

frown.

grinning

And once we paused with a thrill of fear At two or three notes like a singing bird.
What was
it ?

where was

it ?

Hushed

And we
Or
But
chose
it

also thought they

might hang,
they

with awe.

or shoot,

We
living

stood for a

moment with bated

to that

head the

rogues, as

breath

When

tripping up

loathsome

Who
And

was like a savage to punish those were tried already, and dead

death

Two
Wild

merry boys and

a girl

we

saw.

to boot.

black elf-locks, and wild large

tripping along the hill.
until

it

was not our kindly old Scotch

a

eyes,

law

Came, weirdlike,

Which hanged

with him It was only the English that left the grim Corpse for the kite's and the raven's

man, and was done Singing a merry song, They saw us there
surprise.

with

blank

"Come
do
ye.

hither,

now, children:

what

maw. So we vowed our way

to get the thing out of

At

midnight here,
?

by the gibbeted

dead

We

were young fellows, and apt to

And are ye not fearful On the bleak bare hill

tree
?

now,

I said.

of the sallows

think

Deacon Dorat's Story

" Nay," quoth the maiden straight and tall, should we fear the peaceful dead ?

341

We had cut him down

to do,

but what

now

"Why

When we
us
all,

had him down, that puzzled

his burial,

He is our father, sirs," she said " He is our father," said they all.
There was
throat.

For we had not thought of

And my

it

must be done before morning

too. a lump,
sir,

rose

in

We
was
a

spoke of the river near at hand.

float

And

there

something

that

dimmed my sight But I said, " Would you be

night,

But the thing would and by

there

by

glad this

We thought

of the sea where the tide

drift

If this your father again you got

"
?

was high, But that would

him

again to land.

" Mother will soon be here, they said. She is coming to curse the Law and
the Judge,

We

could easily climb the Kirkyard

slept

wall.

But the bedral

grim,

near,

wakeful,

But there is no blessing that she will grudge If you give us our father back instead.

And And

the

crunch

of a spade would
tell

waken him,
a glance would

him about

we will haste, and bid her come. Yea, we will haste, and drive the cart, For she will have drunk to cheer her
!

" Lo

it all.

heart

"

Were ever men puzzled so much before By getting the thing they were fain
to get
?

Then

they hurried away and

left

us

An'

if it

dumb.

It could not

had been a burden of debt have loaded our spirits

more.

So we It was

may

cut

him down
I

and an ugly job ne'er do the like again,

;

And we
rain,

waited a while, in the pelting

We We

Under

the gallows that

we

did rob.

could not carry the creature home. could not leave it upon the hill Oh, but it's strange to get your will. And wish you hadn't for days to

come
But the wild
large eyes.
elf-locks,

and the wild

Then up by

the winding sandy road

And

the tripping feet, and the eerie

light cart passed

butts.

by the shooting-

song.

We

looked for them, and long;

that
lies.

we

listened Jolting o'er

in ruts.

hummocks, and creaking

to

Then laughed
believed their

we

could

have

And came
still

the

place

where we

abode.

;;

342

North Country Folk

Yet she left us sobbing somehow alone, woman we saw, with a manlike stride, As into the dark she strode away. the three elf-children by her side, she came cursing the Judge and That day each street had its eager
with
it

And
And And

a gipsy

Straight and

tall,

the

Law,
saw the Thing that lay
fell

crowd

Who
Till she
at

could have robbed the gallows

?

tree

our

feet.

And
on the earth with a
it,

the Council met, and the Pro-

When

she

vost,

he
like a minister long like a

wild-beast cry, And clasped it, arid kissed stood by

Silent,

Spoke
as

and loud.
!

we

Oh how he fumed

turkey-cock

and hearing our own hearts beat.

We had done despite to the sacred law. We had robbed the gallows of half
its

Then theyfour lifted it from the ground.

And

laid

it

there on the

donkey

cart

We

awe. had given authority there a shock.

before in the

Who

shall tell

me

the thoughts of that

love

wild heart

Nobody knew

town

For she too could

dead she found.

when

her

He could have been And he was sure he

Of
the

half so eloquent

law

- defiers

was on the scent that " cut him

"

am

better at banning than blessing,"

down."

she said,

" But what of

give.

blessing

my

lips

can

May
For

it

be yours, while you breathe

By and by they should find that he The law and its majesty would maintain. And hang the rogue in his chains again. And make those rebels a sight to see.
the river, they searched the

and

live.

that ye

have given

me back my They dredged

the shore,

dead.

"A

rogue and a thief could he be ?

thief, lads,

what

They watched
else

kirkyard,

night

by

night,_

They
he loved
us

questioned here and there, and

their

But rogue or
well

quite

Lost
tell,

heads for a week and more.

If he beat us too, as our backs can had a better right than he ?

of us just threw out a hint. must have been witchcraft and it " Fear not the Law shall find out what took Ye have done this night ; go home With the ministers like a baited hook, Who preached on it without let or stint. and sleep. Sure that your secret is buried deep I have them near by who will see That Sunday, sir, we learnt far more Of the Witch of Endor, and her arts to that." For the making of dead men play the parts She did not weep, and she did not pray, Of living saints, than for years before. There was not a tremor in her tone,
It

Who

Then one

343

The

Poetaster

But the Provost, shrewd man, muttered

Ah

there are things in this strange

life.

Pshaw
Let the
ministers preach

Which move
and catechise
;

us unto mirth, and yet

If the devil had wanted such a prize.

And

Behind the laughter there are tears. thoughts which in the after years.

What
saw But

should he do with a workman's Bring touches of regret.

?

for
it

me I heeded
rung
in

For That

my

not what they said head there all

And
The

oft

it is

an accident

day long,
eerie snatch of a gipsy song.

Whether you chance to laugh or weep. But when you call it back again,
laughter has a twinge of pain

And "He is ourFather,living ordead." Which

haunts you in your sleep.

All the father she ever knew He was a poor dull-plodding man. In earth or in heaven that gruesome So poor he kept not even a bird thing To cheer his solitude by song. And she had come up the hill to sing And voice for him the silent throng Her song to him as she used to do Of thoughts that find no word.

Oh

it

was

pitiful

but

when
its

I thought

Of that wild
The

night, and

madcap

job,

I could not be sorry that

we

did rob

Nor Nor

dog, nor cat, nor bird had he. wife nor child had ever

come

gallows, and gave

them what they

To

share the burden of his lot.

sought.

Which he

endured, and murmured not, In quiet patience dumb.

Better a quiet grave to

fill.

Where the grass is green, and the

grow.
snow.

daisies

And the white thorn scatters its fragrant Alone

Than
to

And now And none

he lay there cold and dead,

had watched

to see

him

die

mock
hill.

he had lived all his days. Alone he passed from human ways their hearts on the Beneath the All-seeing eye.

gallow

And And
Of a

this is the this

is

the hand that cleared the

Links

saw that cut him down, There was a little loaf of bread He had not died of hunger then little fuel too, and oil.

thing that spoilt the golfing rinks,

And

water

in a

can to boil
again,

Now

and again,

in

our Burgh town.

If day should

come

THE POETASTER
There was a pathos in it, Though you might smile,
friend.
as I

Which

never sought
press

came

and when

we

Through
to give

and drawers for aught

did too.

To
So

see that pile of manuscript

Him
As

strangely from

its

old trunk crypt

decent burial with the dead. he had always held his head
that decent live.

Brought suddenly

to view.

'Mong them

344

North Country Folk

Of his competed for a place In corners which small poets grace

Nor gold nor silver there was found, Nor plack nor penny life had gone
;

Just as the

little

purse was spent,

He

bottled

it

like wine.

Which lately had no increment From work that he had done.

It

But when his fellow-labourers met With pipe and tankard at the inn.

had

just lasted out his time

He

to his attic

would

retire.
fire,

Through

careful scrimping

day by day

had no debt, he had no kin. And there was nought to lose or win. When thus he went his way.
But
for the

He

And And And And And

trim his lamp, and light his

pen his verses thin

lived unto a

money, vainly sought.

In a moth-eaten trunk mass of manuscripts

we

found

a pile

good old age, never begged a bit of bread. cheered his loneliness with these Bald rhymes about the birds and trees, And living men and dead.

Of papers writ
Some
loose,

in careful style,

some rudely bound.

!

There

is

no sacred

fire in

them.

Nor much of homely

Strange
gatherings
scraps

sense and

shrewd

of every Imperfect lines, imperfect rhymes, kind, False quantities, mistaken chimes, Backs of old letters, envelopes. Yet all the feeling good. Half-used account books, paper bags Picked up among the ash and rags There is no envy of the great. And refuse of the shops There's praise of patriot and saint If now the story have no point. And every tattered scrap close writThe reasoning now be out of joint. With pen or pencil, as 'twould bear. There is no vain complaint. With verses on a hundred themes. With pious arguments and dreams. Hai'd toil it was for that hard hand All rhymed with patient care. To hammer out these limping lines.
:

Harder than handling spade or hod.

Oh To No

he had no message, none. wise or foolish, good or bad prophet's burden-word he bore. Which he must speak ; and what more. He never thought he had. no
;

Or Or
is

trenching ditch, or delving sod. picking in dark mines.

Yet night by night he must have writ His verse or two for forty years, L ong poems some, some meant for songs.

Some

he went about His daily task, and every night Back to his dingy attic came. Nor dreamed about the coming fame Or setting this world right.
silent soul,

voiced the wrongs. Some breathed his

common
own

people's

sad fears.

But none had ever heard him say

How the long evening hours were spent;

He
Nor

None

ever heard

him
;

hint a thought

Of fancied

greatness

never line

How

never showed the rhymes he writ. tried to see their clumsy wit it might look in print.

Parish Pastors
Enough Enough
him the

345

Nor Doctor to physic their mortal ills. Nor Lawyer to draw their deeds rhyme, Now pleased with this, now touched and wills with that, Ten miles off was a town where these He knew not why ; he knew not what Might be {lad by them when they please
for
silent task,

to read the abortive

Was

pathos, or sublime.

Strange passion thus to jingle words, unsought. And hide them in a big old chest 'Twas but some hours before he died Spotted with flies in the window pane. The last was written, and beside Easily went the world with them,
!

And farmers, going to market, brought What letters arrived there, nowand then, Which maybe had lain for a month,

The

rest in

order placed.
in
it,

Yet there was pathos

I laughed a little

friend

on

my

road.

They made no struggle its tide to stem. But slumbered as in a quiet bay, And heard its murmuring far away, And grew their oats, and ground their
here.

But the tears got the better soon. It was so innocent to croon His bits of verse to God.

And And
But

caught the fish, and fed the steer, noted the changes of the year.

for the care of their souls they

had

and learned pastors three ; Not that the way of their life was bad, LONG AGO Or that more godly they sought to be Than their neighbour-folk by the wild There were some five hundred, young North Sea and old. But just that it had been so of old. Souls in the parish, when all were told. And they never thought to enlarge Cock-lairds upon the landward braes. the fold. Scattered farmers, and cottar folk. And gather the flock together there

PARISH PASTORS

Of pious

And

the fishers who kept to their own With ampler room and a freer air. old ways So had their fathers done, and they In the village that huddled beneath Followed of course in theirfathers' way. the rock. And the pastors three with their
a
sheltering

Where
For
the

cove

made
of

scanty flocks

safe retreat

Of cock-lairds, farmers, and fisher folks.

lug-sails

brown
the

their Peacefully lived, as brethren should,

in

little

fleet;

'Twas

only
ten

break

stormy shore Rock-girdled for and more.

Five hundred not care

good

AJl of them busy in doing good. wedding, and burying, each miles, After the manner his Church did teach. And trying on Sundays truth to preach.
a Christening,

souls,

and

they did

Dr. Boyack

Though
was

neither a

Bank nor a Post

Low
The

there.

on a haugh, by the river side. homely Manse in its garden stood.


346

North Country Folk

a clump of grand old elms to hide the rough - cast walls, and
close to

With

And

gladdened the minister's heart,

it

The

but yet

And

wood. it was the parish kirk, But what it was there was nought to tell. Save only a belfry and tinkling bell, Above its rough- cast rubble- work. humble Kirk, and a homely Manse On the haugh among the trees and rooks Where the white-thorn hedges had
paintless

They burdened
of debt.

too

with

fear

Easy-natured and kindly he, Respectable always in everything ; Nothing he did but it had the ring Of cultured mediocrity In talents, in morals, in learned lore Respectable ever, and nothing more. No special mission had he to preach grown, perchance, Unpruned for the sake of the ricks No special faculty his to teach ; Nor special power of the priestly art and stooks. For the stooks of corn and hay Or to console, or move the heart There seemed no reason why he are more should be Than a well-trimmed hedge to a household poor God's servant there in the parish Kirk, But they helped to make more Instead of dealing out tape or tea.
wildly
fair

Or

driving

the

plough

from morn

The old Manse-garden, breathing there Of thyme and every sweet herb
that grows,

to mirk.

Save that he read some Latin or Greek, wrote good words that were smooth and weak. And the pink and wall- flower, and cabbage rose. Yet he did his task in a patient way. Oh, there the strawberry beds were With doctrine solid, if stiff and cold. Ready, by day or by night, to pray good. And the gooseberry bushes had With the sick or the poor that were golden fruit. in his fold And the apple-tree boughs were Mostly the farmers and cottar-folk. To all of whom, as they hung about stayed with wood, They clustered so thick upon every After sermon, the minister spoke shoot. Of the weather and crops, and the sheep and nowt, And the jargonelles on the gable hung And their rheumatisms, and their Sweet as honey the leaves among girls and boys. Just a garden for boys and girls. And all their commonplace griefs Ne'er while they lived to be forgot and joys. And sunny faces and golden curls Flashed through its trees when the sun No high ideal had he to raise Their souls was hot from of the level Eight wild boys, and as many maids. common ways. In homespun dresses, with unkempt Nor passion nor power to stir the mind As with the rush of a heavenhair. Laughed and sang in the grassy born wind But well he knew all their homely lot, glades, Or gathered the fruits of the garden fair, Their joys and sorrows he ne'er forgot.

And

Parish Pastors

347

Could
son,

tell

what came of the scholar

It

was somewhat earthly perhaps and

cold,

many into the fold. did not lead astray. Had ever the fitting word on his lip. If it only lit up half the way. And gripped each hand with the No lofty purpose in life had he. proper grip No spirit earnest and brave and true That bound their hearts to him fast The glory and hope of God to see ; Nor yet a-craving for something new and true But he walked with them in the way As surest cords of love could do.
where had the married daughter
led not
it

And

And

gone,

But yet

Little he read, and

Was

talked with them of the things they knew. When it ran dry, and the weekly need And his speech was easy and natural too, Rang in his head like a warning trump. Yet though he made complaint Save when he spoke of the things of God. that wealth wholesome nature, and fain to please ; Of letters, alas, was not for him. Being rich in children in hungry Saintship in him had been like disease Which he was ever upon the watch health, Though he hardly needed it not to I trow he was not a man to dim catch His eyes with poring on musty books ; Far better he liked the cawing rooks, For to be called Fanatic he The smell of the hay-field, and Dreaded like sin and misery.

mostly

sermons

what he did to " fang

they trod.
his

And

pump,"

the talk

Of farming
But

folk in a sauntering walk For what of learning he had was worn

Dean Duffus

Outside, like clothes of the proper trim.

it

Down
Of the
It

in the cove,

where the fisher folk

rock.

never was truly part of him,

it

And now

was

somewhat

rent

Huddled beneath the lighthouse There was a dainty little Kirk

He

and torn. had not a doubt to trouble him,

his
faiths

old faithful mason-work, might have been choir, or pillared

And
to

were only

as

corks

nave.

swim Through life

Wreck
as easily as

of a church, by the break-

And
And

he might. net whatever might come

ing wave,
his

way;
fight.

And And
And

a great cross on the gable stood

all

within
altar,

it

was

fair

and good,

and carven font, were wont. If h^ could only get through the day. Under the great black holy Rood. Yet he was reasonable, and shed Long it had been but a ruin grey. sort of light too along his path, Which not from the heavenly founts Roofless, and wasting in slow decay, ThemuUions all fromthewindowsgone; was fed. Nor yet from the baleful fires of The carven niche, and the finescrolled stone wrath
with the world he would not Marble
silver vessels, as

348

North Country Folk

whatever of beauty he found,
its

By nettles and long grass hid from view And or And the font had been broken and
overthrown,

He He

worth. sought out

place,

and

fitted it on.

And
too

pillar

and arch were crumbling Then with

his savings, year

mended

bit,

by year, and roofed it in,

And the cunning fox had made his lair, And the rook and the jay had nestled
there.

Living himself on sorriest cheer This trophy again for his Church to win
:

Some Some

laid
;

the

blame

wrath

held it was Covenant's path ; Some charged it

Ironclads

it stood there fair to see of graceful symmetry ; bell once more from the belfry rung, swept from the And matin and vesper were daily sung, Cromwell's And the organ pealed, and the common to

upon Knox's

And now
In
lines

prayer
to

And
But

some

a raid

of

the

land lads. they who matter well

a great
tore

High- Was sweetly toned to the fishers there. Yet all the wealth of his worldly gear
the

had

searched
lost a bet,

Was

less

than

three - score

pounds

a year.

Read how

Lord

And

and melted Near by the Kirk was a cottage small. With a red-tiled roof, and a whitewashed wall, And sold them to pay his gambling debt. garden plot that was bright with After the new Kirk was built away flowers, Landward, far from the little bay. And all agreed that a Kirk was there An old sun-dial to tell the hours, From the days that the Culdee Some carven stones that were broken launched his boat, quite. And came with the voice of psalm And might not fit in their places right. Yet were too sacred to be thrown and prayer.
off the
roof,

the bell.

And
But

gospel true to the people brought

Among
a

the rubbish of

common

stone.

From the lone Isle of saints that lay With Where ghostly mists on the waters slept. all

green wood-paling to round,

told

fence

God shone out of the mists by day. These had And spake in dreams to them when
they
slept,

where the Dean a home

all

found.
the rest
that

It

was not other than

the
fishermen's

And

ever their souls in quiet kept.

Of

huts

there

So the good Dean, when he came there,

Curate or
priest,

were seen. Save only that

long years ago.

fair

With
But

an
the

attic

Loving a Kirk that was old and

it was neat and clean, chamber for a guest Dean's own bed was in

the wall. As the ivy loves round its walls to gi"0w. Had clung to it with a longing heart. Hid behind volumes, And with his own hands cleared a part, In the little room

great and

tall,

where
that

he read
a
pastor

Casting out nettles and grass and earth. Till he came to the pavement of solid
stone
;

and wrote.

And

did

the

work

ought.

Parish Pastors

349

There on the shelves were folios piled ; His well-brushed coat had a shining There Benedictine fathers smiled glaze. In snowy vellum, crimson-lettered And his great thick shoes had been These, he said, were his golden mines patched and soled And high on the upper shelves were White was his lawn on the Sabbath
scattered

Big quartos too of the great And tables and chairs and
littered

divines,
floor

morn, But half was darning, and

fine a filament

all

was worn

were Into so

It scarce

could

be handled without

With books
scarlet lines

that
;

were scored with

*

a rent.

For he was

a classic ripe and good.

And

loved the old seasoned wood.

wine

But all translations and dead.

were

Yet had he ever so stately an air rich and poor did understand, in the Whatsoever his raiment were, He was a man to hold command, bottled And none might slight him in

That

all

the land.

With

an evil taste of the cork, he said.

other

The

room was

a kitchen clean.

And

there no woman was ever seen. But once a day, about noon, his man cherished, Lit up the fire for a little can Old were his hopes too, past and If it were not a fast, and a fast, at least. perished. Came twice a week to this humble He held that it was a sin to own priest Other than Stuart to sit on the throne.

Old was the world in which he lived, Old the evils at which he grieved. Old were the things that most he

And made
sweet.

for

him

pulse or porridge

And

still

Now

that

did his faith intact remain there was not a Stuart

But the Church's Feasts had sodden to reign. meat Therefore a strict non- juror he And if a guest by chance was there. All the years of his youth had been, There might be a glass of mildest ale Doing his constant ministry And an evening pipe to soothe his care In hidden ways, and in spots unseen. Was the one luxury did not fail. Praying for him who in exile lay Yet was he healthy and strong, nor kept " Over the hills and far away." Ever his bed for a day, or slept Now law and order he kept, 'tis true. After the dawn, but rose to pray Giving to Cssar Cassar's due, For his fisher lads in the stormy bay. But the loyal heart that would have shed tall, lean form with lank grey hair, Its blood for the kings of the Bushy his eyebrows, and grey his eyes. ancient line, Deep sunk in a face that was pale Clung to the memories of the dead. and spare And the vanished rule of the Right And he dressed in a threadbare lowly divine. guise. He fasted still for the martyred Charles, One apron had served him all his days. And him who perished on Magus His newest hat, it was ten years old, moor,


35

; ;

;;

North Country Folk

held
devil
that

And
The

the

Parliament

men Another

were

carles,

Among
on
to

kirk on a height was placed two or three pine trees

pricked
gallant

delude
right

tempest- torn

the poor,

And
to

that

Dundee did

The
But

maul Westland
for the
all

Whigs

who
its

Church of the Wilderness it was named, Built for a prophet-pastor, famed were For his doom-speaking words, and his
stedfast faith.

And

rebels all.

new world, and

the
great

And

hopes

ways. of the

When

the wild dragoons were deal-

ing death

But he lived through the evil times, latter days, and saw, Their science and its expanding views. Though he would not allow, a New-fangled craving for latest news. better law And workmen striking for higher wage, And all that mostly our thoughts And the bonnet-lairds on the rolling
.

engage

braes

For them he kept strictly a yearly Each year bitterer than the last It fell when Culloden day begins

Fast,

Had

been

Cameron's

men

in

the

troublous days.

A plain square building, never meant

To
Rough
be tricked with carnal ornament. in its stonework, and rude in
it

And

he called

it

the

Fast of All

the Sins. So, true to his

its lines.

own
the

ideal, there

Grimly
read

stood by the ragged pines.

He
And

chaunted

psalm,

and

There ministered one who held his head as the Dean, and would not brook From Latin Fathers and Latin rhymes, King or Parliament, living or dead. Unless the Covenant oath they took Till scholars came from far and near William or George, Charles or James, This primitive Pastor to revere ; Stuart or Guelph, it mattered not, But hardly ever a point was found Where he touched the life that went Nor what their characters, what their
the prayer,

gathered the lore of ancient times

High

on around,

aims.

Or whence their claim to have rule Moved it, or felt with it as it spoke. was brought Or heeded how its passions woke. Or how its bubbles swelled and broke. Whether from Bishop's anointing oil. Or from the people who sweat and toil. Or from a long ancestral line Lapt in the dream of a right divine The Reverend Richard Rule
;

He
Landward upon
the rolling braes.

would

protest against the throne,

Wind - swept,

and

apart

from

the

Unless the Covenant it would own. For this was a Covenant Land, and

common ways, Where once had

land waste,

bound
stretched

a moor-

By solemn league to be holy ground. Where Papist, Prelatist, Sectaries all

But now it was covered with grass Should ne'er have authority, great or small. and corn,

;;

Parish Pastors

3SI

Nor should Erastian preach the Word So he deemed he must faithful be Where the martyred saints of old were Unto the little flock that he heard. Tended and fed amid sore distress

He
Not Apt

was a

small, brisk, cheerful soul,

In the lonely Church of the Wilderness.

Stronger he than the other two, Learning and talent he did not lack ; Yet were there some things he could do

a whit

gloomy or morose,

at telling a story droll,

Gay among brethren and jocose, And hardly would he restrain his

wit

When
sit.

in grave Presbytery even they

From which

their

souls

would have

shrunken back.

Yet in the pulpit he would groan About the defections which he saw, And that he would soon be left alone Even as Elijah to stand by the Law, And by the altar and truth of God, For which our Fathers dyed the sod

He was not
At
least,

so noble, I reckon, as they,

he could stoop to a meaner

way.

And did not feel it, but made a jest Of what would have broken their
soundest
the
rest.

that were his Might have the gospel pure and free. flock, Then would his tremulous voice swell They were as hard as the flinty rock higher, And minded to have their gospel cheap. Like the sound of winds among trees Letting him sow if themselves might
their

Red with

own

best blood, that

we For

wee cock-lairds

As

reap moan. though some Power did his soul And, maybe, dealing with them had inspire, been Nor even the Dean could so finely The blunting of feelings that once were intone. keen And maybe the children's hungry cry He, too, was a man of learning, skilled Quenched the gleam of his watchful eye. In all polemics since Luther broke Her sleep, and the Church from Five hundred souls, when all were told, dreams awoke. Dwelt in the parish, young and old. And wrath was kindled, and blood Well shepherded surely by pastors three Who lived together in amity. was spilled. Well had he conned each mighty tome And had no quarrels, nor sought to rob Of Calvinist, Lutheran, Doctor of Each other's folds of a sheep or lamb. Rome, And lived, far ofi^ from the noisy mob. And what the Philistine-Prelate writ. In a world of their own that was full And how the Puritan-David hit of calm. The boastful giant with sling and stone, Yet what could they do for the landthat

struck down the mitre that ward folk, wrecked the throne. Or the fishers beneath the lighthouse The faintest shade of Arminian error rock ? Well could his watchful eye detect. What help to their welfare could they And he thundered at it, in wrath and bring ?
terror.

And

What
road

light to shine on the darkening

?

For comfort there of the Lord's Elect.

; ;

; :

352

North Country Folk

song could they give their hearts For the three good pastors kept their with sorrow or death

What

to sing

When burdened or God?

What

And

road, lightened not any one of his load.

times
are

not many more And spur them to run for the grander Souls in the parish than were of yore, Yet the pastors three have grown to goal In the world beyond these falling leaves ? four; And their thoughts are run in a

Above the weather and crops and

gospel had they to raise the soul beeves,

Now,

changed

there

are

sharper mould, Respectable one, and easy-hearted. And a spirit is there which was not went about in a kindly way ; One lived in a world that had long of old. It may be, their faith in God is more. departed But they have not the same faith in And one was eager the slain to slay. each other ; Meanwhile the people grew their oats, And mended lines and nets and boats. It may be, they love Christ as before. And made their malt, and brewed But they walk not so lovingly now

He

their ale,

together.

And And And

drank at wedding-feast and fair. harvest-home, and auction-sale at the funerals took their share Of heavy wines and waters strong. As they bore the dismal bier along. But there were mothers that were not
wives,

And yet a milder gospel tells Of love that in the Father dwells. And sweeter strains of praise are sung. And bells in graceful spires are rung. And they all walk in stricter ways, And they all spend laborious days.
For
life is
it

there,

and that
life

is

good.
its selfish-

And

there were

widows soon

tired of

weeping,

Though mood

be young

in

And there were prodigals wasting lives. And sorrowful hearts that lay unsleeping,
Through
keeping.

weary

nights

long

vigil

Life is there, with its warmth and power. Its yearning hope, and its eager strife, Its thought unfolding like a flower.
Its craving
still

And

they had their thoughts about life and death. And sin and mercy and God and faith ; And, now and then, from the world
without

for a fuller

life,

Its futile effort, its failing faith. Its fresh revival

and confidence.
a misty wraith.

Its error too, like

There came

to

their

souls

strange

Ghost of some old forgotten sense Life with its loves, and hates, and
fears.

wafts of doubt.

And

things

that

were not

in

catechism

the Its wondrous joys, and its bitter tears, Its follies, blunders, useless fights.
Its

But how to deal with them no one knew.

brooding

shadows,

and

mystic

They dreaded heresy, error and

schism,

lights

But wist not what of these thoughts Life has broken the slumberous spell. were true, And it is not all good, yet it is all Or what, if they were, they ought to do well.

Amory

Hill
when they

353
older
folk,

AMORY HILL

And
Were

the

felt

the stress.
fain their ignorance to hide.
off,

And
What

sent her

with a sharp rebuke,

Does any one know about Amory Hill ? an unrestful mind she had, Somehow she never took
!

Back again

to her folio book.

it ill.

Questioning everything, good and bad, Whatsoever you chanced to say Subtle in thought, and firm of will But not in the least did it change her but what Beautiful, too, in her way
:

Ever could come of a

way

girl like that

What

Oh, you remember the large grey eyes a keen look in them did lie,
Fain to be told the reason

why
!

She soon had another question still Never the same one twice, for now She would puzzle it out by herself somehow.

We ever held anything

And
still

true or wise

say what you might, she

find out.

would What could come of a girl like that. Who would not walk on the common
road.

Somehow

or other, a ground for doubt.

Who

fretted at

bearing the

common

Under the

Word

she

must see the

load,

Thing, Never content with the neatest phrase ; The coin might be of the ancient days, But still she must try if it truly ring,

And did not know what she would be at. And was not sure of the common creed, And gave not her dress a moment's
heed
?

And
For

bite
it

it

too with her dainty teeth,

false

might look well, and be

Amory

Hill

Amory

Hill

beneath.

And
how
old a lie might be, could not make it true

No
No

she was and nice. Scorning a meanness, and hating a vice.

yet a brave true heart and a patient
will,
!

how good

matter

With
;

Age, she

said,

matter though truth be fresh and Loving the truth, and not afraid new. What has come of the grey-eyed maid It was the pleasanter sight to see. Like a fresh star your eyes behold II Where never a star had been seen of old.

Liked

how

could she be liked, a

girl

1 thought

you had heard of Amory

Who'd

squat her down in a quiet nook It made at the time a mighty stir. Out of the way, with a folio book. While all the rest of us were in a whirl But nobody now-a-days thinks of her. Of work or talk ? And she did not We wonder at nothing, good or ill, After two or three days are past heed. That is enough for a comet to last. If only we left her at peace to read.

Hill:

Of course,
tried

her doubts and her questions

less,

Amory
From
elf

grew, as you might expect. a doubting, questioning, restless

Every one's patience, more or

23

; :

354

North Country Folk

a

To

woman who brooded by

the

herself

Then one
back

laid hold

of her, drew her

About

Church, and the Lord's

Elect,

From

the dismal gloom of that deadly

About

the fate of the quick and dead.

brink. to think.

Doubting the more, the more she read. Told her that now she must cease

lack hold of her for a little while ; If to the Church she would only bow. And she sang their hymns with an It would do all of her thinking now.

At

a Revival

some one got

And

then no

wisdom her

soul should

angel's smile.

And

tried

to

live

on their shallow

thought But back the questions came,'and then Oh, she was deep in her doubts again.

Bland his speech was, and mild his look; Was he an angel come from heaven

To

save the

soul that

was tempest-

driven

She writ a Book that I But could not tell what

out

tried to read,
it

And what

There where in terror and pain itshook? had all of her thinking
all

Just like thoughts that she

brought. was about had thrown Except despair of

certain thought

Into the darkness of thought and deed. So straightway into his arms she fell, Cast away Reason, and swallowed the And heard them in the silence roll Creeds, Back again on her yearning soul.

Mumbled her
Poor
girl
!

aves,

and counted her

in

she

wandered,

here

and

beads.

And said
their

it

was good

peace to dwell
in

there,

From

pastures green

where the grace

With Nuns who had

head

not a thought

was rife, Seeking the

the Life,

Way
but

and the Truth and

But is it the peace of the She does much good

poor.

living or dead

And

finding

shadows and dim

to the sick and

despair,

Till she

came

to the perilous brink of

Going about

in that quaint

Faith,

With

the

little

odd book which her

as

dress
fingers

Beyond which lieth

the realm of death.

press

But then she did quite

before.

much good

Star after star had all gone out. For Araory Hill was always sweet. Darkest night was on all her sky And came like a sunbeam along the And moaning as one who is ready to street.
die.

Ah me
God

she said.

Must

I live without

Ill

and His Christ and the hope

this life

Who would know me for Amory

Once the

Hill,

divine.

That erewhile gladdened

plague and the tease of School, of Querying lesson, and breaking rule ? And yet I fear I am Amory still.

Hill
355

Amory
Under
the white cap and the

is the hour when they sit and talk, and not without such nothings Touches of malice too, all about I've tried, tUM think there is no use What they saw in the daily walk trying To visit the sick and the poor, To be anything other than I was made ; when they I've sought the light, and I've sought Looked world and its on the

hood

This

Of the

patient, merciful Sisterhood.

Oh

the shade,
I've crushed

wicked way.

my

thought,

when

it

rose

defying,
I've nursed
pain,

But
submission,

why

is
?

the world

more wicked

and fondled
again.

than they

They were
the vow,

sOly girls ere they took

Yet ever the thoughts come back

Weary, I'm weary ; what shall I do ? And they're just as sUly sisters now. away. Oh, will that chatter of theirs not cease? Ribbons and gawds may be put Here I had hoped to have quiet peace And love and marriage be counted
In the daily round of duties true.

shame.

And

the tranquil

hymn, and the whis- Yet heart

the same.

and

mind

may

be

still

pered prayer. Freed from the

burden

of trouble

and care.

How

Once With
and

I wrestled, in earnest thought.

should they differ from what they were ? Hear ! how they chatter as schoolgirls do,

weighty
faith,

problems
life

of

truth

With

the high issues of

And what we
we ought

and death, should not do, what

is

And gossip And who

I

about the folk they knew. was married, and who

:

was there

But here our wrestle Can it be more sinfiil

not to think

blame them not, if they did not blame The world as wicked for doing
the same.

to see than

wink ?

Does God, indeed, mean

should not bear

that

we

Are

all

the people

who

try to

do good

The burden
a life

of thought

or

fashion

As

little-minded as those I've

known
!

Of peace,

instead of the noble strife

Ere I came here, how I used to groan At Dorcas meetings in angry mood

Inspiring ever the soul to dare.

And
I'm
?

the
sure.

District

Visitors

need,

And make fresh conquests, if it may, On the realm of darkness, day by day
Oh, but So they
this is rebellion, this is sin
tell

Quite as

much

visiting as the poor.

Oh, how I shrank from the vulgar talk. The fuss, and the hard mechanical way me, and I have tried To crush it out, and have done, beside, Of saving so many souls a day By dropping tracts in a morning walk Many a penance for letting it in. Not so, I said, would the work But is it sinful ? and can it be right be done To close the shutters, when God Here by the consecrated Nun. is Light?
!

;:

356
But here or

North Country Folk

there,
it is all

the same,

gave up
the

my

The

talk alike,

And And
The

and the fuss and fret, the vulgar methods of clear-

Of

rush

former life in dread of thoughts to

my

ing debt,

eager soul. Terrible as the waves that roll

the mechanical ways and lame

spiritual

For doing of
faintest

Over the weary swimmer's head But now if I leave this, it will be work, without thought what you In scorn of its dull vacuity.

are about.

Ay,

if I leave it

but dare I go

And
and

then
lips
!

this

drilling

of

hands

Do

I not
it

know what would

to be lying

be said

Better

were

dead

So many hours of work a day. So many hours to praise and pray.

All of our time cut into snips. And just as you get your
in

Than

pine

Of lies And break

less

away with a poison slow that would tingle in every vein,

the heart with a name?

mind
ting,

pain

swing,
bell

There goes the

ting, ting
!

with

its

Ah

rebel nature could not endure

The The
coming here
?

vacant

mind and the weary

keep
all

day,

effort to

thought away.

Was Was
I

I mistaken in
it

a hasty step I
free to

made
for a

am

still

go back,

'tis

said
I fear.

But for the work 'mong the sick and poor It is among them that I find ray

And

was not meant

Nun,

good,
gratitude.

But they are all pleased with their If they would not pain me by happy lot, And what would they think if they

knew my thought ?

MISS
nonsense what people were wont to say About the misery vows may bring. About the hearts that are suffering, And the glad bright youth as it wastes away There is nothing to waste, for they
It's

BELLA JAPP

TO HER YOUNG MINISTER

Speak
out, speak out

We

are

all

hungering,

sir,

for truth-

ful

words
mocking-birds

have no mind, Nor heart, nor passion of any kind.

Of faith or doubt And we are weary of all

would be dumb If they might eat their meat, and do no more And yet I feel that I am not free. And only come. Oh, the subtle threads that are wound And sing again what we have heard

Who

About

us here

till

our souls are bound.

before.

And there's nothing for it but just to As silly as all the rest, and make

be

And

grind

again

the

same tune

at

the door

A merit of

it

for Jesus' sake.

To

get their crumb.

Miss

Bella

Japp

357

Oh

yes, yes, yes

; ;

358

North Country Folk

And
what we can,

And
we
must, to

That, with God's help,

put him

God

is

sweat and shout not deaf that you should need

Oh,
his side

fools

down may
:

to roar
scoff.

But he laughs

last

who

truth has on

But take our sin Right by the throat, and its name.

call

it

by

Hell's not far off

Nor mind
;

the din

Where

such

folk

are

it's

at

your

The
his

devil will raise because ye spoil

very side,

game.
to shame,

And

souls

drop

in, as balls

are

to slide
I' th'

made Or Pharisee because he's put Turned outside in.

Pick ye no words

holes at golf.
are the holes,

There

To
To

tickle itching ears with rhetoric

And
Come

here the devil's game, and well

;

They have
sing
to
:

the birds
if

he plays

them,

that

is

what

For thoughtless
dropping
in,

souls

with

some

bit

they seek It's dainty phrase

pleasant phrase.

And
this

Each hour

o' the day.

mincing speech very death

in

have

been our

An easy job
For
ill

he's

had

many

a year.

it's

poor play

As
;

These many days. the Kirk we sought not

art to hear

truth

We've had

against

him

God's been

served here,
it's

and faith. But tricks of

breath,

with bated

And

been like to drive

me mad

to hear

Like

fine stage plays.

Their feckless way.

But you have come Fresh and hot-hearted, from College, Freighted like some
knowledge.
But,

Be strong and Hold up our sins

as I

true

that

we may

see

hear,

them

bare.

And
The

hold up too Cross both to believe

it,

and

Others, no doubt, with tons of useless

to share

Its pain and loss. Should sorrow fill our cup unto It's not your metaphysics that we need. the brim Watery and wan For on the Cross Just take the Book, and with your We see the glory as the eye grows dim. own eyes read. Only we're fain to hand it on to Him And drop the spectacles of an oldWho clasped it close. world creed

O my

man,

About " The Plan."

Believing

much
it

The

Cross,

that

is

all

our

help

And And

preach right out. pray ; I do not mean to stamp

It

and hope,
will not touch with our finger, fain to

We

the floor.

let it

drop

;; ;

The
And

Village Philosopher

359

The
it

therewith cease And in the window there appeared. grace and bliss and riches that For weather-glass, a wondrous phial. brings, Its neck was partly ground, and then

And
wings.

all

increase
sing about the angels'

'Twas hung, mouth-downward,

with water And if it dropped, there would be

filled

Meanwhile we

rain,

And
it

soothe the
stings.

sickly conscience as

But

if

it

shrank, the

clouds would

scatter.

And

call this

Peace.

He had

THE VILLAGE
PHILOSOPHER
He kept the village school

Whose

a glass that showed the moon mountains looked like inky a box that played a tune.
rightly

blotches.

notches Of boys and girls, with little primers He had a round electric wheel Their fathers he had taught before. Could give a shock to all the village. Had called their mothers "idle That made their elbows ache, and

some

He had When
score

touched

at

certain

limmers" For well he liked

:

feel

hard names. But still in blandest accent spoken They never spoilt the children's games. Nor yet by them their heads were
to give

As

tired as with a hard day's tillage.

He

beat the smith

until

he drank

At working

cures on sickly cattle

broken.

He had been village " merchant " once.

But had not prospered in that calling trade, he said, for any dunce.

For when he came to byre or fank, The sight of him was half the battle In very fear the ewes grew well The moment that they smelt his potions, And cows to healthy sweating fell
:

To

be a ledger overhauling : mindless business, he Was heard in very scorn to mutter,

To

see his poultices

and

lotions.

silly,

So blandly

as

he pinched

his snufF
!

When he did horse or bullock handle To barter cloth and combs and tea And spades and rakes for eggs and So careful as he mixed the stuff By light of flaring lamp or candle butter
!

So wisely

And such
They

For he was a philosopher. with trade make no

Of
alliance

he would discourse Pleuro, Foot - and - Mouth,

as

or

said that even the minister

his views of science hour of the Eclipse,
ventilator.
:

Was puzzled with

Staggers And if the stubborn brutes grew worse. He glared at them with looks like
daggers.

He knew the He made the

Across the

Kirk a

And could have

line

sailed the biggest ships

of the Equator.

Oh little village-world, Thy prophets, watched

wonder.

that hast

with

faith

and

Before the school door he had reared piUar-stone and true sun-dial

Stoutly believed in to the last In spite of failure, loss and blunder.


;
;

;;

36o

North Country Folk

art

What

thou but the world in small i There are clouds on the hills of Mull, its prophets more than And the mist over Morven streams thine are ? And the heart of the Celt, like his Perhaps an inch or two more tall, day, is dull. But hardly even a shade diviner. Or its lights but the fitfuUest gleams.

And

what

ALTNACRAIG
THE HIGHLAND HOME OF PROFESSOR
BLACKIE

hills

And And
That Dear

of Appin and Lorn, green foamed-girdled islands. pools where the rushing streams
sing to the lonely

are born

Fair within and without, Meet home for a sage and

poet.
all

Highlands Gael Are loch and stream and Ben, And the eerie legend and song and
to this friend of the

With

the pine-clad red crags the islanded sea below

about.

tale

And

it

That haunt the brackened

glen.

Behind, is a ridgy hill. And a burn leaps down the brae. Elf-like his locks and grey. Where the sleepy clack of a little mill That wave o'er a Greek-like beauty Low-pulses through the day. Tokens of wisdom ripe, whose day
Fair without, but within Is a rarer nobler beauty Womanly grace the heart to win. And patient doing of duty And manly thinking and wise, And lore of the ancient times,

Was

spent in

Love and Duty

gay and young
sung born ;
is

But the

spirit is

As in its dewy morn. And ever the bird-like song As the fresh new thought is

And
Still

free

true

soul

That fresh as the sun he rises. Song in the mist and the flying shower. Song when the light surprises. Song on the lonely road. Without and within, all fair Song in the thronging street The form alike and the spirit He blithe and gay as the bird of Ever singing his thoughts to God, For his thoughts are pure and sweet. the air.
disguise.

that hath no

Bird-like song, from the hour

singing

its

careless rhymes.

She calm

in

A self-assertive Greek,
Brisk to reason or
jest.

her modest merit

And

Espoused

to a

And

patient

Roman matron meek and self-suppressed.

whether of Clachan he speaks Crumbling in dell of the Forest, Or the rich full life of the grand old Greeks, Or Him whom thou surely adorest.

Green Kerrera lies below. The torrent of speech high-wrought. You can see the green tower of Dunolly, Perchance with some froth on it,
Lismore is green where the white Is ever a power too of generous ships go thought, Sailing by Appin slowly. With flashes of sparkling wit.

Cobairdy

361

Now Now

fatefullest tales are told

From ^schylus'
Plato

tragic pages

COBAIRDY
converse

and

Goethe

hold An old Scotch house, only one room Across the years and the ages ; wide, But four storeys high, with " a turnOr Duncan Ban and the deer " Sweep down the rocky dell, pike stair And burning pleas from his lips you That corkscrewed up a round tower on its side, hear With the outhouses made three parts For the Celt he loves so well.
of a square quaint coat-of-arms o'er the bighaunt of the good and wise, nailed door Had roughly been carved on the red How oft have thy walls resounded With eloquent pleas for the Celt that sand stone.

lies.

And
life

By Or

a sordid

surrounded.
his
soul's

the gate to the square, the same arms bore.

which

with grief that

true

Was

health

arched overhead with a whale's jawbone.

Should yield to the bigot's spell. Or the meaner sway of vulgar wealth That lords the hill and the dell

The

laird

was a squat
in the

little

hard-

featured man.

Something deaf
Beautiful

hearing, and

home of truth
taste

bowed
!

in the legs.
all

Shall

Thy

no more thy gladness, mirth with the innocent bloom

we

Careful to waste nought, and get

he can
oats and his here, and his and eggs ; His mother lived still in the kitchen

For

his

of youth. Thy wise and thoughtful sadness ? Shall we sit no more at thy board

butter

As

there,

in the bright old times

With

the

lightsome

jest,

and

the

And

grave good word, jets of dainty rhymes

parlour was draughty, the dining-room grim. With no sort of comfort, the laird

For the

would

declare,

From
Farewell
!

of old lairds glowered down at him.

portraits

that

the sea will beat

On thy brown rocks, crisply foaming. And friends will sit on the far-viewed For some
seat.

And

talk in the golden

gloaming

of them had red coats, and whips in their hand, Some, gay powdered heads and lacerufBes fine.

But not such

talk as

we

Under the red pines had. And, I think, I shall never more
care to see

And
The

the red coats and ruffles meant

laird

acres of land,

could

not think

of,

and

The

place where I was so glad.

cheerfully dine

; ;

362

North Country Folk

the " Madams " were worse, And night after night, his mother with their head-tires and frills would not fail And satins, every yard of which had To set forth the draught-board beside cost hira dear the peat-fire For the clothing of their backs they Only on the Sundays, when they came from the Kirk, had stript half his hills. And they were not like his mother And saw to the kye, and their fodder

Yet

for all their fine gear.

" For the draughts they had " Boston

to read in the mirk.

and their drink.

Rarely in the parlour, then, Cobairdy would sit. And never in the dining-room, for
that

And maybe
just a

o'er his pages

would

get

wink.
their

made him glum

To

think

how

his forebears,

men
for

of
all

Few
With

were
the

words
at

as

they

sat

little

wit.
his

there alone.
acres

Had

no idleness was there ; Racing and dressing and rattling at And five and forty years now had thus come and gone. the dice. To rob him of half his bonny green hills, And the gear was aye growing, but Drinking card-playing, and the laird had grizzly hair ; and Then his old mother sickened in the dabbling in vice. fall of the year Till there was little left him but When most she was needed, as the wadsets and bills. long nights came. Each night by the big kitchen fire And before the oak leaves were yellow all and sere he was seen. Where an oil-cruse and rushwick He laid her in the kirkyard with the bleared through the reek. rest of his name. He and his mother, with a draughtboard between. He laid her in the kirkyard, and turned round his head, Playing a long game would last near With a lump in his throat and a tear a week in his eye, 'Twas a saving of fire, and a saving of light, And thanked ijs for the honour we And twice as much comfort, and half had shown to the dead. And also he was glad that the day as much care had been dry And as for the game, if he lost in a night Could his mother but have known, the house had been right penny to his mother, it was neither

parted with time to come

" lass "

her wheel, for

friends to receive, as they surely ought to be, And day after day, with the sickle or And a proud woman she would have the flail. been that night Or the harrow or the plough he To witness the respect of such a good would toil, and not tire ; company.

here nor there.

His

;;

;!

Donald Toshach
Then he took
ofF his hat, and took. from its crown yard of red cotton, and bowed to

363

And

us low,

how, when she gave me a check, she would look And we had not half finished the game we were at."

" Cried gee "

!

to the cart horse,

and

Just

So the laird and his Jeanie sat down where the coffin lay a little while by the fire. ago; With the cruse and the rushwick to And home came the poor laird, and light up their play went to the byre. And she played her game well both in And patted brown Crummie, his old kitchen and byre. mother's pet, For Crummie grew sleek and Cobairdy And stared at her hens, and her ducks grew gay. in the mire. And now she's the " leddy," as braw
then sat hira

down

And vowed
What

they should live, though they brought him in debt.

as

the best.
sits

And

in the parlour,

and dines

in

the hall.

could he do then

He

tried

And her picture

is

hung by the

laird's,

with the rest The Fourfold State " of the children Of the red coats and farthingales high of men on the wall. Good were the words, and the doctrine

for a time

was prime. But it was a week day, and

read then
?

who

could

DONALD TOSHACH
into

Not one good thought got he his mind

HIGHLAND LAND IMPROVER

Of

all

that the

good man

tried hard

Big and burly and jolly and strong. more that he read, the more Nineteen stone if he weighs a pound. he grew blind. Yet as he strides, with his gun, among And oh but his old heart was " dowie The corries and hills where the game and wae." is found,
to say

And

the

At

My

How light is his step o'er the heathery " looking round to " the lass ground at her wheel, " Jeanie," he said, ' will ye bring For his wind is sound, and his heart your stool near ? is gay mother's awa', but I think she There's a dash of Norse blood in that
last,

would

feel

light-haired Celt,

Better pleased if I went on as

she was here. I've tried hard to read, but, instead of the book,
I see her old face, Jeanie, there

when And his way

enterprise,

and his dashing

He

got from the Vikings of old, that

ships or the brochs
is

dwelt

where In the
sea

where the

she sat,

smelt.


3^4

North Country Folk

Great

is

his laughter,

and needs but Here

;

shall the flowering shrubs

glow

the half

in the

dawn,

Of a joke to set it in roaring trim And the wasted torrents shall all combine And as you list to that great, glad laugh. To be a power and a slave of mine.
You would
like him.
it

give something to laugh

" God made no part of His earth to lie seems to go rolling through Waste as this is, with idle men Watching the wild birds as they fly, every limb. Orred deer cropping the brackenedglen, Shrewd at an argument, always keen, Or the salmon seeking the streams

For

Celt-like, to reason of things divine.

again.

Yet not, like the Celt, upon faith to lean. And pelt you with Scriptures line " The corn may mildew, alas, on the field. upon line For texts to him are like sips of wine And the hay lie wasted there where it grew; Yet something there is which the land So he goes groping
:

half in the dark,

Half in

the dark, but he swears

in a

it is

should yield.

deep mine working stark. By a flickering lamp that shoots its ray, And shows the dark, if it shows not Then the way.

day Like one

Something there must be for man Other than sport the whole through."
will

to

do

yeai'

he buy a big lump of

from the
isles will

the

shire,

But

And men
his strength
is

come

at

in action, in setting

his call.

the folk
ing trees.

Road-making, bridge- building, plantDraining the marshes, and blasting

rock.

trench it, and fence it with stone and wire, Five hundred Islesmen strong and tall. the Able workers at ditch and wall.

To

Or reaping the harvest of the seas, Making the idlest busy as bees.

And

Watch him

slicing it up into small estates. Planning houses and carriage-ways, And winding paths with their wicket
gates.

sitting

on some grey stone,

;

And overlooking the moorland brown

What
are his thoughts
?

And

planting thick
toils

on the

hills

and

as

he broods
is

braes.

alone

Of

He
where now only heather

through the sunny summer

forests

days.
at

grown,

And
it

shall

the homesteads and mills, be his own.

when Neighbours laugh

Prophesy death

him,

call

him mad.

to his million trees.

Mock
"Yonder
its

at his

schemes, and are almost

seize
in

the mansion shall stand on lawn,

glad

The

hills shall

be covered with larch

Of any mishap that they can To show they were right

auguries.

their

and pine,

;;

Donald Toshach
Till

36s

some day, lo ! the five hundred men Then will he turn and say, " 'Tis time Shoulder their picks, and march away I made a nest for myself at last Back to their Western Isles again I have been changing soU and clime But twenty freeholders come, and they Only for others, but that is past " Pitch their tents, for they mean to stay. Where shall my own lot now be cast ?

They

Yonder a waste and lonely land love not idle folk there to see. But they pay for work with their Of bog and rock by a spreading lake There shall a goodly mansion stand, crowns and groats And they would have people strong And glade and garden he will make. And all the hills into leafage break. and free With kindlier crofts, and warmer cots. And they are many and they have Yet when he looks on his finished home, Garth and forest and mansion too. votes. How shall he spend the days to come. Now there is nothing for him to do ? But steeped in pride from the toe to Ah, he must find out something new.
:

the crown. Steeped in debt too up to the lip. Fair is the house beside the lake. The neighbours askance at them look And it rings with the voices of child and frown, and guest And try to hold on with a firmer grip. But there his pleasure he cannot take, Lest from their hands the County slip. It is no pleasure for him to rest ;

But not for that does he toil and scheme What cares he for their party wars. Could he but rouse them from their dream To care for the people, and heal their
scars,

Making
Sell
it

new world

still is

best.

off for a
will

There

rocky isle he fashion a busy

life

Bleak as the land is, it shall smile For ragged children and drudging wife. For there the wealth of the sea is rife.

And grow what

Nature not debars

is

Oats will not But the grass

sweet.

ripen,

and barley
is

fails.

in the glens

green and

But what they want

a solitude,

A land that hath no neighbour folk.

Nor any work
for the

And And

the

Lochs

shall

gleam with the

common

good,

fishers' sails.

Where may
*_'

But only a desert of bog and rock. the antlered stag and his hinds
flock.

the coves shall smile with houses the

flocks
bleat.

neat,

While
gilliedom
are

in

the

glen shall

browse and

For deer and

curse,"

our

Rocky

Isle in the western sea,

So he vows in his stormy way, " Making the lazy clansman worse,

Rouse thee on every cape and bay

Now
ten

listless

slumber

is

As he lives on the thriftless Saxon's pay But

With
two months months play."
work, and

curing and coopering

not for thee. all the day,

And

launching of boats on the ocean

spray.

!;

; ;

366

North Country Folk

for a

hundred such as he And in the sunny coves brown flocks me he will be ruined soon Of wistful seals are lying Pity and yet his work will be The waves are breaking low, Stirring and brisk as a merry tune, Hardly their foam you trace ; E'en should he wane like a waning All hushed and still, as if they know This is a sacred place. moon.

Oh

They
!

tell

Industry has

And

its martyrs too, one might die in a worser cause Yet do I hope he will live to view people living by wholesome laws.

The
;

diving guillemot

Is preening his

dappled feather

The Red

great merganser
in this

shows

his throat.

And
For

thriving

homes where the

sea-

And
Are
That

summer weather bathed in a tremulous light

spell

gull was.

minster, cross, and grave.

his

brain

is

shrewd,

and

his

As

schemes have thriven, schemes never throve on these

before

call up the past with a might, To tell of the meek and brave.

of

hills

And why
ing of

should he miss of the blesswits and his skill are

are fain

Heaven,

No fitter day than this To look on thy mystic beauty. And brood on memories of the
Of faith and love and duty, Of the hours of quiet prayer, Of the days of patient toil. Of the love that always and
where,

bliss

Now

that his

more ? Oh, your prophets of

to prate

evil

every-

If you scratch but the moss from their

altar stones ; Burned like a holy oil. But what do they know of the Gods and Fate, lone green Isle of the West, More than old wives from their aching So oft by the mist enshrouded, bones ? 1 have seen thee to-day in thy quiet

best.

lONA
Lone green
Isle

Not

noisily

mobbed, and crowded

calm

of the West,
their

Seen thee Seen thee

coracle

in flooding light.
in perfect

Where
Could

the
see

monks,

Yet am I sad

as at the sight

steering,

Of mummy
no more, o'er the wave's

that

men embalm.

white

crest.
;

Isle of the past

Their own loved home in Erin Shrouded often in mist. And buried in cloud and rain Yet once by the light of a glory Which nothing can dim again
!

The

life

and gone. from thee has departed

!

Thy And
kissed,

best

is now but a carven stone,-^ memory lonely-hearted

Yet thou wert a power erewhile. O'er the great world's mind and heart But where now the priests of the Holy
Isle

The

O'er tangled and shell-paved rocks white sea-gulls are flying 5

And

the skill of

its

graceful

Art

367

The Cry of

the

Maiden Shareholders
Nor the Art
plaintive song,

Cunning the hand that wrought Your traceried tombs and crosses,

and the mystic

And

silvern

brooches, that

yet

are

Nursed

in the

rushy glens.

brought From depths of the black peat mosses And theirs was a holy work

Who
And

carried the gospel pure

letters

and work and the homely

ills

THE CRY OF THE MAIDEN SHAREHOLDERS!

Pity
us,

kirk,

God

there are five of us here,

Our' heathen

to cure.

With

threescore years on the youngest

in

sorrow and fear is dead That drove the saints, with the sacred Day and night sitting, we've not laid Word, a head From the peaceful ways they trod in ? Down on a pillow this week and more ; Was it the Saxon's sway. Trembling has seized on us, shrinking Brutal and selfish and strong, and dread. That swept the beautiful Art away, To hear the bell ring, or be seen at And stifled the Celtic song ? the door.
the ships of

Was And

head.
it

the Norseman's sword,

Thor and Odin

Five of us waiting
for our

Well

widowed one she

Pity us, pity,

Only

this

do we know,
!

O God

The

And

Celt brought light to the Teuton, Pity us, God when our father died. ever the knowledge of God did His mind was at ease, for he left us

grow
In the land he set his foot on ; But as they throve he pined. But as they smiled he sighed. But as they grew he surely dwined.

"

shares,"

And

a roof o'er our head too

and
life's

by side, Happy and loving, we faced

side
cares.

And

in their life

he died.
!

Then we were young,

and old.

but

now

feeble

O
By

passion of holy love

sacrificial people.

And we
!

never wronged any as far as

lift men's thoughts above and cross and steeple Through stormy seas ye passed. And moor and marsh and fen,

Dying

to

altar

to do right with our and gold. And the poor had their portion, the Church had its due.
silver

we knew. And we tried

To

be

left

As weak
They

behind in the march exhausted men

!

at last

Pity us, pity,

O God

say ye shall rise again

a larger

On

the level

With

Western prairie. life and a keener

brain.

Like eagle out of his eyrie Btt not the mind and the heart That grew by the Lochs and Bens,

I These Verses appeared in The Scotsman newspaper at the time of the failure of And now I the City of Glasgow Bank. reprint them, chiefly because I wish to make grateful acknowledgments to the unknown friends whose generosity enabled me greatly to help those poor ladies till their affairs were finally settled.

368

North Country Folk

God
!

Pity us,

we would work
stitch

if

And

the bankrupt soul has a darker

we

could.

But suppler fingers must

and hem

way Than the way of

has been.

the honest poor ever

And who would

of food.

give us our morsel

all

Pity
span and knitted
?

us, pity,

O God

Though we
for

day

them

We

never

knew work,

but to keep

ourselves neat.

IN
knew want,
but our

And we
And

never

MEMORIAM DR. JOHN BROWN

wants are small. there's bread in the house yet if O SWEET and pure and tender heart. we could eat. With the child's gift to pray and play, But the sickness of sorrow is mixed Thou, artless in thy perfect art. with it all. Could' St blissfiil tears to us impart. Pity us, pity, O God And smile the blissful tears away.
!

Pity

All

God must our little things go ? even our mother's things, cherished with care ?

us,

Most human thou of humankind.

Must we

leave the old house

the one
surely

house that
not there
?

we know I

But not for the poorhouse

We were the better for the mirth. Could they not wait a while ? we We were the better for the tears, will not keep them long We were the better seeing worth. We would live on so little too, cheer- In the dumb creatures of the earth. ful and brave Their loves, their efforts, and their But to leave the old house where old fears. memories throng For the poorhouse, oh rather the Not all could comprehend thy mirth.

Oh,

What wealth of love accrued to thee To thee dumb creatures looked to find The meanings which their wistful mind Was groping for, and could not see.
!

peace of the grave, Pity us, pity,

O God
for

Thy
!

dainty

humour playing round

;

All things that be

earth

yet heaven and

Pity us,

God

as

those

who Thine awe and wonder still called forth.

For
all

have wrought

to thee

was holy ground.

This
it

wide and deep. Oh, how could they do it, and know
terrible ruin so

We are
The
prove.

so

little

God

requires.

not

greatness

How

of His

thoughts

to

could they
?

know

it,

and think
us,

or sleep

But we would
this day.

not,

one of

change,

Some Some Some

altars

burning with strange fires. songs not meant for sacred

that

choirs.

Our

lot for theirs, for

our hands are

souls

shun

the

common

clean

groove.

;;

In

Memoriam

Dr.
And And

John Brown

369

And thou thy smile was like a prayer, That cloud is past of fear and doubt Thy humour like a psalm of praise But ah this other cloud that lies
;
!

They mingled Where hearts

and care

with the holiest there

breathe out their grief

With hush of silence

all

about.

opens to let no man out, hides thee from our

wistful

To Him

that

Ancient

is

of Days.

eyes

Yet oftentimes

that smile

was seen

We

Kindling the near edge of a cloud That gathered o'er thy soul serene, And haunted thee with anguish keen,

Vain

No And

at it with brimming tears ; our yearning looks and fond smile upon its edge appears

gaze
all

yet the faith

is
is

wise that hears

light beyond.

And

bitter

wailing low or loud.

A voice say,

All

24

; ;

KILDROSTAN
ACT
Poor
fishers

SCENE

I.

Chorus.
on the wild west shore

And shores where fickle waters toss, And birch-and-hazel-fring^d rills, And foaming cataracts like snow
That
in the gorges leap

and run,

Where

slow mists trail along the hills, That gleam like waters in the sun. from the mist comes evermore And gorgeous sunsets that enfold The sound of rushing brooks and rills, The mountains with a purple robe. Are plodding, grave, with lingering feet. And dash the crimson and the gold About the high hot noon of day. about the globe

And

rocks, ice-polished long ago.

And

In billowy spray the place of wayside cairns Of resting for the biers of death 'Neath crags and hills the long loch And tokens of a fading race. And relics of forgotten faith winds Through rocky isles where sea-birds Legend and rhyme and mystic rite.

Along the circle of the street That straggles round the circling

bay.

A land

flock;

The
slopes the grey birch finds

Along the

Stealthily

worship of a God unknown. done at dead of night

Frail footing on the slaty rock

By

every ledge there grows a pine With roots that cling as the branches toss,

On

Oh marvel
For

sacred well or standing stone. not they love the land

in its desolation

Who watch its changeful hills and skies,

grand
lies.

And
Are

the oaks along the low sea-line

greenly feathered with fern and

cliffs

moss.

Behind the

are mountains steep

A charm of 'wildering beauty A meagre they have, and

life

still

Not stiller almost is the grave Those villagers beneath the hill And But the peaks are ragged and jagged That looks down on the long sea-wave Rude are the huts of stone and turf and barred Cloud-capped often their stormy tops. That straggle round the circling street, While ridge and corrie and crag are The thatched roofs soaked with rain
scored and scarred, up their gullies the adders creep,
bare,

By foaming torrents

or surf.

Or

a girdle of mist will ring the slopes. the

air.

While

heights

rise

clear in

the

And blackened with the smoking peat. No ploughshare tears the scanty soil.
Enough for them are spade and hoe 'Tis on the waters that they toil, And in the seas their harvests grow.

upper

A desolate land of fern and moss,

Of brackened
braes and craggy
hills,

Kildrostan

371

The moors are for the hare and grouse, First Fisherivomart. He wass a The corries for the antlered stag, good man, and a faithful minister. He But shaggy big-horned cattle browse wass not a dumb dog that will be

On

the fringe
flag.

of bracken and

and

rush gnawing the bones, and will not bark when he should.
that,

And now and And now

then comes like a dream

A white-sailed yacht into the bay.

;

and then a snort of steam Sounds from the headland far away But never shows the world' s proud strife. passing my shop door without getting pickles of snuff for the old men, and Its strain of power, and rush of thought

Mrs. Slit. Och yes he wass all though he might not preach like Black Rory of Skye, or big John of Strathnaver. But he would not be
!

Time

counts for nothing in their

life,

sweeties too for the bairns.

Yes, yes

But comes andgoes, and changes nought. it will not be the same shop now that Yet men have grown there, true and he does not come here any more. Second Fisherwoman But what iss brave. Bronzed with weather, and horny this, Mrs. Slit ; Miss Ina will not be
for burying him in the kirkyard, but in of hand. wrestled with the problems grave Isle-Monach, where my Donald would be seeing ghosts at Yule and Pasch. That at the porch of Wisdom stand Mrs. Slit. It iss your Donald that And you shall find in low, thatched cot. Round - angled, and with smoke would be having the whisky, then. For they are quiet men, the monks, when begrimed. they are living, and they will not be Love that can sweeten every lot. And Faith that hath all fates sublimed. frisky now that they are in their graves. But they are in But why are the long-oared boats afloat ? Second Fisherwoman. tolls the bell from the steepled Purgatory, whatever ; and our minister had no faith in Purgatory, or organs or kirk? saints or good works. would It is not the hour to launch the boat, And it is not the Sabbath of rest from she be for burying him among them ? Iss it Papist she will be turning ? work And why are the children sad and grave. First Fisher-woman. Or Pagan, Mrs. With no ripple of mirth by the rippling Slit? For our May wass saying she

Who

Why

Why

wave?

would read more about heathen gods

And

Moses ; and May wass maid in the While the women gather in groups manse till Candlemas last. Mrs. Slit. May will not know what and talk ? young ladies have to know. And Scene Village Street of Kinloch-Thorar. which iss more, she might do better

whither men walk.

away do

the

strong and goddesses than about

Abraham

or

Group of JVomen at the Post QJice Door.

First Fisherwoman.
this
iss

Ochone
Loch

a sad day on
Slit.

Mrs.

Slit.

Mrs.

You

than to be talking about her betters. As for Purgatory, it iss not any more, Thorar, since the laird's great grandfather forbade it, or it will only be for the poor
!

but

may

say

that,

cottars at

Glen Chroan.
it,

And whether
sure.

Glen Shelloch and Glen Turret, which iss more.

'Lizbeth, and in

too,

or no, our minister's daughter will have

nothing to do with

you may be

Kildrostan
Second Fisheriuoman.
not a
fisher.
Slit.

372

Miss Ina never wass just But her heart iss good, whatever, yes and which iss more, it iss soft and warm as a lintie's nest, and sweeter as the bog-myrtle. Third Fisheriuoman. Och yes it will be warm and sweet, but not good, Mrs. Slit. None of our hearts iss good, as he would often say, who will never say it any more. But many a time, when the lads wass out fishing, it iss Miss Ina that would hail them from her bit boatie, and she would have the kind word for each of them ; yes and she would call at our doors too on her way home, and tell us about Dugald or Donald or Alisthair and the herit iss

But

true

But

he

iss

like other maids.

Mrs.
your

He

will fish

more than

Donald, whatever: for when Donald iss in the humour, the loch iss never in trim ; and when the loch iss in the humour, he hass no inclination.
it iss not for you, woman, to be speaking of the laird and a shroud in one breath, and him a brave young

But

gentleman, and which iss more, just growing the beautiful beard too. Yes But why will First Fisheriuoman.

iss

she

be for

burying
there

him among
a
?

the

monks,

when
Slit.

Christian

kirkyard at her door, Mrs. Slit

Mrs.

-Who hass a

better right

rings.

Och

yes

heart, whatever,

and

one

this day.

For he comes of the old she hass the kind to lie there ? it will be a sorry stock that built the Abbey Kirk ; and all their graves are there, and there iss

First Fisheriuoman.

Yes
;

she hass nobody else but chiefs and

if

monks and

she ministers and superior persons, which would have the making of the law, it iss proper. There has not been a would be the better for us, though it burial there since old Sir Kenneth's,
the kind heart. Miss Ina

and

true she iss for making the men the day of the great storm, when half carry the peats, and wade out to the our boats wass wrecked, and the poor boats too, which it would be a shame lads were bobbing about the loch, like
iss

for

women

to see.

Second Fisheriuoman. But boat will she be having, now ? iss a rhyme I heard long ago

pellocks in a gale of wind.

Third Fisheriuoman. Ochone whose For it and it is myself will mind it, if
spared to
that wass to be married just the
after, drifted

yes
I

am

my dying day. My Alisthair,

week
ashore

Coffined corpse in fisher's boat Make ready a shroud when it's next afloat.

among

the tangles

before his Mysie's door, and she will ye were in never be herself again since that fery your shroud, woman, to speak of such hour. And it wass Miss Ina that a thing Do you know that it iss Sir would have the bodies carried to the Diarmid himself that will bring his gig, kirk, and the funeral there ; for they and his gillies, and his piper too, all will preach to us, said she, better than in the brave tartan, with plaid and the minister, or an angel from heaven. sporran, as if the minister would be a First Fisheriuoman. Sure, and she chief, for he was not more than third wass right there, for there would not cousin to the laird's grandfather. And be a profane swearer or a Sabbathit iss the chief that you would be sing- breaker in the parish for six months ing your carline rhymes about, and after, though the whisky wass wanted making a shroud for him too for the sore heart sometimes, maybe.

Mrs.

Slit.

The

de'il an

Kildrostan
Mrs. Slit, Yes it wass a great sermon, the lads lying in a row, and
!

373
the sun flashes,

Where

and

now

in

the shade

just the

and which
with us

day before they had talked to us, iss more, they had laughed

The

birch-feathered

rocks
;

and the

great hills have

made

; and now they looked at us, Slowly and silently onward they pass and would not know us any more. Over the calm spaces shining like glass. Och yes it wass a great sermon, and While the wild wailing strains of the coronach swell. it wass God himself that preached it. But there, now ; they are leaving the And fall with the breeze and the slow!

manse.

It iss our

own

lads that will

its

tolling bell.
is

be carrying the coffin, with

white Long, low and dark

the

first

of

and Sir the train. and ferns. Och Diarmid and Miss Ina make the hand- With six bending oars keeping time to the strain some pair, like the brown pine and the bonnie birch tree. She iss liker him In it a coffin, and by it a maiden moaning sea moans than that Doris, with her mouth that Who to the sorrow-laden, is always smiling, and her eyes that never do. As they drop down to the dim abbey First Fisherwoman. But they will be pile saying he must marry Doris, whatever. Lying half-hid in a cleft of the isle, Mrs. Slit. Maybe yes, maybe no. Ruined and roofless, 'mid tangle of trees It iss not every fish you hook that comes to the creel ; and the stag iss That dip their low boughs in the wave,
wreaths
!

not on the spit because Donald has but the breeze loaded his gun. And that will be her Rustles their higher leaves over a tower uncle, the Doctor, that wass the ne'er- Green with massed ivy, and crown'd with wall-flower. do-well, and nearly broke his brother's

and which is more, emptied his There, with his forefathers, peaceful to sleep But he iss come home too. now, they say, as rich as the English By the white surf of the unresting lord at Loch Eylert. deep. Sure they will rest the coffin somewhere for his cairn, Where once the Culdee monk toiled, and for the drop whisky there. And prayed, and died. now Eachan Macrimmon is playing a Where once the galleys oared out in coronach as it were for a chief: their pride. "Peace to his soul, and a stone to his Where still the clansmen their high
heart,

purse

cairn."

chiefs bewail, Silent

they laid the

Chorus.
Slowly the muffled oars dip in the tide. Slowly the silent boats shadow-like
glide

good

priest

of

the Gael.

cross was reared above his head. requiem was sung or said. Past the grey, steepled kirk, past the hope was spoken of the just In glory rising from the dust low manse. Now in the ripples that glimmer and In silent awe they did their part, Yet the good hope was in every heart. glance

No No No

Kildrostan

;;

374

ACT

SCENE
Chorus.

To
II.

end where you began, only more

hopeless.

puzzled.

Weary and

What

can he

little

And
And

wiry man, with grizzled hair, withered face that wrinkled was
clear,

have done With it, I wonder.

Ina.

and bare,
keen eyes that had no look
of care,
Sat with a maid

Uncle, what

is

wrong

Dr. Lome. Oh, nothing's wrong of

only I
course.
It's

All robed

in black, herself a lily white.

Beautiful as the

moon

in starless

night

Whose
light,

silent

depths alternate wondrous

mystic shade.

Am

growing old and stupid, I'm puzzled, that is all.

Ina.

I suppose.

And

Blunt in his speech, a careless nature his, wanderer driven by restless impulses.
years

But what about

And
And

had not
loss

yet

toned his

And can I help you ? Yet if it is dark To you, I fear that my poor head
to-day

heedlessness,

Nor
reveres,

nor gain

Can

bring but

little light.

nothing awed him that the world

Dr. Lome.
Oh, never mind
I should not speak of
it
:

Yet was he awed before a maiden's

tears,

it

does not

And

stumbled
fears

in his talk,

with doubts

matter

and

Not

in the least.

Of giving

pain.

Ina.

He would be gentle, if he but knew how. And helpful, if his gold could help
her now. But wist not of the deeper Patient and meek
life,

What

matters anything.
? ^

In this blank desolation

Dr. Lome.
I trow, I shan't

And
And

woman's ways had long been

eyes,

know what
;

Don't now, Ina to do if you break

strange to him.

down

unused

to

weeping,

now

grew dim
Seeing her eyes
in shining

waters swim.

people die, but still the world goes on, And those who live must eat, and pay
their bills.

And

And
Scene

tear-stained cheek.

And

think of things.
Ina.

The Mame Parlour.

searching books

Ina and Dr.

LORNE

and papers.

Dr. Lome.

Ay
To come

that's the pity of

it

straight

from the shadows

This clean bewilders'me: it is like being and the lights. Lost in a mist, and wandering round The awe and mystery and sacred
and round,

: ;

Kildrostan
About the grave, to life's commonplace Not yet, at least, I cannot do it

375

poor
yet.

Dr. Lome.

No more
Of
Or
to

did he.

Of course, you don't You never heard

Dr. Lome,
Well, no drop
;

him speak

but then I've seen so

many

mines, I daresay
silver in

copper mines
how
;

in

Spain,

Comrades and friends carry on

and
:

Peru, and
?

had

Fine dividends
did.

No, no

they paid you never

The

battle,

or

be

beaten

one has

Yet parsons burn

times there.

their fingers

some-

hardly

Time here

for feelings.

Ina.

Ina.

one come to that ? I have known papers come to him, Were it not better not to be than live which he To find no time for what is best in us. Flung in the fire, saying that it What purifies and elevates and makes was well larger world than our small round He had no gold to gamble with.

May

of tasks

Ah me

a dreary outlook.

Dr. Lome.
Quite right

Dr. Lome.

Not
But for
it

at all

One

this business,

now, no doubt

needs to with these

know

the

game

to play

will

Be cleared up some day.

Ina.

What
Oh,
nothing.
business.

is

there to clear

Well ; no doubt, he never printed learned Book now one that would not sell. Was never meant to sell, but just to be splendid monument of erudition,
Sharp fellows.

A A

Dr. Lome.

With
not

costly illustrations, setting forth

lost in their descendants,

You

must

be Highland antiquities, and early arts

troubled yet

Now
But your
father

which

With

now,
or

he sent

he never

Went in for iron " rings " " corners," did he, Ina ?
no sharp him over, And blew him

And

the letters of the alphabet, voted him their thanks ? He might have done it fellows ever talked But no, he didn't ? I'm at my wit's end now. up with hopes of And after all, he could not drop
all

To

Who

boundless wealth.

that
collapsed,

way

Which by and by
him broken
?

and

left

More

than a thousand or so.

Ina.
I

Ina.

do not understand.

What do you mean


376

Kildrostan
Dr. Lome.

Oh, nothing
stupid,

never mind

I'm only

Let's talk of something rich enough.

else.

Since he and I were boys, and went to school Well ; I must see the Chief, of course, and thank him We're It is worth thanks, although that
don't
strutting piper

There

dry your
to

eyes.

suppose you could

Smile on me now vexed you.

Indeed you have wish

say I have not

Looked like as mad

a turkey-cock, and jelled

As
not, uncle
;

e'er

wild

cat.

After that

Ina.

we'll go

but I

Off

to

Glen Chroan, and

have

my

house

shall

That

I could clear
it

up your perplexity,

At

Whate'er

be.

Dr. Lome.

Was

matter. By the way. not the Chief most kind to do him honour.

No

last its mistress. Never wind blew yet But it brought luck to some one, though 'tis sad My house is filled by emptying of his.

Ina.

Bearing him to his grave with kilted

men

And

pipers,

though I hate both

Ina.

kilts

good uncle. But indeed I have not thought yet what I ought
to do.
It

You

are most kind,

and

pipes.

seems
for

as

if

I'

could

not think,

Indeed, he is a noble gentleman. And held my father high in his esteem.

when

I try to knit

He

was

his pupil

once

My

my mind to any end. head goes swimming round, and

blank.

all is

Dr. Lome.

Dr. Lome.
learnt
!

Oh, and you

Lessons together and Hebrew ?
?

Yes, yes I understand. Latin and Greek no hurry,

But
either.

there's

'Twas

all

the old chap knew.

Ina.
;

Nor need of may leave

All that
rooms.
to

thinking

You

me.

You

shall

have pretty

There you are wrong, sir And nestle like Oh, he knew many things, and taught In a blush rose. me much
I

a dainty lady-bird

now remember
it

only to regret
better.

Ina.

I did not learn

That never was

my

dream

Of life
Dr. Lome.
That's the

way

I'd prove a restless lady-bird. I have my work to do. Death sets one thinking
;

With me

too.

What

a deal I have

What

to

make of
it.

one's

life

how

best

forgotten

to use

Kildrostan
Dr. Lome. Oh, your mothers'
schools,

377
wipe that leaves them

A
meetings,
folk's

hasty

as

Work

Sunday
ways

they were Ere a week's over.

Ina.

Sick-visitings,

and mending poor

I wish they'd take a turn at

mending
is

And

can you do nothing

ours

We
As

need

it.

Well

our clachan

Dr. Lornt.

as like

A Sontal village in the jungle lands

one muck-heap
is

Me, Ina

It

is

hardly in

my

line

To

cast out devils.

They'd

turn and

like another

preach at me.
I give the priest his dinner,

filled

and the

With lazy hulking men, women

hard-featured

children

Pennies to wash their faces.

Ina.

Who
Work

slave for them,

and ragged dirty

children

Brimful of mischief and original

enough there
Ina,

to

Ah, poor keep your hands With none to care for them.
sin.

folk,

full,

And

see

no end to

it.

Dr. Lome.
But now you're coming Home with me, and they'll maybe do for you What is like sowing corn upon the rocks Among the whelks and limpets, when
I try
it.

Ina.

That's very bad,

Have they no

minister

Dr. Lome. You women, now.

'

Ina, I can't say pretty things to you

Think that a minister is everything, I've not a bit of sentiment in me. That if you plant a parson on a moor. And never had I take my stand He'll make an Eden of it, just by on facts. dropping And do not blow my feelings into His texts and preachments to the right bubbles
:

and left To see them break, and break my Well, yes, there is a minister, but he heart for them. Is twenty miles away, and might as well But see, my house is nothing but Be twenty thousand. They are mostly a house, there Till you shall make a home of it Of the old Roman way. a nook

Where
Ina.

the old

dog may
his age.

curl

up

in

the sun,
?

But there

will be a priest then

And

sleep

away

Dr. Lome.
Ay, he comes now
their souls

Ina.

and then, and gives

The wealth

But I have neither nor will to lead an idle life.


378

Kildrostan

Dr. Lome. Whined at his door, I wager, but he fingered Well, there is ample work in our Some of his coppers. He was never wild Clachan wise. Souls to be saved, and bodies to be healed. Ina. And dirt enough to cleanse. And as Yet goodness has a wisdom of its own, for wealth, And oft sees deeper than a shrewder wit. We'll ruffle it with the best, if that And since I saw him lying cold will please you. and dead, The idea of his life, which my Ina. poor breath That is not what I mean. High- Had sometimes clouded, seems to land maidens come out clear. Like independence, uncle. And pure, and shining with a saintly

We

Dr. Lome. Oh, you'd

trifle

beauty.
rather

Dr. Lome.

of your own than hang on me ? Yes, yes, a saint ; but saints, you know, are not And so you should have had, and that For earth, but heaven. I pray you, is just

What

puzzles me.

Your

father

made

do not

set

a will.

The
to will

pretty

fountains

of

these

eyes

Only there was not anything Except a squash of sermons.

a-playing.

Or you
at sea

shall quite

unman me.

I'm

About that will of his that you should be could he Have aught to leave, with only this Left penniless, and even more, that I Should somehow have been cheated. poor parish ? Did you never You know his hand was open.

How

Hear of my being dead

Dr. Lome.
If his head Ina. been but half as open to ideas Yes, years ago, and oh, But that was always shut, and his He mourned for you.

in India

Had

how

bitterly

hand never.
Ina.

Dr. Lome.
uncle.

He

was

good man,

And

yet I dare be sworn

Although he feared 'twas in an evil case. Far too good. He might have risked the heresy upon There should have been a world made The chance of giving me alift somehow.
just for

Dr. Lome.

He never said a prayer for ray poor soul.

him,
rogues

No
grew,
for

matter.

Was
?

there nothing

Where no
idle

came

never

to

him
India then

tramp

From

3l9

Kildrostan

Ina.

Of your
but

No, nothing

Of

yours

they

some debts

done

were not much

us for a while.

he

To

good name, and would have more know that you were living.
far

had

to pay,

Which pinched

Dr. Lome.
But
it

looks
to get

Dr. Lome.

The
Some
debts
rial else

devil

it

of mine, and no
brother
!

As if I had shammed my bills did and memo- Settled for me

!

death
that

is

bad.

Moreover,
'Tis plain I have overreached.

Of his dead

been tricked and

Ina.

And that I

But you were not dead.

Dr. Lome.
True ; but you see I was the prodigal O' the family, and had eaten my
swine's husks
;

can't abide, and never could. They'll need their wits who play that game with me. I daresay now you did without a frock, Until those debts were paid, and turned

Old

and trimmed hats with faded ribbons.

poor Ina,
shall

My

And

though I did not pine for fatted

old fellow,

calves,

I thought of him,

You
the

be dressed

the handsomer
lass,

for that,

elder brother.

There's plenty for us both,

at

Who

was not a curmudgeon.

At

that will have ghosts convenience to be dead, betimes Or to be thought so for a while at least, If you come not to lay them, and I'll tell you more some day. Old a waste uncles, Ina, Of meat and drink for lack of Are mostly useful when they're dead house-keeping. and I, 'Tis somewhat lonely too ; old faces flit Living, had been a sorrow to my folk, About i' the gloaming, that I'd vagabond that had no touch of grace. rather not And now, it seems, my dying did Be seeing there ; and if you do not no better. come, Well ; I must see to this ; there's I'll sell it, and be off again. I'd rather
It suited

that time

Glen Chroan Big empty rooms

my

plainly some Rogue-work to

Squat
ferret out,

by a

jungle

fire,

and

hear

and

I will

the tigers

do
to

it.
!

Growl in the nullah than

sit

there alone,

No money
pay

and even debts of mine With gnawing mice and memories.

Ina. Ina.
;

Nay, do not think of them

but
trifles.

they were

No, Uncle,

And

cheerfully

he

paid

them

the honour

not go off wandering again, for Although a life of indolence and ease Fits not my humour.

You must

Kildrostan

! !

38o

Is just a

Dr. Lome, Busy woman's work.

Ina.

idleness

Fain to put from her aught that yet might quicken Her hope again.

Sweet scents

are

wafted

from

the

Nay,
Chorus.

hope

not.
\Exeunt.

clover blossom. Sweet songs are ringing from the earth

Did

she speak wholly

?

Truth

Was

it

solely

and sky. Sweet lights are lingering on the Loch's calm bosom. Far off and nigh
;

Work

that she
life

Ah

wanted ? was tame there,

there.
shall

The

swifts

and swallows, from the

in

Change never came

blame her If she was haunted With the young craving For doing and braving
In the world's battle. weary of mountains. Lakes, woods, and fountains, And slow sleepy cattle ?

And who

roofs and gables. Twitter their gossip

the
o'er

eventheir

ing light;

And

the brooks, rippling

glossy pebbles.

Croon out of sight

Flaming through curtain-clouds, the
sun
is

And

shining.

In

But why should she

There,
if this

gold and and shore ;

crimson

wrapping sea
sits refining

linger

While she

hunger
?

Gnawed

a subtle sorrow In her heart's core.

!

so within her

Was

there another.

O O
her
?

More than a brother, Hoping to win her ? Ah, who shall blame

empty home chamber

vacant
half-read

O
and

dim and dismal

book he
left

chair,

Life was so tame there Until he came there.

O all the tender past, she can remember.

Seared

now and

dead.

And

ACT
Ay me
!

SCENE
Chorus.

III.

from that dead past points a warning finger Bidding her 'ware of that which she
loves most.

And

on his

silent lips

the words yet

but

Left to remorse Cruel and cold

Death is cruel to the living. dim outlooks, and to vain

is

linger

Love and be
Scene

lost

Death, and unforgiving

The Manse Library.

Ina,

Ina (aloney

The
In
the

silent corse

old

home,

now

still

and

What could it be ? what could he mean ?

sorrow-stricken.

Ah me!
That half-told where all
tale,

She

sits

alone, and passions her sharp

just

broken off

pain,


;
;

Kildrostan

381

The mystery was

Now

left

to

deepest, and the secret mere conjecture All

!

Of such

a presence, if

it

only hovered

Silently in the unresponsive air.

that night

And
me
;

knowing

all,

could give no help

My love
wrong

did comfort

that

was not

at all.

Or

speaking out, could

?

work no

faith

God dropt it in my cup to sweeten it, And I was grateful for it, and I thought
That
it

at all

Better for

him "the

better

mansions"

would comfort him too

said,

so I

he

told him.

So loved "

to speak of,

and not worse

;

But he

No

you must not love

it
;

for

me.
misery
is

him, child
Evil will
told

The
I

the

silence

and the
its

come of you "

should have

silence
Is never broken.

Death can hold

as
it

But when he would have told me, I

could hear

peace,

Let

life
!

Only a whispered "Doris," and some

Ah me

go wailing onward the mystery of it

!

all is

sounds Our little thoughts fly forth like But half-articulate ; and then the awe ing sparks. Of thedread change, the veil impalpable, Hammered from our hot hearts, and Inscrutable, came over him, and he straightway die Carried the secret with him to the grave. In the blank dark. What meant that And I may ask, but can no answer half-told tale. And whispered " Doris " ? have. They talk of spiritual forms that float, Enter MoRAG,
unseen,

may. dark ; gleam-

Around our
about us.

Morag.
lives,

and hands that

feel

Ina, shall I bring

of gloaming Nothing or anything just as we wish. Our thoughts grow eerie, for But these are bubbles which the stream shadows look of thought. Even bigger than themselves. Fretting against its limits and obstruc-

And write on tables messages that mean

The lamp now ?

In the gathering dusk

their

tions.

Ina.,

dark eddies. There's Nay, this is best nought in them. Fittest the sombre light for sombre What though my father haunted this thought old room The glimmer of a day that is no more Where he kept company with other To brood upon the loved that are no spirits. more. Wise in their day, embodied in these No lamp yet, Morag. books Morag. So fondly read ? Yet if he spoke to me
in its

Throws up

I should not

know
:

if it

were he that
I

Ina,

you are wrong

spoke.

Or my own fancy
the better

and what were

To nurse this sad and melancholy mood, To dream all day in settled loneliness. To pass, untasted, dishes from the table.

382

Kildrostan
threads o' chill October

To see no callers coming in all kindness, On gossamer mornings. To sit with folded hands and do To
no work, look with blank fixed gaze
old books,
I

am

an idle and a useless maid

far-off

at these

That heard the

world

rumour of the

Yet reading
right

ne'er a word, nor reading

Beyond
its

these hills, and

hoped

to plant

thoughts God's providence, but hardly judging Among the heather, where they will not grow. Him Morag. Because He does the best for us He can

And that's

not much.

The

very stags There's to be no more school, then, for

the

that sicken

women,
for their

Casting their horns, yet make their profit of them. Eating them up to make their bones the starker, As we should with our troubles.
Ina.

To train them
to keep

housework, and

them

From

bearing burdens

women

should

not bear,

And dragging harrows too, like horses

Ina.

Leave me then

Truly

To

feed upon

my sorrows,
Morag.

and

in truth

They

are hard eating.

They would not heed me, neither men nor women why It was the way their fathers did
;

And

you'll find

it

easier

To

pity yourself than to find out

God's

should they Change the old customs

meaning, Who throws His

letters

down, that we
into

Morag.

may

put
to that,

And
That was
to
?

the

new

stone-pier

This one
words.

and turn them

make

safe harbourage for

the boats
Ina.

Ina.

Waits till the lads are drowned, for Indeed, I am not pitying myself; some would rather But the brisk current of my life is fallen The people went away. They told A-slushing among reeds and rushes.

me
Morag.

girls

What,

Should mind their seams, and

then.
at their scales.

practise

Has come
righting

of

all

your

schemes for Not meddle with men's matters.

fisher

wrong
crofters,

Among
folk
?

the

and the

Morag. But the Chief?

Will he do nothing
?

Ina.

Dreams,

idle

dreams

vain dreams of

fond conceit.

Ina.

As

fruitless as the

dewdrops that are

That

strung

They

say he

is

I do not know not rich, save in a kind

:

Kildrostan

383
be brisk and hopeful.
uncle
?

And
So

generous

heart.

And

oh, the

You would

Are

heart can
little,

do

except

you meaning
wish.

To

live

now with your

Ina.

Morag.

You

give up hope then Ina.

Wherefore not?

Morag.
Loch, on some They
say
there
is

Morag, you've seen the

still

no

Sabbath

in

evening.

his house.

Mirror each stone, and twig, and tuft of fern, Well And orange lichen on the rock, so clear

Ina.
;

we

could bring

it

with

us.

That which was substance, which was only shadow

Morag.
But they
It's like
tell

me

You

scarce could
blur

tell, till

suddenly a
there

a devil's Sabbath, or a Fair

breeze

With
it all,

guzzling, clinking glasses, bark-

Would

and

was

ing dogs.

nothing left But dim confusion.

And
So
it

cursing drovers.
Ina.

is

with

me
me,

now.

Once every thing looked

and truly
I did not well distinguish

plain to

Nay, he

is

not

strict.

As we
what was
fancy,
fact

are

here

but

that

can

hardly be.

And what
now
all

was

only

and

Morag.

Is like those

shadows gone.

My heart

And

no one thinks of

God

but the

misgives me Since he has left me.

Who

black man keeps an idol cross-legged, like

a tailor,
Sitting
it fail

Morag.
But why should
Ina.
I did neglect plain duties here at

upon a cow.
Ina.

you

Mere
But home,
of
truly I

gossip,

Morag

am

not enamoured of

My

uncle's house,
best

and sometimes I and

I

And

therefore

met but

failure out

have thought

doors.

'Twere

if

you

could

And now I have no duties, and no home.

Morag.
Ina,

run away.

And
your heart
sits
is

find

some simple home, and have

a roof

Who
To

down

in

stirring

For Kenneth till his student days low, as one will be are past. a mist instead of Perhaps a woman has no fitter task

keep the blood warm. up and doing

Were you Than

his

just

to

help

man

to

do

work.

384
Morag.
Ina, I have dreaded

Kildrostan

Ina.

you would go You would not have me lay aside To that old heathen, and I could not my grief, do it, Which has its healing virtue, for And yet I could not leave you. But the set
to live

With you and

will haste,

the boy cousin

Kenneth
to

Phrases of cold condolence has called ?

Who

Morag.

And

write

my

look

out

Well

first

there was Miss Doris.

Ina.

for us

A house beside the college.

Ina.

Do
Of
Nay, there
is

not speak
heart
is

Doris.
best,

When

the

at

its

No hurry, Morag

nothing yet

is

clear.

And

all its finer

feelings tremulous
it is

With some emotion

Morag.
Pity that lochs and hills and maids should be So fickle It would be a happier world If they could know their own minds half an hour. But that they never do.
!

bliss to feel.

There

are

some

people

mostly
is

women
in you.

too
the spring of

Who touch
and lo

what

worst

As when you dream

a happy dream,

A hideous face leers on you.

Morag.

Ina.

Enough of me
There
is

no armour but

it

has

its joints,

And

; where the joints are there She's like a wasp whose drone has arrow sticks, little sense. And you who know me best know But its striped tail can sting. But where to seek My weakest points and maybe I then My Lady
:

That you away the

lost

Well much by
;

I say' not sending her

am You me

fickle.

Was

with her.
Ina.

cannot than

think

more poorly

of

1 think myself.

they always are together The more's the pity. Can she have some hold
!

Ay

Morag.
I don't think poorly of you. Although I see your faults.
will

On Lady

Margaret?

I've

marked

Why A
here

you shut
to every caller,
as a seal in

The door As lonely

burn
?

and

sit

of late change in her a kind of frightened look And pleading way, and hesitating

some sea-cave. Or heron dreaming by a moorland

speech.

As if she would, but dared not.

I think

Could

Kildrostan

385

Of

aught but

my own

troubles,

would be care to me.

she Dead-weary of himself, as when he sat There at his table, scratching with
a quill

Morag.

To make
can do.

words do what only deeds

Ina.

Of

But, Ina, you should think other things ; for thinking of

at all

yourself
Is hardly thought
:

and when

your head Gives over puzzling, you will surely be

Just like the larch that,
a-top.

not meet that you should speak, Or I should hear such words. He
;

Hush, Morag

'tis

was
did;

my

father,

when

it

dies

You do

not understand

you

never

Begins

to

die

all

through,
in
Isle -

and we

And

oh, I

am

so lonely.

may dig A new grave

After them,

Monach.

Morag.

We had
ladies

a call too

from the English

You were nearly As lonely while he lived as you are now.

If he had ever, like a father, watched

books you read, what thoughts they bred in you. What hours you kept, what friends Oh, they came to note you had, if any, way, my looks, and specially What schemes were shaping in your my dress, busy head. And to retail the gossip, as they went Or even how you dressed But you Their round among the neighbours.
Ina.

At

Corrie-Eylert.

What

My

Morag,

Let me
Folk's hearts
their habits

tell

you
than
that's

might go With any one, and anywhere, in And he would never notice.
yourself

rags.

And

are

often

better

Have
for

told

me

that

he scarcely heeded

Thejr're

sorry

you,

but

aught
Firstly, except Secondly and Lastly Write, writing, every day and all

not enough. Because you are so sorry for yourself.

Ina.

But

day long.

Moreover, when I said that, 'twas not he Why should you grieve for him, I blamed, for he was good oh, so much better Because he is in heaven, and has Than I and still with conscience no care made his life Of writing sermons now, and is not so

Whom

That's a hard saying, Morag. Can Ina. you think I will not hear you, Morag, this is cruel. My grief is for myself, and not for At such a time. If I was a malapert, him 'Twere fitter to rebuke than second me.
I

have

lost

Morag.

25


386

Kildrostan

A sacrifice to duty, offering up

The
sweetness

and the gladness of

claimed of him.

it all

Which you were fain had been forgot. Come jarring back upon your ear, Come jarring back upon your heart.

To
It

what was

his

office

The The

exigency of mistaken work,

rigour of a
so

And smite it with a keen remorse. When you would shape a better course. And hope to play a nobler part.
There, day by day, his hand would
write

wrong idea planted

itself,

In a true heart that never spared

Made me

speak.

But

yet

spake amiss,

New
now

sermons, but

the

thought was

And

rightly

am

humbled.

old-

Dear father,

Fresh- minting the same brass or gold, you wantonly And careful but to coin it right In petulance of youth. I had no For with unshaken confidence He stood upon the old safe ground. mother. And turned the problem round and Morag,

Pardon me.

that I judged

Scold

me

well, Ina

it

will

do you

round.

good. I thought to rouse, and I have only crushed you. Nay, spare me not, an old conceited
fool!

And

still

brought out the same old

sense.

And hoped
By

the world to overcome

rounding periods ; and she said That it would be by sleep instead Only, you are my bairn. Oh, better that she had been dumb For now it all came back again. Ina. The scratching of the patient quill. There ; go away. The paper that he needs must fill. I daresay you meant well, but there All changed into a choking pain. are sores

May

not be touched but with a skilful hand. Not with rough loving even. You think I pity I hate myself, when I reMyself!

ACT

I. SCENE IV.
Chorus.

All from the many-moulded door member On to the three-cusped window high, The failure of my duty and my love To him and yet the burden of my Every stone on the pavement floor Marks where the chiefs and their sorrow kinsmen lie Is bound on me by what is best in me. And when I part from it my good Dark slabs carved with the great Cross-sword, departs.
:

Therefore I clasp
hearts.

it

to

my

heart of

And And

the

fish,

and the

galley,

with

scrolls all round,

Chorus.

dim-lettered texts from the

Holy

Word;

Ah me
The

but it is hard to hear But all in the damp moss swathed and echo of your own wrong thought bound.
!

Kildrostan

387

A sidewall long had in ruins

fast

lain,

And oh but the carved work mouldered

What
frosts,
ails

You
you, Kenneth
?

are sad

'Neath the suns, and the

the driving rain.

and
Kenneth.

And the tread of time, as it hastens past, Oh, these thoughts will come And the seeds of life, and the wrath When nothing ails you, as the clouds
Casting

do when which is fair to see. The sun is brightest. Some day to grieve that he never can stay long ? Bring back the glory that wont to be. Ina.

of man

down

that

You

will not

There

at

the head of the late filled

No

but an hour

is

not too long to

grave

Sadly a youth and a maiden stood, And only the lap of the rippling wave Broke on the hush of their solitude ; Beautiful she, but as marble white. And looked like a monument planted
there.

mourn For a dead Father.

Kenneth.

Yet

it

may

be. Miss,

Too

long to be alone here.

For

these

isles

Till a broad

beam of the

garish light
hair.

Are hollowed by
you
sit

sea-caves, and

when

Smote with a glory her golden

Scene

Musing
rushing

alone,

and hear the water

it

IsU-Manach.
Ina.

Ina and Kenneth.

Around
Thanks, Kenneth.
be alone.

you, and beneath,

I

makes

Now,

your breath I want to Come quick with fancies.

had once
isle,

Come back

for

me

an hour hence.

a cousin Passed but a night on such an

Nigh lost his wits ere morning, for he Yes, Miss Ina thought It is good to be here ; yes, for there That every streak of mist, and gleam are of moonshine Good thoughts among the graves, and Pointed and mowed and mocked and in the Islands laughed at him. Better than in the towns. So weird-like was the feeling of the
Ina.
place.
?

Kenneth.

and he

What
Well

kind of thoughts

Ina.

Oh, nonsense, Kenneth.

Kenneth.
superstitious
; dreams of peace, and memories Like all the rest too? of gladness

Are you

and
you a

you a scholar
poet, born

And
To

dreams
on

and

memories are

all

But I am not

like

we have
live
in the

To
Highlands.

see the unseen, and feel a pulse

life

of


388

Kildrostan

Beating in brooks and rocks and sandy

shores.

We judge a stranger
ways,
right.

by our home-bred
rule of

You

lost

a friend in

him who now Who, maybe, walks by other

I

sleeps here.

blame myself at times.

Kenneth.

Kenneth.
I lost ray hope in
life.

And
Ina.

so did I,

Miss Ina, when

so
:

heard that she had

I said like you.

Nay, say not

taken
to be

We've
hills

not so the

many here among our Mairi

gift

with her.

Perhaps
rare

'tis

we

that have not under-

With

of genius, and
things beautiful,

the love

And
and of
all

stood her. she has ta'en

my

little

maid

to

Of letters,
for lack

make

That we should

let

them pine away

I

A
Its

lady of her, as you take a wildflower,

plant
it in a garden to enrich and beauty. So I went

Of needful

culture.

am

very sure

uncle will do as my father did. And send you still to College.

is

My

And

life

How

to

thank her.
Ina.

Mairi

Kenneth.

And

found your Mairi

still

your pretty

Mairi

And

gone to Doris Cattanach, lost to me.

is

wild-flower.

Only with

brighter hues.

Ina.

Kenneth.

Ah
You

that explains your

gloom

I found her not

have fallen out, and hence your thoughts are sad. But how should she be lost to you
because She's with her cousin
?

At all. She is too grand to now And Doris only mocked me.
Ina.

see

me

Nay,
Kenneth.

in that

You surely are mistaken.

Kenneth.

She's a lady.

With

Can a maiden be Doris, and remain what I have

?

dreamed

And
footsteps tread Shall

am

but a fisher lad.

But you

Can the thaw come, and

the snow.

judge yourself. little song

trifle

There was a

And

broad wheels grind

it

it

down, and

like the shilfa's short bright

leave

stUl

note

As when

the white flakes trembled

?

Which
sing.

had writ
it,

for Mairi once to

down from heaven

Ina.

And
in

loved
it.

for

my

very soul washouse

Kenneth, I fear that we are hard on Mairi had sung

Doris,
there.

it

in the great

Kildfostan

389

And Doris made a comic rhyme of it, These fishers' homes, which you do And said it over to me ^very clever, know so well. And funny, but there was no heart in it Dear to the world by your recital of Yet it was like my own oh, very like The patience and the pathos of

Only the

soul

was gone.
Ina.

their lives.

Ah that was cruel But Mairi did not know of it, be sure.
!

The tragedies enacted on the sea. And hunger of the body and soul alike Where bread and books are scarce.
Kenneth.

Kenneth,

Do

you think so

That
?

I will,

Miss

But you, we looked

to

you

to help us

Ina.

Nay,
She
is

am

Ina.
certain of
it.

a girl

whom

Nay,

neither wealth,
truth.

That

is all

past

and gone.

nor arts

Will turn from the bent of

Kenneth.

Kenneth.

Why
for that.

is it

gone

Thank you
Ina.

Ina.

This
trust in her.

is

a man's
;

work

have been

a failure

Let nothing shake your

Be

And made
I loved,

his last days lonely

whom

sure
its

Suspicion murders love, and from

And

death

Come

My
Kenneth.
I will remember.

way of

did no good to any one, and now life must needs be far
isles.

anguish and remorse.

Grey

from these rocks and lochs and

Ah

Mnter Sir Diarmid.

Ina.

Sir Diarm'td.

And, Kenneth, when you make yourself

a name.

As
Are

am

songs
brooks,

How now, Kenneth ? thought you never left your books, except sure you wLU do, for your To trim the boat, and set the lines.
I

like the

murmur of
wind

the running

Kenneth.
to

Or

like the

that breathes

upon I had

To-day, row Miss Ina to

?

sir,

Isle-

the woods,

Monach.

And

from each tree evokes a separate

Was

it

an hour you said. Miss

Sir Diarmid.

note

To make the woodland harmony, and all

So simple and
true

that

they must

Going now
the boat
I'll

touch men's hearts

Well, do not trouble to bring back

Then you will do will make

this,

Kenneth

you

see

Miss Ina home.

39

Kildrostan

Kenneth.

Ina.

Yes,
Sir D'tarmid.

sir.

Nay,

it is

I should beg to be forgiven

is

The

place

yours

but yet

it

holds

Good-bye
[Exit Kenneth,

dead Along with yours.

Sir Diarmid.

my

Ina, forgive

me

that I followed
I

Into your

still

retreat.

you saw the boat

And
Our

living as well as dead.

Making
crag,

the cove behind the mussel-

races soon shall mingle once again;

?

Shall they not, Ina

it.

It

is

not so long
parted.

And

could not help of beauty

What

a wealth Since the

two streams were

Ina.

Gathers around these mouldering abbey walls. Draped with pale lichens, and with
graceful tufts

Yes
Sir Diarmid.
!

know.

Of
By

small-leaved

ferns,

embraced
that

and lovingly Yes may I take that for then?

Ina.

my

answer,

the ivy, which they once upheld,

now.
reverence
dutiful,

With

brightens

Their sad and tottering cunning hand the river Carved these dark tombstones with Scorns not the stream that their pregnant symbols

Nay, do not wrest my words. I only meant sustains and That we were once of the same stock, and still. What age. After our kindly Highland way,
left to turn

That speak a braver

and cross-bones

faith than skulls

the mill,

And
?

grind the meal.

Sir Diarmid.

And Time with

You were
Our
fathers

scythe and hour-glass

right

But gladly welcomes back had an Art and a Religion, sense of beauty and a hope in God, The mill-race to its bosom, having been Nobler than ours. shallow and a stony brook without it. Do you come Ina, you will make an empty life often here ? Once more a flowing river full and glad. Ina.

Sometimes. very lovely

Oh

yes,

the

isle

is

Ina.

And
it

yet

love

it

more

for

what

This
1

is

no time or place for thoughts

listening,

hides
for the grace that hides
it.

like these

Than

blame myself for

ing here
I should

stand-

Where
Sir D'tarmid.

know

but sorrow.

Ah
Forgive me. be alone.

know.
rather

Sir Diarmid.

You would

Know

should you only sorrow here or anywhere.

Why

Kildrostan

391

Who bring such joy to others

a wave,

When What

is it,

Ina

Something troubles

Broken and
should
it

spent,

ebbs
the

do
with
its

you. back, what You used to be a leal, true-hearted girl. And frank and brave and not fantastical.

But

mingle
in.

new

wave Have

done aught to vex you

Ina.

flowing

And

swell

volume
lost

Should not
blend with

love for him, then,

No, indeed

Whom

you have

now

You

other love.

have not I to you ;

changed

to

me
;

nor

And make an undivided absolute bliss. I never trusted you as now I do To fill and glad our life ? Yet it Nor felt before how desolate life will be
is

true.

This

place
get

is

all

too

sombre

let

us hence.

Without you. Yet I came here now to make, Over his grave, a vow that weraust part.

And

the

sunshine
Ina.

round

us

Which

well

may

be the breaking of

as within.

one heart.
Sir Diarmid.
in

But there's no sunshine

me.

am

Nay, but of two hearts

to that.

if

it

come

truly

most unhappy maid ; and what Yet why should any hearts be broken, was said Ina? Must be as if it never had been said. Ina.
Sir Diarmid.

Listen our
Ina.

we had

not

told

him

of

You cannot mean

is

it.

What
It

Love
Sir Diarmid.

wrong

Do

you not love

me

still ?

was

his

sudden

illness,

not

my

will

Ina.

That kept me
?

silent.

Do
Yet

I not love you

Ina.

Sir Diarmid.

you can speak of unsaying All you have said.

Ina.

thus

Yes, indeed, I know But when he lay a-dying, I becalmly thought me, Not witting that the end could be
so near.

That
you
:

it

might comfort him

;

to

know

If

it is

best for

our bliss

you while I live And it is bliss, whatever come of it. and have no hope But oh, instead of comforting, it made in love. stormy bar across the river-mouth Sir Diarmid. Of life to him, and trouble and alarm. If it is best for me But it's not best Sir Diarmid. It is the worst and bitterest could But why befall me.
I cannot cease to love

Yet I can

live,

:;

392

Kildrostan
Clear in my mind, to you,

Ina.

it

would work harm

Doris somehow.

He
And

muttered, meaning to explain,

Something
all I

but

it

was half-articulate

And
I

that

through
his

heard was

" Doris."

am

sure

That was
Sir JDiarmid.

meaning.

Sir Diarmid. Doris, said you ? Well, now my heart is light again, and I Well, it is a riddle Couldlaugh like children at apantomime. That puzzles me to solve. Shall we Why, how could Doris come between then shape us two ? Our lives by their hard puzzles ?

Ina. I cannot
tell
;

only he named her name.

Ina.

No, indeed
But yet
it

Sir Diarmid.

would be

selfish if I

shrank

From a plain duty for the pain it costs, But what has Doris Cattanach to do With us, and with our love ? And do Or clung to that which would bring hurt to you. you mean, Ina, that you could give me up to her Sir Diarmid.
.'

Ina.

But what would hurt

losing you.

me most were

That would be hard.

Sir Diarmid.

Ina.

Ah,

life is

very hard.
Sir Diarmid,

I'd sooner mate

me

with

cloud, cram-full of lightning, hail,

and thunder.

Nay,

life

with love

Or wed a Upon an
:

polar bear, and

iceberg.

away Think no more

sail

Is just the very best thing that I

know.

Now

think no more of
Ina.

this.

of this Perhaps he did not hear you

or else

right,

If I were only

The

mind

More worthy of you

was
wandering,
as
it

often does

Sir Diarmid.

On

the

dim verge of life.

Ina.

You
said plainly,

rate yourself too

Let me judge of that humbly it is

:

Nay, he
"
It

must

not

be

you

must

not

Should have for you

my

doubts of being meet

love him."
Sir Diarmid.

And

yet I think each other.

Fate meant us

for

Well
But
that's past helping, Ina.

Ina.

But

if I

were

to be a

burden to you.

Ina.

Sir Diarmid.

Yes, I know.

But yet his broken words whole thought

left

this

want that very burden, cannot rise Without it to the heights where I would soar,
I

Kildrostan

393
Sir Diarmid.

More
tail.

than the kite without

its

loaded

There,
Ina, cast these fears away, and

now

'tis

good

Come,

To

hear you speaking once more like

speak,

yourself,

on that happiest day of life to me When first our lips were framed to tell
our love.

As

A Highland
Chief.
I

maiden for her clan and

first,

I love the people, and at

restful

I think,

And you
home

did paint for us a

loved you for the love you to them.

is

bore

Amid What

a busy life, like this old house. But yet the task time the monks lived in it, and

hard.

the folk

Ina.

Learnt of them letters, arts, and piety. You have a dainty fancy, and it made For I

That
have
failed.

know

well.

A pretty picture.
Ina.

And

yet the
lie

hindrances

To
But
it

good and noble action mostly

In our

own bosoms.
Sir Diarmid.

Diarmid, you
here
is

may do

was not fancy. a great work

May be.
greatly needed.

But the clergy,

Where work

They hold

the place which once the

Chieftain held. Sir Diarmid.

And
I take

what have they made of it

Ina.

Could

To work

as

much

as sport,

and had

your help. Perhaps I might.

Ina.

A patient,
According
have not

They
to their

have made

orderly, and pious people.

light.

But they

You need no
provides.

Nay, do not think of me The place of eminence and influence. help but what their love Which love has kept for you. Besides,
our age.

The

people live in memories of the

past,

The more its spirit is religious, cleaves The more to secular forms, and will
not take
Its

And

all their happiest memories cluster round Those of your name and you. They

shape from

priests.

may
false

To men
;

be stiff of alien blood, at times even

Sir Diarmid.

But you

will help

me, Ina
it ?

WUl
say,

be

my

inspiration if I try

But you have but to

will do,

and they
Ina.

For all their hearts you knew them.

are yours.

Oh,

if

What other inspiration can you need Than to redress old wrongs, and help
the growth

And

their pathetic faithfulness

in ages past.

of love.

Rooted

Of civil

polity,

and

self-control.


394

Kildrostan

And homes made

industry,

glad

by

fruitful

What

has

come over the pine-woods

?

Was
all

ever a day like this

And

to be compassed round by men's love ?

The

white-throat swallow, flicking loch with long wing-tips.

Sir Dlarmid.

There

every
I

word you

say but
I

Hear you the low sweet laughter Comes rippling from its lips ? shows
not

me more

How
Only

much
;

need you.

am

a hero a

What has come over the waters ? What has come over the trees ?

Highland

laird, as indolent

As

all

men

are

whose
Ina.

life

is

Never were rills and fountains So merrily voiced as these. passed

throstle softly piping

in sport.

And
So

I but a

weak woman
their

1
;

I can
is

do

High on the topmost bough, hear a new song singing.

Is
it

little.

And

life

an old

my

heart, or thou

growth

Of time
to be

a heritage of history.
their

Not shaped by

intention,

nor

ACT

II. SCENE
Chorus.

I.

Fashioned, at once, by our new modes of thinking.

Sir Diarmid.

Fond of shooting,

fishing, hunting,

Now,

say not you are weak.

Sound of bagpipe, drum, or fife, Yacht and sail and flying bunting There's All the ways of savage life ;
shall

nought so strong

As

a clear-sighted
as

woman.
you
in

You

Do

even with me may hold

little

will,

when

Sick of clubs and jolly fellows. Play and pantomime and clown, Novels bound in blues and yellows All the idle ways of town ; I Tired of all the strife of Parties,

This

hand

mine, and call

it

mine.
Ina.

Solemn dinners, routs, and drums. Public meetings where no heart is,

And
?

a chairman

haws and hums

O Diarmid, are we right

words

My father's What shall

Has no

youth do

when the

river
lie.

pools where salmon

His

last

words, mind
Sir Diarmid.

And the sun is shining ever. And the trouting streams are dry, And the grouse-cock gaily crowing
:

And

something about Doris would you give me up to her

Ina.

Were

No
Chorus.

truly.

\_Exeunt.

What

has come over the sunshine It is like a dream of bliss.

Fears not either dog or gun. the partridge broods are growing. While the corn grows in the sun ? Weary he of fly and feather. Weapon shining on the shelf. Weary of unchanging weather, Weary maybe of himself; For he was not meant for daily Bringing basket full, or bag.

And

Kildrostan
395

Shooting grouse or capercailzie, Stalking of the timid stag. What shall he do, weary-laden. If in such a vacant hour He shall happen on a maiden Lovely as a sweet wild-flower, With a noble nature truly,
Pointing him to noble deeds,

All sensible folk are tiresome. Have you heard That ever any of our ancestors Mingled their blue blood with a gipsy
witch's?

Lady MacAlpine.

What do

you mean, boy

Plucking up the thoughts unruly Growing in his mind like weeds. Opening to his soul a grander Life than he has lived before. As among the hills they wander. Or beside the grey sea-shore ?

Sir Diarmid.

Only

this, that I

Am
And
Or

rather of their roving disposition.

with the

first

crisp

bursting of

the leaf.

Ah

even while buds are only redden-

the passion, all-constraining,

That now lifts his heart above Vacant mood and vain complaining, Lapt in bliss of early love
!

ing yet

On the bare boughs, and primrose banks

are bare.

Scene

Kildrostan,

Sir Diakmid and Lady MacAlpine.

Sir

Diarmid (singing).

"

To Norroway, to Norroway, To Norroway owre the faem."

Lady MacAlpine,
do you
sing that ballad
?

Begin to feel a stirring in my veins. As if I must be off into the woods. And hang a kettle on a tripod o'er fire of sticks, and steal my own young hares. Yet here is half the summer past, and

still

I'm

at

the chimney

nook.

Had

Why

baronet, I should have been a poacher Goes pit-a-pat to hear it; like the merle In shabby velveteen, and had a lurcher That sees a gled o'erhead. Surely Close at my heels, and half my days you are not in jail. Tired of me yet. And half i' the moors and woods. I

My

not been

old heart

wonder we Sir Diarmid, Can hate them so, they are so like Nay, mother, not of you ; ourselves. You're always pleasant company but somewhat Lady MacAlpine. A-weary of the weather which is bad, Don't talk so idly, you do let your Being so good, and of myself a little. tongue And of the world in general. Run off with what small sense you have.

Lady MacAlpine.
Don't be
Sir Diarmid.
I think I never
silly.

Sir Diarmid.

But how

was more

sensible.

About that gipsy, mother ? I am sure There must have been one in our
family tree.

But

to be sensible is to be dull


396

; ;

Kildfostan
While they are old i' their Yet I must go. Lady Margaret Mer- Only I would not leave you
from
it

Was
Or

she

dropt

as

a rotten

teens.

branch,
christened
rilees,

quite

alone.

Or Honourable Gertrude Jenny Faa Of Hedgerow Elms, in Thieveshire

Lady MacAlpine.

Lady MacAlpine.
?

But wherefore must you go

Sir Diarmid.

Hold your
Your
born.

peace.

A promise,
Far rather would
you.
I

mother

ancestors were noble and high-

be at

home with

And

mated with the

best

blood of

And after this

the land.
Sir Diarmid.

I mean to spend my days In sheer respectability, and go Duly to church, and play the justice too.

Well, mother, do not frown atme ; I do But jest, and yet it was a foolish jest.

And
and

lecture
sit

rogues

and vagabonds,

The

birth of vacant brains.

Having

nought to do, On Boards, and manage every one's I've seen you bring old rubbish from affairs. your drawers Like a true Chief. But there's a Scraps of brown lace, housewifes, and College friend baby linen. Who worships Thor and Odin, when Buttons, old dingy letters, battered he tires
thimbles

And

litter all

the

room with them

Of Zeus and Aphrodite and Apollo And I had 'promised he should see
the land

and I Being idle, throw the rubbish of

my Of

mind About me

Vikings and Fiords

Berserkers, and the

too,

and sorry

stuff

it is.

From which

their galleys oared to seek

adventures.

Lady MacAlpine. So now he writes me he is coming Well, well ; you might find matter for here your jests To-day, and I must get the old yawl
Fitter than those to

whom

you owe
'Tis

in trim.

your being.

And
stay at

see if she will float to

Norroway.

But now you'll weary waiting Alone in my old

home.

age.

A friend who
the

Lady MacAlpine. worships Odin

Why,

man
a pagan.

Sir Diarmid.

Must be

Are younger in Than half the girls

why, you my eyes, and handsomer

!

Old age

Sir Diarmid.

I meet.

My little

something of a pagan and a poet. mother. You never can grow old, your heart's Yet no bad fellow, either, in his way. He will not sacrifice the sheep, or kids, so young.

Well

he rather

is

Kildrostan

397
Pagan
but are not sure

Or

horses

being aesthetic, he will be

Incline to

cults,

Content with fruits and flowers and Whether is best the wine libations. Barbarian

Greek

or the
to

Lady MacAl^ne.

While some
both,
that

prefer

pure Atheism

What do you mean?

young men learn

Is

what

And

will

have neither

soul, nor other

life,

At

College

now ?
Sir Diarmid.

Nor anything Which lives

but organisM dust

its

day,

and
other

on

the

Yes
Boating
or
hunting.

some of them prefer boxing, cricketing or

drive a four-in-

morrow is Moral manure enriching

lives.

Lawn-tennis, or to

Lady MacAlpine.
Diarmid, you have not
lost

hand; But the more studious mostly spend

their terms Seeking for a religion.

your faith

Sir Diarmid. I have

not

Well, no found a better than

cradle.

my

Lady MacAlpine.

mother
:

Now
I

you

know

it

by your

look

As

jest

Sung
if

o'er

my

young men Could leave their

out religion

parents'

homes with-

Lady MacAlpine. That is well. Pray heaven

Why let this

Cover your

You
fiend ironical
?

hold to that.

I hear such dread-

mocking

ful things

better thought

About our young men now

and even

Sir Diarmid.

the girls Chatter half-atheism with as brisk an

air

It

may
their

I do not mock. be that they bring up from

As

if it

were new ribbons they dis-

homes
stript

cussed.

Their cradle-faiths, but they are

quite bare

There's Ina

Lome
hair

reads books

would

Ere many months

a

pass.

man

And besides, To

make my

stand on end.
Sir Diarmid.

May

wish new clothes, who is not wholly naked. May feel he has outgrown his baby
robes.

No
Her

fear of Ina,

mother
that re-

heart's all right.

And

May be ashamed too of his rustic fit, And fain to dress his soul in the last
fashion.

minds me now. She is It was of her I meant to speak. Alone in that dull house, and for a
while
alone:

And wear it jauntily. So we are grown You too will be you not To be a sort of dandies in religion, At present. Have her with Affecting the last mode.
solitude
l

why

should

you to cheer your

398

Kildrostan

We

common fault among our Highare her kinsfolk, and I've heard landers. you say She makes a good day in a drizzling We're not enthusiasts for the people s

rain.

rights

Lady MacAlpine.
She
sees no and claims
visitors,

More shame

to us that she

is

so alone

keeps her room,

But,

Lady MacAlpine.
Diarmid, what will Doris say
not taken kindly to each
Sir Diarmid.
to it?

The

privilege of sorrow to be rude.

Sir Diarmid.

They have
cannot
be,

Nay, mother, and least

rude

she

other.

Of all

to you.

Why, what
:

has she to do with

it ?

Lady MacAlpine.
Well, no but what means this This new-born care for cousins who would scarce Count kin save in the Highlands ? You're not wont To speak so warmly of them.
Sir Diarmid.

Lady MacAlpine.
She'll think
It is her place to

keep

me company,

And

will resent to see another here.

Sir Diarmid.

Why

That
For some
are
bores,

is

true

should it be her place I and why should she And Resent your choice of Ina ?

and some are and some

indeed

gossips born,

That
butterflies,

girl is too

much with

you.

And

some

are

are wasps.

Lady MacAlpine.
But Ina's not

And some
like

are geese.

them.

Draws
somewhat
flighty,
is

near

and

But the time you must first

Lady MacAlpine.

No

but
?

she's

arrange with her Before you go.

Sir Diarmid.

she not

Sir Diarmid.

How

mean you

What time ? what do you mean ? What is there to arrange with her?

Lady MacAlpine.

Oh

yes

Well, she always has some new About her shootings I will see to Enthusiasm some pet scheme or other, that. To remedy the lot of our poor folk. Lady MacAlpine,

is

Which

yet

ne'er the better for

it.

Her

shootings

nonsense

'tis

about

Sir Diarmid.

herself.

Yes!

Sir Diarmid.
all

Maybe
For

and yet one

be a

likes

her
not

Now,

the more
if it
fault, at least it's

mother, you are deeper

line goes.

many fathoms

Than my

Kildrostan

;;;

399

Lady MacAlpine. Did not your father tell yon. As he lay dying, how things stood With
between Doris and you
?

Lady MacAlpine.

A spoilt child
that

hot Indian blood in her,

i'

Sir Diarmid.
; he was very fain That I should wed her some day, and I promised For that I saw his heart was set on it That I would try to love her if I

untamed But unripe fruit is bitter oft mouth, Yet mellows with the months.
Sir Diarmid.

the

Well

But has she mellowed ? could not bear to leave you here with her
Ina too so lonely.

could.

And

And wed her

cannot.

if I

loved her, which I

Lady MacAlpine.
Never
fear

Lady MacAlfine.

We shall do nicely. And for Ina, when

there

And was
Of hard

that

all I

was

no You make your nest here

family tree,

in the old

sterner hint

necessity

'Twere well
to plant

to feather

it

softly, not

Sir Diarmid.

A thorn there for your mate.

Sir Diarmid.

There was no more.

Lady MacAlpine.

A
me

thorn.

But Ina's not She's never sharp, and

Oh To
To

this is cruel, laying

it

on

never stings

blur a father's

memory.

But you Like Doris.

promised
love
her,

Lady MacAlpine.
and you'U keep your

promise.
Sir Diarmid.

Why
you,

Dear, I do not understand you should harp on Ina. Let

her be.

house, of course, will be mother ? strangely moved. He's rich and solitary. If you have I said that I would love her if I could. nothing And I tried hard, but she would never Against poor Doris but her childish let me. freaks. Even as a girl she always spited me. Would you for them neglect your Threw stones into the pool where I dying father's was angling, So earnest wish ? Tore down the nests I watched with Sir Diarmid. tender care,

Troubles

What Her uncle's You are her home

And

Nay, not for them alone. rode my pony till she foundered Mother, no man, that is a man, would him, care Cruel as well as spiteful.

40O

Kildrostan
Lady MacAlpine.
Diarmid,

To To

catalogue a lady's blemishes

less in

say, I cannot love her for her pride,

you

love

your

father's

Yet love her

her humility

When she is bitter, I cannot abide her. And yet I loathe her more, when she
is

memory Would you not Than part with

rather suffer any loss

that
?

sweet.
;

Ask me no more
.

indeed,

tried

Sir Diarmid.

and

failed

Besides, I cannot offer to a market

That does not want

my

Indeed I would. But who Can take from me the picture of his
goodness.

wares.

Lady Mac Alpine.

There I am
sure

Hung

in the

inmost chamber of

my

heart.

You

are mistaken, for she likes you, Sir Diarmid.

As men
about

set

Diarmid.

For worship.
This
girl,

up a holy altar-piece That he was mistaken

his

Then

harms not

memory to me.

'tis

a liking that I

I wot not what to do. This task Should never have been left to me. I leave her Eden tell you All to herself, than company with her. Have I not seen you frown, with You have no choice but marry Doris now. mingled shame Sir Diarmid. And anger, at her reckless speech ?

never shall. one Eve In all the world, I'd rather, for

And
The

do not like, Were Doris the

Lady MacAlpine.

my share.

Ah me

thorns

and

briars

outside,

and

for

still

have no choice, for I have made

Her

thoughts go naked, and are not

ashamed Yet not from innocence.

her not,

my choice, And would not

she brought

have her, mother,

if

You

love

A kingdom for her dower.

Lady MacAlpine.

And
What

would not
time

like,

I think, to

sit

on nettles

my

wife opened her mouth

to speak.

Me
has her faults
to

tell

Nay, hear me ; let the sorry tale. Your father,

Lady Mac Alpine.

I

Diarmid,

know she we all

'Tis hard to unveil the faults of those

so

have

we

love,

When
mend them.

But you might help And oh, Diarmid, It must be.

death has hallowed love in youth Had wasted his estate with cards and dice;
his hot

Sir Diarmid.

What must
Must
to
it

be

And

also

so be

You

speak in

me.

my hand, which brought much wealth, riddles He promised ne'er to gamble while he lived.
why,

But when he won

; !

Kildrostan

401

Happy
his

our

life

was while he kept

the letter of
it

And

live

like

him

and they were

Until then

word
ever,

closeted

Nor did he break

Often for hours together.

Only the spirit, cheating conscience so He never had a secret thought from me With words depleted of their natural But now he kept me in the dark,
sense.

and that
this

Then came

Malcolm Cattanach Wounded and wronged

my

love.

It

soon appeared child, and very This clever, scheming man had led rich him on He had been born a crofter in Glenara, Who knew no more than I to speculate Was a contractor and a money-lender, In foreign loans, and mines, and for And there were strange things whisthe rise pered about him And fall of markets ; and he, all I know not with what truth, of course, unskilled but men To watch the turns o' the tide, bought Were shy of him who had been in in too soon, And sold too late, and gambled all away. the East, As many here had been. But 'tis Ah me the weary days the anxious looks too much ; The fretful temper and the settled I cannot go on with it. gloom, With the fell crash at last Sir Diarmid.

from India, widower, with one

Quite right, mother Sir Diarmid. Let Doris and her dubious father drop But why recall Out of your mind ; they only give This story now, since, after all, we you pain.

have

Lady MacAlp'me.

Would
tell

that

were
wring

possible

I must

you

all,
it

for all our wants ? What need to cry O'er our spilt milk, when all our pails

Enough

Howe'er

my

heart.

He

are

full.

settled near us

And
though his

the

cow

yields as ever

In the next glen, and lived a sumptuous

life.

Costly,

luxurious,

ways
gone.

Lady MacAlpine. Wait

a bit
all

were coarse.

One day he

told

me

that

my

was

And
The
Your

with a splendour of colour, hardly

sober grey of our

fitting

And
dim Highland

I,

like you,

said lightly.

Never

mind

glens.

We

have the old home

can

stUl,

and our

father took to him, although he

old love.

At the

laughed peach-coloured liveries; praised

his talent.

Which none
therewithal.

rob us
the

of.

But
and

He

Quoted his sayings ; hankered to be rich, 26

only looked cursed

gloomier,

402

Kildrostan

Lady MacAlpine. Himself, his friend, and all the ravenous crew I thought your father told you. Of jobbers and promoters. Then I But that's not all. There is another
said.

bond.

Now,

let us

have no secrets

been The worst of

Of

that full

indeed.

if you claim her hand ere you have passed all our losses, the decay Your four and twenty years, then she trust that made us one and all Her gathered wealth are yours.
;

that has

That

Perhaps a woman's wit

may

find a

way
I

To mend
At

things, or to bear them.

Sir Diarmid.

was sore
his concealment, sorer than I said,

How,
heart
is

if I fail

For empty
purse,

worse than empty

Lady MacAlpine.
That
will be very ruin.

And

mine had been made vacant by

I

Sir Diarmid.

neglect.

But when
Cattanach

found

that

Malcolm
every acre

What,

if I ask,

and she refuse

One word more. my hand ?

Had And
Of

led

him on and
o'

on,

till

Lady MacAlpine.

every stone

the

house,

and

To

punish her, he gives you back the

will not refuse.

every right
fishing,

land.

shooting, mining, were in

But she

bond To him
heart

for

moneys

lent

and

lost,

my
all this

Sir Diarmid.
I daresay not.

Utterly failed me.

Sir Diarmld.

'Tis a hard case.

?

Has Doris known

Lady MacAlpine.
Yes, years ago.
Sir Diarmid.

Are we

beggars, then.

On

Doris' charity

Ah
Lady Mac Alpine.
I

that accounts for much.

must have time to think.

My jointure,

Scarcely yet. I have and I got a legacy

After your father's death. Not otherJust driven to the door wise youth, Could you have gone fo College.

Lady MacAlpine. There is your

;

friend

handsome

But yet
Sir Diarmid.

a bit effeminate.

I'll see

him

At
this,

dinner time.
Sir Diarmid.
It
is

Had
I

known

would not
years

so

have wasted

all

these

unfortunate

His coming
fruit

In idleness, that might have yielded

Be

civil,

moment. But I must though my head is in a whirl.

at this

For wintry

days.

; !

Kildrostan

403
his rating well,

Chorus.

Although he did
he
is

Vain

for a

man

to think that

Can hide what a woman

Vain
to

fain to

know
!

'Twould need a wiser man to tell. Still Zeus to him was Great and
Mighty,
Still
Still

dream that she does not see, Because her seeing she does not show

cannot lie with a guileless look Of innocence pure that falters not, And she will read like a printed book The riddle of his most secret thought.

He

reigned the foam-born Aphrodite, bright Apollo's arrows flew.

Dian brushed the evening dew. Naiads haunted fount and brook. And life was like a fairy-book : Well she saw where his love was given. Or Odin stern came back again, Saw that her tidings had quenched his And Thor, and noble Balder slain By Loke's dark counsel, and the Tree. light, Saw that he grasped, as if for heaven, Great Ygdrassil, of Mystery, hope that would leave him in sorry And all the Myths of ancient Night, Myths of the dawn and growing light. plight.
Still
Still

And oh that Ina might be her daughter Oh the dread of his fated wife Oh the hopes that were writ on water Oh her boy, and his shipwrecked life

Myths of the

earth, the cloud, the star,

its

And
! !

life

and

eternal war.

Scene

Kildrostan

Park.

Sir

Durmid

and Tremain.

ACT
Ah
To
!

II

SCENE

Sir Diarmld.
II.

So we give up our
'Tis well scarce
;

cruise, then, after all

Chorus.

for, as it

happens,

it

would

what

to do, if one should get

A tawny lion for a pet

Or some
play

Have

suited
it ?

me

to go.

You'll not

volcano as a boon
its

regret

fireworks like a tune

Tremain.

O O

terror of his playful

moods
!

Why
And

horror of

its

lava floods

should I ? fancy struck me.

just as

'Twas
left.

sudden

So troubled and amazed were they. So feared what he might do or say. That youth fantastical whose wit With the old Pagan cult was smit.

sudden

Sir Diarmid.

No
What

other reason

And

stormed, in words that swing and

swell.

Tremain.
bell.

Like changeful peal of tripping

Against the love that
is

divine.

other would you have one have reasons

fancies with
to beat

Must
a club

And

for the love inflamed with wine.

To knock down
The
vapour
off,

Daily their simple souls were shocked With fleering scornful words that

that passes with a puff?

mocked

I choose to

have
It

my
is

whims, and

let

At Faith and Unfaith, nothing loth, At God and Science, lightlying botlv
But what the shallow heart believed Of all it praised, and all it grieved.

them go
E'en
as I
list.

a folly, man,

A superstition of these modern times.

To
be in bonds to reason.

404

Kildrostan

loom darkly, and the waves Lashed into madness, which I master so But there's a nice breeze tripping on That by the sense of power we relish the loch, more Tipping the waves with foam. Have The soft delights of love. But your
Sir Diarmid.
Ideal storms

As

you

like.

To

you no fancy ride the white steeds

?

in a

merry

And

wet ropes. clumsy oars

faugh
;

they give
life is lost,

gale

blisters first,

Trema'm.

Nay,

that's

all

past.

hate

And then a horny hand By so much, when you

sense.

and

lose a perfect

boisterous

life.

Give me the calm of Tempe, where 'Tis needful for my Art that I should have no wind Blows on the vine-stocks roughly, and Nice touch and taste and smell and sight and hearing, where love gates may fine Pants in the sunshine dreamily among That through all

The

lotus leaves

and asphodels.

sensations pass

Into
Sir Diarmid,

my
!

being,

and enrich

my

lifp.

What
Are
all

then

Sir Diarmid.
?

those pictures of the bounding

roll

Tush

man

you are not so

Tremain.

efl^eminate

sea.

As you

aflPect.

And

billowy your skill

sail

of

life

there,

and
in

I never handled rope.

a

With

and rope and rudder

?

Nor

storm,

A
I

But so much moonshine

Tremain,

held a tiller, nor yet mean to do harp, even, blunts the finger-tips. You think be effeminate is to be weak : hold that manhood only then

To
Moonshine
But poetry of course.
fellows,
!

is

surely no

perfect,

you

dull

Whenit has all awoman's delicate sense.

And
to facts,

absolute

refinement,

and

will

Tied down

you

lose the half

answer,

of life, Missing its fancied

Like
part.

the

wind- harp,

in

tremulous

sit

and

response

dream

To
pinnace with

every breath of fancy.

Sir Diarmid,

Of lying in a On a pard's
dyed

my

love.

skin, or carpet Eastern-

How then
Employ your holiday
are rough.
?

shall

you

gorgeous colours, with a cloudless sun Inflaming every sense, as we look

Of

Our ways
by
use.

Nor do we

fear to blunt a sense

down, Tremain, And watch the pulsing globe, and If I might just go on as now we do, tangled arms Bound to nxD method, held to no Of myriad Medusas. Then I see set plans,

;;

405
so

Kildrostan
Floating as fancy wills, or Fate decrees

Those

hills

are

beautiful

in

the

Only not quite uncombed

freckled

and

purple lights

To
upon the quiet
the

plash her large limbs in the waves

Of

evening, glassed

for

me

loch

And

weird-like

are

morning mists, Tinted with rainbow fragments, like

the glories

Sir Diarmid. wavering Never was such a plea for barbarism Pleaded before.

Tremain.
in the cloudland of old

Which hover
times

Ajid yet

as

good a one
worshipping

As you
a maid.
;

shall

find

for

And pleasant is the swaying of the boat, And lapping of the waters and I
think I could write something smacking of the life Of the young world, while yet the

Until she

is

Why is
When

barbarous a savage,
it

a wife to worship you. ? Was the Greek

the fair princess, laughing maidens. the

with
in

her
the

gods were

in

it.

Washed

white

linens

sparkling brook. As I look round and see the fisherAnd lovers lay upon the grass, and women noted Wade through the surf i' the twilight The dainty feet that splashed the to the boats.

Each with her husband,

heart,

or her sweet-

shining spray

maybe,
Welli you
Sir DiarmiJ.

Borne pick-a-back.

Sir Diarmid.

may

well play the lawyer

for the nonce,

!

A barbarous custom
Have
tried to

And draw me out, from murky heathen

times.

shame the men out of

these ways,

Precedents of authority to bar

And
at

do not wonder that you mock

them.
Tremain.

The way
The

of progress.

But

you'll not

persuade

me
Tremain.

custom's not degrading.

do not mock

at

them.

I never felt

More Than

tenderly to any ancient relic

to this fond survival.

Ay,
be.

in vain

Let

it

drive your modern ploughshare reason. over all But how about this Doris you should The ways of primitive custom, making wed.

Why

We

hope

to

master

prejudice

by

them

As flat and commonplace as turnip fields.

Let it alone. Of women's
It is

And
so

will not,

though her acres are

at

handy ? the antique symbol What ails you

loyalty to love

her

a link
life

Uniting us with a more touching

Sir Diarmid.

Of
a

loyal

service.

Had

but such

Naiad

As

This ; she loves me not. shrewdly I suspect nor love I her.

;

4o5

Kildrostan

As Of

certainly

know.

And when Without

fore
least.

the sense of danger

there-

we

speak marriage, that's a point at

Tremahi.
I

men

Climb the precipitous mountains with

a feeling

know

Of tingling, perilous gladness:

not
all

and I hate
dare
lips.

Your meek and milky

girls that

I'm not a marrying man, though

my
Their
It is a

life

Is love

and poetry, which mostly lose

glory
at

not kiss burning passion, clinging to your

Sir Diarmid.

the

touch

o'

th'

wedding

ring.

Doris

is

not a Cleopatra, nor

Tame and

quakerish thing connubial bliss. Helen of slow-blooded, dressed in lady

in the eye,

Troy

she's just a

Highland

And
Or

browns and greys, with no flash of passion

flush o' the
?

Touched with an Eastern

strain.

You

cheek.

must not liken her Is she not To your wild-eyed Aspasias.

Tremain.

beautiful

Sir Dlarmtd.

Truly

yet

with

dangerous

kind

But you

said

of beauty, Hers was a dangerous beauty, like Beauty as of a panther or a snake. the serpent's. Lustrous and lithe ; or so at least And that is what I like above all things. she shows Serpents twine round you, clasp you Her To me who love her not. in their folds.
father wedded And charm you with a gaze that does In the far East a Hindoo girl, and so not flinch ; The daughter is not, like our High- Firing you as the many-husbanded land maids, Helen was wont to do, till men Ruddy and large with amber in would lose
their hair,

The world
and supple, and the sun
with
olive.

for

one

brief rapture of

But

slight

her

kiss.

has dyed

Sir Diarmid.

Her cheek
most
fair.

Yet she

is

I spoke too loosely

you misconstrue

me.
Tremain.

So fancying
me.
'Tis just

her.

Ah now
!

you

interest

the kind

Tremain.

Of beauty that I worship. Was dangerous, and

Who

Egyptian Queen's conquered the querors, and the sun I like to play with adders. I had one Had softly dusked the snow of cheek I loved once as you love your dog, and bosom, and had
^

Helena's There's nothing else against her, the grand Except that dangerous beauty, which is only world's con- The prejudice of people commonplace.

That

chills

our

northern

women.

Subtler

communion

with

it,

richer

There's no joy

thoughts

: !

Kildrostan

407
you womanly,

From

its

uprearings, and
shall

its

wondrous

Whom

call

to

me

is

eyes

watery
get

Than you
hound

from any noisy

liking.

ghost, a mist that chills you with

its

touch.

With

its

rough shows of
Sir Diarmid.

How

Well, I'd rather

changed from the grand creature Nature made For joy, and music, and thegiddy dance. There's a And glorious passion
!

My

dog should jump on me, and story of wheel about Pelagia, leader of the mimes at Antioch Barking for joy, than have an adder On the Orontes how she came one day twine Up from the silvern baths with her Slow folds about me. But tastes differ. fair troop
;

Tremain.

Of
is

girls,
life,

all

glowing with the flush

of
a worse

They
and

differ

yet

there

And

bounding with light mirth, and

better.
is

lures of love,

For

taste

the true test of character

Like the young hinds, what time the

year reveals
antlered stag freed from the

The crown of culture is a perfect taste, The Which lacking, men are blind and
The
cannot see higher wisdom.
of
it

down

of his horns And as she came, arrayed in purple skirt 'Tis the want Of Tyrian, golden bracelets on her

That

floods

the

world

with

wrists.
stale

stupidities,

And

tinkling

anklets,

and the

flash

And

mind

of gems hangs a vulgar arras round the Upon her

flowers
!

bosom,

on her brow of

Of misbegotten fallacies. Tastes differ And so do faiths and policies, but yet Lo
Their differences are not
Sir Diarmid.
indifferent.

then an anchorite, dried up, and

baked

You need
used

not rave about

phrase,
as

it,

man.

dirt of some dim cave where he had burrowed With bats and owls, looked wistfully I

With

on her.
one
does

A
Not

common
current coin.

And

craftily assailed

her with regrets

That she brought

her joy

not her beauty and

caring to ring copper half-pennies

Upon

the counter.

Another Magdalene

to

serve

his

Tremain.

Lord Wherewith
leave
penitent.

being touched, she turns a

Oh, yet I take

doubt the taste that shrinks from such a girl As you describe your Doris that is all. The kind of woman, bred of Christian
:

To

And
Of

comes next day, and lays aside

splendour,

her robes

and

her

bright

and

joyous ways

cult.

So winsome, and

in squalid

garb arrayed


4o8

Kildrostan

!;

Of

sackcloth, visits graves and lazar

lily

And

give

fit

utterance also to our best

houses,

Pale as a

In rhythmic music.
a

shadow

called a saint.

What

Trematn.

think you

now

of such a work
?

as that

That was not your thought

To

pleasure

Heaven with

While

the

A woman was the glory of our glad

And
fruitful

old gods lived

'Twas but an echo you and others tossed From mouth to mouth, and thought that you had thought.
Sir Diarmid.

earth.

But now you

make of

her
Sir Diarmid.

Echo

or living voice, thethoughtistrue

God gives us song to make usnoblermen And purer women.

If I did not

I prithee,

peace, man.

know
This
is

Tremain.
but spinning

moonshine for

Nay,

for art

is

not

the love

The

slave of virtue, turning songs to

;

Of phantasy, and framing paradox To seem original, I could be wroth

With such
trash-speaking.

sermons But it is free, and

is its

own

excuse,

Interrupt

And

finds its purpose in its exercise.

me
What,

not.
if

Sir Diarmid,

your leader of the mimes had been chaste pure maiden, daughter of a

What do you mean ?

Tremain.
This.
Picturing truly
all

home

mother-love enfolded her in Ideals good or evil, as you call them customs Art doth fulfil her office, but comes As sweet as lavender, and that she met short Some gay apostle of the flesh, and as Of her vocation when she aims at aught His penitent, became what you But perfect form and colour and have known ? harmony. The world is bad enough, and false Sir Diarmid.

Where

enough Without such

ness light.

gloss to prove

The

devil

is

up to that

: I did not count on getting such Art-lectures from you. Keep them and does for the freshmen.

Enough

its

dark-

not need

That you should make him to wear

fine clothes for

Tremain.

You make
Let
you
this

a pedant and a pedagogue

is

When
For

he goes masking.
;

Of

that

which

the sovranest thing

stuff alone

in nature.
will,

Or weave
think

it

into verses, if

fools to read, although I used to

The The

freest and the gayest. Out upon tyranny of small moralities,

Shop-keeping
in

But that was

innocence

my
stir

youth's

fond

As

ethics, Pharisee respects high Art must minister to them. Like a fair tablemaid who must not
if

That poetry should

the best in us.

speak.


Kildrostan
But

409
Tremain.
Girls like that

let

them prose and prose

I hate

it all.

For

and good, yea sense and Can't walk about the shore incognito : nonsense, Art, You surely know her ; think of it again. Soaring above them in her own bright I did but pass some pretty complimentevil

realm.

Thrown
in

at her, to

be picked up

if

she

Yet

Not spoken to her an impromptu verse and music and divinest vision. That sprang up to my lips at such a But you are still in bonds to commonvision

them up, and blends them her charm

lifts

chose.

Of light
place.

Of might

and beauty delicately mixed.

And

cannot bear this yet.

Sir Dlarmid.

When
As
if

she, just pausing, gave

me

such
o'er

a look,

Nor
in

ever wish to.

Nor ever shall. One might land

she could have tossed

me

Bedlam
less conceit

the crag Into the pool, then leisurely swept on. is she? All the fisher folk

For

Who
of wisdom.
Tremain.

would say

Was, "It

will be

Miss Ina."

By

the way.

Sir Diarmid.

Upon

There's one thing more I wish to Ay, that was know. Last night. Ever her favourite walk. Now, if Or rather in the gloaming, as you you chance have it. To meet her there again, best let her
the heights, beside the waterfall
like a tremulous white veil

That wavers

pass

Of
I

bridal lace to hide the moss-clad

Without impromptu verses. You might

find

rock,

had a vision of beauty.

Sir Diarmid.

They

breed unpleasant consequences.

Tremain.

Oh,

But
belike
hills.

The

purple glow

was on the

Who
Her

is

she

Sir Diarmid.

Tremain.

Well
Nay, but
and
beautiful,

no matter

my

kinswoman.
lately

A maiden passed me
Robed
all

father

was

our

pastor,

tall

dead

in

black.

Her

step

was

No more
Doris
far
?

of her.

When

shall

we visit

like a queen's,

Pallas- Athene

had no statelier mien, She's Broad-browed, large-eyed, and with

the confidence

more

to your taste.

Tremain.

Of strength and
is

courage in her.

Who

she

Oh, when you will. But that dark-robed Pallas- Athene

your

Sir Diarmid.

How

shotild I

know

No

matter.

Kinswoman,

said

you

;;

4IO

Kildrostan

Sir Diarmid.

With

crafty head.

Surely you would not Intrude upon the sacredness of sorrow

And

heart elate.

Spinning a thread

Like

hers.

Tremaln.

The

parson's daughter

To baffle Fate Twirl the spindle ever so fast. Let the thread be ever so fine. Fate will rend thy web at last,
Fruitless labour surely thine.

Sir Diarmid.
Sir, I tell

you

She

shall not be molested.

Sore against thee are the odds Wrestling with the immortal gods

Tremain.

So

I see

Why
That

Doris' beauty

is

so dangerous.

ACT

II. SCENE
Chorus.

III.

Pallas- Athene, broad-browed, shining-

eyed.
is

your

style, is't

\_Exit.

Once more, with

a heart undivided.

Sir Diarmid.

And
is

Pshaw
For

why

vexed by no discords of thought. But calm in the hope she had got.
that the grief

should I care
?

In a great peace she abided.

that fool's babble

all his

for a fool he
is

With

genius,

which

but a trick

Of stringing words

together musically.

How
Of

could I ever bring him to

home
pious, pure-souled

was forgot. were ended. But that the sorrow was blended the With love, and the bliss which

Not

Or

self-reproaches

it

women.

Yet

brought.

he'll serve

My

purpose, if he only take to Doris,

Once more,
Its feathers,

like a dainty bird preening

And

she to him

she

she cared for her looks.

is

not over-nice.

But is it fair that I should plot and scheme To save myself from a detested fate

And And

pondered her favourite books, read with clear sense of their meaning
the fishermen, plying their hooks,
in the

By

luring her into as dark a snare

And

Nay, but I only bring these two

gether.

Would hear
to-

dusk of the gloaming

the trees and

A full-throated song that was coming

From
the

by the mutual attraction of Their kindred natures let them coalesce, If so they will and surely so they will

And

Manse 'mong

the rooks.

is

Only the time jump

short.

Yet such

folk

Once more, from her Dante and Goethe, She came into clachan and cot.

Into their loves

My

and if it so befell, path were clear, and all should yet

;

And

still it

Though her
and duty

was sunshine she brought, speech was of patience

be well.

For oh,
Chorus.

but she never forgot

The
!

grace that

O O

cunning schemer
idle

Or

the

low

dreamer

Perfect in

due to all human. of a woman feeling and thought.

is

soft voice

Kildrostan
Scene

411

Street

Post

Office

Door,

Ina,

Mrs.

Slit,

Doris

{in the dhtance).

Mrs.
iss

Slit.
;

Good-bye, then, Miss Ina

and

it

They are saying he I think. a great bard or Seannachie, though I never heard him sing, or even whistle, as our lad Kenneth will do.
Loch,
iss

a light there will be in the shop this day, because you have been in it
again.

Ina.

Ina.

Good-bye. You will be remember the warm things

Elspet's rheumatism.

But Poets make songs, and other people sing them now. However, I must bid you good-bye.

sure
for

to

old

Mrs.

Slit.
it

Good-bye
that will

but

iss

Miss Doris

Och

And
tea.

be coming along the street now ; and which iss more, she will be yes, I will remember them. picking her steps, and sniffing as if her Ina. father would be a Chief instead of a Maybe you will not be Dugald's snufF, and Alisthair's cottar's son.

Mrs.

Slit.

caring to see her.

Mrs.

Slit.

Ina.

should I not wish to see it iss the porridge that iss good enough Doris ? But even if I did not, I for him, and more than he deserves, cannot help it now, for she has seen for it would be the whisky that brought me.

And

the snuff and the tea, though

Why

him

to this.

Mrs.
Ina.
us get
just

Slit.

Fare you well. Miss.

care of that
one.
It will

And
he

take
easier

Maybe. But who of what we deserve ?

dealing with Elspet's rheumatics than

Mrs.
That
iss

Slit.

with her smiles, which only show her

!

true.

Yes

Some

get

teeth.

more, and some get less; some have a penny's-worth for their halfpenny, Good-morning, Doris.

Ina.

You

are early

astir. and some only a farthing's-worth for Doris. their penny ; and it iss the scales of Providence that would not do for a Well, this is pleasant, Ina, seeing you shop, whatever. But I will mind. Abroad, and like yourself again. They Miss Ina. told me Ina. Your eyes were red with weeping

That
going a

is

right.

Diarmid's yacht
trip

But there Loch. anywhere ?

in the

is

but they're not. Sir Is he Indeed, I think they never bright.

were so
of

That's right.

What

is

the good

Mrs.

Slit.

injuring
that gets

Och
day.

it iss

that

Poet-man

The

the letters and the printed papers every Chiefly admire

very feature of one's face that men ? One ought to think

He

will not

be for leaving

tlie

of that.

412

Kildrostan
Doris.

Ina.

Ought one
think of

I don't

know

that I did

it.
:

But never mind

Doris.

my eyes are all

did not think of cards, I daresay ; yet you've no idea how right, They get you through the evenings, when your heart
Is like to break.

You

Doris.

That's plain enough to see

quite brilliant.

you look

Ina.

No,

certainly I did not.

But how did you get through the time

of
Is
it

mournmg

Doris.

the blinds, the silence. Well, it's a pity not horrible The people whispering, thedismal looks? give you
I

now;

for they just

was so sorry

for you,

and I called
sure.

The

A score of times,
The
Oh,
to

I'm
Ina.

I'm vexed
servant only told

at that

me

about once.

Doris.
twice, at least.

kind of mild excitement which you need When you are low not staking much, you know. Only what will give interest to the game. And when I called that day I meant to try them. In case you had been very bad.

But then

meant
Ina.
;

come
I

and you would not let me in Indeed, I thought of you from morn

So

often,

till

night,

And
I

could

not

keep you from

my

Oh, thanks daresay you meant kindly, but you do not Quite understand me.
Doris.

sleeping dreams,

was so grieved.
the time
?

How
;

did you pass

yet they're I
I lay
all

You

don't read novels such a help

hear

folk

say

Yes, indeed I do. they cannot com-

prehend you.

At such a season. And got through my daddy

Why,
half of

Mudie

I day. But that is their stupidity, and when Tell them I see you through

and

through like glass

I can't think

Dropt from his perch. how you did.

It's

You

are so simple.

Ina.

dreadful to be shut up with the Bible,

Oh!
Doris.

And
Upon

Pilgrim's

Progress,

just

like

prisoners

the silent system.

Ina.

And when
I

you shut

Your door, and would not see a visitor, I said it was a proper thing to do.
quite,

Well,

Condemned

to

that

was not though

And when
I

the

proper

time

came
are,

might have had

you'd appear Splendid as ever

and there you

Worse company.

my

dear.

Kildrostan

413
do

A miracle
are in
it.

of beauty.
think
it

That

dress,

As

he would like

to

only he
!

now You cannot

rages

how
?

perfect

Where was
dresses
fit

made

But

all

you Ever so eloquent and beautiful At those who overthrow their shrines your and altars.
Ina.

you.
?

Was

this

what smote Tremain

Ina.

Doris, you surely do not lend an ear To one who, for the Jiving God,

would
do you mean
?

thrall

you

What

To

these poor bodiless shadows.

fool,

He
there

Who

is

Tremain

must be

A shallow
Doris.
are
!

I think

for

some
genius, like

Not know Tremain

Raving
about

and he
a

Whose
There
is

marsh-light,

you

as

heathen
quite
as

flickers

where

goddess

no footing for a man to go.

Doris.

Not Venus,
handsome.

but

another

And

cleverer far, though I forget her

But you know, Ina,

am

only half

name.

Christian, half a

Brahmin, and a

Why, what

daughter can Diarmid mean, that Goes with the mother mostly, and I like he has never The folks you call poor heathens. Brought him to see you ? What he says, Ina. Besides, is that it does not matter much About our gods, whether they are or Oh, I am not seeing
are not.

Strangers at present.

Or what
Doris.

they are.

The

one thing
call forth,

that concerns us.

Is the idea of life

But

he's quite a genius.

which they
all

And

one should see them when they

one's way.
is

And
Has
Has

ours

is

now
says.

wrong.

The
of

come

Church, he
;

Which

not often
so

then

he

is

so so

consecrated

grief

instead

handsome,

gladness.

And knows
like that

many

Charmingly wicked

is

people,

and

is

but

you'll

not

cast the shadow of the cross where heaven Poured down the laughing sunshine
;

Of

course, because you've

grown up
to

in a

Manse
every
is

Where
Tremain

one

bound

even science, That scorning wonders. be

Potters

miracle

is

full

of

good, of course.
quite a pagan, but his gods
;

o'er facts

and numbers, and

Are

all

dead long ago

makes man and he knows Just a machine

facts.

for grinding out these

that.

And

does not Aphrodite,

worship

Zeus

and But the old gods of Greece made

joyous
life


414
Kildrostan

With song and dance and

wine and love Oh, you should hear him,
Ina,

flowers and
just.

Doris.

They're inseparable. 'Tis strange he has not brought him to the Manse.
Ina.

Do
I

fancy that

a cross

hope

Through sorrow,
morseless Fate

is

you think so ? which tells of Nay, it were stranger to have brought him there better than re- Its air would not agree with him.
Doris.
to

Chaining
I

the
folk

soul

rocks
pleasure

and

piercing ice.

wish

had more

He's
in

quite

revelation

something

Indeed,

new
Entirely in these parts.
Ina.

their lives,

More

flowers and sunshine, though I'd rather not More foxglove, hellebore, and deadly nightshade.

What

does he say of conscience

Doris.

Yes, I should hope so. revelation only of the darkness. Not of the light. I think I saw

Conscience

He

thinks

it is

a blister that
it

the man Once, and Oh, truly. has made

I took

him

for a

coxcomb

The The

soul so sensitive

cannot bear

Doris.

touch

that

nature

meant us to Oh, but he raves of you.

Ina.

enjoy.

He's very

scornful of

it.

Ina.

That's likely enough His words are mostly ravings.

So

I fancied

The trifler would despise its inspirations. Zeus never had much conscience.
Doris.

Doris.

Then he
and when You're bridling up
fun

No, indeed has the daintiest fancies, beautiful. Poetic ; and he makes you gasp for

He

brings you

fear

Just to the verge of shocking things,

in

Of what
so nice.

he may say next, which

Ina.

is

anger,

'tis

such
Is it?

watch him sailing off, as if he ing is sure had not Than on the thin and perilous Seen the improper thoughts which bending ice. made you pause. But as you will he does not interest Ina. me. And does Sir Diarmid like a man Doris. like that ? That's odd ; I think I never met a
:

To

I'd rather walk where foot-

cannot think

it.

man


Kildrostan
So

415
Chorus.

interesting,

so

fresh,

and

so

mysterious.

Not
mystery
Ina.
in a

for a

moment
all

distrustful
;

Don't you

like

man

Was

she at

of her lover

Truth,

Doris,

first,
;

and

and manhood

Yet, as she listened, a shiver. As from a cloud passing over. Hike Chilled her and darkened the glory. reverence Radiant, shining above her.
all

And

Doris she knew to be cunning. False too, and deft in her malice, But now, adieu. I am not given to Clever at brewing of poisons. preach, Secret, to drop in the chalice ; And young men, they do say, are And she had masques, like a player's.
is

the true

man

reverent to

women.

not like us.

Carefully stowed in her valise.

Though why they should

not be, I do

No, no, she did not believe her not know. But Doris, were I you, I'd hold aloof Yet was the sting there remaining Oh no her lover was noble From one who grazes improprieties, And does not blush to make a woman And yet it was rankling and paining
:
!

blush.

Who
Horis.

could abide

in

such friendship,
?

Farewell.
are you going, Ina dear ? Isle-Monach ? Yes 'tis natural You should go often there, and Diarmid too

And keep from the taint of its staining

Where

Oh,

to

ACT
Where Where

III. SCENE
Chorus.

I.

Visits, of course, the graves

of

all

his

the ancient sacred

eats its

Ganges

fathers.

Slowly
Ina.

crumbling bank.

the brindled tiger ranges

Nightly through the jungle rank. Where the hooded cobra sleepeth I laid My dead in it ; and if Sir Diarmid goes Dreaming of its victim's pang. And its deadly venom keepeth Often, I cannot tell. 'Neath the folded hollow fang.
I

have been once there, Doris, since

Doris.

I fancied

Might have met, now

chance of course.

In a city many-towered a garden gorgeous-flowered, a marble- builded mansion and then, by Stood upon a terrace high.

you

Was And

Where

there

is

so

much

to

attract

Overlooking the expansion

you both

Of the
feeling

garden's greenery.

common
kin.

of your

common There the Eastern sun, combining With the Northern snow, entwining

But then he is so busy with his friend Subtle brain and passion hot Whom he admires so warmly, dear. With the will that bendeth not. Made a woman strongly daring. Adieu.
\E.xeunt.

Reckless

in

her self-reliance.

Kildrostan

4i6

Wanton

in her world-defiance,

Little loving, and all unsparing.

I

do not wish I came

to

hide from whence

am

Far away now from the sacred stream, Rose from a And the land that was growing to her
like a dream,

a cottar's daughter, as your father like beginning.

Doris.

Beneath the

There's no need stars of a moon-filled night. Reminding me of that; but, never mind. lady sat in a chamber bright. Scented with odours and flooded with After this week I'll hear no more of it.

The

light.

A cloth of gold for her seat was spread, A leopard's skin at her feet was laid, A jewelled fan was in her hand,

Mairi.

But they
fill

will hear in heaven,

where

poor folks' prayers

its

Do And golden filigree in her hair And all about her was rich and grand, Of ebon and ivory, carved with care, And gorgeous feathers, and carpets rare. To
Ah
!

courts like incense.

Doris.

Then you mean

pray for vengeance on the friend
tried
lift

who
the smiling sacred river
its

To

Carries death upon

wave. wave.

And

you from the mud. you are

proper
saint.

Oh,

but

the slumbrous cobra ever

like the devouring

Wiles

And

the brindled tiger ranges the darkness for a prey

Mairi.

Through

Nay,
But,

am

not a saint,

Tiger, cobra, corpse-laden Ganges, What do ye with a lady gay ?

Doris,

we

might

both

be

better

women.
Doris.

Scene

Boudoir

in

Cairn-CailUach.

Doris

Well, when I pray, for I

forgiving

am more

and Mairi.

Doris.
Mairi, you are a fool.
quit

Than you, may get

If you were
in

I'll

pray for you that you

better

husband than that Kenneth

Of these

Parlane,

poor kinsfolk

Glenaradale, Who'll

Think what you might

very pretty,

be.

You

are

And

starve you on his rhymes and rebuses. Rehearsing them to clowns in alehouse
parlours.

lady-like,

and have the

colours

trick

of dressing. And matching

you
root

Inspired

of

usquebagh,

might

meanwhile

his wife

wed

a lord

Who

did

not

know

Will time her poet with a tambourine.

the

from
Mairi,

which you sprang.

You do
Mairi.
I

not

know him, Doris:

but

no matter

do not wish Miss Doris,

to

wed

lord.

Why

should

we

part

in

bitterness?

You meant

Kildrostan

417

Friendly by me, although your way Doris. of life Oh He did not use to be " The sea hides Quite so fuU-handed. Cannot be mine. much," they say,
!

And

there is hide away.

much
Doris.

that

love

will

Tremain.

Then, he's not

in

love

And
a

no one cares

to

look on when

E'en as you coming ;

will.

But here's another

game
after

Adieu
Exit Mairi.
Enter Tremain.

by others, His own cards up.

Is played

he has thrown

Tremain.

Doris.

Why,
You
You
have
!

palms me off on you, then, Doris, what a pretty maid Having no taste for such poor gear But beauty still should
himself.
;

He

wait on beauty.

need no foil doubly bright.

twin

stars

are

Or

else

another market for his wares

'Tis very well. Sir Poet. Tremain.

Doris.

How Who

have

we grown so deep familiar, scarce have known each other Any

week
I
?

Nay, I
rude

said not

word

like that.

for a

Tremain.

Doris,

A week
all

seem to have known you

Did you

not

tell

me

my

days

He
To
?

had thrown up

his cards,

and did

The

years before, like childhood, are

not care
see you play his game ? So you have come To take his cast-off, and relieve
his

a blank.

How

did I live then

Dor'ts.

mind
perplexity
!

Oh,
and then.

like other babies.

Of its
Sure,

A gracious
are

office

Getting your milk-teeth, squalling

now
and

gentlemen modating
!

most

accom-

Making

noise

with

spoons,

And

doubtless I
it,

am

honoured, could I

being petted

see
kissing

And

spoilt

by
I ?

women.

What And

of Diarmid

Where

is

he

doubtless you are favoured, when you think on't People keep poets sometimes do they

Tremain.

not?
;

A
To

Well ; man of
and sheep.

he's busy with affairs

acres
he,

For
In

their

own

uses, as to praise their

and

beeves

wares

rhyming
fancied,
to

advertisement
the

quaintly

With

tenants,
?

gillies,

keepers,

and

what not
see to.

Or

relieve

tedium

of their

greatness.

27

4i8

Kildrostan

So

have heard.

But

'tis

new

Doris.

vocation

To

Oh
And
fly,

yes

you are a
It
is

poet.

take their leavings.

of course.

among

the

clouds

Tremain.

That one must speed

you do drop
gled.

Ha
And
As
yet a miss.

a clever shot,

an arrow after you. But whether you are singing lark, or

How

on one,
a lithe panther lurking in a tree.
lips,

Or

mousing-owl,

who knows

You

bring such strange

Licking his
tail,

with slowly wagging Reports.

Tremain.
his branch,

Might

leap

down from
nape

and

bite the

A
I like to

A lark, be sure, the bird of heaven

lark full-throated up
in

the blue

Of
is

the stag's neck, while every claw

heavens.

dug

That

Into the quivering flanks.

And

all day singeth to his love below, only can be silent by her side.
?

watch

But what reports mean you

at

Your eyes
sleepy

such a time,
lids,

at

first

so

Doris.
then
flashing
Self-satisfied,

With

half-closed

Something you

said.

out so fierce

With sudden

lightnings.

You

have

about a laggard wooer, gamester who threw up his cards,

left

the perfect art

and
;

Of deadly wounding

yet I

am not hurt. The

play to you

who

gladly took his

place

Doris.

I the poor stake.

A pachyderm,
Wearing
his

perhaps, or armadillo

Tremain.

bones

outside.

Some

people have An armature of vanity as tough

But not his cards I Nor yet his game, whate'er

have been
'Tis
;

play.
it

may

As

the thick folds of the rhinoceros'

my own

luck I try, laying

my life

hide.

Upon
are shamed.

that throw.

And

wot not when they

Tremain.

Doris.
Just so
;

he

casts

me
;

over,

Though

miss the mark, you aim low or just because

You

And

then you take with me,

me up

he's done

you aim

And therefore I am fit for you.

You like the game The humour of it.
:

Perhaps

So very low. I feel when I am hit Like other men, and may be hit like them; But then my feet are not among the dirt To be hurt there. So you have sped

I cannot say I take

Tremain.

Nay,
I said

it is

not so.

Wide

your bolt of the mark.

He

he did not love you, which is true; said you loved him not, which I

believed

Kildrostan
419
Tremain.

And
for

so,

because the

way was

clear

me,

Doris,

and over all. And I wUl challenge in the tournament Within, without, in heart and brain, afire Of song all poets in the land to match My Queen of Beauty or be hushed With a consuming passion which no sea Could quench, but it would make its for ever. waves to boil Doris. Though they were ribbed with ice. But that's your trade. Fine words
I said I loved you,

which is truest of all:

little

am

all,

Tremain.

Doris.

The

If you knew passion burning in the heart of

Words

You've studied well

The

art, at least,

how

one should play

them.
In paradox and high superlative. To speak the thoughts that swell and
surge in

with hearts.
if I

The sense of utter weakness in all words. Yet

were to prove your love with

some

me

More simple test than boiling seas of ice, It would not much amaze me though
it failed.

Listen a moment, Doris.

When I came

Hither to gather pictures and sensations Among the mountains, and beside Nay, put
the sea,

Tremain.

me

to

the

proof;

and

if

my

life

from dim caves, and from the whish of pines. Pray, let your And lingering mists, and from the that
setting suns,

And

Doris.
life

alone

men wager
least

Most
But
I
if

freely,

when they

intend

That

might write a book which

to pay.

should entrance brain-fagged world, then studying words But To trade on them.

you cared
I

to pleasure

me, you

was

could.

And
having

coidd

love

the

man who

pleasured

me
Tremain.

lighted on

As

would have him.

My Helena, my
The

Only tell me how, forest trees, Or trailing mists, or glory of the sunsets. And if a heart's devotion, and a will Resolved, and some small skill of nice Or curious felicities of speech. invention Or swing of rhythmic phrase, or
anything

Fate, I heed no more hUls, the lochs, the caves, the

But

just to love thee,

and to win thy

To frame To work
plish

such dainty plots as poets use out fates with, can accom-

love.

it.

Doris.

Count
;

it

already done.

There

that's

enough

I half believe

Doris.
I hardly

you, though I fear I should not even half believe. I think you love me just a little.

know
girl

How

I should put

it.

There's a

you know,

420

Kildrostan

At

least

you've seen her

Ina

at the

And

leave you a clear field to win

manse
I hate her.

your lover. Breaking my own heart with a frustrate

Tremain.

hope
too.

Well, then, I will hate her

Doris.

That

is

a test of love's unselfishness

before.

Love never claimed

Nay,
that
is

not

my

meaning.

Doris.

And
Even then before
you

does not now.

Tremain.

The man is nought to me, and never was

love her.
that I

Then
If that
is

I'll

had met with

what you

will.

Who

say you love me.

Doris.

Tremain.

Oh
Like a

yes, your love.

little

Yet you
Is in your

small seedling, having

hint that she

root,

May
And

way.

readily be plucked

up from the
Let's
to

soil.

planted

elsewhere.
I

something else No more of this. is your Pallas-Athene.

Dorb. Well ; what if I would be Revenged upon the gamester who has
scorned me,

had forgot she

And she comes in between me and my wrath May I not spite him where he most
?

Tremain.

What, an
Pallas-Athene
is

she be not Aphrodite,

if

And

it is

Love and Beauty

find

I adore.

would feel Cut to the quick? more of this. You'd give your life
but

But there;
for

no

me, of course

Which

perfect
?

here.

What

when
you are scrupulous.
Tremain.
alone.

would you with her

Doris.

I ask a trifle,

Let
She's in

it

my way, was always in my way.

children,

What would you

Doris,

have

me do

Balked

me when we were baffled me

I am not so poor In every purpose that I set my heart on. Oh, nothing. friends brought out all the worst in That I must beg of strangers. me, until He hated me, who should have loved

in

And

me

Tremain.

best.

Tremain.

Am I
Become
should
a stranger to
?

Ah

you

well

'tis

clear

why you

then Say, what

not your
less

would you

like her

ill.

I must not hate her

But not

so clear

how

I can meddle.

Would you
That
I should carry off a rival beauty.

meaning I must not love her

drift

that

is

that

is

vour ^

: :

421

Kildrostan
But she
love's

is

in your

way

^yet

How

way may I construe

not in There is no traitor like your ready swearer

in the tatters

this,

and do your Clothed

as

of forgotten vows.

wiU?

Am I to tie the offending Beauty,

In Stamboul, her deep
in

Tremain.

sack,

and sink

Nay,

I will

keep it.

Some

evening the darkness

the
in search

in

the

silence

you shall lead tame creature and Whither you will.

I

And

am in your toils, me like a meek,

Of

mid loch?

Or

shall

go

Dons.
I fancied that a
to wUl,

Of the lost art of Medicean poison, Having a And with a kerchief or a pair of gloves, Had but
Subtly envenomed, so assail her life That straightway she shall pine away

woman.
find

lover faithful and devoted.

and he would

the way,

His the
fair

invention, hers but to desire.

and die ? These ways are out of date.

they bring

I've heard indeed of

men who with

Besides

speech

Have

Vulgar detective fellows, worse than

slot-hounds.

About

plied a maiden's heart, and mischief came on't. But hush there's some one coming.
!

one's heels.
Enter Factor.

Doris.
Factor.
Prithee, have done with this
I

might have known that you would I am not marring better company trifle with me. May I come in ? She said you were a coxcomb.
Doris. Tremain.

Good-evening, lady.
?

By

the heavens.

Factor. more seriously inclined to Well, I have heard you Than mine is, if I only knew the way. That these Glenara folk will have a grand Doris, Function of their religion there next May I believe you ? Sabbath,

And

Yes, certainly. Brings you again to-day

But what
I

all

the gods of Hellas, never was

heart

serve

Tremmn.
Is there

A Holy Fair, a big communion-day,

any oath
?

And there will

be hot words, they say.

Doris.

Will carry strong assurance

swear
it.

I will

Can't you
Doris.

Prevent them

.'

Oh

yes ; and break it. any kind Sit easy on the soul
takes

Oaths
that

of

Factor.

them

That's not easy, if they come easy In thousands as their custom is, and get The drink once in their heads.

422

Kildrostan
Dorh.
Doris.

Newspaper men
reports

But you can stop from sending false

Oh
To

she's

a fool

and

it

was

like

a fool

think that I could take her from

About

the country.

the byre

Into
Factor.

the

drawing - room.
Factor.

But

let

her go.

AH

Yes, yes ; I can do the reporting they are like to get,

more than they would wish. But you might give me The gillies, and authority from you Surely. To warn them off the ground with threats of law If they refuse. They do not like
the

And

have your

full

authority, then, to act.

Doris.

But run no

risk of rioting.

Factor.
[Exit Factor.

Law,

Oh

never fear.

Nor

does the

Law

like them.

Doris.

Doris.

By
gatherings;

all

means do

Whate'er may stop these

Factor.

And now you would not mind Walking across the hill, perhaps, on Sunday ? dangerous
You'll have rare fun, and you could
serve

me

too.

Thanks

will

see

to't.

By

the

have been moving some of

tenants
crofts

my

poor

way, I met

Your

pretty cousin in a pretty plight.

From wretched
the sea.

to

settle

by

Doris.

Where
a

they can

fish,

and better

their

How

mean you
ago.

She was here

estate.

little

And

Handsome

as ever.

Factor.

Well, she's on the way now Across the hills, and Kenneth Parlane About it at this preaching. The factor will with her. Dressed in the rags she wore when Report, of course, but your account
she came here.
Barefoot,

better, too, my rents by foresting Their ill-tilled, scanty fields. They do not like it. And I would fain know what is said and done

would be
with
her

bareheaded,
hair,

More

picturesque

perhaps

trifle

snooded

truer.

And

the small

bundle in the hand-

Tremain.
Certainly, I will go.

kerchief

That held her comb, her mother's

Her

wedding ring. Bible and Kenneth's and verse.

Doris.
letters,

prose

Till then, adieu.

You will

think over what I said to you

"

Kildrostan

423

Chorus.
Cat-like,

purring

and mewling, and

of fur, With just a pat of the claw, now and then, for a needed spur, Touching the quick of his vanity, making him keen to go Whithersoever she would, though whither he did not know. Seeming to answer love with love, though her heart was cool. And the clear-working brain was practising as on a fool. So she played with her victim, who thought he was playing with her. For there was not a heart between them to master or minister. Clever he might be, yet would she wind him around her thumb, Reason soon to be blinded, conscience soon to be dumb For when a woman is good, she doth
to all

softest rubbing

From what mean sources great events may flow The tramp that lays him down among
:

the straw.

Despised, perchance home with awe.

shall

fill

your
peace

Plague-stricken, or from

him

its

may grow The ruined peasant's

ward draw

cot

may downit.

The

stately

hall

that neighbours

We are
All members of one body, and a flaw Or lesion here, the perfect whole
shall mar. Therefore let justice
rule,

and love
all desire.

inspire

Wise

for thyself, the weal

of

Scene

The Manse,

Ina and Morag.

Morag.
Please, Ina,

good

inspire,
!

may I have your leave to go

two days
Ina.
?

But being

evil, alas
fire.

she burns up the

Away

for these

soul like

thee, man, for an effort; what though her speech be smooth. What though she smile too upon thee I in splendour of beauty and youth. There is no pity in her ; look at her hard, cold eye You she will use for her tool now, and mock with her scorn by and by.

Rouse

Yes, surely, go
shall

do

nicely.

Morag.

That
Ina,

is

very well.

You do
well

not seem to think so.

" Very
drily

ACT
Our
Like
fates

III. SCENE
Chorus.

II.

Sounds e'en
en.

like very bad, so

Morag.
it is

are

linked together, high If you are happy,

very well.

and low,
ravelled,

knotted
silk,

thrums

of

Ina.

various thread.

Indeed
yellow and green

am.

Homespun and
and red. And no one
is

Morag.
But
it is

sudden

alone, nor

do we know Yet maybe

yes

it

will last.

; ;

424

Kildrostan

Ina.

Ina.
fear

Oh, never
'Twill
back.
I
last at

Oh,

that's

it

any

rate

till

you come You want to know the reason now

of mine. and But, Morag, girls are not so rational As gulls and pellocks. Have you
I'll

have

my

books,

my

music,
course

to-morrow There is the church.

miss you, yet
I promise to be blithe as

Of

never felt Inexplicable sadness overcome you.

any bird.

Though

Morag,

Oh, very

well.

Ina.

earth and heaven and all around you were Why Filled full of light and song ? should not joy too Come whence you cannot tell, nor for

What ails you, Morag ? Would you But just that wells are springing Rather that I should sit me down your heart. and mope ? Whose waters lapse, and ripple You scolded me of late for being sad they lapse ? Are you displeased to see me cheerMorag.
;

what

reason.

in

as

ful now. Yes, maybe. Only you were changed Blaming alike the sunshine and the that day cloud ? You visited Isle-Monach and his grave Morag, And was it there you found the well I see the gulls and pellocks in the loch of gladness ? Busy and merry, and all the boats are out Ina. Letting the nets down, and the wives You are too curious, prying into what are watching Upon the shore, and talking loud Concerns you not. Enough. There you may go. with glee And why ? Because they see the I do not ask you why you wish to go. Or where you mean to go.

herring

come
the

Poppling

shining

water
driving

with
up,

Morag.

their fins.

As
The

You

ought to ask, then.

if

shower were
is

mistress should not let her servants

although

sky

blue and clear.

wander Like hens or ducks

at large.

Ina.

I'm glad of

that
;

Nor
is

servants let

The

poor will good news.

now have
to

bread

it

Their mistress go her own way, without giving Full explanation.

Is
it

But what has that

do with us

not so,

Morag

Morag.

But whether I you

am

mistress

here or

They have

A reason

Which may
trust you.

be doubtful

I can wholly

for their happiness.


Kildrostan
Morag.
Ina,

425
Morag.

there

was

a
all,

time

when

you

No,

do not

would take

Know that
and
our
the
to
all

An interest in us
Our comings
our folk.

our doings,

The
That

enjoy bread you eat yourself, but not

it.

I will enjoy

You

and

goings
cottars

and

the bread.
others
eat,

and which

is

not
sees

The

crofters

and

and

for

the fishers.

The
you, and you
I
life,

you hungry

is

not happy

when he

For they belonged

to

A sumptuous table spread, and he outside.

do not hope to enjoy ; yet I may get Share of the crumbs that fall for dogs
to eat.

them.

Parts of a

common

you

said.

Ina.

Ina.

Ay,
I

was a

fool,

and thought

then to shape

Oh,

forgot.

My

father

always

Who

your lives, Morag, that you were wrong there, could not guide my own, like keeping back some poor trader From that which yet you hungered for. Who, being bankrupt in his own estate. Morag. Is fain to take the helm, and guide
affairs

thought,

It's likely

For

all his

neighbours.

Do

you wish That he knows

not be

better

now, and would

back
again

to tell

me
I've no right

About your journey?

to ask.

So

loose, if he from heaven.

came

Yet

less right

not to hear you.

As

then

when he
is

came from the

lowland folk

Morag. But you should

Whose kirk
it

like a market, free to all.

Know

all

your servants' doings, for

Ina.

spoils

them

That

suits

me

best;

I think I dare

not go Unless they have authority on them ; And better a bad mistress in a house Except where all alike are free to go. Than let the maids go gadding as Morag. they will. Well, you are free, and it would do But for this business calling me away. you good Do you not know, Miss, that to- To hear the sound of psalms among

morrow

is

the hills
at

The

great
all

Communion
the

Glenaradale,

When many
and yet

thousand

voices

join,

And
Oh,

country will

be

there,

and half

The godly ministers

it

of Ross and Skye

'Tis like a small child's cry unto the heavens.

will be a great time.

Or

tinkling of a little brook.

Ina.

Ina.

Well, I hope

know

You

will enjoy

it,

Morag.

That must be

fine indeed.

426

Kildrostan

Morag.
Tells
at

Ina.

then the preacher the glad tidings to the poor

first,

And

And
He's
called

what of him

Morag.

Just like an auction at a country

fair,

" The Searcher "

the
like

he has

no fine points ; Offering his ware so high that none But well he knows may bid and deceit For that whose price is costlier than
rubies

doubling foxes
for

Of

hearts

that
;

are

But in the end the treasure which no wealth Of man could buy is proffered without

their

wUes

And

does
lose

not
his

pore upon the paper,

place, but

fearful

money
Ina.

To

has his eye

And

without price.

up your very thoughts That's as it ought to be Into their holes and secret hiding-places, But I shall hear the same free And hunts you from all coverts, till gospel here you lie From him who soon will be our pastor.

on you Always, and follows

Low

at

his

feet,

and

feel that

you

Morag.

are lost.

Him!
It'sathin gospel that you'll get fromhim. I do not envy I bought a pencil one day from he drive the packman, Folk to despair ? And I was fain to put a fine point on it.

Ina.

him.

Why

should

But ever
Just
I

as I cut, the lead

when

had

it

nearly right

went on whittling, and broke. Till there was nought

of
stick,

would break. and so and it broke

;

Morag.

He
Is

says that to despair

to

have one foot on the thresfinger

hold, truly.
left

but a bit Belike,

And
For

on

the

latch.

'Tis

very good
sinners to despair a while.

And

it was sharp enough. yon lad

Is whittling

down

his faith too, like

Ina.

my pencil To make a fine

Only
a

My father
point on
it, till it

stump of wood.
a

Sought to bring to them. Then he

be
!

hope

and comfort

must read too

Morag.
paper

His sermons from

to think

Och

And
music-notes for collie dogs at sheep with But the
!

there

Yes! was no great work here

Ina.

in

Of having To bark
faithful

his day.

But there was some good work. Can do without a paper. If you heard any rate Black Eachan of Lochbroom I care not for your " Searcher."

dog

At

Kildrostan
Morag,
But when he Has done with you, and you are groaning, maybe. Over your sins, then Lachlan of the

427

To

care

much

for him,

when he came

at times

To

help

my

father here.

Morag.

He never seemed Himself when he came here. Your father was take you up. And like a prophet speak the word Too critical, with commentary books That suck the marrow from the bones of power,
Lews

"The Trumpet

of the

Gael"will

That

stirs

despairing

hearts.

He
;

of truth,

does not water The gospel with book - learning

lets

And leave them dry. And in a pibroch

he

you

God
that
said
to

Must have the muster

the fight.

first,

and then

Speak for Himself in texts and promises,

Like the great word

Lazarus,

And
Nor

then the wail, and then the song

:

of triumph
shall

"

Come

forth," and he arose.

Ina.

you understand the

several

parts

If there were prophet Could move one so But no, it cannot be. 'Tis vain to hope for the old faith again That shone about our childhood.
!

: so it is with him ; must have Eachan first, and Lachlan next. And then your heart will glow to Neil of Raasay.

Without the others

You

Ina,

Morag.

May
not doubt
I

be

and yet I think

I'll

stay at

Do
for you.

home.

But one of them would have a word

For after maybe

these

comes Neil of Raasay,

as if

am not in the mood for strong excitements You'll tell me all about it.
:

He has a pleasant voice,

pearl.

Morag.
he played

Sweetly upon an instrument, to tell About the golden streets, and gates of

A true account home

Feast

Yes, I'll bring of the last great

And walls of emerald and amethyst And topaz, and the river and tree of life, As if the birds of God had left its
boughs,

Held

in Glenaradale.

Ina.

They
to earth to sing about their

And come
glory.

And

Nay, not the last. have been there a century at least, may hold on another, if there's
the land, or
linger

faith

Ina.

Still in

maybe

if there's

Why, Morag, you

none grown poetical O'er Neil of Raasay. Yet you did Such customs not seem gone.
are

when

the

life

is

428

Kildrostan
Morag.

Why
The
country's

told

you not

this story to

me

Have you

not heard
it.

first,

ringing with

Instead of maundering on about the

preachings
Ina,

What
What
is

care I for your "Searchers"

Ringing with what next to hear ?

there

Morag.

Only

that Doris has evicted all

and your "Trumpets," old Neil Raasay droning about heaven But these crofter After his whisky ?

And

folk people from their houses, which In green Glenaradale they touch my even now heart. Are empty, bare, and roofless. She Yes, I will go with you ; I will get would crowd them ready Upon the strip of shore already thronged With fishers, and they mean to go away. I' the instant: they shall know they have one friend They have been used to tend, and Who shares their grief and wrath. handle sheep

The

cattle, and they have no skill Morag, with boats ; But, Ina, think And now they are just waiting for It is a twenty miles across the hills to-morrow. Housed on the beach, or in the birken Through moor and moss.

And

wood,

With

breaking

hearts,

before

they

Ina.

leave the land.

And
girls

if it

be so, think you

Ina.

I could not do't like other

Highland

What say you i

the
soil

? They fought for Charlie once. they have grown like native Misled by a belated sentiment. heath or bracken And by their trust in those who should And they her kinsfolk have wisely Led them, and only brought them Morag. into sorrow Ay, but near of

Doris root them from In such a cause

Where

May

kin be too near in place for upstart But

who

will fight for

them now

pride.

I've heard some say

we
the

are

all

sprung they

from apes.

were I only man, at least I'd heard

land.

let

my

voice be

And maybe
disgust us

that's

reason

For

their poor right of living

on the

More than
Glenara
is

dog or

cat.

At any rate,
for deer.

Morag.

a desert

now

No,

Ina, no

it

must not
Ina,

be.

Imeu

Cruel and heartless

her.

and yet only like

I

What
may go
to the

must not

preaching if I

will,

429
a ripple of laughter at her prow. a rush of bubbles

Kildrostan
But not
miles

to visit the oppressed and poor

it ?

With

That's not
?

Oh,

it

is

the twenty

And And

upon her

lea.

Well, I
is

could do

it,

for

my

heart

Thewind fell low as the sun went down,

high.

And
One

on the moors among the springy

A jewelled

every cloud had a golden crown, belt, and a crimson gown ;

turf

does not weary as on dusty roads. And every corrie, and rock, and hill, But there's no need of walking. How's Was veiled in pink or in purple, till the wind ? The glory was quenched in the gloam-

My

boat will bring us cleverly along

It
it

ing

still.

To Kinloch-Aradale, within a mile Of Corrie-an-Liadh. We shall do

nicely.

was the dusk of a

sultry night

With

Morag, only think of the old men their long memories clinging to

When Kinloch-Aradale rose in sight. And on the beach there were fires
alight

soil. Fires alight, and to and fro babes and mothers on that home- Forms among them moving slow. less shore And on the breeze was a wailing low. 1 would not bear their curses for the wealth Kenneth's Song.

the

And

Of all

the world.

There
Morag.

is

no

fire

of the crackling boughs

On
But
is
it

the hearth of our fathers,

They
Is true,

will not curse.

;

There

you say

the wind

fair

the boat

Will bear us bravely to Glenaradale.

no lowing of brown-eyed cows the green meadows. Nor do the maidens whisper vows In the still gloaming,
is

On

Glenaradale.

There is no bleating of sheep on the hill Trimly speeds the dainty boat Where the mists linger. Swinging o'er the foam-tipped billow, There is no sound of the low hand-mill Where the keen-eyed sea-mews float Ground by the women. Sleeping on their watery pillow. And the smith's hammer is lying still. Past the low black Cormorant's Rock, By the brown anvil, Where they crowd in hungry numbers Glenaradale. There a great grey heron woke. Ah we must leave thee, and go away Sudden, from its noon-day slumbers, Far from Ben Luibh, And beyond, the threshers rose High above where the whale had Far from the graves where we hoped
!

Chorus.

sickened,

to lay

Well could you hear

blows.

their

crashing

Our bones with our

to pray

fathers,

Far from the kirk where we used

breath was quickened
:

As its labouring
The

Till rounding the red headland now.

Lowly

together,

boat leapt out in the open sea.

Glenaradale.


43

Kildrostan

We are not going for hunger of wealth, A

For
the gold and silver,

broad green corrie

and there the

wind
on a wild March day, hill and rock That rarely a storm on its stillness
hardly
felt

We are not going to

On
Nor
the

seek for health

tilth

Was
It

flat prairies,

was so girdled with

yet for lack of fruitful

On

thy green pastures,

Glenaradale.

broke.

Only
hill

the wild deer the moss

make
and

their lair

Among
Content with the croft and the were we.
there.

the

bracken

Or
Or

the stealthy fox, or the glede and the blue hare and ptarmigan on the

As

all

our fathers.
fish in

kite.

Content with the

the lake to be

Carefully netted,

height.

garments spun of the wool from Slowly the mountain shadows creep Across the hollows, across the brook ; And to the right in the rugged steep O black-faced wether Is a narrow gap where you can look Of Glenaradale. Right down on the glimmering loch that clings No father here but would give a son To the roots of The Hill of a For the old country. Hundred Springs. And his mother the sword would have girded on But it is not the red deer that haunt To fight her battles ; to-day Many's the battle that has been won Corrie-an-Liadh, and crowd the brae. By the brave tartans, Here in groups, and there in tiers. Glenaradale. Till hardly a patch of stone or heather. But the big-horned stag and his hinds, Hardly a green bracken leaf like a
thee,

And

we know.

feather.

And

Through the close-packed ranks In the high corries. the throng appears. the salmon that swirls the pool
It is

of

below

men and women,

their

the young and

locks,

Where
Are more
and so

the stream rushes,

the old.

than

the

hearts

of men,

Some with
their gold,

snowy

some

We leave thy green valley,

Glenaradale.

Matron or maiden, with cap

or snood.

And

stalwart

sire

with

his

strong-

ACT
Near
to the

III. SCENE
Chorus.

III.

limbed brood Men of Glenara with heads bowed low. Men of Loch Thorar with hearts aglow. Men of Glen Turret, Glen Shelloch,

The

stormy loch, behind ridgej of the Badger's Rock,

Glen

Shiel,

And

lads

from the

Isles

which the

there lay

mists conceal.

Kildrostan

431

Right bay

at the

mouth of

that mountain

The

factor,

with

gillies,

and dogs,
on

and whips.
is

There

mound of swelling green

And

the poet

with heathendom

Whereon

the golden sunbeams play,

a trickling spring

his lips.

And And

daisy and pansy flowers are seen,

close beside
it

Circled with moss and draped with ling.

They came from walking to and fro Upon the earth, as long ago One came with the sons of God, we
know.
Throng of people Ina, Morag, Kenneth, and Mairi in front of Factor, Tremain, and others behind the J^inisters,
:

There once they

offered sacrifice.

Bringing their sick to the healing well, And the kid of a goat for a ransom Scene
price

Corrie-an-Liadh,

leafed on bant

To

the Spirit that bound and loosed

the spell.

There now a table is seemly spread With homely linen, but clean and
white.

A " Man "

Is Saul

[passing the Factor)

among

the prophets?
Factor.

And And And

a chalice and platter with wheaten

bread.

Why
Book
that giveth the blind Saul found

not,

Dugald

the

them singing

in the dance,

their sight

And
down, who had
days of yore.

joined the sport, of course.

the sun shines seen before

rites in the

" Man."
This
is

Far other

no day for

sport.

Factor.

mound Oh, that depends : I've known some on holy ground queer folk now One with a great black shock of hair. Whose acid looks would sour the One with a smiling face and fair. cream on Monday, One that was pale, and lean, and Yet make rare fun with sermons on the young, Sunday. With a fire in his heart and a flame on Man."
Pastors four on the swelling
Sit, rapt, as if

his tongue.

day Will not be long, though With grey locks streaming around a wink awhile.
face

the old pastor of the Gael Driven out of the green Glenaradale,

One

You

are a flippant person

but

your

God may

That beamed with

grace.

a light of tender
I'll

Factor.

take

my

chance.

The

^vink

may

Another group behind them lay

Stretched, careless, out on the short
hill grass

grow

a nap

As you

pray, Dugald.

Few

can stand

that long.

They were
But
jest

not there to praise or pray.

fain

" Man."
Blasphemer
!

and gibe they were

all

to

\_Passes on to his seat.

pass.

And kept apart from And not in Sabbath

the rest.
;

Factor.

raiment drest

Hypocrite

432

Kildrostan

Trematn.

Factor.
;

Nay, hold your peace

I like not these men's looks
stern
:

they're

They would tell you " The Lord can work by many or
So be
it.

and grim,

by few."

And
Are

knit their brows in silence, and

You do

not fear that rabble

their knuckles

white, see, as they clench their

Tremain.

great

brown

fists.

Somehow
win.

the

big

battalions

Yes, I do. always

Factor.

Nay, never fear, sir. them well ? The law is powerful them

Don't I know
;

And

one may our side.

alone.

doubt

if

God

is

on

not a

man

of

Let them
"

The people
I

sing, to

Celtic tune^

Dare wag

his

tongue at me.
Trematn.

mine eyes, From whence doth come mine aid. My safety cometh from the Lord,
to the hills will lift

They're in the mood For more than wagging tongues. And

for the law,

Who

heav'n and earth hath made.''

Tremain.
'Tis a pathetic strain In a barbaric minor, long drawn out So the Greek chorus might be sung, when they Played a fate-drama in their sacred
feasts.

What

if

they have the right on't

Factor.

Let them break

The
I'll

peace, and then they will be in

the wrong.

Hush

stop that yelping.

There

will

keep safe with the law. Lads, be cracked crowns give the dogs If this go on. But what proud nip, and set them howling, when face

pallid

you hear

The

Is that

among them

Oh, my

stately

minister begin to clear his throat.

Beauty,
Pallas- Athene of the waterfall.

Trematn.

Why do

you

that

And Doris' pet aversion, whom I have To strangle, drown, or poison

anything

Factor.

But

love.
feet.

I think

I'll

'Twill be as good a joke

throw me

at

As bumming of an organ in their ears, It is a Or tuning of a fiddle for the psalm. Than
Trematn.
I pray you, stop.

her

face to
here,

too,

dream on ; safer there and the seats are

not reserved.
[^Crosses to

See you not every

Ina, and lies dotvn on the grajt.

man
Grasping his staff? thousand there For one of us.

Factor.

There

is

a White-livered fool

But
?

let

him

go.

What's

this
is

The

minister

after

Make

a speech

Who
the prayer

433
sadness

Kildrostan
Without a text!
the like
?

heard Touched with the

leave-taking,
?

of their

And

what's

come of

Be And with

regretful memories.

ready, lads.
Minister.

Factor.

Take
speech Against the law.
Minister.

care,

sir.

My

friends, this

is

a day of solemn

You're on the verge of treasonable

sadness

With us, for we shall ne'er all meet again Here where our fathers met these
hundred years,

We do
Him who Even when
it

not break the law.

Remembering

the love of

breaks the hearts that

it should bind came, In power of sorrow, to redeem from Closer to home and country. Neither sorrow. would I And sin which is its fountain. It is not Pour Mara water now into the cup That sere and withered leaves shall Heaven sweetened with the wood of drop in autumn ; His dear cross. That always will be : nor that tender Who loved us. Men may wreck your buds. happy homes, Frost-bitten, die untimely in their But God is building better mansions spring for you. Nor that the hale and well may also fall, They make a desert He a paradise \ all that They drive you over sea, but He will Reft by the stormy winds; may be bring you Where there is no more sea. And To any people, and at any time

To-morrow only knows what

bring.

it

shall

we should take The losses and the

crosses of our life

But human law, defying the

divine.

As
to

hooks to fasten us to that better

Factor.

Which

gave the dwell therein,

to

land

for

man

world.

And

replenish

and

subdue

its

Ay,

that

is

right.

They'll find a
that.

world Straining the rights of those who own In Canada you hook them on to
better
;

wildness.

the soil

By writs
it

and deeds, wherein they gave

Minister.

Be silent, sir. I wUl not speak of her Whose high imperious order drives had no property in it to give, you forth. Has torn up by the roots a band of you. Homeless Loyal and dutiful and fearing God Factor. As any in the land ; and nevermore
over

Who

Shall

we

together sing our psalm of

Nor

will I hear a generous lady.

praise here.

Who

is

too good a landlord for such

people. break the bread, or drink the cup So shamefidly abused. I tell you, sir. of blessing. Therefore is this a solemn day with us, This is mere cant, fanatic and illegal.

Or

28

! !

434
Stirring

Kildrostan

ill

blood in those
should

who know On
better.

the

high places

to

pollute

the

no better

land?

By

those

who

know

Another "
It is a

Man."

Jt^nister.

Pray you,

sir,

day of darkness and dismay, day of wrath for broken covenants.

for dishonoured Sabbaths.

Have

patience

have spoken nought

And

amiss

Do

Minister.
Sir, I

not disturb our worship.

Factor.

warn you

The
!

people

now
:

look dangerous.

Be

Worship

call ye't

quiet,

You

preach against the law and

call

Or

leave us

do not drive them mad.

Factor.

that worship

Against the landlord, and worship too ! 1 will not hold my peace.
people, hear

that's

Away
Ye
I

are trespassers,

You

and I know you

on

well!
will have writs out to-morrow.

Go
Or

you by

to your

homes, or to your parish

be
the

kirks.
it

will

worse

for

you.

This place
Is not for people to

denounce the law,

legal
rights.

A Man." Now, who will come with me the Lord

Against the factor
?

to help

Or landlords The Book

that be,

in

their

A Fisherman.
to

Will have you

obey the Powers

of them.
that.

That

will I do,

Dugald.

And
is

speak no
clear

evil

There

A Crofter.
!

Chapter and verse for worship

!

Yes, and it iss not you will be alone. He tore my shielpretty Away with hira
ing

down,

Minister.

And
You

Ailie's babe just born.

Take
For

heed,

sir,

what you do.

Another Crofter.

have no law
this.

And
The
Factor.
!

he

insulted

minister
iss

Yes,

it iss

fery well

There
you, or
I'll set

Away
The

the Tod's

Hole yonder, and

tell

the
Iss

Loch
it.

dogs upon you.

deep below

^ "Man."
Och
!

Crowd
!

(^rushing forward^.

ochone

and

is

The

Lord,
?

too,

banished

from

To

the Tod's

Hole with him

Glenaradale

Minister.

To

Canada

Another "

Man."
will
it

Nay, hear me, you;

be Baal

O my

people, I entreat

Ochone

Do

not this crime, for Christ's sake.

Or Moloch that the factor will behaving

Will ye not

Kildrostan

435

Listen a

moment

O my
murder
!

God,

that

So

tragically

moved and
fall

beautiful,

men
Should do foul

I'd almost let him

On

the

To

jutting

from cutting ledge crag into the hungry loch.

Ina.

Sabbath, too Stay, stay, I tell you. mercy on him,

Heaven have

Tush!
Morag.
Well, this man
is

For they

are deaf as adders.

madder than a foumart,

folk to see

Ina [rising

up').

He

would

kill

how one

Is frightful.

Morag, this Kenneth, can you not

might look.
Tremain.
;

do aught To help him I wretched man

while

Nay, not how you would look is no grand See, they drag the
Pathetic grace in you.
Ina.

there

Struggling, entreating, cursing, praying,

They move
the gap

in stern

grim silence to

Now, who

is

that

Standing upon the sharp edge of the rock In the black ragged rock, that looks At the Tod's Hole. Ah Diarmid. right down All is well. [To the Otter's Hole. Into
!

And

Can you look on, sir. Sir Diarmid. your comrade murdered ? Go back, now, lads, and hear the You came with him minister To find your sport, and lo he finds Vengeance belongs to God. You
Tremain.]
see
!

a death.

Too

horrible, instead.

would not stain Your hands with blood from such

puddle as
can I do
?

Tremain.

this.

What
They
in Gaelic,

A Man."
Out of
our way. Sir Diarmid
;

will not hear the parson plead

we

How

this man's cup should they heed me with my iss full. English tongue ? Sir Diarmid. Indeed, I tried to stop him, but in vain. Think you that, if I sung an Orphic I will not budge an inch, and you

have no Quarrel with you, but

Mellifluous, melodious, as e'er

must kill me Before you break a

bone of him

Hushed Philomela, shamed of her

and that

You would be loath to do. There sweet strain, you have given These grim and silent executioners Of Nature's law would listen ? Truly The scamp a fright he will not soon forget I would Do anything, fair lady, for your grace. That's all you meant, and he deserved it well. And yet, to see your pity and your Bully and coward terror

436
Kenneth.

Kildrostan
Minister,
is

Yes, the Chief

right

Be not

profane,

sir

and for you,

from
;

my people, Let him go now. I'll make a ballad of His teeth that chattered like a Castanet. Ye have been
greater wrong.

saved

doing

"J Man."
;

But wrong ye have done

shall

and how

He hass been like an iron flail with teeth To all the folk, sir but it iss your will. The
Sir Diarmid.
Still

we

sing

Lord's song, with the swell of

rolling
in

that late storm

our hearts

Let

us

Yes;
Such

ere he go, then, let

him have

us, confessing all the sin. a shake \_Return to their seats, as your terriers give an ugly rat. And then have done with him. You Tremain. would not make Diarmid, the factor now will hate reproach This day a day of horror and you almost So : that For such a cur as that. As much as he will hate this pious mob. is right. \Thei^ let him go, You saved his life, 'tis true, but only

go back, And humble

showing him a thing to scorn and loathe ; Minister. You should have had more tact. Now, God be praised, who brought He'll not forget it. you here, Sir Diarmid, Ere that was done wliich never could Sir Diarmid. be undone, And put the heart in you, and gave What care I for his hatred or his love? But how came you, of all men, to you power

do not wonder that your were hot.

hearts

saved

it

By

Over

the

people's

hearts

to

move

be here

them, like

Of all

scenes on this earth

An

instrument of music, at your will. I marvel not that they were wroth
at

him
is

Why
Enrich

should I not

The man

of an

And And
Only
it

insolent
servile

ing law
to
hateful.

Of life and passion, to be moulded duly and cruel to the poor. Into pure forms of art ? I came to see to the great, and knowThe Christian superstition where I heard
its

evil nature,

hard

my

soul with all experiences

strain

power, and make

The
in

thing

was

really

living.

Up

town

Tremain (^coming up^.

And

'Tis but a raree-show of surplices albs and copes and silver

candlesticks

There, parson, now your Deus did

not

come

In a cloud-chariot driven by mighty

angels,

And droning repetitions Of the old Pagan cult

:

poor survivals
or else
it is

small

dissenting

shop

where

But riding on a nag, a simple

laird.

they

retail

Kildrostan

437
would scarcely care
left

Long

yards an ounce

of worn-out logic,
syllabub
is

or Doris

to

think

you

Of bitter morals, with a Of sentiment. But this

Her

factor for a stranger damosel.

different.

Tremain.

was back Doris must learn to put up with a heart With Cyril in the Alexandrian desert, That loves all beauty, and has room And throngs of howling unwashed
I could have almost fancied I

monks who hunted

for

all.

A Neo-Platonist
Is

only yon factor

must go back to her.

Sir Diarmid.

no philosopher.
Sir Diarmtd.

Be
him
?

off, I tell

Came you

not with

Unless you'd rather I

you. should hurl

you down,

'Stead o' the factor, from the Tod's Hole yonder. Well, yes ; he promised I should have [x/V Tremain, some sport And there was Doris' tenantry to see to. The jackanapes! Yet, if he speaks the truth,

Tremain.

Sir Diarmid.

I
I

am

near happiness.

Now

for Ina.

Are you

so close confederates already

\_Goes toiuards her.

Ina.

Tremain.

Diarmid
Sir Diarmid.

We've but one

life

thought, one aim, one

And

between us. such a life

!

She

Come
is

a glorious

galley.

Freighted with gold and gems, and silks and spices, And all the treasures of the fabled East, I And at a word she struck to me.
Sir Diarmid.

with me, Ina ; let me take you hence This scene has been too much for you.
Ina.

Ah!

yes;

know not if your courage, or my fears Shook me the most. It was a daring
thing

That's well To stand up in the breach, and brave You poets are the men to win your way their fury. Into a maiden's heart by flattery. Sir Diarmid. Now, you must go and see the Nonsense ; I knew they would not
factor

home
are
stiff,

harm
I fancy.

a hair

His bones

Of my

head, more than sheep would

fly upon The dog that herds them; and you Nay, there is do not call lady in the crowd Pallas- Athene She sought mine aid, and I must go The collie quite a hero.

Tremain.

to her.

Ina.
Sir Diarmid.

Do
see to Diarmid, I

Leave her

to

me ; you must

know

'tis silly,

not leave me, but I feel

your friend.

So weak and

trembling.

438

Kildrostan
was upon
leave
is

Morag.
Ina, you're not going,

It

my
it

And

to

tongue to tell you all, your heart for it

Just

when they've got the work

great day.

all

ready for

Of this

Sir Diarmid.

wise To say what I should do. But then I thought It would be mean to shift my burden off And lay it upon you. Now it grows

Do

clear. Yes, Morag, she must go. you not see her shaking like a leaf? However, and a day or two will end it. Trust me till then, and then I'll never

Morag.
They'll think It strange if we should leave now.
Sir Diarmid.

leave you,
life

Black Eachan's giving out a psalm. Till

leaves me.
trim,

But

there's the

boat

all

And

brisk

breeze

will

take

us

swiftly

home.
Chorus.

Never mind
There,
is

Ina,

lean

on

me

my

arm
off.

strong,
\_M(nic

And my
lately.

heart lighter than

it

has

Oh that sail on the summer sea Can she ever forget its gladness ? been Yet oh the haunting memory Of those bright hours, when
came
to

they

For

there were troubles that did threat

be
sigh

our love.
Ina.

The
see
that

wistfullest

of

the

day

of sadness

Yes,

could

something

was amiss. Something that made you moody and

reserved.

ACT IV. SCENE

only gentler, dear,

I.

Though you were

with me.

Chorus.
Sir Diarmid.

Close

And

yet you never Ina.

asked

me what

by a lake, backed hill

beneath

long-

was wrong.
I

A lodge stood new and bare

Larch and spruce had been
told

planted

knew you would have

I ought
;

me

if

there.

To know
share
I held It
it

and though I longed

to

Only

like tufts of grass

But they were still upon the long-

my

with you, peace till you should speak.

is

not

For

love to be too curious, but to trust.

Sir Diarmid.

backed hill. There, by no care oppressed. The wanderer now found rest Who had seen many cities, many men,

And many And many

More With
risk

perils

a die
all

known. had thrown

his

And for that

than once

trust I

thank you.

of

living

now

and then.

Kildrostan
Skimming the

439

surface lightly and alone Chundra, exactly in the seventh year. Gaily he took what pleasure might And it returns no more, because they be got have not No higher life the stirring West had Lips, cheeks, or eyes to smile with, shown, though the teeth The brooding East called forth no Grin horribly. But, now, I'm rather deeper thought. busy ; Yet could he shrewdly use his wits, I am exI'll hear you by and by. And had his cautious, prudent fits, pecting His memories also and regrets visitor on matters of great moment That touched his heart with lights You'll show him in, and see that no from heaven, one enters Though he sat easy under debts While he is here. Have tiffin ready,

Of duty, that had surely driven too. To their wits' end respectable good folk On the

instant notice,

mind.

Who

went to church, and no commandment broke.

Chundra. Yes, Doctor sahib.

Scene

Glen Chroan Lodge,

and Chundra,

Dr. Lorne

\_Exit Servant,

his servant.

Dr. Lorne.
I partly guess

Chundra.

what Begum he has seen

The Begum,

sahib

I have seen her.

Dr. Lorne.

Tush!

We have no

her mother, doubtless. Well, I've got pill to purge her devilry, if she Is at the old one's tricks.

She's

like

Begums

here.

Chundra. Chundra.
I

saw her

her

Sir Bennett, sahib.

!

Enter Bennett,

Dr. Lorne.

Dr. Lorne.
Bennett.
?

Why,

man, she has been dead these Good-morning,

Had

ten years past.

And

pleasant journey

more.

Chundra.

Bennett.

Yes, sahib, dead ten years ; and yet So so ; your nags are good enough, I saw her, and she smiled ; and then but then I said Your roads are somethingperpendicular, What devilry is brewing ? And what with ruts and rocks they make hard driving. Dr. Lorne. Dr. Lorne. I never knew

Of

any ghost
yet

that

had

been

years dead,

And

came smiling back.

There ; how you lawyers grumble If you knew And They The roads I've gone by dak
ten
!

lose their smile.

for your climb.

44

Kildrostan knew
dark,
it

You

got the better view of scenery

to be well

the dose was

dropt into the

tradition

Thought

worth seeing. But

reckoned hungry

now, Bennett,

But

was what our high

it

Our Highland
air

air is

ordered.

Sometimes
first,

cured, but
failed,

how, I could

Shall you bait

or

work

not

tell
it

Sometimes
Bennett.

and

why

did

Let

us to business

not know God orders

all

except

He

build the

It spoUs alike the dinner

and digestion

To
At

house

have work hanging o'er you, like

the old feasts.

They

labour in vain that build

it.

So

the skull

I took

My fee,

and

silently

allowed the -uh

Dr. Lome. Nature medicatrix, and the mors So be it, then ; and yet That beats with equal foot at every I fear your patience may be tried beyond door. Endurance of your appetite. You know Bennett. Old travellers claim the right to be Quite right ; what other could you do ?
long-winded.
Bennett.

Dr. Lome.
Even
It

I can recruit

me

at

the sideboard there.

so

If you abuse your privilege.

Dr. Lome.
All
right.

seemed. And yet, if Nature worked the cure, Nature should have the fee too ; and
besides

And so now to my my brother.

The
Parson, Ronald
alike

tale.

You know
twins,

My

conscience

got

entangled

with

we were
in

new science That would have no

empiric, no hap-

In form and feature, but

mind
and I the
to heal-

hazard ; And I must go but where

the

it

showed

Ah! weU;

way
it

He

was the family

childhood.

saint,

And
So

oh,

had so

little

way

to

show

pickle

I lost faith in

all

our Therapeutic.

From

So he took

ing souls,

Bennett.

And
And And
As

I to doctoring people's pains and Queer,

indigestions
I

now

had a parson with me

his

aches

he

lately

for love of souls.

for love of fees.

I did

my

Wanting to strip had dropt,

Bit by
bit, all

gown

off.

He

work,
others did,

old formulas of faith.

all

by

rule

went

feeling

And

buried

his

gods,

he

said,

pulses.

and saw
at tongues,

Looking

and writing out

No

difference in his flock

said
their

who came
hardly

prescriptions

to church.

With

good conscience, and a look

And

prayers, and

of wisdom.

pricked their ears


Kildrostan

441

At any fresh

negation

traded, feasted,

And

gossipped as before

nor

And

drifted round the world,

now

up,

worse

now down.
Making a
fortune one day, losing it Another, now in rags among the miners, Then swaggering from a " hell " where

nor better,

A moral class of pure respectables.

But he opined If he went on.
his life

would be

a lie

the croupiers

Dr. Lome.

Hated the

What

And surely so it had been. counsel gave you him ?

Bennett.

pretty game sight of me. Life is now, if you only have the pluck To brave the worst it can do.
Bennett.

Bade him go home,

Maybe

so

And write his

Having

sermon, said I envied him But

how

about your conscience now,

?
?

so clear a case, so plain a brief.

that scrupled

Authority so full, and absolute law But the To preach the gospel.
fellow went

At

physic

Could

it

swallow dice

and cards

And

that a it I take Quite readily: Yet it is odd that ministers and doctors conscience Should be so sceptic in their own Is like an Arab horse that frets and
affairs
:

took to writing novels

he

Dr. Lome.
is lost.

fidgets
streets

You'll never find a lawyer acting so. In the strait I have my doubts, like other folk, but congregate

where people
it

keep them
Clear of

But
business.

let

it

free

i'

the wilds, and

my

The
doubts of

lightest touch.

At

last I

obeys found

Dr. Lome.

Some have
Bennett.

it.

myself After a run of luck in India Up ia a native state netting one day Some hundred thousand, odds.

Ay,

but they're laymen.

Bennett.

Dr. Lome. Lucky you

Doubt every
is

Then you came home

that can

To

your snug place here.

thing, except that

law
is

right.

And

bide

unmoved when
:

all

around

Dr. Lome. Not

I said,

a bit of

it.

shifting.

" Now,

if

I keep this, ten to one

But to my story like your parson, I 'Twill vanish wheel ; Flung up my craft, but did not take to
writing.

at the

next turn

o'

the

game up yet, down, respectable, to grow Fungi and mosses on my brains at home. No faith in physic, I had faith enough Therefore I went But there's my brother, dear old fellow, In my own luck.
I cannot give the

And yet
Or

Having no

knack though I had

that

way

and

settle

abroad,

starving


442
In the old manse, where we
in youth,
I'll

Kildrostan

all

starved

Bennett.

But you took vouchers

him, and
Bennett.

send well."

it

he will use

it

Dr. Lome.
Surely
;

here they are

The whole

of

it ?

And

that

is

why

I sent for you, to

know
Dr. Lome.
Well, pretty nearly
so.

If they be valid, as I think they are.

He

dealt

in

money,

managed
;

our

I kept a nest-egg, or I scarce had been

Where

am now.

But

listen

am

exchanges. Contracted, too, for railways

fellow,
at everything, to

a smart

coming
Straight to the point at
last.

knew Jobbing

and everything

poor Ronald Would never take it as a Would only bank it in

Brought money
gift

him

so they said

from me.

at least.

my name

But

to

my

plot.

Having

set all this

he had

right.

No

notion of investing even and so If things went wrong, as they had often done,
it

As

I supposed, I

went and drowned

myself.
Bennett.
take

Why,

would go,

as other gains

gone.

had Drowned yourself! Well, you your drowning kindly.

To

hungry

creditors.

Dr. Lome.
Bennett.

Next day
But how
man's

there was a body

a white

I see.

Avoid
gift?

that, if

he would not take your

From

the
river

up-country somewhere
with
a

floated

down
pocket-book of
not

Dr. Lome.
That's what I had to
there
settle.

The
Well,

mine

was
partners with

A crofter fellow from Glenaradale,

Who
had gone some ventures,

Found on him, where they did know my face.

in I read the notices

of my decease In the newspapers, one day, in Japan, They gave me Railway-contracting, money-lending, Months afterwards. on the whole what not ? character for enterprise and honour. I took him for my friend, for I had brother read at home with grateful done him

me

My

A good
man
I

turn

more than once. made

;

This
charge

tears.

And

in

Tokyo

with

mirth and

My
to

banker

giving

it

in

laughter.
Bennett.

him
?

To send the money to my brother here. What could you mean by such When he next heard of me, which trick
should be soon.

a foolish

How

could this drowning help you

.'

Kildrostan
Dr. Lome.
Don't you
see
?

443

Bennett.

The

papers

now \

But did you never

To take a gift of eighty thousand pounds write Was one thing to a kind of thin-skinned Your brother ?
conscience,

And

quite another thing a legacy

his

Dr. Lome.

From

dead brother lying

Bennett.

in his

grave.

No he thought that I was dead And I thought oft, when things were
; ;

tight with
a

me.
be
in

Well, well ; you're But the money

mad

What
fellow.

plenty there would

the

old manse,

And

that

somehow contented me.

Bennett.

Dr. Lome.

Was never heard

friend

of more.

My clever
state

The
in

vouchers

Had

married

the native

woman

Dr. Lome.

We

used to call the Begum a volcano Well, here they are ; it was a native lawyer Incarnate, an embodied thunder-bolt. Fat, greedy, false, and cunning as a Drew them up for me, but I think
serpent.

they're right.

And

yet a fierce tornado.

I've no

Bennett.
;

She set him on to write that I had died Leave me alone a while quiet. In debt, and hunted up some old
accounts

doubt

at least

be

Unless I ask a question.

Which

They the poor parson paid. were but trifles, Yet he would wear a shabbier coat for them. I almost could forgive the theft, but not
That
dirty trick on him, the scurvy

Needs an old lawyer's skill.

he held

'Tis a case Of course

That you were dead

temptation

indeed, and the

Was
You

too

much

for him.

Opportunity

Makes

rogues as heat breeds

worms

in

rogue
Bennett.

carrion

gave him just the chance to turn

!

Ah

your too clever schemes miscarry

?

a rascal.

always.

But what came of your Begum

A most mad business Had you but consulted A lawyer, now, you might have had
to

Ten years home With a fine

your will. Dr. Lome. And he might have been honest Oh, she died this day. ago ; and Cattanach came Dr. Lome.

money, Which bought Glenaradale he died.

my

half-breed daughter, and Nay, but he was a rogue in grain, I fear. And never took the straight road, when
;

and then

a crooked

Came handy

to him.

444
Bennett

Kildrostan
Instead of what

(^reading').

it is,

a certainty.

Right, right Not a flaw in them. believed

There is no lawyer could refuse so neat. ; clear as day. Who could have Compact a job. It's really beautiful.

Dr. Lome.
shall

That a brown Hindoo could have Then we made a case So tight as this ? There's only one
thing now.

go and dine.
Bennett.

How
Read
I see.

about
?

tliat

same drowning

in the

I never felt both appetite

river

Dr. Lome.
on.
Bennett,

A
;

means dine. and conscience So sweetly go together. If you have bottle of old port, you're safe to
all

By

draw

it

'Twill not be wasted on me.

Compeared before the Judge

Witnesses certify that you are you. And that the dead man was not you. All right.

Chorus,

So they

sit

there and drink

Port, crusted, that mellows

And

now,

sir,

we may

dine with easy

minds.

Even crusty old fellows That are well on the brink

Dr. Lome.

Then we

can do

it ?

Bennett.

Of the threescore and ten Appointed for men To labour and think. And to eat here and drink.
can wring

Do
Both
principal
heirs

it

we

and

interest

from

his

Oh the night that they spent And the stories they told And the bottles that went

!'

Like shorn sheep to the fold I have not time What did the ordered household say ? sum it, But it wUl take a many Highland acres And what could the old men think Of hill and moor to clear it; and next day ?
the last mite.
to

To

there's nothing

Will

clear his character.

ACT
to lose.

IV

SCENE

II.

Dr. Lome.

Chorus.

He
Then you will for me ?

had none

When
defile

frank,

straightforward

hearts

take the case in hand

Bennett.

Their ways with some unwonted wile

And

crafty stroke.

Will I consent to eat your venison. In their own gin they are oft ensnared. Pick well-kept grouse, and drink your And better they had onward fared dry champagne. With simple folk. Or orderly draw up a long account The choicest and wisest For a good client ? Will I consent, Of all the world is he quotha ? Who talks still, and walks still Why, if the case were only half a case, In clear sincerity.

Kildrostan

445

Let moles work underground, and mine, Doris. Let adders creep with supple spine Enter your complaint then ; Through grass and ling, Get the ringleaders clapt in jail. The Let pewits lure you from their nest sheriff

With

wailing cry, and drooping crest, Will

broken wing But you, man, be true, man.

And

those

Who

" Men " mar our mirth and music.

Factor.

not

be

slack

in

dealing

with

And,

artless,
;

jog along

The highways

for byeways Will surely lead you wrong.

Yes

They might
If

be brought

before

perhaps the

Scene

Calrn-Cailteach,

Doris and

higher court.

Factor Duffus. Doris.

we went warily about it. Have even been hanged for

:

Some
less.

There,
not

DufFus,
hurt.

never

mind
this.

you're

Doris.
I daresay.

much

Well

And

they shall pay for

Factor.

At any rate we'll make them rue this job. Gentle and simple of them. Now,
good-bye

But

all

my

feelings

bones are whole. Drive to the joints are aching, and my warrants out.
that

My

town
Factor.

and

get

your

Cruelly wounded. Does for nothing ? Doris.

count
I'll lose

no time.
\_Exlt

Factor.

Well, well
to heal

we'll find a plaster soon

feelings

Doris,

A letter from
:

Sir

Diarmid,
cannot be
life

Your wounded
law on them.

we'll

have Formal and What does

?

stiff,
it

asking an interview.
?

mean

It

You

say Sir Diarmid took their part

Factor.

this riot.

And

threatening of the factor's

is

He
Mocked me,
insulted

did

that
;

me, called me a rat For dogs to worry, bade them shake

Too

trifling,

though

I'll

make them
affair

suffer for

it.

me well As terriers might. save my life.

But I believe 'twas
all

It looks like business,

and yet our

He

seemed to

arranged before.

Had never less of promise, as I think. What can it be. He is too much a man To beg remission of his debt. What
then?

Doris.

And

Ina

Lome

Can he have dreamed

?

that

have

was there too

Factor.

given

my

heart

Yes ; I saw her Stand up and wave her hands,

hounding on Their murderous fury.

To that word-monger who my wares

as

would buy

With

promises to pay, and no effects

I

To

meet his promise his game,

Well,

if that's

446

Kildrostan
But now I think ails you ?
on't,

As I half think it is, being And like a man's dull wits ask me

so shallow,
if

is

there aught

he will

You

scarce reflect

the

radiance you

In the fond hope that I will now refuse, Being love-pledged to yonder popin-

are pleased

To

see in

me.

jay, Sir Diarmid. Oh, the flat fool! Do I then love Oh, I am always strong him truly ? And healthy as a ploughman. But I hardly know ; it might have been we men

so once,

Had
I'm

he once truly sought

my
of

love

Have
;

cares of business

on us

and,

besides.

but this
sure of, that I hate with all
girl

The
Her

that

robbed

me

my soul They
him.
is

Our

faces never have the light of yours

are horn-lanterns,
stable.

and

their light

Could I break heart now, though I wrecked my life on it, Would I not do it ? Once I thought
to send

dim, Fit only for the

Doris.

Oh
I never

knew you were

But, Diarmid, so greatly bent

That popinjay to her, in hopes that he On business. Yet Might babble a love tale into her ear. like a man. And make her public by a wicked poem Boys only think of Or false or true, it matters not. But that sport.

I'm glad:

it's

shooting, fishing,

Had

been a bootless errand

for she

And

girls

of balls and dresses.

I

But

moves a man Like some clear star in the serenities. You see how wise So far beyond his reach he could not his task
smirch her

grow

takes up

Even by
hour
is

his praise.

But

there.

The This
from

Of duty bravely,

or sadly at the worst.

will delight your mother.

near.

And I must my face, my

smooth the

ruffles

Sir Diarmid.

Nay, I know
innocent, and yet

not

Try to look sweet and Keep my head clear.

wits. Enter

That I'm

so fond of work, or that

may need

all

my And

mother
reason to be proud of me.

Has any
Sm
Diarmid.

But, like or not like, one has

trouble with
it it
it,

work to do,
less

and the

you

Sir Diarmid.

like

Good - morning, Doris

looking radiant I need not ask.

You
?

are

The more

troubles you.

How

do you

Doris.

Oh,
Doris.

To

like

it,

Diarmid.

but you ought If you only saw

affairs.

Well, of course

How
And

sharply I look after ray

knit

That

question

is

a superfluity

my

brows o'er long accounts,

Of custom,

at a loss

what

else to say.

and make

447
provoke sharp comment.
In

Kildrostan

My lips like wafers, doing dreadful sums

And when
Or
they're done I

It will

jump

right

these days.

up, and sing,

We live beneath the eye and surveillance

Of all
Is not

waltz about the room.

Sir Diarmid.

the world, and public sentiment with us, let Law say what it will. For we have made it in our interests.

Well
Will hardly
set

my

affairs

me

Into them closely.

waltzing as I look It is well that yours Will

Doris.
public

sentiment
it's

whate'er

Leave you

so light of heart.

that be.

And
Doris.

suppose

just

newspaper

babble

Oh, by
here;

the way,

Why, what is wrong ? my factor has

Back up a threat of murder, and a brutal been Assault on one who simply did his duty?

Sir Diarmid. Poor man his bones are full of aches No, surely. But was Duffus in the line and bruises. And he complains of you that you Of duty, jeering at the poor folk's
!

encouraged

worship.
to

Those rascals of Glenaradale His life nigh out of him.

thought

worry Setting

his

dogs

a-howling to their
to

I hardly

psalms.

And
aid

ordering

them

leave

the

That you would

their outbreaks

the

rabble

in

Against their natural leaders.

Sir Diarmid.

hallowed place. So linked with their most sacred thoughts and feelings, Where they had met these hundred
years
?

He
Your
ears
in

saying this.

abused I saved

Doris.

Of course.
You
have been hearing Ina

his life

And

Lome.

that's his gratitude

She'll find

Doris.

Herself in trouble some day.

Sir Diarmid.

His

side,
is

Well, I only heard of course. I hope your

clear

Be

it

so

case

He

I'd rather stand with those poor men, has gone to the Fiscal to complain. and bear

The
Sir Diarmid,

sentence of the

Law,

than feel

the verdict

E'en

let

him go

he'll

not

make O'
comes But

the general

conscience

cover

me

much of that. And, Doris, when

out of this

with scorn.
the truth
it was not my errand These matters with you.

to discuss

Same

natural

leadership

which never
Doris.
for

leads.

And

cares not for the flock but

What

then was the business

?

the fleece.

That brought you

448

Kildrostan
Doris. merits?

Sir Diarmid.

kind in you to give me This meeting, though I fear I am

It
is

Who

gets

his

Some
all

folk

too late.

think themselves Worth all the world, while

the

Doris.

world thinks them

to a minute,

Nay, you were punctual

Diarmid,
I've

Too

slight to be

accounted

of.

Your
?

friend.

noticed

that

you

have

that

Was

he then boasting of a conquest

Sir Diarmid.

excellent habit

Of business.
Sir Diarmid.

Nay;
Not
boasting, only glad, as well

he

What

meant was, that my errand Might be too late, forestalled perhaps, and useless.
I

might be. To win so

fair

prize.

And my
it

small merit
Is nothing beside his, nor could
gain,

Doris.

I fear,
?

by

my

poor
that

telling.

It did not

What
What
us

is

your errand then

I cannot

think
matter there could be between
so,

Astonish me plucked

one

so

brilliant

The

fruit

from me.
Doris.

To

two make you stammer

and

hesitate.

Was

this

your errand, then,

Sir Diarmid. Idle enough, if I I see and

To know if I am

plighted to your friend

may judge from

;

Whom
all

I'll
?

not name, as you do name

hear

and

confess

my

him not
I

claims

thought such questions commonly

Are weak compared

give you

to his, for

he can

were

left

To

curious

women.
Sir Diarmid.

A name among the brilliant company

Of wits
and scholars
could
gifts

in the capital.

That was not

that, if
it

my

errand

Who
And

rightly

appreciate

your But

were

true,

would make

rare beauty,

your fine must I then

of mind.

Well
?

A useless one, which

you. Doris.
Better to say out

my

errand

need not trouble

Congratulate you, Doris, or go on Doris.

what you meant

than

to say

About
;

yourself,

question

me

do not understand you but go on. If there be anything to go on to.

I

of love

Which,

till it

choose to speak, should

scarce be asked
Sir Diarmid.

To my
friend

break

its silence.

Pardon me. had won

had heard

Sir Diarmid.

Your

love, as well

he merits.

He To

said as

much.

Well, I did not come speak of love, though love should be the theme


Of such
than

Doris.

Kildrostan
But

449

discourse.

truth

is

more

all

Yes
you have a
right to get.

they put

And

that

Our

hearts in

pawn

to ease

them of

their straits.

Doris,
Please don't Sir Diarmid. sounds so dreadful serious. There No, Doris, that is what they could is always not do, Something unpleasant in the wind, And that's the truth you have the when people right to know. Tell you they'll speak the truth. In No one can bind the heart ; it is as schoolgirl days free 'Twas always the preamble of a scolding, As air, and laughs at seals and And sitting in a corner to commit covenants.
It

Our hearts they could not pledge keep ? And could you yours now is free, not for once Or given to another, not to me. Say something nice, even if it were I come not then in this I will
Will
it

Irregular

French verbs and poetry.

not

not true

be true
Sir Diarmid.

To

offer

mine

to you, or ask for yours.

Nay

said

what now,

have to say must

be But I can give

my hand,
a poor

as they

would

have

it,

Unless

your Tremain.

hand
Doris.

is

plighted

to

Knowing
to

it is

Almost an

insult, to

unworthy gift. be thrown back

me
Doris.

Say on then what you have

Sir Diarmid.

to say,

In very scorn.

Sir Diarmid.

And maybe
It as I under-

you would rather

There was some compact,

stand

were returned

so.

If you
Till

knew of

it, it

was more than

Sir Diarmid.

I did.

That

I did not say

it,

some few days ago

between
I to

But

if

you scorned

might

feel

our fathers.

the less

That we two should be wedded. judge them not: They thought they had a right

Scorn of myself, esteeming you the more.

Doris.

They
The

guide our fates thought, at well to keep

Why
give

should I

scorn you, that

you

least,

that

it

were

me

all

You
;

lands together

whatsoe'er they

thought.

have to give ? man can do no more. Sir Diarmid.

They bound

us to each other, and with cords Hard to be borne or broken.

A
He

man can do no more

fancy
hardly could do
less

and yet I

29


45

Kildrostan

Doris.
I do not

Sealing our hands with that our hands

But, Diarmid,
father's sake,

for

your

do wear. know. honoured Mine is a diamond

is it ?

yours an opal
but
that's

Or

is it

for the sake of lands

;

We'll say the former

better

it

and gear ? Fickle, they say: superstition. sounds rather

There,

mere

now

it's settled.

You

sacrifice

yourself.

Then why
With such

Sir Diarmid.

should I, Since sacrifice comes natural to woman, Fall example ? short of your Frankly, you Offer a heartless hand, as frankly I

Can you then be happy

a bargain
?

Doris.

Why,
Has
happiness
business
business

Sir Diarmid,
to

what
It's

Accept
hearts

it

so

we both

can keep our

do with
its

it ?

Which,

as

you

truly say, they could

And And

has
is

profits

or

its

not pledge.

losses.

Or

raise a sixpence

on them.

if

the gain
?

clear,

what would

you more
Sir Diarmid.

Sir Diarmid.

Do
This
truly,

you mean

It's sin

and certain misery.

Doris.

Doris

Dorb.
It's

It

is

Surely ; wherefore not ? just a family arrangement, with

pious feeling that the
fifth

Your own

suggestion, and you surely

could not

The

com- Lure me

mandment
Is rightly honoured, though the
is

We
By

to sin and misery. Indeed, manufacture sins, like yards of

Law

cloth.

broken.
is fulfilled

these new-fangled consciences of

Which
In

by

love.

They do

ours.

these things

Framed

not by nature, but by novels.

Look! France, and find they answer Here are our lands, that lie so close admirably together. simple piece of business, and there Fast-bound to us and to our progeny needs I am Lady, or shall be; you, No more about it.

My

the Laird
Sir Diarmid.

Of
more
?

all

and each has got what each

like
:

Does
Think

there need no

would

again, Doris.

To

have

then, as for happiness, our

hearts

Yes
Rings with
our hearts.

Are free to seek it where it may be we might exchange found. each other, since we keep That was your own proposal, was
!

Doris.

it

not

Kildrostan

45

Sir Diarmid.
It's

like a dream.

At the strangeness of it all. At first, a loud hoarse laugh

And
:

the

he raised shaggy big-horned cattle

!

Doris.

gazed.

['ra

Wondering, over the mossy wall But not an ugly one not a dream, and some folk think Then for a little he paused and ponpretty.

me

dered.

Keenly revolving what

Sir Diarmid.
[

to

do

And

know

not what to say.

Doris.

bracken and blaeberries wandered. Nor slackened his pace till he came
off through
in

view
still

Say nothing, Diarmid.

We
To

Of the low, green, honey-suckledmanse

Beside the
salt

can imagine
not try

silent

love

is

grand.
silly.

Loch

that lay as

Which, speaking, sounds most

in a trance.

Do

utter

Perhaps Yes,
It is the

now the feeling that is in you. we might just kiss each other.
custom, I believe.
;

ACT IV. SCENE

Chorus.

III.

Now,

go.
call

Good-bye
to-day

don't let your mother

I will see her.
\_Exit Sir

With

a heart unquiet

To-morrow

To and fro she went. Feeding on a diet

Diarmid.

Of vague
From
shadows

presentiment

Now
Revenge
this;
I'll

I'll

have

without

form,

that

at least,

whatever come of
girl's heart

across her soul were sent.

break that proud

an hour.

with-

So the

daisied

meadows

in

Close their petals white When the brooding shadows

Chorus.

Make
when we

the day like night.

to us,

To To

be outwitted so see your plot which was not very

!

For shadows may be burdens

live

on

light.

deep,

And
noble, tumbled in a heap,

she went on, pleading

Nor very

And And

your hope laid low By one who was less noble still. Yet only took you at your word.
all

you on and on, until She held you as a snared bird, And while you scorned your mean
led
resource,

is fond and true ; In a love-light reading All that he might do Pleading, but the boding fear ever back anew.

He

came

Is

it

not a treason

And felt you had

You
wist not

whether

been mocked by rule. it were worse

else so

To her love, to doubt, And in search of reason

Thus
to cast about.

To

seem so like a knave, or

The

like a fool.

which, if she had loved aright, she well might do without ?


452

Kildrostan

Scene

The Manse

Study.

Ina {akm').

Ina.
\

I shall hardly

Ina,

Take you

Down, wicked
like hounds,

doubts that leap on

me So

And soil me
I

My
Well

value, nor am I very wise that your unwisdom needs pardon.

at

your

own

with your pawing.

Sir Diarmid.

know,
is

He

Until I have your pardon and a Tender and brave ; and now he is blank one. my own, be filled up by utter idiocy To And, honouring all women, loves but Of mine I cannot even tell you, Ina,

the truest gentleman on earth.

But

it

does.

And what

is

more.

me.

And

I love
is

him
all

as a

woman may,
life.

The

thing you have forgiven.

Ina.

Whose

love

her

Why
Well
Except a change
in yours.
;

comes he not ? This day was to deliver him, he said. From all his cares, and make me all
his care.

I think

My heart could anything forgive to you.

Sir Diarmid.

Who

fort to

would not be a him

!

care, but

com-

But hush
gravel,

I hear his step

uncertain.

upon the

And
The
same, has
I have

that

is still

never

wavered,

nor

Yet hurried and wrong ?

What

is

yet shall.

Though

wandered

in a brain-

Now
Or

let

me

gird

my

soul to share his

sick

dream

burden.
take
it all

Of
myself, if so I may.
Diarmid.

self-delusion.

One

thing

more,

and then

You
B.nter Sir.

shall

know

all

my madness.
?

Can

you dare

Sir Diarmid.
Ina, shall

To

be a poor man's wife

Ina.

you ever look on me

?

So

lovingly again

Ina.

Ay
And
all

Nay,
!

Dare to be poor have feared to be a rich man's

every day.

wife.

day long,
delight
?

I hope, if love of

Being a poor man's daughter.

quaichs

Wooden

mine

Can aught
ails

you.

But what

you now

Come

handier to

my

use than silver

goblets,

Oh,

Have
me,
1

Sir Diarmid. have been a fool, and properly for I conceited been befooled
!

And

sometimes I have trembled when

I thought

My

homely ways might shame you. But what mean you ?

Sir Diarmid.

was the
an
ass.

cleverest schemer,

though

Can you

forgive me, Ina

No matter now

I'll tell

you by and

by.


Kildrostan

453
Sir Diarmid.

Ina.

It is not that Nay, but if you do hint that for my sake This lot must come to you, I could Will make me poor. You are my

not be

A wife to make you poor.

Sir D'larm'id.

Now, and
cling

only wealth because you are

to you.

my

all,

The more
love seen

For had

I never

Oh, with your

I shall

be rich, and never shall regret.

The

face I

deem

the fairest on this

all

earth.

Nor known
It is not

the heart I prize above

still

You The
Or Or

treasures, your regret I fear to meet fate had This own. but it is my are too noble be mine. thought that I had lowered him

been mine.

It must

I loved.
that I

Whether you
to

share

and sweeten
alone.

it

was a burden

to his

life.

me.
to keep

that he might have held a higher

place

Or let me bear my burden all The thing that I must do

And

played a greater part but for

quite crush

my
I

my

place
do,

sake.

That would

me.

To
do

be
it,

could not contempt,

except with

self-

poor, I heed not.

But to cause poverty

I dare not

And open-eyed dishonour, and the loss Of all in life that makes it worth the
living

Sir DiarmiJ.

And

yet I have been fooled into a

this

Yet what
poorer

if,

lacking you,

my life

were

promise

To

do

very thing.
Ina.

And

meaner than the meanest, having

you.
care for
?

You
done
Ina.
?

frighten me.

Replenished with the only wealth I I do not understand.

What

have you
it

Yon

glorify the thing

you're fain to

'Tis sin to break a promise; yet may be

have.

A greater sin to keep

choice of
daffodils.

it

As poets glorify their favourite flowers. The

Although but common
one

sins, 'tis

and between hard to pick

Yet

one's way.

Can know

one's self as none else can,

Sir Diarmid.

and judge

With

less imagination.
is

But what

this

Let that pass. you speak of? How

Ay, truly it is but a choice of wrongs. I made a promise that was false to love.

And break it

that I

may

be true again

should you

Be poorer
Is a poor

for

the choice

Caught in the snare which I myself had laid, your choice, but that I must break from it, though I break
I

one enough

my

troth,

454

Kildrostan
course
I see

For only being false, can I be true. Not even from Diarmid, who of Oh, I am humbled and ashamed, as well would be I may be. But you do forgive me, Ina? Clumsy at telling it. Yes, yes,

You know
Itia.

his ring

he put

it

on

my

finger

Yes, I forgive you. plexed.

But

am

per-

What

An hour ago, and made me, oh so happy! Now will you not congratulate me
?

is it all

about

Enter Doris.

Sir Diarmid.
Ina,

Doris.

Hear me.
dear.
to clear like that Myself.

Nay, do not think

I wish

Oh, Ina

Why
Who

do you keep a dragon Morag,

Ina.
Sir Diarmid,

cannot even nicely tell a lie To visitors, but sends them from your door.

Or

not to do
in

what you wish to do and whether you are

right

Gruff

as

a bear?

(Starting.)

You
think

Ah! Or wrong
?

doing that which you

to say.

here, Diarmid, are

you

have done,

Well, you are favoured, Ina.

Only 'Tis not

for

me

Why

should

you bring That both of us should turn at once You, either of you these affairs to me, to you Settled between you ? Doris, I am sure To be the first to hear the happy news You came not here to give me any joy. Of course, he has been telling you. And if you wished to pain me, you have failed. Ina.

know

not

And
I

lost

your errand.
to

Now,
do
in

pray

What you

mean, Doris.
Doris.

you leave me
have
time.
!

much work

briefest

Diarmid has not told you

Well, that was kind to
the bearer
let

hope that you

loyal
;

will be a loving wife

me

be

And

but these things concern

Myself of my good tidings. you guess Why I am here so happy ?

Ina.

not me. Can't Adieu

Sir Diarmid.

You
Truly no
;

you must hear me out. should have heard the story from myself

No,

Ina,

am

not good

at riddles.

Ere now, but

that I shrank from

my

own shame.
Doris.

And from your pain to

this
is

hear
all

it.

Listen
land

But

not

then.

riddle

and I wished you so to This lady has a right to

my

hear

it

An honourable
lips,

From my own
stranger,

and not from any Unless

by bond of law marry her ; and I, who had

right

No

right to use such

mean diplomacy,

Kildrostan
love another man,
request,

455
Sir Diarmid.

Plotted to

make her

And
Not
But

get refusal of

my own

Ina, I

was a

fool,

and dealt
there
is

in craft,

for her love, for that I never asked. for her hand, the

Only

to be the greater fool, the

more

which

I did not Crafty I

seemed
is

an end of

want.

that
in

Yet she accepted that which was

truth

Doris, there

the ring you put on me,

An

offered

insult

marriage

Unasked.
without
Doris.

love

I thought Frankly avowed. you will, I hoped that she would cast

We
nay,
if
I'll

made exchange, and keep what I have got.

for myself
I

am

not

it

with scorn.

As

it

deserved.

O the blind fool I am

one back To throw away a lover or his lands, While I have wits to hold them.
!

But she picked up the gage, even so

conditioned

Sir Diarmid.
;

Be it so As any woman with a woman's heart Take or refuse, it matters not to me Would have despised to touch it. My choice is made. From henceforth
No, I do not I will be Accuse her to you, or defend myself. Honest, however poor. I have done that a man will scorn

And

me

pardon
mockery,

himself All his

life

had no
offer

right to insult

you with an

long for doing.

Doris.

Which
terms

you,
I, at

perhaps

in

Handsome
!

accepted.

For one who, unsolicited, besought My hand an hour ago You shall not

Which

any
to

rate, in

simple man-

mend
Matters
in this

hood Ought never

have made.

Take

all

way,

sir.

then They're justly yours

rights,

my

my house
;

and

Sir Diarmid. I

lands and

all

To

do not hope You have no mend them, but to end them.

out

My

fathers did enjoy

but understand

right in

me for

evermore.

Hear me

Frankly I do accept the poverty My father has bequeathed me, and I came, Ina, to you to tell you this resolve.
Doris
" The king
I'll

Ah
Oh,

that

is

right,

whatever

else

was

wrong.
Doris.
yes, of course he'll give

up

all for

{^singing).

you.
Ina.

says to the beggar maid, clothe me too in duds, And we'll go mending pots and pans, And camping in the woods."

'Tis nought to me. I have no interest Only I In any of these doings. Would grieve to think of one I

rare idyllic love in tattered rags

reckoned true

:;

:! !

456

Kildrostan

And
The

noble aboYC many, falling from

ideal of a better life, to be

Which

else

had

been

as

the

poor

gambler's luck

scorn unto himself.

well.

But

fare

you Fooling him

to his ruin.

Doris.

Ina.

Oh,

it is all

the high heroics here

:

May And
if it be, there's

it

be so

The

very

air is tragical

we

no one will rejoice

stalk

And

strut,

when

other folk would only

More

than I shall, to

know

that this

walk. Only a passing cloud, which we reCast to Moral-sublime's the role member the wind Not as a cloud, but as a freshening Houses and lands and honours all for
!

has been

love

shower

And
That

yet I even dreamt you would

Redeeming the scorched

land.

have thanked me, I would be content to take his hand,

his heart

Sir Diarmid.

And leave
we
Meet

to you.

Good-

If shame can
resolve.

Redeemed it shall work repentance

be.
;

but

morning, Ina

Good-morning, you.
shall scarce

Sir

Landless

Knitting
battle.

its

brows, and girding for the

again soon.
\_Exii Doris.

May

yet lose heart, seeing no gleam

of hope

Sir Diarmid.
Is this the end then, Ina promised to forgive.
?

To

brighten patience.
Ina.

You

There

is

hope of mending.

Of
Ina.
I have forgiven

being once more what one failed

Sir Diarmid.

to be.

Though

this

was

not, I think, within

the scope

But none of Love

cistern

That
for

is

a broken

Of

possible

thought then.
?

But can

you forgive
Yourself as readily

That keeps no water

heart,

the broken

Being once cracked

Sir Diarmid.

Ina.

you let me go In your esteem, that you should think Perhaps the broken cistern truly is this shame. The only broken heart. Farewell Like a boy's blush, shall vanish, and he scarcely Sir Diarmid. Know it was there? I have done Farewell wrong, but from I will do right though this be hope's That wrong I trust to shape a better sad knell.
I pray
life.

Have

I fallen so

low

\Exit Sir Diarmid.

; ;

Kildrostan

457

Ina (^ahne).

And

Ah me
this,

and I have lived through and may

!

the sweet incense offered, betoken Faith that ne'er falters ?

to

Have many

No

years of such a life to live warning of it the volcano smokes Pick up the fragments, piece them well together. Before it bursts in flame, but here the fire Broke suddenly beneath me, and my Tenderly fit them each into the other, Raise now the Fish-god, Lord of world war and weather. Is blackened, scorched, and burning High o'er his altars. under foot. And not a blade of all its former beauty, And not a little well of all its gladness Ah but your heart sank, shattered as he lay there. Remains, and no horizon to its darkness Except a far-off grave ! O weary life! Peace you had none then, wailing all

Love, there
bringest.

is

no joy

like that

thou

the day there.

Yet

Nor any
behind,

grief like that thou leav'st

as you look now, can you go and pray there Where you once wended ?

Being gone.
so

God

pity

me

was
in

happy
while ray heart

And
Of
it

was singing

the light
its

great bliss, the arrow pierced

to

Once he was glorious, your gilded Dagon, Throned on his altar, or borne upon his waggon ;
But he was broken, and how are you to brag on

through. And I feU prone

this.

What

must

do

What
Here
were

you've just mended

the
fractures,

can I do ? No, there is nought to do. But only try to look as if the wound Hurt me not, and to bleed so silently. Girding a maiden's modesty about

What

though
he did

they're patched up nicely.

And

he looks once more

as

precisely

A
1

broken heart, that none

it

may

find

out.
;

Yet he can no more be so paradisely Perfect to you now.

Varnish the joinings, veil the sunshine

blame him not

not false
least,
it

he has been weak,

for

At

was

truth

that

he

garish.

played false God pity me, But oh, it is too hard. For my glad life is turned to misery.
[xif.

Dim
As

light

is

fittest,

when

the

soul

would cherish
a thing sacred that which can perish, Patched up anew now.
so

Chorus.

What

your Dagon, falling down, Broken her dream is, faded all the glory. is broken, Dagon, to whom your daily prayer All the cloud-castle fallen a ruin hoary was spoken.
if

4S8
Lost too the thread, and
the story

Kildrostan

interest of

No

love can spoil

it

perfects

with

its

touch

Late so entrancing.

And being And like a

maiden
clutch
;

free hath a familiar grace, babe even sacred things will

No

more may he come

in the
;

to her

vision

Yet
splendour of a

life

were

dull

and dismal withits

Robed

Power

out such

Elysian

Lights on
he, feeble of decision,

face.

Only a man,

Foolishly chancing.

Scene

Post

Offict,

Morag
Slit.

and Mrs. Slit.

Mrs.
!

Och and it iss yourseIf,Mrs. Morag,

ACT v. SCENE
Chorus.
Bears
still

that will
I.

which
hill

it

be a wass
it

sight

for

sore

eyes,

when

the loch said to the came out of a month's

mist.

the faithful servant on her

griefs,

salve, Mrs. they can do without me, and without the spectacles too, for they The well-trained hireling deftly plays are as keen as a hawk's, though you are not so much younger than myself her part. But clumsy service, fairer far thou either. But I have been very busy, and I have had my troubles and my art, tempers too. Love moving thee.

heart

Morag. Your eyes do not need

;

The

household joys and e'er they be

what-

Slit

Mrs.

Slit.

" Oh,

'tis

our bargain
in

so

much work
as

Yes,
troubles
fly

yes

We

are

all

born

to

and wage No more is

shall find
:

the

bond,"

you

and tempers, upward. Morag.

is

as

the sparks

Ay

but

the

unwrit bonds of
set

engage

More

than

is

down

in

page.

just like the seal I am. I head above the water maybe the formal for a minute, and turn this way and that to see about me, and then I'm

God

It

get

my

Or Law
" Yes
it is
!

can bind.

down
crabs

to the depths again

and the tangles but they are a plague, and troubles and tempers.

among
that's

the

the

To

wrong them be too them quite "

let

free

Mrs.
it

Slit.

spoils

But Miss Ina will not have her

tempers, though,

Ay, love takes liberties, may long For one true heart amid a
throng

but

you

heartless

Morag. Will she not ? But she brings out mine whatever; and it is all the
same.

On

some dark

night.

Kildrostan
Mrs.

459
or
tinklers,

Silt.

heathens
that,

Och!

yes.

But an angel might do

Morag. she

iss to

be pitied.

Morag.
Girls are not angels, Mrs.
Slit, as

Morag.

No, she

is

not to be pitied, but to

you would know if you had any. be roused up, and told her duty, and Angels will know their own minds, to be respected, Mrs. Slit. And for at least, and we have four and twenty her uncle, he will be giving her a minds in the four and twenty hours. house and a down-sitting like a

Yes, I to be left

Mrs. Slit. It iss a know.

all alone.

duchess, when she will go to him and he is not to leave Glen Chroan great change any more.
;

Mrs.
alone

Slit.

Morag.
But she
than
is

It iss yourself that will

be going

not more

now

with her then, Morag.

For he ever she was before. would be always at his books and his She would
Mrs.
water.
Slit,

Morag.
as
ill

sermons, as close as a limpet to a rock.

do without me,
without the

Mrs.

as

Slit.

the gull

That iss true, but then he wass always there, Mrs. Morag, which it difference. just makes the

Mrs.

Slit.

My Yes, that iss true, you have been And it iss with her all her days. useless body Eachan would be a riding in your coach you will be, and sitting there by the fire for years, living like the princes and rulers of cramped and twisted with the rheuWhen will you be matics. But he wass always there to the earth maybe. going, now ? be seen to, and to be wanting this and Morag. that ; and it wass not like the same I do not know when we will be house after his arm-chair would be empty. Poor thing it iss myself that going, or if we will ever be going, and I do not want to go near a house can be sorry for her. which is no better than a heathen's.
!
,

Morag.

But
calling

it is

not for you, Mrs. Slit, to be

Mrs.

Slit.

poor thing, like any But she will have to go somewhere fisher-lass in the clachan ; and her a soon, for we will be having the new lady, and a minister's daughter too minister, and he will need the manse, no doubt, but I hear there iss no wife Mrs. Slit. to come with him, whatever. pitied, Morag, Surely she iss to be
her a
!

for she

iss

in trouble,

and which

iss

Morag. more, she iss an orphan, and which Minister Is it the lad you would iss more, she will have no one to look to, but that ne'er-do-well uncle be having two Sabbaths ago you call who iss here to-day, and nobody a minister ? To think she must leave knows where to-morrow, away among her father's house for the like of him
! !

460

Kildrostan

But is plenty Gaelic for his purpose. Mrs. Slit. to-day ? wrong with him, Mrs. there no letter for us Morag? He iss a very pretty man, Mrs. Slit. and, which iss more, he hass the Och yes, there will be one for

What

iss

beautiful Gaelic.

Miss Ina.

am

thinking

it iss

from

Morag.

the laird himself.

What will be taking

settle

Maybe he has : but has he the used to Gospel, Mrs. Slit ? blame the old man because he was more dainty about his words than his But this one, he will have doctrine. no doctrine at all either about God For I heard him tell Miss or devil. Ina at her own fireside that the devil was a myth of the Middle Age. As if he was not as busy with young folk as he is with the like of you and me,

him
all

to

London now, when we wass

his

We

hoping he would be come to

among

own

folk

Morag.

How
take

should I
to

him

London

know what would Maybe to bring ?

an English wife to turn up her nose at But why did you not tell me of us. the letter before ? and me wasting my time here that never gets out of doors
till

Mrs.

the bats are out

Slit

Mrs.

Slit.

Mrs.
But
this
it

Slit.
till

Och

yes, that iss true, whatever.

iss

Mrs. Morag? You should know that have lived in a minister's house so long.

But what

a myth,

wass yourself never asked fery minute, Mrs. Morag.

And
at this

Morag.

Morag. would time of day ?

what
else

I be here for

Do you think that I

aries then,

swallow diction-

because I live in a minister's

house

do not know what it is. and wafered, and blue paper, and will But it will be something bad, no doubt, be an account, no doubt ; they are not or it would not be spoken about him, fery welcome at the castle, I fear. middle age or not middle age. There iss no hurry about that. This Mrs. Slit. iss from the gamekeeper to the factor they would be for drowning in the will something But it be bad. Yes, loch. It can wait; he wUl not be he hass the good Gaelic. caring for letters yet, I'm thinking. Morag. And there iss half a dozen for the And the devil has the Gaelic and long-haired poet-man that will be courting Miss Doris. It iss a bold the English too, Mrs. Slit. man he iss, or maybe a blind one, Mrs. Slit. whatever.
?

Mrs. Slit (^examining That iss for my lady.

letters).

It iss thin,

That iss true too but he wUl have more English, Morag.
;

Morag.

Who
I

is

he, Mrs. Slit

Slit.

Morag.

Maybe,

do not know.

He

has

Mrs. do not know.

But he

will

be

461

Kildrostan

getting

many letters and

is

printed papers, Just

it

came

to her easy.

and they say he

Sassenach.

a great poet in the

iss

The

quaint,

odd

satire

and

fun,

But, to be sure, that not like the Gaelic.

Without any purpose

to please ye.

Morag.
Is

Or pleasure in its being done. Hard and grave were her features, Though lit up with love now and then,
For
laughter was not for such creatures
sinful

he often with Doris then

Mrs.

As
Slit.

they are like clam-shells The natural shape of her thought. no parting them. And he will While it looked as if cleverly seasoned speak sense to her maybe, but it iss With a sharp biting wit she had got. just heathenish gibberish he will be O ye that strive to be witty. talking in my shop. And hunt through your brains for a
!

Och

It

women and men. was simply the way that she reasoned.

there

iss

Morag.

quip,

That
letter.

will

do now.

There

is

Ina's

When

I have been too long away from her. But I was to be sure to ask about your Oe that had the fever.

Silence

ye have caught one, in pity it straight on your lip.

ACT v. SCENE
Chorus.

II.

Mrs.

Slit.

Yes, she iss a kind lady, and thinks Shall not a woman insulted have her of everyone. Allisthair iss better now, revenge on the man. and will be at the fishing again soon. Mock at him, laugh at his anguish, smite with what weapon she can. Morag. And how is the fishing and the Cut where the wound shall be quickest,

whisky ?

Mrs.
always too whatever.

Not more than much

Morag.
!

smile as he writhes in the dust, Mirthful when he comes a-begging an obolus now, or a crust ? usual, Morag, but Does not the feeling of injury strike of the whisky, out seeking redress ? And why should the gods plant in her
Slit.

Yes They will be like Donald They know their business, and did not Levach who was drowned in a ditch fashion our nature to be and his last words would be You are soft-hearted, soft-headed, milk-and-

a passion she

is

to repress

changing the drink, and there much water in it, Jenny, too
water.
[Exit

is

too

water philanthropy
a hard grit in
it,

much There's
Morag.

meant for use

at the fitting time,

That rogues and

bitter

villains

may know

the

Chorus.

bad

taste

of crime.
kiss the

Truly she did not know it. Dreamed not of humour or mirth.

Oh, be

gentle and meek, and hand hot from the blow.

Made

not an effort to show it. Travailed no whit in its birth :

And stint

your soul of the pleasure, the

all

keenest of

that

we know


462

Kildrostan

Drive the winds over the ocean, yet Tremain. say to the mad waves, Peace Ay, he's gone Why should you lift up your heads But why and whither has he gone, now ? there, let your murmurings and left cease His guest to seek for other quarters, Easy to say, Forgive, and lay up your just wrath on the shelf: When one was taking to the place, But how, if you take it so tamely, shall and felt you respect yourself? Its strangeness, which at first was like
!
!

If you're a

to be trod on, trod a dream, be again ; Growing familiar, with a taste of life Never a woman insipid found chivalrous Fresh as the salt sea breezes ? spirit in men. So did the wild heart brood now, Doris. passioning so in her wrath, Gone already And plotted to sweep her victim I did not count on that. And she's ruthlessly out of her path.

worm

on you

shall

off too.

Scene

Room

in

Cairn-Callkach.

Tremain

and DoRI?.

After him, doubtless. have got From your fine phrases,

point

Much
sir.

help I
every

At

Doris.

Well,

sir,

what think you of

Tremain.

this gear

Baffled and

mocked

I'm weary of
at least.

you all. But I will have revenge

!

Think, Doris
I

am

past thinking earthquake

there's a social

Tremain.

Shaking
things

my

world, and toppling

reigns,

all

down.
and mystery,

While darkness
and
silence.

What's all This rage about ? It is a pretty play, And it becomes you rarely, as indeed All that you do becomes you yet
;

I like
?

What does it mean

on a sudden,

There's Diarmid,

My
By

Doris tender

more than Doris

is

fierce.

Off

like the swallows, with no fareyou-well,

Although the

softness

more

beautifiJ

reason of the wrath restrained.

And

leaving no

more

trace than flight

of bird

Doris
the impassive air
;

Through

his

mother

Pshaw
!

give
I've

me
had
of

Deeds and not words packing enough of them To follow him, and not a word to
explain.

You were
all

to

get

that

girl

out

But Celtic exclamations

Doris.

day long.

my
And

way.
Tremain.

out of

it

she

is

well for herself

So he

is

gone already.

I daresay.


Kildrostan

463
Doris.
!

Doris.

But not well for you, that she You take my ring from me Should drive off like a princess, Sir Diarmid's ring! yes, his engagefollowed by ment ring The prayers and tears of all her I'd sooner part with life than part

subjects here

with

it.

The

cripples, the rheumatics,

and the

Tremain.

idiots,

Who

What do
this

you mean

burden

poor land.
Doris.

Tremain.

Oh,
ill

I forgot.

Why
She has not
left

You know

not

for

me

The

pretty silly farce

we have been

a legacy of these

playing.

Impotent folk to me.

Doris.

Which
ing

is

to

end

in fateful tragedy.

Diarmid came here one day,

insult-

me
his

That's as you will. With offer of But he who should have humbled, heart

hand, but not his

broken her. mere wired flower to wither on my cast her from him as a thing of bosom naught Hoping to be refused, and keep his Well, him I could have loved ; I hate lands her so. And sweetheart too, because he heard Tremain. I loved you. And yet you went to see her lately. As if I could not see through such

And

Doris.
I went because I

a thin

And

Yes; colour had no man to go. With any show of likelihood do mine errand, and to smite
Tremain.
blight

Shallow device, which he did hardly

!

her with

A
As

word should
I

her

life,

and

Of(

break her heart.

You
would.

did refuse him

had hoped

it

But with
Doris.

the look

Of a me

grand tragedy-queen she bade

be
wife,
forsooth,
to

No

but at a

word

A
And

Frankly accepted him on

his

own

dutiful
affianced.

my

terms ; Hands without hearts, vows that were

wear with grace what I had won

guile.

by

Would you
Tremain.
!

avowed. have very thing

lies

had

me do

the
strip

Affianced, Doris

am

I then to take
fair

He
Of

hoped
all

that I

would do, and

This ring from your put mine

finger,

and

myself

my
?

rights that

he might wed

Here

in

its

room

that girl

!;

464

Kildrostan
Tremain.

Well

you, Doris, you accepted only as a ruse ; My clever Doris meaning, by and by, But love like mine will hardly serve To wreck his hope more wholly. for padding.

To

the stern fates for pity.

Thank

Doris. Doris.

What
Not
at all.

ails

you now

A badly written
life life

have its very essence and its appendix. And my paint without you You see their eyes and hair, and hear Were dull enough with him.
all,

You poets, oh, how The women, after

book

little

do you know

May

you're fain to In

the

their

words
minds they are too
I
fine

But

for their

Tremain.

for you.

You
think, can have so
straight

did not mean, then.

Men's

brains,

no
and

To

marry him

really.

convolutions,

They go

at

things

Doris.

stupid, like

A gaze-hound at a doubling hare.

Tremain,

Indeed I did, and would I should have made his life a misery Perhaps, and seen him bitterly repent

His dirty bargain ;

since

we both agreed
and
it.

You

could not surely

Doris.

Nay, Doris, throw away my

To
And

join

our

hands,

keep our

hearts apart.
really I did

love.

mean

Why should
because

Tremain.
Beautiful tigress

throw away your love,

?

I take an offer offering no love

Doris.
the Tigress, if
fate

Should

1 not need,

and prize

it all

more.

That

it

would give me what

my

you will ; but who has lost Her spring, and turns more savage on
her prey.
here.

sealed our bargain by exchange of rings. The pulse of high imagination, having And other pretty No passionate music in it. I must have Of kindness and customary forms affiance ; and straightSome poetry in my life, and you could way
stirs

denied ? I've heard you say that love is poetry, And marriage languid prose that never

Look

I will not hide a thing

from you

We

give

it.

Tremain.

He To
To

hurried to that girl who set him on break his plighted troth: contake

Yes
I

So

Like

verses in a magazine,
fill

tented she

might come

in to

a space, a blank,

him

in

the shame of such

Between the story and the criticism ; Not even like the Chorus in the Greek Drama, to fill the passion up, and cry

dishonour.

Tremain.

How

know you

that

:;

Kildrostan

465
Tremain.

Doris.

How
I found

do I know

it ?

Why,

Even

them closeted together, heard His own false lips renounce the vow he made or evD, An hour before. Oh, he was most Like a volcano, having on

a grand and proud and terrible beauty, matchless strength of passion good
so
;

its

slopes

polite

Fair
!

vineyards

here,

there

burning

My gentleman
How
And
It
is

and did his

;

villain- work

lava-floods.

Like preaching

for of course

he had

And

howsoe'er you

show, you do

been schooled,
best to lay the moral varnish on.

transfix

My

soul with admiration.

spout

fine

sentiment.

hate

sentiment
the flimsiest lie that walks the
thin ghost of truth.
his
offer

Doris.

Oh
You
think

earth.

The mere

He
was

my

fires

! Perhaps have burnt up

must admit With shame, forsooth,

an
insult.

And now

Diarmid's share, the sunny slopes are for your vines.

Tremain.

And as an insult humbly he withdrew it

He

would not mock

boon.

If boon it could be called, of loveless marriage

not ? You know that poets a lady with the always were Alike the favourites of the gods and

Why

demons

But frankly he had hoped I would

reject
it.

And

he
I

is

gone
here

whom whom

you did never you have

?

love.

Which now he was ashamed

the rest.

of like

While

am

said

you loved.

The moral prig as if I Where he had learnt his

!

did not
lesson

know What

then will you do next

Doris.

Tremain.

I will pull

down

So he parted

Each
all

stone

of that old house, and

of
ages

With house and

for love.

lands and honours

scatter all

The
Doris.
too
!

gatherings

pictures,

tapestries,

And you
To

You

take

up

the

Arms,

tragic style
glorify a fool

chinas, books, and nick-nacks, every heirloom

And
ing

symbol of their greatness, send-

them

Tremain.

Where

Give

all

Yes, for I could the world, too, just to win

Doris,

never can he hope by any chance To pick them up again: and then
I'll

your love.

make
his threshold.

A forest of the place, and stalk the deer

was a
tigress.

Not long ago you 30

said I

Over

466

Kildrostan

Tremain.

Go

seek

another

love.

You know
Go,

You

are thorough, Doris.

well, Doris,

'Tis easy saying to the captive.

Doris.

When
that,

he

is

bound and
Doris.

fettered.

Ay

he

shall

find

who

has

flouted

me.
Tremain.

Are you

so

My poor boy. deep enthralled ? But

that

Where

is

he

now

what was

Doris.

You
that best.

said

about

an

uncle?

She

Nay, you should know

Tremain.
I

has none.

Her

father

had a brother once

Was
is

something to
not
is
?

my

father

in India

agent,

know

factor
not.

There

only Celtic

What

wailing

scant-o'-grace

and

ne'er-do-well.

All through the house, and I have But he found a shelter

dead, oh, years and years ago.

Down

in the village.

Tremain.
I tell but

what

I heard.

Doris.

Some
I

one

at least

He
And
she,
too,

is
is

gone

at least

away

perhaps

Carried

her
;

off last

night.

saw

them go

with

him.
Tremain.

They

said he

was her uncle.

Enough
so hate

of her.

Nay, she went with her uncle yestereve I know not why you should I saw her go, and thought her lookher, Doris,
ing pale.

Or
Doris.

so hate anything.
love,

'Tis so much
all

better

Oh

yes

Like

others,

you take a mighty interest, in her movements and

To

which sweetens
Doris.

things

like a flower.

her looks Perhaps, too, you are fain to sacrifice If you have any such to offer up

Ay

better truly for your sluggish souls,

Which,

Houses

and lands

and

honour

for

her love.

By

all

means do

you have

my

full

consent

To

play the fool as he did. Tremain.

I could play

like your English rivers, creep along Oily and dull and muddy. But for me love is hotter than can boil in your Slow veins, and yet I hate more heartily Than I can love.

My

Tremain.

When
can love.

shall I call

you mine,

The

fool

indeed like him,

but

not Doris?

Then you

shall see

how

for her

I think I

am

Clinging
bids

as. for

even more a fool than he. dear life to one who

Doris.

Why,

that

you

call

me

twenty times

me

a day.

Kildrostan

467

Tremaln.

468

Kildrostan

Ai me

ai

me
in

Doris.

There's madness in the cup Which jealous wrath mingles

hellish spite

And

pray
I

Who

is

this

peremptory gentleman

Ai me
It laughs

ai

me

And when we
Yet
in
its

hold

it

up.

My
I've

name

is

Dr. Lorne. Lorne a friend once

of

and lightens gaily to the sight, might the might of man

your father's.
Doris.
but heard of such a person he died Was drowned, or drowned himself

shall perish.

Scene

Room

in Cairn-Ca'illeach.

Doris,

Dr. Lorne, and Bennett.

Doris.

I forget which ; But people said it would be a

?

relief
?

What would
time
is

you,

gentlemen

My

To all his kinsfolk. Any friend of his

himself,
friends

brief.

You ask an interview, and fix the time, Only his Nor wait to know my poor convenience.

Dr. Lorne. come back

to

plague

No

matter. Only let us to the point Without preliminary phrasing. My Mare yonder waits for me, and grows
impatient.
Bennett.

Who

hoped he had relieved them of

will

his presence.

And who
That

welcome
quiet

him

like

other ghosts
can't lie
in their graves.

We have a little business

Doris.
Business
!

And now
About
those papers. Miss
?

Oh

Dori
1

Here

is

my

factor coming,

and he does

What

papers

Oh!
to

All business for me.

Enter Factor.

That trumped-upstory of his beingalive,

And
Let me introduce you.
Bennett.

claiming

monies trusted

my

father

Years ago ; yes, I think the papers came.

I

did

not

read

them

they

are

too absurd.

Happy to know the

gentleman ; but we And you may have them back now if Crave audience of yourself for this affair. you like. Which he can scarcely order, not They're somewhere i' the waste-basket.
at least

Till

you

shall give

him your authority

is

Express. Yet it be here To counsel you.

I'm advised prosecute you for conspiracy, well he should If you are he that sent them ;

To

but

the writer
Is fitter sure for bedlam.

Dr. Lorne.

Dr. Lorne.

Miss Cattanach, of course You got the papers which I forwarded, Acquaipted with

You
their

are well
for

purport,

And

so far are prepared for us.

a person

Kildrostan

469

Who

never read them. doubt

lady's

As

I never

Dr. Lome. So be
said, I

it,

word,

must

conclude There's no more to be

then ; apprehend.

you knew

Come, Bennett,
That
will shorten

let us go.

The

facts already.

matters. Bennett.

Bennett.

Listen,

Miss
affairs

Cattanach
;

these

are

Do

Nay, not so fast. not by haste or wrangling further

grave

snarl

And with a kindly To choke a painful

If so

purpose

we

are here

A knot already hard to disentangle.

My
But
it

scandal in the birth.

fair

young lady, you can hardly

or the certainties of
little

we may.

You

could not overlook

know

Those documents.
Doris.

The chances
if

Law

had a

while alone

Well, no ; I told a lie, Yes, I read the trash With laughter as it merited. It seems You'd rob my father of his honest

Now
He

with your agent, I could make

ill

A stupid one too.

name

plain

gives you

advice.

Doris.

Who, you
he
is

say,

was your friend

when

dead.

doubt, you two. Being closeted together for an hour,

No

And

cannot answer for himself; and next You would rob me, and being but
a

Would

To

order all my life. shape it for myself.

Factor.

But

I prefer

woman
of course,

Weak - nerved

you point

And
The Law
Doris.

would leave

your pistol at me. Shotted with stuff incredible, demanding

to give to every one his due.

My

money way-man

or
!

my

life

brave

high-

Pray you now, and see

If I shall wince.

pull

the trigger,

sir,

Dr. Lome.
So that's your line. And now Your factor here, does he approve of it
Doris.
Sir, I
?

your friend says, I think there needs no more. This gentleman who went and drowned himself To benefit his family, that did not Profit much by his living, turns up now Modestly asking eighty thousand pounds.

As

With
For

interest

and compound

interest

am

can manage my affairs as yet of age, and not quite fatuous ;

But you can ask him.

Factor.

Yes, I do endorse
All that

But payment Of all these monies would go far indeed To beggar me, he is content if I Will give up to Sir Diarmid house and lands
ten

or twelve years past.

since the

my

lady says.

Now

forfeited to

me.

470
Dr. Lorne.

Kildrostan
I bear no grudge, if she had only I like a clever girl Ina alone. paper which you did With pluck and talent.

left

Ay,

so I wrote

In that same
not read,

Bennett.

And

have so clearly understood.

Doris.

Was
So
reckless

there ever creature

as

and unreasonable
?

yes I understand it better than you think As thus : I read between the lines
:

Oh

An

angry

woman

Dr. Lorne.
She means
to get

that

you
a covenant to

Have made
niece,

wed your

Well, I do not know. from life the thing

she wants.

Miss Lorne, with Diarmid,

betrothed,

who

is

my

But by her counsel word. Now hear me. I

the
last.

falsely breaks his

Cost what it may, as your philosopher Will burn his diamond just to prove 'tis nought But charcoal, and we call him wise.
It all

will

fight

it

to

Comes

to the

same

at last.

One

toils

And

will

not

stint

my
I

vengeance,

for fame.

though I starve

And

from

his garret

where he gnaws
;

My
Are

life

to

feed

it.

believe

your

a crust

stories
lies

from

first

to

last

about

my
But

Scorns your respectable folk swings

I've seen

another

father.

them

on

hook whose

iron

From

first

to last inventions to entrap in

digs

Poor Diarmid were they all

your

snares.

Who

As As

true as they are false, as credible

Into the flesh, and he too laughs at us live by reason ; she is fain to have Revenge for love insulted ; and perhaps

they

are

clean

impossible,

Each
it

gets as
as

much from

life

i'

the

would not Matter to me.

end

we

That

girl shall

never

sit

Who

My lady
fawn

in his house,

and smile and

plighted troth

gather wealth, and think that they are mad.

Upon
See, on

the

man whose
finger.

Only the pursuit pleases ; the possession Is empty or bitter always. But these
aims
intense delight,

I wear.

my

There
is

Have most you have

failure

and

in their

my
Our

answer.

business

now

ended.
[Exit.

A kind of tragic
now Has lived,
at least

grandew.

That

girl

Dr. Lorne.

within this hour, as much

lives.

A high-stepping
Filly,

As

three

that
is

now.
sharp,

But though

good years of our

Bennett.

her
Fiddlesticks

tongue

And

she has touched

me somewhat on
She
is

the raw.

a fool,

sir,

and her sentiments

Kildrostan

471

Are

heathenish or even devilish.

[I^oois out ofivindoiv.

Leaping o'er branch and boulder-stone,

Madly

the rider galloped on.

'

She'll drive that horse

Look at her mad if she curb

And

up
as

to the heights of that

rocky

road.

him

so.

Mad
him
in

And

lash

her tantrums.

While her sharp

turned.

her rider, the sorrel strode. ears were forward

T)r.

Lome.

Now,
Ride

that's bad. she were a friend of mine, she should not

!

Ah

if

the quick smoke from her nostrils burned. And the evil white from her eye

And

had
it

fled,

off alone, for horse

their

and rider have But

heads.

was bloodshot now

instead.

wild eye in cannot mean

She

As

she swept past a twisted, grey.

Ghostly root
lay,

where a

young lamb

To take the old hill-road on such abrute.

Yes
!

there she gallops up the rocky

path.

Picked till each several rib was bare By hungry ravens that haunted there.

Past the old mU!, at every hoof a brush Of fiery sparks ; she's near the ashtree

now
a

There were two low

lovers

whispering

That sends
the way.

low branch

right across

Among
Where

the bracken beside the brook. the juniper bush, and the

By

ragged sloe Jove she's taken it like a fence, Made for lovers a sheltered nook and crashed Right through the twigs and leaves. There were two ravens that did croak
!

Well

ridden, girl I

Over the lamb's

throw off some

ribs

Now,

could

but

supper there ? forty years, I'd risk a ride through life with such Clatter, clatter upon the rock. They heard the hoofs of the sorrel a mate. ring, She's out of sight now. There's an Only a muffled thud they woke. ugly bit Of road along the crags, above Loch Now and then, on the moss or ling. Lovers and ravens then upsprung. Dhu. What's that ? I could be sworn it was As nearer and nearer it came with speed, a scream ; And there's no tramp of hoofs now And a wild shriek 'mong the echoes
it is

Was there no weakling To make them another

picked so bare of the flock

fallen
silent.

rung,

Terribly

But
Bennett.

it

was not the woman,

?

it

was the

steed.

What had happened

still.

All

now was

Let

us go and see.

Only
Chorus.

the raven, hopping slow

To
hill.

giddy ledge of the rocky hUl,

Up

the steep path on the

Kept peering down on the depths

below.

Past the wild race of the mill.

472

Kildrostan
Morag.

ACT V

SCENE
Chorus.

IV.

The women work.

Ina.

A low-arched bridge,
All
green maiden-hair,
tufted

Oh
moss
and 'Neath

yes, they toil

with

heavy
the

burdens,

while

their

lords, forsooth.

Spanned a slow stream

Lie

in

sun

and

watch
;

them
like

That lapsed as in a dream Through sedge and willow and meadow

flat

sweltering.
I could not live here,

Morag

it is

and

fair

A
hiUs,

life in

-death, oblivious listlessness

And

all around were great shadowy, sharp, and bare.

That nothing
nought.
See, the
along,

cares for,

and remembers
sleepily

On many
Silent, the

a knoll,

slow brook creeps

are slumbering

The

golden plovers kept their seat. And in the stream That lapsed as in a dream heron slumbered, cooling breast
air all

The

trout

yonder

in

the pools.

The cows
eyelids,

lie

on the grass with closed

and feet, And you could see the with heat.

tremulous Languidly chewing, and the yellow bees Wheel drowsily about. These inland
lakes

Ah
More
is

our unrest

restless

grows when
doth seem

Are
all

around

peace

For

like our sea-lochs ; there's them. Motion and waves and pulsing of the
life in

not

life

To

tide.

lapse as in a

dream

Which hath not any fruit ordue increase, And we do fret the more that the calm
doth not cease.

And
The

on

their shores

we know

that

we

are near

O
With

world's great highway thronged with busy life.

tinted

low-arched bridge moss and dainty fern

Morag.

o'ergrown. And thou slow stream. Lapsing as in a dream. More hateful ye than perilous stepping
stone

You

used to

call

Loch Thorar
Ina.

sleepy

too.

Ay,

compared with busy streets Where eager industries do push and

so
it is,

And

turbid river, since peace from her

drive,

heart has flown.

Scene

And hurrying throngs

ing bells.

answer the ring-

Bridge near Glen Chroan Lodge.

Ina and MoBAG.

And

huge unwearying machineries

patient servitors.

Are waited on by
Like gods
that
;

must be tended morn

life

This

is

the land of sleep

here no

and eve.

man works.

There men and women work, and

is

Or

thinks.

lived

Kildrostan

473
zenanas

At

the

full pitch,

for there each

man Among

They

are worse,

is

kept

I think.

Strict to his task at

book or saw or Than our rough

crofters'

ways.

yardstick,

Or

whatsoe'er his tool be, by the vast

civilisation.

Morag.

Machine of

He's very good

You
Morag,
I

should be grateful, Ina.

Ina.

am

thinking

That no one wants

he
is;

to be just

where
But then
to live
is

Grateful, yes

We're

to be nursed And tended like a baby. What am I, our feet. To get all this observance and respect ? As we might do our slippers. I want to be at work. This idleness Ina. Is like the waste of water-power among Maybe so Our hills, which might have brought And yet I willingly would lose myself the people bread. In work which is not wholly for myself, Morag. And thought which is not all about

more than

fain to kick our

shadows from

myself.

Yes, I

am weary
But

of that.

Morag.
there's your uncle
:

You're weary of being an idol to be worshipped And they do say a woman's soul was meant Rather to worship man, and maybe
guide him

Might you not work, and think for him ?

Ina.

a bit

To make

him

worshipful.

Are you

sure, Ina,

He

will not let me. He is all for It is the worship, or the guiding of him wrapping That you have dreamt of? girl in cotton-wadding to be kept

Like a wax-doll.
to fetch

He
:

is

my

slave

Ina.

Oh,

all

that

is

past.

And
His
I

carry for thought,

care.

me

am

his

morning There was a time of fond idolatry When I did shrine an image in
heart.

my

daily task too,

and his evening

must not
yet

let

the sun freckle

Nor

the

night
or

lamp

And never wearied burning incense to it, my skin, And offering sacrifice, and singing lauds, weary my And building temples of imagination
For other votaries.

poor eyes. Toiling at book

music.

That time is gone.

fire
is

needlework or must be thought

The glory and the beauty and the dream

Are vanished
;

and the

burnt
I

'Tis always
about,

Me

that

to ashes

That choke when they

sick of

are stirred.

And

am

Me.
?

Where

did

have no wish
Either to guide or worship, since the stream

he learn His notions about women

In the East

;;

474

Kildrostan

That sang along my path amid the

flowers
Is all

To

battle

with

and

would, like the

sailor,

place.

God

gone dry and muddy and common- Rather a gale of wind than lie becalmed. But there ; enough of me and my help me
!

Morag.
Ina, one

affairs.

Have you
sailing

heard

aught of Kenneth

day I was

By misty Morven in the early morning, And as I looked I saw upon the mist

lately

Morag.

My
And

Ay!
Kenneth, poor
again ; His pipe
is

shadow, and the shadows of

rest.

all

lad,

will

never

sing

the

they were only shadows flitting dim, But on my head there seemed a golden

like the blackbird's, hoarse

and

rusty,

Just as the

summer comes.
Ina.

crown
Flashing with diamonds. with all

So

it

was

How
You know
together
Sitting

do you mean

Each saw a

halo circling his

And
So
is

all

his neighbours

own head, only common

Morag.
that

shadows
the vanity of youthful dreams.
Ina.

he and Mairi were

among

When
The

the bracken on the height Doris took her last mad ride
hill

Nay, Morag, but the halo and the

crown.
brow, Where vanity would put it, but on his And now there is no glory anywhere. But work might bring forgetfulness.
case,

along
old
road.

'Twas they
at a

that

In

my

did not rest upon

my

brought the tidings How her horse shied there

turn

sudden

Morag.
But, Ina,

Upon From
all

the ridge, seeing a raven leap

a dead
bare.

lamb that he had picked boy looked scared.

Where

can you go

They

said the

that trouble will

You

Ina. not come ? stand upon the beach, and there I do not wonder. the waves It was a scene of horror. Tumble and foam, and, looking sea-

ward, you

Morag.

Are

sure that all

is

bright and calm

Yes

but

now

and sunny. Till you are there.

Ina.

He

says that, hearing that wild tramp

of hoofs

Along the rocky path where never

horse

But

there, at least,

you

find

Was known to gallop

yet,

he

started up
o'

Ropes

to

be hauled, and

sails to reef,

and waves

Just as she reached the perilous turn the road

Kildrostan

475 Dr. Lorne.

Ina,
it is

And
And

he will have

it

that his sudden

rising,

done.
as

not the raven, scared the frantic

The

job you

wished,

and

you

wished it done Whose labouring flanks were white Yet a bad job, I fear. with creamy foam.

brute.

And
it

its

eyes red with blood, so that

Ina.

made
fatal step,

The

and stumbled o'er the

Nay, I am
to

sure

brink

'Tis the right thing, and the right

way

Of dark

Craig-dhu.
Ina.
It

do

it.

No
so,

other

way was
?

possible.

Does

he know

Dr. Lorne.
and yet

might be

No

blame to him.

He
No
Or

knows

that,

when

a search was
as

duly made.

Morag.
But he
will

deed was found such

there
is

he had

supposed.

blame himself.

And so

And

then his Mairi is the heir of all Her cousin's wealth, and she, he says, could never Wed him that murdered Doris, nor can he
that
is

claimant for

no burden on his land. it. It has touched

his heart

With some
that girl.

remorseful thoughts about

Touch gold
blood.

so

stained

with

Ina.
It is best for us, That's as it should be. And keeps our hearts the sweeter, that

Ina.

Poor lad

the lights.

And what

does Mairi say

JHorag.

Lingering about the grave, are

soft

and tender. But he suspects no more

behind.

nothing
It
is

E'en

like a patient
lies

She sits by him. dove beside its mate

Dr. Lorne.
Nothing.
not right
I

That

a-bleeding, croodling softly

wish

he

did.

to him,

And
If

glad to put her heritage away, he will smile again ; and that

This virtue unrewarded, lavishing Wealth on a man who writes

melting

in

he cannot.
Ina.

mood
wronged him, with no

Of
threads

her

that

recognition

Ah me

what

of

sorrow

everywhere Run through this tangled go now, Morag. Here comes my uncle.
\_Exlt

Of her who set all right. It is too fine For my taste. 'Tis as God had done
his

life!

But

work.
let
it.

And
of
Dr. Lorne.

the devil take

all

the credit
to.

Morag

and

enter

Which God Himself objects

Kildrostan

476

Ina.

I don't
it

know what he means.

There's
fish

could not Be otherwise, for he's a gentleman, And could not take a gift like this from me. There was no way except to burn her claim And yours in the same fire, so blotting out That chapter, as it never had been writ.

Yet

nothing here

For man

to do but shoot and and grumble.

Ina.

Oh, he

will find his task in life,

and now.

Uncle, you'll take

me

hence.

For

me
There

at least,
is

no work here.

Dr. Lome. don't know that. He could have

taken you, the rest with you.
so nice

Dr. Lome. Whither would you, Ina ?

Ina.

And And
It
is

Men

are not

Anywhere, anywhere
this.

but

away from

dainty about
a

marrying money,

when
handsome
it.

Dr. Lome.

girl that's freighted

What

say you, then, to Italy

Ina.

with

There was no need good fortune

Till the day after.

to tell

him

his Italy

never thought of that. Yes let us go. And see the picture-galleries and statues.
I
!

Ina.

The
past for ever.

That

is

Temples of the gods, the Colosseum, The towns perched on the hills among
the olives,

castles, and the ancient civic grandeur And every time I swore I had to break Of merchants who were princes ruling states oath. For Ever Never, that All that you oft have told me belongs

For

ever's not a

Dr. Lome. word for woman's

I have sworn

lips.

The

Nor a man's either.

it oft,

My

To God

alone,

who
Ina.

does not change

about

Rome
and

His mind.

And
1
?

Venice

Verona and

fair

Florence.

Does he

return here soon

Dr. Lome.

and I wish to learn. book with many a page Wondrously written, and illuminate
so useless,

am

And

Italy's a

He

says

that

he

Yes, I suppose so. has found that he

his proper

With golden
go there.

letters.

Yes,

we

will

can work, But that he has not found

Chorus.

work
That's here among his people
in

At fair Ravenna, one day, she was taking

not Rest near the wharves where once rose many a mast,

London.

Kildrostan
But now the goats are making,

477
yellow bee was drowsily

their pasture there

And And And

as the

humming.

And
As

the grey sea-waves miles

life

away
from

drowsily the convent bells would

at

are breaking,

ring.

her

too

had ebbed

far

neighbouring
she

lattice

one

its

past.

A
Sadly she gazed on palace, cot, and tower. And mused upon the Empire's fading days,

was strumming
poor
a
guitar,

knew

that

he

was coming.

And

new

future surely opening.

Nought had she heard of him,

his doing,

or of

And

on Theodoric and the Lombard Yet she was sure that he was near power. at hand, The rush of barbarous peoples, and That he came swift as one who the dower goes a-wooing.

Of beauty

that transformed their rude

old ways.

And trembling as an eager soul pursuing The quest of something he deemed

pure and grand.

But ever with the thought of these

old ages

Thoughts
mingle

of
stUl,

nearer
fruitless

past

would

"Ina," he whispered, low kneeling,

at

her

feet

Thoughts of her empty wages.

Nor did she startle, only answered low work and " I knew that you had come. I had
:

the feeling

And

yesterday

would
all their

write

upon
fill.

And
lips

past

is

past."

And

then their

the pages

Of History,

and

margin

were sealing. Forever now, the love of long ago.

THOUGHTS AND FANCIES FOR SUNDAY EVENINGS

is

" O give thanks unto the Lord for He good because His mercy endureth for
; :

ever."

-Ps.

Or cleansing of my sin ? Or light around me shed ?

Till I

cxviii.

i.

would
rich

praise, I did not see

gifts

How
should I always pray, Although I always lack ? Were't not a better way Some praise to render back ? The earth that drinks the plenteous rain Returns the grateful cloud again.

Thy

have been to me.

Why

shall see

" Blessed are the pure in heart God." Matt. v. 8.

thing I of the
all

for they

One
Be
it

Lord
fire,

desire

For

my way

hath miry been

We

should not get the

less

by water or by

That we remembered more

Oh, make me

clean.

Erewhile I strove for perfect truth. And thought it was a worthy strife In heaven they do not pray they sing, And they have wealth of every thing. But now I leave that aim of youth

The truth and righteousness Thou keep'st for us in store

For

perfect

life.

And it would be more meet To compass Thee with song Than to have at Thy feet
Only
a begging throng

If clearer vision

Thou

impart.
soul shall be
;

Grateful and glad

my

Who
Alike

take

Thy gifts, Thy goodness,

and then forget and their debt.

But yet to have a purer heart Is more to me.

Yea, only as the heart
is

clean

So give me joyous Psalms,

May
:

larger vision yet be mine,

in its

And Hymns

of grateful praise
I'll raise

For mirrored

depths are seen

Instead of seeking alms,

The
I

things divine.

A song to
Yet
still

Thee

must a beggar be,

watch to shun the miry way.

When

lauding

Thy

great charity.

And
Pure
478

stanch

the

spring

of

guilty

thought

But where

shall I begin

? ?

But, watch and wrestle as I may.

I

With

health and daily bread

am

not.

: : ;

479

Thoughts and Fancies

So wash Thou me
without, within

for

Sunday Evenings

; ;

Or

No

purge with fire, if that must be matter how, if only sin

out in me.

must watch and pray, I must work and war, I must shun the way
I

Die

Where

temptations are,
I may.

And mend, while yet What sin is fain to

" Consider the
lilies

mar

of the field, how If the lamp I do not trim they grow ; they toil not, neither do they Soon it will be fouled and dim. spin : and yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed Yet I wiU not mope. like one of these."^MATT. vi. z8, 29. Yet I will not fear.

Lilies take no care

How they are to grow, How the earth and air

Cause
their flowers to

blow

Yet

their beauty rare

Makes
Solomon

a goodly

show

with hope, be of good cheer, Ready still to cope With the danger near : Care, that broods with drooping wing. Only broods of care will bring.

But be

filled

And

in glory bright

Was

not half so fair a sight.

I therefore lie

"

Is

not this the carpenter

"

Mark

vi. 3.

May

Here, and take mine ease.

Trusting so to vie In growth and grace with these. And the Master's eye With holy beauty please ?

Once they sought the Cross of shame Where He bore the sinner's blame,

And

Have

I only just to be

What

the earth will

make of me ?

they battled for the sepulchre holy by His name ; But oh to chance upon Some work that He had done, The carpenter of Nazareth, The Father's only Son

Made

Lilies have

no sin Leading them astray,

false heart

Were

it

table, trunk, or stool

No

within

That would them bewray, Nought to tempt them in

Any
And
if

evil

way

canker come and blight. Nought will ever put them right.

Fashioned by His hand and tool, The carpenter of Nazareth Who Heaven and earth doth rule, 'Twere something just to view Handiwork He deigned to do ; 'Twould shed on all our daily tasks glory ever new.

But good and

ill,

know.

For His work by axe and saw

being blent Are in And good or ill may flow From mine environment

my

Would

be

all

without a flaw,

Like His patience upon Calvary

And yet the ill, laid low. May better the event
Careless
lilies,

To magnify the law And the humblest work

;

ye do,
it.

Let

it

But

careless life

happy ye were death to me.

!

And And

be and true. be not ye ashamed of it will honour you.

faithful

! ;

480

Thoughts and Fancies

for

Sunday Evenings
I must, but

Let the Captain of the Host His deeds of prowess boast,

Worship
aught

may

not worship

And Priest and Prophet claim that they

Should be esteemed the most But He took the burden great Of the worker's toil and sweat, And the carpenter of Nazareth

Which

I can bind

And
The

yoke

to

do me
its

service, having

caught
secret of

power, with wonder

fraught,

Did

labour consecrate.

And
Very dear
the Cross of shame

Where He

And the tomb wherein

Yet

took the sinner's blame. the Saviour lay,

But without mind while I comprehend it, I must be Higher than that which comprehends not me.
not need to worship ? Maybe so I judge you not Only, they say, the dog that does not

Until the third day came He bore the self-same load. And He went the same high road, When the carpenter of Nazareth

You do

Made common

things for

God.

know
his lot.

A master, like a savage wolf will grow,

Hating

And
is

is

" The fool hath said in no God." Ps. xlv. i.

his heart,

There

a sorry brute, until he find

mightier will than his, and nobler

mind.

It

is

the fashion

now

for wits to be

And
of

this

would be the hapless

lot

Without a God, Except some Force behind the things

men

we

see.

Like heat or

light or electricity;

And one is Among these

believes

In any

God

grieves.

should hear of wrath or hunger from that thinks or loves or the crowd. Or paeans of self- worship vain and loud.

odd, Oracles,

Without God's fear Their home would soon be as the wild beast's den. All the fierce self resuming sway again

who

still

And we
cries

But

But

there's a spirit, deep in the heart's

core.

Of reverence,
Which somehow
to

will not

bow
;

Save us from that self- worship Poor, indeed, Is he who knows down Nothing more worthy than himself
to lead

adore
mightiest force in Nature

The
is

what His

heart

to

purer

thought

and

Of

more, I have a sense being something greater far than

nobler deed

Than From his

to rouse

ever rose
self- contemplation,

and

those

Blind

makers

of

the

world which

The

soul to

prayers and

hymns and

science knows.

holy vows.

Thoughts and Fancies

for

Sunday Evenings

481

482

Thoughts and Fancies

for

Sunday Evenings
and fret and and doubt. His way, being dark, must bode
ill ?

False to myself, I were not true to Nor should I be

Him

Why should'st thou strive

fear

More

angel, having wings of cherubim

to

As

if

Attached

me.

thee If thine

own way be clearly pointed out. All creatures have their natural gift Leave Him to clear up His, and be and form thou still. In God's great plan, Was ever yet thy trust in Him misAnd nought will give the grasshopper
or

worm
Stamp of a man.

placed

And
The
so I must be

hoping in Him, did He not fulfil word on which He caused thee

not as thou had'st thought,
?

Even
still

as
;

He

made me,

to rest,

Though

Holy

Changed, yet the same. in heart, and dutiful in And high in aim ;

perchance
will,

Be
road

still.

Yet

true unto the

man

that once in
dull

me

be rough which might be smooth ? Is not the rough road best for thee, until Thou learn, by patient walking in the
if

What

the

Was

prone to err

trath.

For Faith works not a

monotony

To

trust

and hope

in

God, and

to

Of character.
Earth
hath
not

be

still ?

more

variety

than

little

faith

is

more than
have
ocean

clearest

Heaven,

views

Though

To whom
given

every one the grace of glory shall be

Would'st
babbling

thou
rill ?

like

Be

like its sun.

without mystery were not good news; Wrestle not with the shadows, but

God

They differ in their glory, star from star,

be

still.

And
Yet
all

in their might.

Be

still,

and know that

He

is

God

their varying robes of splen-

indeed

dour are

Who
light.

His borrowed

reigns in glory on His holy hill, Yet once upon the Cross did hang

And
"Commune
with your
still."

and bleed. heard the people raging

still.

and

your bed, and be

own

heart upon

was

Ps. iv. 4.

Be

still,

and

know

He

doeth

all

things well.

" Because ye are sons, God has sent forth the Spirit of His Son into your hearts, crying, Abba, Father." Gal. iv. 6.
!

Working the purpose of His holy will. Abba, Father O to think that I, And if His high designs He do not tell, Not in my pride of mind and vanity, Till He accomplish them, do thou But by Thy Spirit unto Thee may cry,
be
still.

Abba, Father

! !

for

483

Thoughts and Fancies

Too
well I know, Lord, that I
get a
child's

Sunday Evenings

am Oh

years that once did reap

I

not meet

A crop of sinful deeds

place

To

even beside
close to

Would

Thy

feet,

And
Thy

might pile them in a heap, burn those noxious weeds

!

Yet dost Thou hold me

heart's beat,

Oh
!

years of grief and pain

Abba, Father

That brought me dull despair Might I your wine-press tread again.

Oh help me,
and
fear.

while I am a pilgrim here, Childlike to walk in meekness, love,

And

find the blessing there

Oh
Thy
house, and

mingled thread of days.

For

this too is

Thou

art near,

Abba, Father
'Tis
not
in

What have I made of you ? What garment have I wrought of praise What robe of honour due ?

me

to guide

my

aright,

ways Have ye no help in store. For healing of the mind

'Tis not in might.

me
wilt

to quell the

Tempter's

Or

will

it

mend

the road before

?

To
me
uphold, and give

grieve for that behind

But Thou

me

light,

Though
Abba, Father

I must bear the blame

Thou hast redeemed me living, I am Thine And dying, also. Thou art ever mine Nothing shall part me from the
;
;

misspent and ill. Let me not clothe myself with shame By what remaineth still.

Of time

"The
flesh is

love divine,

weak."

spirit indeed is willing, but the Matt. xxvi. 41.

Abba, Father.

Made

one with Jesus,

who

is

one

with Thee

Oft, Lord, I weary in Thy work. But of Thy work I do not tire. Although I toil from dawn till dark.

The

love that rests on

the

Him

o'erflows

From

on me.

matins of the early lark. Until his even-song expire.

And O

wonder and the mystery Abba, Father.

Ah

who that tends the altar fire. Or ministers the incense due. Or sings Thy praises in the choir. Or publishes good news, could tire
!

" Redeeming the

are evil."

time, because the

Of that
(

he loves so well
it

to

do

Eph.

v.

i6.

Sweet
BARREN
fruitless years,

is

the recompense

brings
is

The work
For
!

that with good-will

done;

Lean wastes of desert sand

Could I but water you with tears, And make you fruitful land

all

the heart with gladness sings.

And all the fleeting hours have wings. And all the day is full of sun.

for

484

Thoughts and Fancies

if

Sunday Evenings

And
Or

he labour not

in vain,

If souls are by his message stirred, If he can comfort grief and pain,
bring repentant tears like rain
force of his entreating word.
task.

look not back, nor hunger for coarse abundance of the Nile Think rather of the yoke ye bore

The

A cruel while.
There is no freedom and no peace Except in making progress true.

By

The hand may weary at its And weary he may drag The weary frame may long
In needful
rest
;

his feet, to bask

And

every

new stage will His grace to you.

!

increase

The

heart to

but do not ask weary of its beat.

Forward to learn the higher truth Through harder tasks of duty done, What though the way be rough
smooth
If Life be

or

" Speak unto the children of

they go forward."

Ex.

Israel, that

won ?

xiv. 15.

Lo As

this our marching order still, on that day of God's great power.
I !

"The
thee."

Forward

it is

the Master's will.

Master is here, and calleth John xi. 28.

for

The

Saviour's hour.

The Master

comes, and

calls for thee

Go forward, trusting in the Lord, New trials will bring mercies new, For certain. He that gives the word
Will go with you.
Behind, the foe
is

Let Him not wait outside the gate. Knocking to get an entrance free. For that were but scant courtesy.
It
is

thyself

He

fain

would meet.

hastening on.
fulfil.

Eager

his purpose to

And Forward

safety lies, but none

still.

Not raiment fair, nor braided hair. Nor dainty hands, nor sandalled feet. Nor features framed His eyes to meet.
Just as thou art, go straight to

In standing

Him

Across your path a stormy sea Is breaking on a waste of sand But God's ways on the waters be As on the land.

In sorrow's dress of carelessness. It will not matter what thy trim. Or that thine eyes with tears are dim.

Haste

to

Him, with thy

in

grieving heart
to find

And
Your

thirst

and hunger soon

shall

make
;

And
Help

vex^d mind,
the

Him

heart, in deserts parched, to sink

for
part

bruised

and wounded
art.

Yet there ye from His hand shall take Both food and drink.

The mercy

of His healing

Forward Wherever

And

to

A path will show.

He will be with you there Thou needest Him, He calls for thee, He would have you go. For when thy need is worst, indeed, your fear and your despair He comes in watchful care to be
!

The

help of thine extremity.

485

Thoughts and Fancies

for

Sunday Evenings

Oh would' St thou
get

strength and comfort

if it be my lot to fall Unnoticed and unknown of

And

all.

Make no

delay, but go thy way,

let

Named

Pour out thine heart to Him, and His lo\x be poured out into it.

only in the great roll-call. So let it be Give me my weapon and my task-

Tumbrel, or sword, or waterflask,

"Fight the good
I

fight

of

faith,"

To know my post And to serve

is all

I ask,

Thee.

Tim.

vi.

12.

There where

And

the hosts of darkness the brave battle rages high,

lie,

Give me

my

post to live or die plan

" Ye are the light of the world."

With
fight.

fearless heart

Matt.
the

v.

14.

Thou, Lord, alone may'st

Light

the lamp that burneth cheery

Mine

Alone array the battle right, but to do with all my might

My little
It

part.

When the nights are dark and long And the storm without is eerie And the household gathers near ye
For work and the tale and song : In the world are sin and sadness. Bringing misery and madness ; Light your home with Christian
gladness.

be just to watch and wait. Like sentinel to keep the gate. And so outwit the cunning sleight

may

Of crafty Or
it

foe
thrust

and smoke. and stroke Light the lamps through all the city, Until the bands of sin are broke. Twinkling in the crowded street. Or lying low. Where the foolish and the witty, And the wretched seeking pity. Perchance 'twill be a humbler post. And rogues and righteous meet Only to serve Thy chosen host Keep your lights there clearly shining. Who fight the battle, never lost. Truth and right and love combining. In strength divine All the common highways lining. And sword or spear I may not wield. But travel o'er the stricken field. Light the lamp, oh, keep it blazing,
be, 'raid dust

may

To ply the sword with

And

comfort to the wounded yield

thirst or pine.

Who

Where

the storm

is

raging high.

Not mine to choose my work or Whether to die with hope elate,

And the shipwrecked soul is gazing To the clouds that are erasing
fate,

All the star-guides

in the

sky
terror.

Or

live the

triumph to relate

Through the tempest and the

In

after years.

And

the darkness and the horror,

Enough to battle in Thy name, For truth and right, but not for fame,

Flash the glory from thy mirror.

And

ne'er Thy holy cause ashame By coward fears.

Were

our lights thus shining rightly In the home and in the street


486
Through

for

; ;

Thoughts and Fancies

the

Sunday Evenings

gloom

that

cometh
" Wherefore is there a price in the hand of a fool to get wisdom, seeing he hath no heart to it? " Prov. xvii. i6.

nightly,

And

our beacons gleaming brightly Where perilous breakers beat, Little then should men be needing
that life-light

All our arguing and pleading,

With

Godward

you bring money in your hand. Fain to buy wisdom ? You are clear leading. There's nothing gold will not com!

Ah

mand
Jesus, the finisher of our faith." Heb.

"Looking unto

author and It answereth to

xii.

all

things here

z.

Looking unto

Jesus,

And And

you wish wisdom, as is fit, will not grudge the cost of

are rich,

it.

For

Healing I shall find the broken spirit,

the bruised

For you

And
Till

mind

Yet I gaze on

daily.

Of guineas, And bonds

dollars,

and you have and rupees.

store

and

shares, that yield

you
with

my

eyes

grow dim,
to

Looking unto any

Rather than

more Than you can

ease.

squander well

Him

God help you, man You could not buy

!

Looking unto

Jesus,

An ounce of wisdom with them.

Lo
!

Try.

I shall learn the road

That the soul must travel. Going home to God Yet I lag and linger,
Till I scarce can see

here are books where men have found

;

Of wisdom many a precious gem And you may have them, gilt
bound.

and

My

guide and sweet companion

to

Beckoning

me

Looking unto

Jesus,

But not the wisdom wrapt in them. Yet buy them, fool so men have got Credit for wisdom they had not.
:

I behold the heights

Gleaming in the glory Of Love's undying lights Yet my heart unmoved

And

likely that

is all

you want

Nor

Cares not to aspire. for all their splendour Would be any higher
!

The credit, not the thing itself. Then hold your peace, and do not vaunt, And you may purchase with your pelf.
If you have wit your tongue to rule,

A name for wisdom,

There!
gold.

though a

fool.

What

is it

that ails

me

Why am
And my

go your way, and with your

raiment, house and land

I so dead

That looking unto Jesus

Lifts not up

Buy food and

?

my

head

The

best things are not bought and

heart so wanders. Caring not to see Him, its fount of gladness ? Jesus, look on me.

sold.

There is no Wisdom, or

price that will

command

peace, or love, or health

And you are

poor with

all

your wealth.

; ;

for

Thoughts and Fancies

Sunday Evenings

487

" All things work together for good them that love God." Rom. viii. 28.

to

Another and another still I tried, and all the more I read

The

less I

could believe, until

Learn,

O my

soul, to use

A mist of darkness wrapt my head.

They dried up all my Jacob's wells They broke the faithful shepherd's rod; They blurred the gracious niiracles Which are the signature of God.

Experience thou hast got.

Nor any thread to lose God wove into thy lot, Nor yet to pick and choose

What

pleaseth thee or not.

He

leads thee by His way, That thou may' St truly learn Gives thee thy work each day, Thy daily wage to earn ;
It
is

And
;

hour by hour, and day by day grew colder than before. And for one doubt they took away They left suggestion of a score.

My

heart

not idle play,

But matter of concern.

In trouble, then, and fear I sought

The error of thy thought Had yet some truth to The sorrow of thy lot

The Man who

teach

And And
;

taught in Galilee, peace unto my soul was brought, all my faith came back to me.

Some wisdom had to preach They could not else be brought

So
well within thy reach.

There's light wrapt in the cloud, And heat in frosts and snows, voice that speaketh loud Where silence awful grows. And life that doth enshroud

times of weak and wavering faith That labour pleas in His defence, Ye only dim Him with your breath He is His own best evidence.
:

Oh

Itself in death's repose.

" It is good that a man should both hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the Lord." Lam. iii. 26.

No

lesson, then, refuse.

Sometimes
Full as the

my

heart with hope

is filled

Which
If here

love to thee hath given

summer day with

sun,

it find no use Thou'lt find it yet in heaven God's teaching does not lose,

And And
Only

eagerly

my

glebe
is

is tilled.

strenuous

work

done

I fret at all delay.

Hid

in

the heart like leaven.

" Of making many books there

end."

EccLES.

is

no

And fain would haste the expected Of fruit, which seemeth far away And patience I have none.

day

xii. ii.

One

writ a plea for Faith, and put

into a printed

Through the long

till

Sometimes with patience slow I plod hours, from morn

night,

His thoughts
I read
it

book
it

that I might confute

all

My

doubts, and

my

faith

shook.

Complaining not of man or God, Yet feeling no delight ;

for

488

Thoughts and Fancies

spirit,

Sunday Evenings
we
fear
if

A sodden
With

bound

to

cope

How
Or Or

not drop, But without any heart or hope. Or any joy or might.
daily toil I

may

should our side ?

falter if

He

be

at

His face

feel alone if

He

He do not hide with us abide ?

Ah

Works

hope that hath no patient force in the end but stir and fret.
and regret

" No chastening

for the present seemeth

:

And

hopeless patience runs a course

nevertheless to be joyous, but grievous aftervyard it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of

Of deadness

and free. Fount of a larger life in me. That waits and works and hopes
for a Spirit, strong

Oh

righteousness unto them which are exerHzb. xii. 11. cised thereby."

Bright and glad the time has been

to see

When Thou
Lying on the

gavest

me

repose.

The

great Salvation yet.

pastures green

Where
While
Ye
shall leave
32.

the quiet water flows,

air.

the song-birds filled the

' *

Me

alone

not alone, because the Father

John xvi.
Alone,

is

and yet with Me."

And the voice of pain was mute, And the bloom was passing fair I am
;

But

it

yielded

little fruit.

sad the hours have been In the Valley and Shadow of Death, Where no light mine eyes have seen ness here. But the far, cold stars of faith. Forsaken of the friends He held And my heart, with haunting fears. so dear ; Almost sank into despair Yet never less alone, for God was near Yet the harvest of my years Mostly has been gathered there. So in the waste, dim wilderness at first
to face the

Dark and

Powers of dark-

His work began, with hunger

and
thirst.

faint

Not where
Tempter
fain

pleasures spring up rife

And

the

fell

to

do

Do

our richest fruits abound

But where sorrow of our life Waters with its tears the ground. There we learn to look above Lonely His sun rose, lonely too it set, For our happiness and peace. But round it trailing clouds of glory met. Learn the comfort of Thy love. For God was with Him, and His peace And in life and strength increase. was great.
his worst.

Not in the

forest grows the noblest tree All highest life a solitude must be. Apart, with only God for company.

"Where no oxen are, the crib is clean but much increase is by the strength of the ox." Prov. xiv. 4.
;

But when forsaken, we are haply thrown

Were there no oxen feeding in the stall, The crib were clean
:

Upon

the Father's loving care alone, But without oxen harvest would be And left to lean against the eternal small. throne. Housekeeping lean

for

;;

Thoughts and Fancies

Wherefore we may not be too prim and nice There is no good that doth not cost
a price.

Sunday Evenings

489

" Though
in

He slay me, Him."Job xiii. ij.

yet will

trust

Jesus, in the deep, dark night,

Were
it

there no children in the house,

were Dainty and trim

Send Thy light to guide my way Thou canst give the blind their sight. Thou canst turn the night to day
: :

;
!

But without were bare

children, lo

Yet if dark my path must be, the hearth Let me still hold fast to Thee.
Jesus, in the hour of grief.

And
neat,

cold and dim

Better their laughter than a chamber

Send the Comforter

to cheer

For only

in

their

mirth

is

He can give the heart relief. home He can wipe away the tear
Yet if sorrow be my lot. Let me be still and murmur

complete.

not.

Were

there no thinking, there

would
Jesus, in the

Be Thou ever near to save But life were brutish if it were without Thou canst shield from perils rife. Thou canst pluck me from the grave. Its thinking part And to be Godlike we must risk the Yet if I am doomed to death. chance Mine be still the fight of Faith. Of doubting much that we believed
once.

be no doubt To vex the heart;

war of

life.

Am I
stir

abject thus to lie

At His mercy ?
Were
there no there

surely no

among
;

the

dry Did

He

not in mercy die.

for

bones, then

Death

me

to overthrow

Were
But
if

the

And can I doubt the love which much peace Spirit move not. Death's Witnessed on His cross for me ?
never cease
;

He

dull reign

Would

Better fanatic follies than to

Cold and unmoved

priety.

'Tis the sun that brings the cloud. Shadows of the light are born ; in starched pro- Let the clouds and shadows shroud Life to me in grief forlorn.
lie

Still

know

'twas love that wrought

Something, I
to give

reckon,

we have

All the sorrow of

still

my

lot.

In sacrifice

" Beware ye of the leaven of the Phariis

That we may
live;

richly grow, and greatly sees, which

hypocrisy."

Luke

xii. i.

And
To
For

'tis

a vice

grudge what large and full

makes

our

being

the small order of a frigid rule.

Whatsoe'er I be or do. Let me honest be and true Never wear a false pretence, Never speak with double sense.

49

Thoughts and Fancies for Sunday Evenings

I have not got, look the thing that I am not.

Claim a grace

For meanest work becomes the

part.

noblest

Or

When

Am I

common clay at best ? Be the common clay confessed

If for something better fit, Let me roundly stand to it Saint or sinner, why should I Ever be a paltry lie ?

Pitiful, stoops to

a great heart, comfort our

distress.

Or

to impress

A sealing kiss on penitence, fresh clad

In raiment sad.

And

if

the wanderer's feet be soiled

Copper cheaply bought and

Pass
it

and
sold.

sore.

not for burnished gold

So much the more

Nor

let

him

that doeth well.

He

needs a tender hand to cleanse

heal.

Call himself a child of Hell,

and

As

if

falsehoods should be given

And make
There
to
!

him

feel

In tribute to the

God

of Heaven.

is

no task that love will shrink

do
Life to renew.

Hence with oily phrase and smooth True men know the ring of truth Think not God can be deceived,
;

He is only wroth and grieved Play not Publican to be

So much more
a Pharisee.

"The

Son

ministered

of unto,

Man
but

came not to
to

minister."

"Therefore leaving the principles of the doctrine of Christ, let us go on unto perfection ; not laying again the foundation of repentance from dead works, and of faith toward God, of the doctrine of baptisms, and of laying on of hands, and be of resurrection of the dead, and of eternal
judgment."
Heb.
vi. i, z.

Mark

x. 45.

Not

to

be served,

Lord, but

to

Laying the foundations

O'er and o'er again Calling sinners to repent.
!

serve

man
I can.

Ail that

And

as I minister unto his need. Serve Thee indeed : So runs the law of Love that hath been given

And believe that Christ was To die for love of men

Good
are the foundations.
shalt

sent

To

earth from

Heaven.

But thou

do well

What, if mean?

the

task appointed

me

be

To

build thereon, by truth and right, spacious mansion of delight

soul

Wert Thou not seen To gird Thee with the towel,

meet.

Wherein thy
as

may

dwell.

was

More

than mere foundations

;

To wash the feet Is the house we need Of Thy disciples, whom Thou would'st Lay them well, and leave them
befriend

there,

They
?

Unto the end

hold only cellars where Life is cramped indeed.

for

Thoughts and Fancies

Yet we lay foundations
O'er and o'er again, Making the grand Gospel
stale

Sunday Evenings
the Virgins, are they waking
?

491

And And

Are the Talents growing more Or the Servants merry-making.

While

By our telling of the tale To the sons of men.

On,
then, to perfection,
is

of drunken feast partaking, He lingers near the door

Truth

infinite

Was there ever in her story Any hour of golden fame

'Mong

Be not babes with milk content, Take the strong meat that is meant For the man of might.

When His
Would
Yet

the ages, young or hoary. coming back in glory not cover her with shame
?

Lay

not

still

foundations,
faith.
life to

I hear the voice of wailing

Seek the higher

And
For

a larger

know.

the soul that does not

grow

As As

Is not far

from death.

above the busy hum. of expectation failing. of sorrow unavailing Ah the Lord is slow to come
Still
!

'
'

What

shall

Even "Surely I come quickly. come, Lord Jesus." Rev. xxii. 20.

so,

all his benefits

toward
I

render unto the Lord for me ? " Ps. cxvi. 12.

What

shall

do

for

all

the

grace

and truth I HAVE heard a cry of wailing That I have known Running through the troubled years, E'er since the error of a wayward youth As of expectation failing,

As of sorrow unavailing. As of rising doubts and

Led me,
fears.

alone.
!

For the Church is weary, waiting 'Mid the world's unceasing hum.

And its scorning and its hating. And its fury unabating And the Lord is slow to come.
;

that was on a way, alas not good. Through bog and quagmire and bewildering wood. Where I did seek for bread, and found

Forth

not food.

Only a stone ? Yet mercy compassed me, and

!

left

Ah

the thoughtlessness of sorrow Well for us He came not soon.

!

me

not

To

that scant diet in the desert got.

Well Well

He Cometh not to-morrow, He lets us wait, and borrow

What
the

shall
loss

do

to

make up

for

Light of many a waning moon.

True, the Church is sighing, weeping But her work, how is it done ? Is she well His vineyard keeping ? What of harvest is she reaping ? Has the world for Him been won ?

Of those bad days. When I had turned from Thy

ing Cross

redeem-

To
That

vain,

proud ways
life

made my

barren

land

of drought.

492

Th'oughts and Fancies for Sunday Evenings

by no dews, though wrapt
left

Wet

in

mists of doubt,

Which

no warmth within, nor

?

hath pleased the Father so all fulness we should grow, Where His fulness doth abide
It

To

light without,

Nor
Yet

prayer nor praise goodness followed

me,

and
Lord,

In the Christ, the crucified Fulness of our life and health. Peace and hope and joy and wealth,

love divine,

That they who on His name do

Spirit pleaded.

call,

And
Oh,

still

Thy

May

find in

Him

their all in

all.

with mine.
I

can nothing do, but only give

to

" Charity vaunteth not

xiii. 4.

itself."

Cor.

Myself to Thee,

Now
An

be

Thine, whether

die

or live

If I had got the cup.

give

And
to do,

Thou me

Which some

have had to drain.

pain,

heart to love Thee, and

strength
to

Thy

will

Unto the brim filled up With pleasure or with

I

And

walk before Thee

all

meek and

true.

And
True

the great faith that maketh

things

new
let

might have done as badly As they who did the worst I might have plunged as madly Into evil from the first.

And
Sealed

me
the

be
sacred

to the consecration

my

with brow.

and the vow, baptism on

Who

knows himself, and yet Will say he could not be Entangled in the net

Of opportunity
springs
are
in

"All

my

Thee."

Ps, Ixxxvii. 7.

Or that the storm, assailing The virtue he achieves. Would smite it unavailing.

And
All
the springs of
to

only rob the leaves

that one has

God

are found

Here within
Founts

this hallowed ground. quench the thirst within, Or to cleanse the soul from sin. Streams of healing to restore Hearts that have been wounded sore. Living water making glad All the weary and the sad.

The

ill

Is mostly

what
fight

is

wrought known.

But not the

he fought.

Or

grief he

may have shown.

evil

And
Or

none are

evil all at

Lord, keep me I wot not what may chance.

wholly. once ; meek and lowly,

Whatsoe'er our ailments are. have not to travel far To supply the need of each

We

"I go

a fishing."

John xxi.

3.

Here to get the dumb their speech, There restore the blind their sight.

He
As

had not gone to ply the net

the lake of Galilee, he went to Gennesaret
risen

Or

the palsied hand

its

might

Upon

For all springs of God are here That His glory may appear.

The

Lord

to see.

Thoughts and Fancies

And
as the

for

Sunday Evenings
little stir
:

493

weary hours crept by

Fain to make a

Where once such blissful days he had, His soul with haunting memory

Like the chirping grasshopper

How

And
It all

misery was mad.

should fie that ruleth Care for anything so small ?

all

came back

the happy

past,

How

Jesus once had

the end of

named him

Does He measure, then, by size. Not as we are good and wise

.'

Rock,

Is the senseless
all at last,

And then

The maid

and crowing cock.

How could he meet the Master's sight, Whom he with curses did deny
?

More to Him Or the raging of the sea More than reasoned thought

lump of earth than manly worth

in

me ?
:

Yet if he met Him not that night, 'Twere better he should die.

Then

swiftly striding to the shore

leapt into the swaying boat.

He

To haul a net, or ply an oar. And rid him of his thought.

Nay, such measurement were mean He is great whose soul is clean He is mighty who has Mind Nature's Force to loose and bind He is worth the saving cross. Whose death were an eternal loss.
;

breaking heart

that sought in toil

I

"Quit you
CoR. xvi. 13.

like

men:

be strong."

The shame and anguish to forget. Thy Lord was seeking thee meanwhile

To

ply thee with

His

Gird your

net.

And in our failure and despair. When hardly we dare think or Lo He is looking for us there.
!

feel,

loins about with truth ; Life will not go always smooth. Singing lightsome songs of youth : Play the man

Our aching wounds

to heal.

Learn with justice to keep pace, Spurning what is vile and base,

And
heavens, the work of Thy fingers, the moon and the ordained what is ; stars, which Thou hast man, that Thou art mindful of him ? and " the son of man, that Thou visitest him ?
I

bravely ever set your face

To
"When
consider

play the man.

Thy

Ps. viii. 3, 4.

Fear not what the world may say, the strait and narrow way. In the open light of day. And play the man.

Hold

What am
To
Or
turn

I that there should be

They

Thought or care in heaven for me. That the Father's heart should long

will call you poor and weak. Being merciful and meek
:

Heed them

not, but stedfast seek

my

sorrow into song.

To
It

play the man.

that Christ should die to win

soul as

Such a

mine from

sin

needeth courage to be true,

patiently the right to do.

And
What am
I
?

A pigmy form.

Loving him

Feeble as a poor earth-worm

that wrongeth you Play the man

! !

for

;;

494
Trust

Thoughts and Fancies

in

Sunday Evenings

God, and

let

them mock

They will

break, as they have broke,

And not to-day alone, but evermore Oh let me feel the burden of the debt
The load of sorrowthat the Master bore, The load of goodness that He keeps
in store.

Like the waves upon the rock

Play the man

And
"This do in remembrance Luke xxii. 19.
of

not forget

Me."

When
Which
So

forget

Thee,
rain

like

" new commandment I give unto you, a sun- That ye love one another, as I have loved

parched land
neither

you."John
nor

xiii. 34.

dew from

heaven hath wet,

my

soul withers,

and

I understand
this

To

Bind on me. Lord, the new law given bind and blend the earth with
heaven.

Wherefore Thou gavest me

high

command Not to

And

oh

that I

may
hast

love Thee, even

forget.

As Thou
is

lovM me

When I forget my life.

the

death which

How
and

weak
fret

am

how

They serve Thee best who love Thee most, They love Thee best who serve the host

full

of fear

How my
strife

Of weak and erring ones and lost. For so Thou lovedst me.
If they reject

heart wavers in a constant

With

mists

and clouds that

rife,

gather If I

round

me

When
Ah, how can

I forget

me and despise. am hateful in their eyes, Let me with kindness them surprise. For so Thou lovedst me.

forget?

And
is

yet

If they be worthless, so was I

my heart By dull oblivious

beset,

thought

hard
or

And yet for me did Jesus die Oh let me not the cross deny Which proved Thy love And And
to the blind to the
it it

to me.

Bred

in

the street, the

meadow,
life

will be sight,
will be might.

the mart

Yet Thou
glory
art.

my

weak

strength and I forget.

and

The love

As

and light, Thine, Lord, did to me.

that bringeth health

Though
I will

Oh

remember all Thy Love divine; meet Thou with me where Thy
met, with
love,

"Out
thee,

of the depths have

Lord."

cried unto

Ps.

cxxx.

i.

saints are

Revive me and wine.

on Thine,

the

holy

bread

HEART,

my

heart, that

burdened

art

and breaking

And may my And

God,

lay hold

With
For
forsaking

sharp remorse

faithlessness

and

failure,

and

ne'er forget.

;; ; !

; ;

495

Thoughts and Fancies

Of the
Heart,
right course

for

Sunday Evenings
if

And oh,
What
Than

they might help to mould

divine
!

O my heart,
art.

The

life

In sorry plight thou

higher honour could they meet

to inlay the
is
is

Mercy-seat

heart,

my

heart, that hardly dares

remember

There
guilty past.
It

Thy
Yet

no price for what not bought

for nought.

is best,

Or look into full many a secret chamber Thou had'st locked fast
heart,

Who would in heavenly things invest

Gets them

my

heart.

And

debtor unto

Thee must

rest,

They were

but closed in part,

Or

have them not

O
He

heart,

my

heart, thy sin

But though Thy mercies be not sold, might be Yet we may serve Thee with our gold.

forgotten.

But could not hide knoweth what is sound, and what

rotten

So

let us

bring
it is

it

to the
;

Lord,

For

His

is

With
Yet
will

lust or pride.

And that corrupteth which we hoard. And wasted is

But
truly, well,

Heart,

O my heart,
it

and safely stored.

sting

and smart.
forgive

When
And

it

can bless
rest.

The sick, and poor, and weak oppressed.

bring unto the weary

O
So

God,

my God, wUt Thou

offence.

a sinner

Such deep

near his end, and yet but a beginner

In penitence

God,

O my

God,

" I have glorified Thee on the earth and now, O Father, glorify Thou Me. " John xvii. 4, 5.

Send healing with

Thy

rod.

He
To
or

spake without one shade of guilt

or blame

touch His heart with penitence

Matt,

"Freely ye have received, freely give."

x. 8.

shame
Father, I
glorify

"
is

My

have

glorified

Thy

name.

Lord, there

Which Thou
For
all

nothing I can give hast not

Now
No
lips

Thou Me."
like

but

His a word

that

And
The

from Thee I did receive. Which I have got even the very life I live

Thou

did'st allot

might dare. So meek and bold, so free from doubt and care God spake to God, and yet he spake
in prayer.

How could I grudge to give Thee back

overflow I do not lack
?

As

none might pray but He.

Thine

are the silver and the gold,

Ah

well for us that

He

could justly

The treasure Thine They are a trust for Thee They are not mine
;

I hold.

plead In this high strain, and claim as rightful

meed

for

496

Thoughts and Fancies

Sunday Evenings

The glory due to perfect word and deed,

And And
But

tried, yet sinless

For in His friends His debt.

glory set
for Himself,

He

thought would be paid

we praise the Lord that we Have nor faith nor charity ?

Shall

on their heads
it

He

would

this

A crown of thornsHe sought.

back,

was a nobler yet

the hearer of the word. But the doer, he is just. He who, knowing not the Lord, Keepeth yet his soul from rust. He who doeth what is right. Bravely stands by what is true,

Not

We look
and

from the verge of

life,

Faithful to his inner light.

see

Dark

Error and failure, sin and misery ; And we can only cry, ah woe is me
!

He
!

is

Who

although it seem to you nearer God than they know the truth, and disobey.

Be merciful, O God But now we dare pray, glorify Thy Son, Crown the meek Victor who the fight
!

hath won.

" Cleanse thou me from

a

secret faults. "

There

are

thousand

crowned

in

Ps. xix. iz.

crowning

One

Who

bore our heavy load.

Ah me
That

the secret sin

heart

lurks and
false

The
" Not the hearers of the law are just before God, but the doers of the law shall
be justified."

fair,

works within which gives

it

willing

room
sure
it

How
bloom

bringeth blight.
frost

Rom.

Like nipping

by night
its

ii.

13.

That withers

in

the spring

early

Oh we

boast us of our law,

Glory in our gospel light. Pity those who cannot draw Fresh the living water bright

Oh

hidden, cherished

lust.

We are favoured, we are blest. On We have heard the joyful sound. to God and me We are sons of God. confessed, What if the weapon good We are free who once were bound Unto the sheath be glued
;
;

Like a small speck of rust the sheathed sword known

but

Bless the
Is in

Lord who unto

plenteous.

us

On

battle day,

and I am shamed by

mercy

thee?

Ah but what if we are still Walking on in sinful ways. Keeping a rebellious will.
!

Oh cleanse it from my heart, And let me play my part

And
?

Lusting for the world's poor praise What, if we are growing old. None the wiser for the rod ? What if we have faith in gold.

take

away what Thou would'st away Leave not the sharp-toothed moth That is devouring both
put

The garment and

array.

the

soul

it

doth

Not

in either

man

or

God

Thoughts and Fancies

for

Sunday Evenings

497.

But never backward may I look, " Truly, if they had been mindful of that Or feel regret country from whence they came out, they That I the way of sin forsook, might have had opportunity to have reAnd heavenward set turned. But now they desire a better
country, that is, an heavenly wherefore God is not ashamed to be called their God." Heb. xi. 1 5, 16.
:

My face

to find the life in

staff

God,

And

comfort of His

and rod.

Not

one regretful look behind Lord, would I cast, Nor hanker with a faithless mind For the dead Past

" If ye then be risen with Christ, seek those things which are above, where Christ sitteth on the right hand of God." Col. iii. i.

Who

would

When

recall the troubled night joying in the morning light ?

Higher

still,

and higher

Oh to leave the clouds below, And the creeping mists that throw
Doubt on
all

the

way we go
aspire
!

Not back

back again To that old road So haunted by the fear of men, No fear of God The hungry wilderness of self, Whose love was the base love of pelf
again, not

As we would
Higher
still,

and higher and higher I make,

Higher

still,

Ah

how

little

way

Forward,

my way

lies

forward

Plunging where the black bogs quake, Slowly hewing through the brake Tangled with old briar Higher still, and higher
! !

still,

To
From
Where

get release

sinful stain,

and wayward
peace

will,

And And God

find the

flesh

with

spirit shall agree,

still, and higher look not down to see high thy footing now may be, Upward set thy face where He
1

Higher
!

Courage

How

shall not

be shamed in me.

Calls thee to

come

nigher,

Higher

still,

and higher.

My

work

is

here, but not

my

rest,

Higher

still,

and higher
fast.

And
And And
For
I have

not my home, not the wealth I would invest

life to

Lo And
!

the sun

is

sinking

lengthening shades are round thee

fail at

come

cast.

my treasures hid above. usury of faith and love.

Let not thy heart Higher

still,

the

last

'Tis no time to

tire
!

and higher

And

if to-night mine inn be good, I shall be glad But if to-morrow's fare be rude, And lodging bad,

Higher still, and higher Sweet the air is, pure and clear,
!

And

the

Lord

is

ever near
I hear

Yonder where the songs

It shall

To

be so much easier then strike my tent, and on again.

And

the golden lyre

still,

Higher

and higher.

32

for

; ;

:; ;

498

Thoughts and Fancies

!

Sunday Evenings

Higher still, and higher What, if Death be standing right

In thy way, and dreadful night All beyond is life and light. And thy soul's desire Higher still, and higher !
?

" Her house is the way to hell, going down to the chambers of death." Prov.
vii. zy.

Hast

thou wandered far, my child Whither did'st thou go. That thy feet are so defiled.

And
amiable are Thy tabernacles, Lord of hosts." Ps. Ixxxiv. i.

"How

O Hast

thy pace so slow ? thou been among the wild Mountains and the snow ?

Dear

to me the Church of Christ, Mountain steep and snows were sweet Sweet the memories lingering there. For me to tread again Sweet the place of solemn tryst. But I've been on the stony street. Sweet the house of prayer, Among the haunts of men ;

Where

the glory ever pours

everlasting doors.

Better to have put

my

feet

Through the

Within the

lion's den.

Solace of the spirit vexed. Refuge of the contrite heart, Helper of the mind perplexed Evermore thou art Oh that I might always dwell Where I hear Thy Sabbath bell

In the haunts of men are found Kind and loving hearts. Wisdom springing from the ground. All entrancing arts. Homes that do with peace abound. Songs in many parts.
at the door Called me to come in Where the vine-blood stained the And the song was sin And another victim more Perished so within.

There they brought me when a child For the cleansing of the Lord ; There I came with garment soiled

Nay, but beauty

floor.

Of mine own accord. Broken in my pride of strength.

Weary
Not
of the world
at length.

the tinted lights that shine

Softly through the pictured pane.

But the light of love divine Flooding all thy fane. That is what entrances me.

But thou hast returned at last. Sad and penitent Snaky arms hast from thee cast, All their power is spent

'Twas an

Hushed

in

its

high mystery.

Wake

evil dream, the Past up innocent.

Not

the word the preacher speaks Pleading in his Master's name,

still

Ah

the Past

still

cleaves to

me

With

a leprous force

But the

small Voice that seeks

hearts to tame.
I love to hear.

Wayward
That
is

what

Then

know

that

God

is

near.

Tainted thought that will not be Cleansed out by remorse And the goodness that I see Makes the anguish worse

: :

for

499

Thoughts and Fancies

Sunday Evenings
come, Lord,
throne,
in

Thy Kingdom
"Thy kingdom
come."

this

Matt.

vi. lo.

heart of mine.

Set there

Thy

and reign
true,

in

Thy Kingdom come

truth and right.

the
at

reign

of

right divine,

And make me
wholly Thine

wholly

and

Where
Creep

lies,

amazed
into

the

searchout

ing light,

Thy Kingdom

come.

back

the

darkness

of sight

Thy Kingdom
Thy Kingdom
reign alone.

come.

"Willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord." z Cor. v. 8.
shalt

come, when

Thou

Waiting
graven gods of stock

for the

day to dawn,

With

all

the

or stone,

Peering through the darkness far. Here and there a cloud withdrawn,

Like broken potsherds strewn around

Here and

there a star.

Dark and silent is the hour. Not a whispering wind is Not an insect in a flower, Not a twittering bird. Thy Kingdom come, when wrath and

Thy

throne

Thy Kingdom

come.

heard,

war

shall cease

And swords
of peace.

Long
rule,

the night has been and slow,

heart

be reaping-hooks for tasks

shall

Spite of good,

And

love

and wisdom

And my
With

is

remembered words, faint and low

the loosening cords.

shall increase

Thy Kingdom

come.

Who

is

with

me

Only Thou,

Thou,

my

never-failing Friend

Lay Thy hand upon my brow. Thy Kingdom come, when all shall Hold it to the end. do Thy will. And gladly haste Thy purpose to Lo is that a gleam of morn
!

fulfil.

Touching yonder
meekly
all

trailing cloud.

And

faith take
ill

life's

good White and ghostly and

Pallid as a shroud
?

forlorn.

and

Thy Kingdom

come.

Yet within that cloud there lie All the glories of the day The Kingdom come, where peace and Light, and life, and song ; and pity meet. Long for them and pray.

And
Like

let

Thy

folk

who know Thy

So
I wait with failing strength,

mercy- seat
pity

show

to those

who them

entreat

Give me, Lord, the grace I need. That I yet may die at length
Into
life

Thy Kingdom

come.

indeed.


Soo

Thoughts
arid Fancies for

Sunday Evenings

"My
work."

Father worketh hitherto, and

And

John

v. 17.

I would work with Him whose mercy lasts For ever, and His love is everywhere.

Bid me not look

rest,

in

heaven for only

Who

preached to

spirits in prison,

and

daily casts

Well

My

- earned because the battle has His nets where souls are sinking in despair been won. heaven were with Him there. fight has been a poor one at

My

the best,

And now

I trust to have

it

better

done Perchance,

in

that

new

life

we

shall

be born Children at first, and have to slowly What need of rest, except to be grow. And its unfathomable wonders learn, refreshed For further work, and carry on our Like children, singing gladly as we go Where living waters flow. task. No more with sin enfeebled and ennever sets the sun.

Where

meshed

Yet

must we
have
our

come

to

manhood's
us

Eternal idleness I do not ask, Nor in such bliss could bask.

better hour,

And

work

appointed

to do.

So many failures I have made on earth. And do it with more So many hours have wasted of and power,

heart,

and hope,

my
So So
oft

day,

And
far

fresh as with eternal

morning dew

little

gained of true abiding worth.

That doth our

life

renew.

have erred, and gone so

the one Living

astray

At

any

rate, to sit

From

Way

On
Or

listless

thrones,

with folded palms with crowns of

shining gold.

Oh To
To To

to

redeem the time that I have lost, right whatever wrong I may have
publish

touch the harp unto the voice of

hearts that are to sinners hard
Is not the

psalms.

done.

With
peace unto the tempest-

and cold.

tossed.

hope I hold.

bring back hope to some despair-

ing one.

Until there shall be none

"If
you."

it

were not so, John xiv. 2.

would have

told

Who
And
Went What

knows
Christ,

The
I

Father worketh

hitherto.

Oh,

are they near to us or far

away?

whom

would serve

in

And know
dim with

they
tears

how
?

our eyes grow

love and fear.

not

away

to rest

Him,

but to do

And can they hear what breaking hearts

here say.

could be better done in heaven

bring to
all

than here.

Our dead who

good cheer.
waiting years

sleep
?

through

all

the

And

Thoughts and Fancies

for

;;;

Sunday Evenings
would'st have told us had
it

501

Not

vain the task to sweep the ocean's

Thou

not

floor,

been so,

Or

sift the slag and cinders of the Thou wilt not let us yearn for some moon. dear face. Tell what the sun for fuel has in Or voice remembered fondly long ago.

store.

To make Thy
eclipse shall

heaven to us a lonely

Or when
noon
:

darken

it

at

place.

Oh rich in hope the things which Thou

But dream not thou the great sealed
stone to roll
hast told,

Rich too the hope of what Thou hast

From
up

concealed having faith in Thee, Lord, I would hold Or to unwrap the cerements of the soul. And search the close-kept secret of The hope unspokenas the hoperevealed. the tomb.
its

the grave's mouth, and to light

gloom,

And

They may be

far

away

I cannot

tell

And

nothing

of

my

grief can

" I exhort therefore, that, hear prayers be made for all men."

first
i

of Tim.

all,
ii.

or see

They may be

Which, hard on them,

help to me.

near me, holden by a spell O'er land and sea love follows with fond prayers will yield no
Its dear

ones in their troubles, griefs,

and cares

There is no spot which it does not drop this tender dew, body, and appear as it appeared When its haunts were among the sons Except the grave and there it bids adieu. And prayeth not. of men.
But near or
far,

the spirit

is

ensphered

Alone and

silent, till it find

again

On

Yet Thou
and
life.

that art the

Lord of death

Wilt Thou

not

clothe

should that be the only place uncheered them with By prayer, which to our hearts is most
endeared.
friend

Why

familiar frames,

That we may know beloved

or wife.

And
Living,

sacred

grown
for

we
head

sought
lips

blessings

on

And

clasp their hands,

?

and

call

them

their

by their names

Why
wert,

should our they are dead,

be sealed
?

when

Changed

as

Thou
Thee

Thy

friends

And we
their

alone

discovered

By

the nail-prints and by the

wounded Idle ?

doom

is

fixed

Ah who
!

side;

And Thou
that

can tell ? wilt leave some mark on us Yet, were it so, I think no harm could
well

we
the glory

Amid

may

be verified.

Come

of

my

prayer

S02

Thoughts
oh the

arid Fancies for

Sunday Evenings

And

heart, o'erburdened with

As for the living, for the dead each day.

They
will not

its grief,

grow

This comfort needs, and

relief

finds therein

From
Shall

its

despair.

Less meet for heaven when followed by a prayer To speed them home, like summerscented air

God
call
ill

be wroth because

we

love

From

long ago.
the heart's desires

them

still.

And

upon His

love

to

shield

Who

shall forbid

from

to flow dearest, best,

Our

Beyond the

limit

of the things we

And bring And

them home, and recompense

know

their pain.

In heaven above

cleanse their sin, if any sin remain.

The

incense that

the golden censers

And
Nay, I
pray
will

give

them

rest

bear
Is the sweet perfume

from the

saintly

not

believe

it.

will

prayer

Of trust

and love.

A HERETIC
AND OTHER POEMS
A HERETIC
Together the words of the dead grave, Epic and drama and lyric bold,
classic

Yes, he was there at the and we Eyed each other with meaning look. Wondering what he had come to see Yet we pitied him, too, ere long, as he Stood by himself alone, and shook While the earth fell dull on the cofKn lid. But why had he come where he was

And
and

sage
true.

discourse
tale,

of

the

wise

And the fabled

Where
grew

the faiths

and the legend old of a rank religion

And many

a close-writ notebook told

the past life of the world they knew, How much of the gods and the wits not bid ? He might have known he would mar of Greece, And of Rome with its arts of war our meeting. Who neither its love nor its grief and peace. Oft wandering, too, by brake and could share. brook. And how could we give him a word Or seated on lichened boulder stone, of greeting ? He the last man that we looked for They read as in an open book How earth was fashioned, and rocks there.
!

How well

And

So, lonely and silent he took his place, silent and lonely he went

had grown.

his way. But what was the shadow that lay on his face
?

By frost and ice, by fire and flood. From the weltering slime of primal mud

the

Was And
It

it,

maybe, some touch of the of a former

And what the records of nature bore Of the struggle of Life from less to
more

tender grace,

the lingering love

but
his

day?
puzzled us then
;

Lonely away, with

we let him go head bent low.

in

What mosses in the swamps grew rank, What fishes stirred the long sea-weeds, What great beasts on the river's bank Went crashing through the giant reeds.
So they had searched, through ages vast.

They had
had read

been

friends

youth,

The

strange graveyards of the buried

Past.


: ;

A
and

:;

; ;

504

Heretic

Later, their converse had mostly been

With Fathers

Schoolmen and

And And

cling to his little patch of land.

cast a shade for the lazy steer,

With no more change than the passing knotty Creeds, breeze Councils, where subtlest wits were seen Makes when it tosses the creaking bough ; Busily sowing the fruitful seeds Of faith and doubt, and love and hate. And prosperous, plentiful, full of ease, And all that chequers our mortal fate. To-morrow he shall be the same as now. The fall too of Empire, the dark Another shall flow like a freshening stream, sunset Of learning, through lust of power and Flashing there where the sunbeam flies. Eddying here in a brooding dream, gold.

And

The
yet

mighty Popes, and the mightier

Who wrought reform in the days of old.

And And
martyr-sorrows by
fire

and cord,

all its life in its movement lies This the law of his being strange. Ever he grows by flux and change. What would you ? Nature will have

And

the glory and triumph of

God's

her

way

Will mend by night what you mar by day. These, too, they pondered, laying And laughs at the man that would say up store Of late born science and old world lore. her Nay. So had the Kirk for her sons designed Tree cannot pluck up its roots and go.
pure

Word

That the
in

rich in faith should be

full

Restless stream cannot cease to flow.

mind.
settled near
this,

Each must obey

the high

Law,

given

To
They
each other, In a rural parish of easy bliss.
That, in a neighbouring city, the questionings of

the things of earth by the

Lord

of Heaven.

And some read many books, and grow keen Wiser and better by all they know young life From thoughts of other men their own They walked together side by side, Get warmth and colour and richer tone. And each of the other would speak And what is old they make as new with pride From the shaping mind it passes How one had treasures of learning vast, through And one had thoughts that were sure It was but a seed when it was sown. to cast But a goodly plant in their souls has larger light upon life and death. grown. And gird up the loins of our dwindling For all that they gather with patient
rife

With

faith.

strife
first in

Brothers

the toils of youth,

Is penetrated with mystic

life.

Brothers

Each

the bonds of truth, in the other was fain to see

in

now

The powers of the world that was to

But one man like a tree shall stand. Leafing and fruiting year by year.

be.

Another shall read and heap up lore, Yet be no wiser than ever before Folios mighty he knows by rote, And each edition, its date, and size, Page and paragraph well can quote, And where a word on the margin lies


;
;

505

Heretic

Hardly a question up shall spring, Sudden as startled bird on wing, But a loaded sentence is up to sight

Say, you are set to pasture sheep Taught where the short, sweet grasses

grow.

With
it

the tender ewes and the lambs keep Yet never a thought of his own has he. From the wily fox and the hooded crow, Nor any mind but memory. And how to shift them from hill

a score of quotations to settle

And
to

right

to dale.

So

these twain took their several ways.

full

And how
that
ail,

to"

bring healing to

them

Though each was

praise,

of the other's

And when
far

to fold

them,

and feed
field

Keeping ever a constant heart, While drifting more and more

apart.

them well While the snow

and
fell.

lies

deep upon

For he whom we laid that day Honoured and wept for

learned,

in the

grave

his service

so you tend them with care, and they Trust your shepherding, as you strive To keep them safe in the good

And

By

Which

old way change and sorrow, the sacred way the dull, slow book-worm But somehow not thrive

or

other
as

they

do

never discerned.

They do

not

grow

they ought

He

had come among us

in brilliant

to

grow,

youth. Eloquent, earnest, eager to tell Just the old story we held for truth.

And many
fat

But pine where the quiet waters flow ; are ailing, and none grow

and liked Could you be well content with that ? Nay, you are not there to be liked him well and praised. Praised the round periods shaped But to see that the sheep are fitly grazed. with care. And the brilliant tropes that he did Or say that you go a-fishing, well not spare, And liked the man and his modest air. Equlpt with a handy rod and reel. What And the temptingest flies that ever fell. Praised him and liked him Like light, where the rippling waters would he more ?
praised

And we

him

for

it,

Welcome
door.

his

knock

at

the

cottage

steal.

you know all the likely casts and pools, Welcome at school to the children gay. Welcome his presence at wedding feast. And to ply your art by the latest rules. Welcome where sickness restless lay. Could you be satisfied now to see Welcome as Comforter, Prophet and Shoals come sniffing about your hooks.

And

As it were a pleasure for them to be he more than already Playing there, in the shining brooks. With the golden wings and the he had ? scarlet dyes And why should his countenance now
Priest

What would

be sad

Of all

those beautiful

summer

flies.

5o6

Heretic

If never a speckled trout would touch Part of the earth, and part of the air. The dainty things that they liked From the small fine threads of their logic bare ? so much ?

Greatly our admired.

Shepherd,

then,

we Now came

Of
his heart desired.

teaching
halt.

a season of deep unrest, thought to be lame

And greatly his fishing-craft we praised;

But that was not what

and

And

meetings

of elders with minds

And

therefore

with

sorrowing eyes

oppressed.

he gazed

And meddling of ministers finding fault.

fight

Round and down on the thronging pews. For the week As one who had failed in telling
his news.

he was fighting

all

the

As
before.
to more,

through. the Sabbath came round, he must

it

For our life went on as it did Heaping up treasures from less

Seeking
our
pleasure,

fight

And now
went
Till

anew it went

this

way, now

it

and

serving

that,

our sins,

we

hardly could
felt

tell

what he meant
and groping
to

And giving our honours tohim that wins.

to be at

But we

he was

real,

And
Can

so
I

he began
spend
?

to ask,

"What next?
on a
fruit-

about

my

years

In search of a Faith that he had

find out.

less task

My

soul

is

Will

God

not give

weary and sore perplexed, Slowly the light came; slowly it grew; me the boon I ask ? Not without questionings, Could it
straight furrow,

Better go

Andfaint heart-misgivings, What might be the end ? Better the broom of as crosing-sweep. Must he lose for the sake of it lover Labour of any kind one can see and friend ? Good coming out of, than this for me." Some would have laid all the blame Sometimes resisting it when it seemed clearest, on the flock. And called their hearts hard as a Sometimes afraid of it when it felt dearest. flinty rock Sometimes persuaded it could not But that was never his way ; for he Searched himself and his work, to find be right. What might the cause of his failure be. Else the saints nearest God would have glowed in its light And whether it were in his heart And sometimes defiant and scornful, he. or mind. Was it the good news of God he As one who knew what the cost must be, had spoken ? Was it the true Bread of life he Hurled it at us, and went his way. To kneel in his closet, and weep had broken ? and pray. And the Christ he had preached, was But he settled at last in the lucent calm He God's own Son ?
;

plough a and reap,

be true

Or

only the Christ

spun,

whom

the school-

Of
a

a restful faith

which was sweet

as

men

Psalm

; ;

A
Heretic
It

507

Calm and sweet as the waters Where the Good Shepherd

His
flock to rest.

blest

was a time too of

bearing

tears

causeth

And
If the

of
also

crosses

and prayers, by high

and low

enemy

sowed

his tares,
it

At

first

we heard him with grow- He warned

indeed
at

ing fear.

must be so. In the end, when his way at length

us well that

Was he hitting
beliefs
?

our cherished
truth,

was

clear.

And
the
to

the light shone quietly forth in

Was

power. he came to us speaking good Was he shooting heretical arrows words of good cheer in sheafs ? That dropt on our souls like a Was he driving shafts through the summer shower. Catechism How we waited for Sunday then, To undermine our old Calvinism ? eager to listen Some held it was only the truth To a message that made the heart glow and eye glisten he sought, Truth which at any price must Oh, the hush of the multitude, breathless and still. be bought And some, that he ne'er should have As their souls bowed before him, and moved at his will come to preach If he had not already the truth
fathers dear
?

he sapping

our

And

to teach.

Meanwhile,

his friend in his rural

home

And so,

each fireside the battle raged Read many a clasped, white-vellumed tome. Which he with himself in anguish Black-lettered, and with red-edged waged leaf. And we searched the Book, "and we And never a sentence clear and brief. gathered store Of other books, and we deemed Mickle he read, but little he grew ; dwarf in giant's armour he ; them good. Not for the wealth of their learned lore. And all that was old he held for true. But for help that they gave us in And all that was new must error be Fresh lights indeed on the earth living more might shine, Nobly and truly, as Christians should ; But nothing fresh upon things divine ; That was his test for every thought,
at

Will

it

lift

you up nearer

to

God And

little

he

heeded

the

voice

or not?

which

said,

Oh,
Seed

that

I am living, and these are dead. was a springtime of sowing Then some came to him, whispering,

seed

"Lo!
of
the
better
life

surely

The The

hour

is

come, and the man we

of thy youth has gone

for

mind
quickened by him, and the soul
traditions

know.
friend
astray
that bind

Was

was freed From dead

blind;

and

From

the beaten path of the narrow

way.

A
others to

5o8

Heretic

And leadeth As there are

always

left Will follow the out. he tries Heaven trained thee for this task. O'er his own shadow in vain to leap. And see. That which the Fathers held for truth In the faith-sure days of the Church's There is glory and honour awaiting

they scoff and mock, and and flout bell-wether, when If a date be wrong, or a jot

do likewise,
sheep

And

fleer

silly

youth,

thee,

That which

divines at a later stage.

When
faith

the

true

champion

of

the

With

the learning ripe of a thoughtful

age,

Has
link of
it it

stricken this heresy unto death."

Fashioned into a Creed compact.

Every Every

strong as fact,
fitting tight

They
men,

were
at

not

many

- thoughted

joint of

As

Scripture and Reason could shape

right

Nor wise

winning

souls, but yet

them

Fitly and well they reasoned then

That, like another blind Samson, he.

Making

sport for the Philistine,

fain pull

To snare And this

As he

this soul in their

wily net

Would
that

down on

our heads,
in

was how the leaven wrought sat down by the fire, and
I

we
men crushed
a falling

May

die like

"How

thought can

do

it?

He

is

my

mine.

friend.
is

Tender and true, and a saintly spirit. the harvest come at last prayer, to Living, by work and sowing of fruitless seed ; mend been guiding thee in the The ills and woes that we all inherit. past To help His Church in her hour of They'll call me a Balaam, a Judas,
But now

Of all thy God has

He

need. is thy friend, and dear to thee,

as the

what not ? If I meddle with that which concerns

But not so dear

be

Truth should

me

not.

Yet should not a warning word be

then, and gird thine armour on.

Up,

spoken,

Or

take

thy sling

and

the

pebble

Even

at
?

the

risk

of

friendship

stone.

broken
deal with

And
The

smite this giant of carnal doubt.

The Church must

him

but

Can I in faithfulness let him go Unrebuked in his erring way,

Marring the ancient doctrine so. without And leading others, too, far astray ? lore of the ages, known to thee. 'Tis pleasant to find my work at Hardly her way shall be plain to see last For the critical, carping spirit abroad Lies ever in wait for the Church's Appreciated as it should be And what if, indeed, through the tripping. busy Past, If she miss but a turn of the changing
road.

God
slipping,

for this has been training

it

Or

chance wrong word from her So they read

Skilled in the

as

me ? men of sense.

mouth come

ways of Providence.

A
Heretic

509

It

is

right
to

to

requires,

do what the Church One word only he spoke out plain. But that word measured the bulk of
his brain
:

And

tend the flame of her altar

soever,

fires,

"That
then,
I

Aorist,
;

now; he

is

clearly

How
And,

painful
;

must
I

wrong
point

speak
in his

have touched him there, and

is

my

besides,

he Greek."
a

is

clearly all

wrong

strong."

Followed

sharp

faith and the hope of men, he wist. Remonstrance, All hinged on the turn of an Aorist.

For the

charged With high authorities, and enlarged With customary polemic hits

Remonstrance led to
course,

Rejoinder,

of

The shallow trick of barren wits As " love of novelty fickle mind

Failure of logic,

if

Hunger
kind

for

fame

beauty of art of the emptiest

Deftly handled with point and force. And equal learning and dainty wit. And there was not an unkind word
in
it.

"
that

Pleasant," he writ,
life

" was

quiet

Itch of vanity in the heart

Knowledge
grace,

had not a touch of Spent

and
out

among

big - margined

folio

books.
either,

Not

accurate

of Far from the town with

strife,

its

busy

place.

You know
once

the style
to-day,

it

was commoner 'Mid the singing of

cawing of rooks
the learned

larks,

and the
to

Than

it

is

when

And

well

for

his

friend

have

dunce
Is of little account.

lettered ease,

As

" proof,"

Though he knew how

he read the For the Church to have scholars ripe and good, unkindly his Though it is not for any themselves
to please.

words must seem. Like a pigeon perched on a high

house-roof.

And

sit

in

brown

study, and

dream

and brood.

crooned and swelled in a vain Fighting the battles of long ago fond dream With ghosts that are wandering to Of all the honours that he should and fro, win. When they ought of rights to be When scholars his learned volume lying low. read, For himself, his task had been plainly And the wealth of praise that it might set bring in. Where the eager throng in the market And the name that should live when met. he was dead And the rush of thoughts into men's

He

But he did not remember the love he lost The broken seal of the Holy Ghost.

vexed minds

Was

borne like the dust On the wild

March winds,


5IO

; ;

A
would not be
settled

Heretic

And
Or

by tense

"What
told

have I done?

I have only

or mood,

aught that the

nice grammarian

My flock of the boundless love of God,

Which is not straitened,

but doth enfold must serve his time, for he did All that on earth have their abode, All in the Universe that dwell not think God had mistaken the time of day, In the heights of heaven, or the depths of hell And set him forth, like an owl to For there is no shore where that ocean blink breaks At noon instead of the evening grey ; But to look in the face of man, and And finds its limit : God is not there
could.

He

Where Love is not, that our burden see takes What was aching his heart and brow, For God is love, and is everywhere. And where the shadow of Mystery And I told them, that God and His Lay on the face of the dial now.
grace and

work

" Fresh

lights

had shone upon earth Are not

tied fast to a Bishop's crook.

and heaven.

Are

not shut up in an ordered kirk.

And time had its ancient secrets given Nor yet bound up in a printed book, Up to our search, from the earth and For all good thoughts that visited them.
stone

That held the story of Babylon. Not now could any one wholly read

All longings for the pure and true, All from His inspiration came ; And there was not an erring soul

The

but knew no heed which the Fathers could not The pleading tones of the Father's love Calling calling him from above. know The lights which out of the ages grow. And I taught moreover that they who hear. And ere the brief hours of his day And turn from the evil of their ways. were run. He would like to feel that his task Shall find that His mercy is ever near, was done And sing to Him yet in a song of
truth aright, if he gave

To

that

With

clear intelligence of the time.

praise

Wasting nothing on mere by-play. For among the living, among the dead, But filling his place in the plan sublime Yesterday, to-day, and for ever, God worked out in His own great He is still the same, as the Spirit said. way. Pouring forth love as a flowing river. Others might come to mend it soon, Is it heresy to have taught them so ? To-morrow a different work might I glory in it, and ever must. need. Ever with Christ my faith must go, Men must change with the changing When He seeks the living to make them just, moon, And life be sung to another tune. Or joins the dead where they lie in

And

shape

itself to a larger

Creed.

dust;

Faith in

And
to

For He must be doing His Father's was the only way, will, there was no last word on that Bearing the message of mercy still." say.

God

; ;

A
Process of heresy then began,

Heretic
was there on
night
that

S"
chill

I
fit,

December

And who
man.

but his ancient friend was

they gave their verdict, and spake his doom With competent knowledge to handle By a single candle's glimmering light it? That was only just seen in the dusky Oh they were grieved, for well they wot gloom. The man was good, and the work Many were weeping, and some men he did ; swore. saintly spirit in deed and thought. But a low laugh rose when the light Though he plainly taught what the died out.

Since the heretic too was a learned

When

Church forbid And we said, " Here we seek for the But never a heresy yet had thriven truth no more. But what some holy man had given They have left us in darkness to tone to it that appeared from wander about." Yet were we glad that the end had Heaven. It was all the worse for the Church, come.
they

said. And the torrents of foolishest speech a man of God from the old were dumb. paths broke ; But in the name of God to smite But there was little to fear or dread. When the heretic was like other folk. Him that was walking with God in

When

light

Weekly they met

And
Daily

hot debate, weekly they preached on

in
also,

And
the

in the

name of

God

to

wreak

Wrath on

business too,

And

and early and late. the case anew. Never such stir was known

meek name of God to pray O'er such a work as they did that day.
the lowly heart and
in the

We all debated
place

Little witting
in

the In

what they were at God's name what is the end of that

!

Never such searching of chapter and Outcast now from its fellowship. Still to the Kirk he fondly clung, verse Never such talk of election and grace, And often he said, with quivering lip. Never such arguments clear and terse How good it was, when the bell was rung. Never such stores of theology, brought From hiding-places in old men's heads. To go where the grand old Psalms were sung. Never such troubled and anxious And to be where lowly hearts were thought. bent As we walked by the way, or lay still
;

in our beds.

To

think of the man, that

we

In prayer and holy Sacrament held For the Kirk made brave and earnest
:

so dear.

Badgered as if he were fool or rogue But at length, in the cold dark end of
the year.

And

men. he loved her now

her then.

as

he loved

So he

lived on, the meekest saint.

his life in vain complaint,

They

cast

him out of their synagogue.

Nor wasted


512

Sabbath Evening
another sect to claim the true Jerusalem,
in his

Long Ago

Nor formed That it was

But who was the heretic kept apart From the truth and life by his faithless heart
?

And

rear

its altars

name

But gathered around him thoughtful

youth,
Inspiring

He who

was

loser, but still

loved on

? ? ?

Or he who
them with the love of
truth.

Ah

gave up his love, and won would you read God's meaning
the
bright,

And And
At

to

look for guidance from above,

look

to believe that

God

is

Love.
only few

Not on

shining
lies

page of

first,

of course,

we were

His Book, But where the shadow

the face

dark on

Just one here, and another there

And* work

Suspected and distrusted too. was scanty, and

Of some
calls

tragic

failure,

some proud

disgrace.

were rare. But soon the leaven spread, and we

And

Became

a goodly

company

For the loss is gain, and the gain is loss. the shame is glory when He wills That thou shouldst shine in the healing
Cross,
all

And many
And

a pulpit in the land

his faith.

Ere long was quickened by

Which

the

Law

by love

fulfils.

sounded forth the message grand That Love had vanquished sin and
death.

SABBATH EVENING LONG

a
little

That God had been

Child,
I

And And

AGO
SEE the

walked with sinners, undefiled. with the wicked had made His

old

home on

the Sabbath

grave.

night
It smelt of heresy to call
it

That grace and hope might come

to
all,

Sunday,

A heathen
right

name, although

we

held

it

And
The

might join the battle brave Who heard, and would obey His call. And we grew bold, and dared to greet
all

To

paganise the Saturday and Monday.

outcast in his failing years

The
meet,
tears

With words of love and honour

That filled his wistful eyes with Never a task I laboured at So much to my liking as
that

cruse hung on the jamb, with poor rush pith That, soaked in whale oil, dimly kept a-gleaming ;
filled

writing

More shadows

the

room

than

lights therewith.

For he had meekly born

the yoke.

And how

those wavering shadows

set

And now behold the seed had sprung. And over all the Church awoke The same glad strain which he had
sung.

me dreaming

sea-coal

fire

glowed on the

old

Dutch

slates.
settle near

mystery of truth, whose hour is its day of power. Which but accepts its cross, and then Rides forth in its might to conquer

And

on the brown carved

Of sorrow
men

the doorway,

And on a rack of willow-pattern plates, And on a bronze-hued wooden bowl

from Norway.

Long Ago
the
small

Sabbath Evening

513

mighty cauldron simmered by the

fire,

Still

mind chafed

at

the

strenuous thought
often

Whereto our hungry eyes kept

turning,

those stern Puritans who faced, unwincing. For the much-preaching sharpened the The darkest problems of our human lot. desire And solved them with a text, as allTo satisfy the flesh we had been convincing.
spurning.

Of

But while the grave old father questioned on, In the big chair the father gravely sat, And round the fire the household I marked his dome of forehead, time had wrinkled. gathered quiet The dog wheeled round, and, coiling And to myself I kept mythoughts alone. And the dog dreamed on, and the on the mat. rushlight twinkled. Slept through the lesson, profiting not by
it.

In him there was a

faith

serene and

And

then we went right through the " Catechism," From " Man's chief end," to "Amen " in conclusion Heaven's white light broken in a logic prism To clear our thought, and end in dire
confusion.

strong,

In

me

an unrest, like the rush of water

Without, there was a Credo hard and

long.

Within, there was a resolute Negatur,

Yet

in his stern creed lay a tender heart,

The

husk o'erlaid a wealth of human

that fain their

kindness

Mostly

I did not understand at all.

And love,

wisdom would
its

And my mind wandering seemed to hear

the shouting

impart To purge the young soul of

blindness.

earthly

Of comrades
doubting.

at a

game of

bat or ball
it

But where I understood,

set

me

And

it

did

store

the

mind

with

furniture

So those high orthodoxies came to bej In forms antique, forbidding peaceful slumber, Quick seeds in me of heterodox opinion, And, ere I wist, my thoughts were all But morticed well, and fashioned to
at sea.

endure.

And
I

drifted,

holden

by

no

wise

Hard

to get into, or out of heads they

dominion.

cumber.

not how those Westminster I wot not what our later faiths may do For us, what time our troubled lives Divines may need them. To Scots beyond the Tweed their faith But through that stern old creed a had given.

knew

But I rebelled

to travel

on those

lines

nation

grew
staunchest in the fight

Which made
to

so hard and dark a

way Toughest and

of freedom.

Heaven.

33

God

5U

Creeds

The

Discovery of
From

our work and our war.

CREEDS
Ah
Who
!

And

the thoughts that are aching our

brow
these old creeds,
?

And
Vain
and they

yet though they be but part true,

to patch

can believe them to-day Yet were brave deeds

;

up the old, or make new.

Inspired by them once, too

Creed-making now
In these latter ages of time Would yield stuff, I trow,

of heroic mould In the great fighting ages of old.

Is
it

Made men

the

wounds
?

Which

science has given

or the sap

On

Thin and loose rhyme Tags and thrums,

?

as

small

poet's

Critical

grounds,

Which has brought

Though they

about their mishap

vital spot,

Nay, these touched not a

have wrought.

hints and guesses, no more, With a deep, settled doubt at the core.

brag of the wreck they

What

not to believe.
is

That now

the stage

we

are at

But the

spirit

has risen
in a prison,

From the hard, narrow letter which kept

Men's thoughts

And how shall we weave Any faith to live on out of that

There must go
to the

making of creeds

Where

they struggled or languished or

Sure hearts, girded up for high deeds.

slept

And now we
They

can soar high above All the Creeds, but the Credo of Love.
are things of the past.

But ours

is

an age
taking things

Of unmaking,
For

down

the warfare

we wage
fortified

We
And

out of date ; The men were not cast In our moulds, who endured such a weight. So linked and compact let them go,
:

Survivals, and

now

must swarm from the town.

Beyond the old

spread out, to find air and room. walls and their gloom.

They who wore them had no room

grow.

to

Yet we have faith In the Right and the True and the

Good,

All too complete.

And in Him whose last breath Was the prayer of a pitiful mood,
skilfully

They were subtly and With logic neat

But they are not

wrought Which smites the meek spirit with awe, And with Love, the true life of all

And
Any

in touch with our thought they will not allow they have found spot where they have not sure ground.

Law.

THE DISCOVERY OF GOD

Who was the man that found out God
And what
the method that he took
? ?

They are ever so far From the days we are living

Did
in

he, with patient travail, look

footprints

now,

For

on the sand or sod.


The Discovery of God
Making
it

51S
e'er forget his

A mighty Architect stood here,

Building the earth up,
tier

plain that,

on a time,
on

Could mortals

name.

Or
'

history

fail to

note the day

tier,
?

And

working out a plan sublime

When that dread veil was rent away. And God a proven Truth became ?
One
finds a new world^ one, a star Undreamt of hitherto, and men Hold high their names in honour then Through all the ages near and far.

Or did he trace, with curious skill, Nice-fashioning touches on the clay That man was made of, and the way
That
it

was modelled
purpose,
its life

to

fulfil

The The

artist's

when

at length

But what

are these to

him who found

others meet.

pulses of

And And

should beat, find the eye and ear complete, hand with delicate touch and
?

The The

truth in
central

which

all

thought
all

which

makes

complete.

strength

And
facts

clears

up

the glorious round

And

as

he traced the

and laws,

Close-linking the high argument Of reason, was the great event

The will which shapes what may befall. The power that wrought whate'er The The
hath been. light wherein
life
all

An

infinite all-designing

Cause

light

is

seen.

that

is

the

life

of

all ?

Thus, step by step, did he go on, Groping through darkness toward light, Nay, no Columbus here may boast That, plunging in an unknown sea. Until the vision of glory bright Dawned on his soul, and doubt was He made this grand discovery. Being sore-spent and tempest-tossed. gone.

And
The

in the splendour

of the day
its

No

seeker sought,

till

he did

find

universe revealed

sense.

And And

throbbed with clear intelligence, bade him worship now and pray,
!

The secret hid from ages past, The mystery of the First and Last, The Peace that filleth heart and mind.

For lo the wondrous Book, no more By links of patient reason brought Out of the sum of finite things. Anonymous, disclosed to view Its Author and its meaning too. He reasons ill whose reason brings Which were a secret heretofore ? Such outcome from his partial thought

Ah

what a moment that had been.

From

light

and shadow perfect

light.
ill,

When such a thought first broke on him. Pure good from mingled good and From tokens of mechanic skill And filled his being to the brim
With awe of what
his

mind had seen

Illimitable glory

and might.
idle

was the grand discoverer ? age was honoured to contain This man of subtle and daring brain-

Who

Vain dreamer of an

dream

What
The

one divine philosopher

In logic forms ! Did any one Discover by his quest the sun. That seeks us with his searching beam

Si6

The
pries about the

Invention of

God

world to find And so man's fear invented God heaven ? who mines For thunder-clap and stormy blast, The earth in search of frequent signs And fire-stream from the mountain cast That shall suffice to clear his mind, Seemed the fell strokes of His angry rod;

Who

Proof

that he

is

in

certify the wondrous power, And pestilence His deadly breath. That burns upon the morning cloud. And war a game He loved to play And makes the song-bird glad and loud. For pastime of an idle day. And paints the shining leaf and flower ? That gambled with our life and death

And

didst not find God hidden there Wherefore men crept up to His feet, In problem of His acts and days ; And licked the dust in abject fear. But He reveals Himself, and lays And howled their prayers into His ear, To the pure heart His glory bare. Or gashed them, and their bosoms beat.

Thou

Strange savage,

in the nutting

THE INVENTION OF GOD

Some
tell

Who,

just

emerged

wood, from apehood,

things named.

framed
us that, in evil hour.

Articulate speech, and

all

Our

fears invented

God,

the dread

And, brooding
Invented

in a troubled

mood,
are

Of our
Or

forefathers lying dead.

of some dark, malignant Power

pestilence

God

Our triumphs

That sendeth

and drought.

But trifles it were best to hide. But poor mechanic toys, beside

And storms and desolating wars. And horrid glare of baleful stars. And grief and pain, and fear and doubt

The

trophies of
!

Thy

fruitful

war.

thou hadst a dream that we can reach. Wherefore the troubled spirit dreamed For thou invented'st God and Speech, Phantom stood upon its path, And we have only compassed Steam. And hastened to appease His wrath And Thou dark Phantom of our fears, By whatsoe'er it most esteemed.

semi-brute

Transcending

all

How
Man
did not
is

know
with

the law that binds

comes the heart to cling For comfort in its misery,

to

Thee
?

Whatever

all that

was,

And
The

drying of

its

And

blinding tears

And foams along the rock-strewn Sat shivering in his dirty rag, course, And deemed some godhead held a bag, Can never rise above its source. Filled full of pain and misery. But creepeth down by grange and town
Which he let loose on hapless men, Yet from that spring of coward dread, What time, an hungered, he would dine That Phantom born of wrath and death. On ample flesh, and bread and wine, Come holy love, brave-hearted faith,

A A savage without science, he

sum of complex cause deep unconscious wisdom finds.

in the

stream that from the height comes

down.

And

found his

altar stinted then.

And

hope with heavenly visions fed

; ;:

; ; '

The

Vision of

God

The
And
I

Burden of God
was
fain to be alone,

517

THE
O
THE

VISION OF

GOD

A stranger in a far-off land,

Where friend and helper I had Nor any that could understand.
none,

silences

How
Now

of heaven, they speak to me of God,

is

the veil in twain

riven
!

fill my soul, as with a breath That concealed where He abode Yet its clouds were once around Him, That from the Eternal life is brought Let me but be alone with God And I sought Him in despair, little while on some high place. And never there I found Him,

Oh Oh To

for a glad, entrancing faith

for an all-controlling thought

Till I brought

Him

with

me

there.

Not

the optic glass revealed

Him,

Where rarely foot of man hath trod. That I may see Him face to face. So did they long of old, who built
High
altars

mechanical device Pierced the darkness that concealed

No

on the

hill-tops bare.

Him
With
a vision

To leave their And find the

there.

load of sin and guilt. peace they hoped for

more

precise

Only lowliness can merit That His secret He should Only spirit seeth spirit,

tell

Then
Past

I went toiling up the glen.

that wanders in a dream, broad-eaved homes of toiling

And
Never

the heart that loveth well.

Like one
men,

till

His love hath found

thee.

Shall the cloud and mist depart

Along

around thee, Till He dwell within thy heart. Not without thee, but within thee Must the oracle be heard,

Vain to seek

Him

all

the swiftly rushing stream. Past the white kirk with ruddy spire,

And

solitary

wayside shrine

Where peasant mothers did admire The mother of the Babe divine.
Black-muzzled,
his taU,

As He And

seeketh

still

to

to guide thee

win thee, by His word.

Past orchards where the tawny steer. stood and whisked

When

I found I

Then

Him in my bosom, found Him everywhere,

While men sat in the tavern near. With flask of wine or mug of ale.

In the bud and in the blossom. In the earth and in the air And He spake to me with clearness

And And

heard the sharp luhish of the scythe, dragging of the patient rake, I heard the children singing blithe.
I
felt as if

From the sUent stars that say, As ye find Him in His nearness, Ye shall find Him far away.

They

THE BURDEN OF GOD

I BORE a load of doubt and care,

And And And

my heart woiJd break. sang the song of Bethlehem, glad their voices were and clear
I could sing like them.

oh that
only

knew

that

God would

hear

could not reason it away It might have no right to be there. Yet clung to me by night and day.

And

Still on, I bore my burden on. Finding no help in kirk or shrine. Or crucifix of carven stone. Or picture of the Babe divine


5i8

;
;

The Burden of God

Alone, I must be all alone, little speech, a little rest, Beyond the mighty wooded slopes cup of goat's milk at the door ; I would have company with none, Bid me not stay and be your guest. But those vast, silent mountain tops There are a good eight hours and more. Which held me with their snowy spell. Before the sun dips in the west. And bade me come to where they stood. And I must on at any price. And in their white robes, worshipped To see his evening glories rest
well

A A

The

Everlasting Pure and

Good.

Upon the pale green glacier ice. And on the web of pallid snow

That wraps the hills in raiment white, winds And on the changing clouds below Through the pine wood above the That catch the fringes of His light. I did not tell my inmost thought stream, High up, the grey-green glacier grinds. Those neat-herds could not well divine Far down, its grey-green waters gleam, How I, in search of God, was brought Away from kirk and cross and shrine. torrent from a neighbouring clifF Leaped down, and disappeared halfway, Still up and up ; the Alpen-stock To fall in tremulous mist, as if Oft buried in the turf before. Nature to me was fain to say Now smote upon the living rock. See how the rush of lofty thought, And from its heart the fire-spark tore The higher that its way appears.
I took the steep rock-path that

The
Still

deeper that

its

rest is sought.

And

as I trod the gradual slope

vanishes in mist and tears.

Still

With

up the rugged path I went. panting breath and trembling Lo, then

'Neath some snow-crested precipice. And glanced round, with a passing hope Of chamois fleet or Edelweiss,

my

step

grew lightsomer.

knees,

And

weary limb, and back low bent. in the brisk and tingling air of great pine trees, I could have broken into song. I came upon a sunny glade And this I took foi' omen true. Open and green, with brooks and wells. That I was on the"way of peace. And crocus fields where cattle wade. That doubts were' where the pineTill, past the belt

And And

cheerily I sped along,

With

noise of

many

jangling bells.
piled

woods grew.

And

flat-roofed

chalets,

with

And with the haunts of man would cease.

And so at length I trod the snow On the hill-top that afternoon, And saw it in the evening glow. And in the sheen o' th' pallid moon, And saw the wondrous morning dawn.
All rosy, on the white-robed peaks That, ranged like priest - forms
their lawn,
in

stone.

For winds

are boisterous there and wild But kirk or steeple there was none. Only the Virgin and her Child, Kept in some homely box for shrine.

And
But

sheltered in a quiet nook.

incline

Where humble worship might With bended knee, and lowly

all

look.

these fond traditions stood

soe'er their tender grace

How sweet
And

Between me and the Pure and Good,

I must see

Served, through eternal holy weeks. About the altar of the Lord,

Him

face to face.

Awful

in their

blanch beauty there,

; :

519

What
Silent, as if

Pilate

Thought of

It

Wrapt

with one accord There is no scene of earth fulfils hush of speechless prayer. The high hope of the soaring mind. There was no sound of man or beast, And in the quiet of the hills Nor hum of bee, nor song of bird, The peace of God I did not find And more the silence seemed increased And sweet it was with weary limbs. What time the avalanche was heard. Ere long to sit i' the kirk, and hear
in the

The
Once they had held me with a spell, That And drawn me with a mystic force, Those hills, as deeming God must dwell
There where the waters had
source.
their

children singing in their hymns.

Christ

was come, and

God

WHAT
What

Which made
glad;

the vales and

in

meadows

PILATE THOUGHT OF IT
my
Lucius
?

There where,

The changeless snowrclad

majesty sublime, summits had

would you have,

wits.
in

Here our

No

reckoning of the passing time.

the everlasting

Which you

Rome

keep ever sharp

There 'mid
Should

snow

and bright

I not see the eternal right.

By

constant use, are blunted, and the

And look down on the mists below. And gaze up to the fount of light, And find my burden fall away. And feel at last the perfect calm
That broods
in

sword
Clings to the scabbard, only to be drawn Too late. Oh, thus and thus I should

have spoken

the unchanging day.

And

thus I should have done.

How

And
But

vision of the great I

Am

cleverly

We
as I stood

manage, when
fire.

we
the
pat,

sit

down by
to

I did not find

upon the height, what I iiad sought,

to ndy wistful thought

the

And,

having

all

dialogue

I did not find the perfect light,

ourselves,

That answered
It did not ease

We
I'

find the

answer

which does
But you do

me

of

my

load,
;

not
th'

come
strain

I had left the world behind was not any nearer God By being far from humankind. And up amid the bands of ice

That
I

of acting

not

know

This people
in that

Would

I were like

you

And
The

I could

of clinging snow, have purchased with a price Virgin and the Babe below.
silent fields

" Are they

then
?

dull-brained, these Jews,

Are

there none

To

For not

in nature's awfulness.

whet your wits upon, and keep them keen ?

crafty
priest

And And
But

majesty and purity, not in her dread silences Shall God reveal His depths to thee
in a heart that throbs to thine.

No
;

to

fence

with

demagogue

To

trip

up

in his talk

no

Schemer
lawyer

to

countermine

politic

or

wily

And tongue that speaks a human speech

The human
is

the one divine.

souls can reach.

That yearning human

To follow through his trick and artifice Of rhetoric, and exercise the brain

"

Thought of
Would
It

S20

What

Pilate

We

used to think Plenty of them,

a good

one
as

Priests, plotters,

demagogues
flies

leave the Gauls and Britons, and let loose Oh thick The sword upon these Hebrews.
?

as flies

to be

on But for my hungry creditors once Your eyes to sting and blind them. more But they are not I' the Campus Martins on unruliest Like other men. You cannot count steed. upon Or scouring the Campania, rather than I've Their motives, or their methods, or Managing these cursed Jews their aims. lost my nerve What they may love, and what they Among them yet their daughters are may abhor. most fair. The oaths that bind them, or the gods But of this prophet, Jesus. You must they fear, AH are most strange and baffling. know, 'Tis as if I had been supping late with Rufus You dealt with beings of another world Naso, Whose passions are not ours, whose And young Cornelius, and the In Egypt, and like
they
settle
!

ways of thinking

Advocate
modes.
!

Are
So

our strangest people

alien

to

The

Publius Julius, and some other wits,

Visitors here from
spirits.

Rome

all full

of

methodical In lying, with a reason always ready. Yet full of contradictions, as the way

pious and so

wicked

That hardly needed

wine.

my

best Cyprian

Of lying is apt to And they are

Then,
Distrusts me, and

be even

in

adepts

Just smacking of the goatskin, to

let

deep

practitioners.

loose

too, Caesar

The
I have served

sparkling jest, the latest story told

when

About

the

Augurs,

Seneca's

neat

him best, Lo, comes a deputation of these Jews,

phrase.

And
Of
and

your quick repartee,

wit,
all

Nerissa's

Whose women
of the palace.

throng the backstairs

strokes

and

Lydia's

languishing,

Backed

by

their

money

- lending

The pleasant life about the Mammertine, every one a traitor at his heart. For which one longs in this Jerusalem. Impeaching me of rapine and of blood. This growing slack, i' th' hush we And thereon comes a rescript. What heard a song, can I, great " Hallel " about the Temple But let them plot, looking as if I saw gate.
Trastiveres,

And

Mere loyal service, Then crush them

Only force Can rule this

till

the plot be ripe.

with

my

legions

Repeated here and there the town

Pleasantly, for these

all

through
musical,
in

Jews are

beastly Plebs, and their

as I do,

And

have a better choir than you

worse leaders And Cassar, if he knew them

Rome, With antiphones and

linked melodies

What
That
i'

Pilate

Thought of

It

S2I

toss the sweet strains to

and

fro

Who visits me, what letters I have writ.

Even what
I eat

th' air,

and drink, and

all

And

pick them up again, and blend

I alone
ail

my
With

dallying
that witch, Leila,

their notes

whom

I half

To catch the soul with rapture.

Knew
their Feasts,

suspect

'twas their Pascba, chief of

To To
"

be
fall

the

chief tale - bearer

crass fool
into his

Joyful, yet solemn, not like the wild riot

power

for this poor

Of booths
when

and bonfires

in the

Autumn

jest.

Ho

man
in
!

the walls,

draw up the

They

hold their Lupercalia, and go

guard

arms

"
!

We

Pshaw 'tis no riot, only some mad mad. prophet had well drunk, and were in The priests are haling to their courts. merry humour He must be So nought would serve but we must
travesty

An
By
may
Bacchus,
'twas
the
cost

honest

one, for they'd have let

The

rite.

him preach
Truculent
lies till

rarest prank.

doomsday.

Though

it

me

dear.

About

Well

my

head

not so clear as it had need to be Each girt his coat about him, donned After that bout, nor were my nerves well strung, his sandals When there rose clamorous outcry at As ready for a journey, with a staff the gate. Handy, for so their Priests had ordered it And 1 must to the Judgment Hall,

midnight

Was

And
But

thereupon the slaves brought

in

where stood

the feast.
for a

lonely prisoner, bound, and faint,

and weary. lamb we had a roasted swine. Some poor men Which is abomination to the Jew, And sweet - baked fruits instead of or shepherds
bitter herbs.

fishers, as I

deemed,

Flitted

about
to

i'

th'

shadow, looking
him,
yet
afraid

And flagons of rare Cyprus, and we sang

Some
ribald songs to the air of their

scared,

As

loth

leave

Hallel,
Till far into the morning.

to stand

As

day Right

at his side.

All

his accusers

were broke It heard the loud tramp of a throng Clamouring outside the court. would have tainted of men Fast hurrying through the streets. Their sanctity at such a sacred time. And barred them from the worship That sobered us. of their God, Were those fierce Jews, then, musterTo cross our unclean threshold ; for ing to avenge we all The insult ? How could I so play

We

the fool.

Caesar and

all

his Prsetors

and their

courts Knowing the crafty Annas had his spies About me that they tell him all I do. Are in their

eyes defiling and unholy.


522

What
be forging
lies
:

Pilate

Thought of
And
all

It

They might
they were

no doubt,

unlike the Immortals, as our

Poets

aught else. might imbrue Their hands in innocent blood

mattered not

They seldom do

They Conceive
;

them,

and

our
in

sculptors

fashion them.
that

Yet there was something

his look

and bearing Such things are trifles to your grim That overawed me. As I looked fanatic. on him. But they must not be tainted by the touch There rose in me a memory of my Of Romans O my Lucius, how mother the gods, White as a lily and sweet, and of the If any gods there be, must laugh at us days Who hold them bound by such nice When I was like a white bud on her bosom. ceremony. And free from conscience Would I That now am so bedraggled. What were a god could it mean ? Those women of the Court who rave about him I found my prisoner was the Prophet, Jesus, Cry up his beauty; but whom they Whom I had sometime heard ofas a kind admire
!

Of Hebrew
But

Stoic, like our Seneca,

They

clothe

with

loveliness,

and

practising, as well as preaching, that

Socrates

Hard and high

words of
his

doctrine.

Certain Himself should walk in guise of bright

Apollo,
then, like

Had

reached thistledown
i'

me now and
air,

Not like

a satyr, were he but their hero.

And
which had the
:

this

man's

beauty, if beautiful

Blown
in

th'

ring

he were.

them
philosophy
;

Was
but other
part,

Of true

Were dreamy
part too fine

some good coin, and

traffic in.

not like th' This, at least,

young Augustus.
in-

I could

have sworn, that he was

say.

nocent,

A metal for this world to

art

I'd heard too that he had the singular

Whate'er these Jews might here was I

But

In this mad tragi-comedy of life imagina- Playing the part of Judge, while he tion stood there Whate'er it be which filled their To plead with me for life But that minds with wonder. he did not. So that some deemed a god had come No, not so much as one word did

Of

healing

them

by

faith,

to earth.

Half LiK?

curiously
clad,

scanned

him.

To

he utter win our grace, but looked me

the face.

in

Homely

those his broken, too,

toil

fellow -

workmen

Silently searching
say,

me,

as

who
!

should
until

By

and

travel

and poverty and " Thou,

my

Judge,

Thou "

quailed before him,

What

Pilate

Thought of
Of Acheron
friend.
;

It

523

The power was

Feeling the mockery of justice, where mine, the righteousness was his. But how to save him,
their guile
?

" Thou

art

not Caesar's

If thou
guiltless,

let this

from

man go." So I went

back.

Knowing

that I

had raised a storm

feet.

and asked them " What have ye Against this man ? " He called himself a King, And they would have no king but
I

So

went

forth,

might dash
there

me

A broken wreck at Annas'

He

And

The

only Ca:sar. lying rogues had plotted against

Caesar,
rebellions,

Raised tumults, broke into

cursed

stood, this King o' th' Jews, bent low and bound. Yet with that lofty, overawing look Which made my eyes droop Majesty uncrowned Of noble manhood, not yet stained by falls

His

Prastors, Publicans,
at that

and legionaries. In the arena.

And

very hour were scheming

but

"Art
But not
It

thou, then, a

King ?"

treasons

a syllable

Yet they would have no king

only Cassar I could not hide

Gazed on me
was

he answered, only with a look of pity.

;

my

scorn.

Since

foolish question

for of course I

when had they knew. Become so loyal to the imperial throne ? Not for such crime had Annas brought So deep devoted to the power they him here.
cursed

Who would have

feasts
?

prayed and sacrificed

At

all

their

Thereon they

and poured

And
And

clenched their teeth, The consecrating oil on any head muttered something about blas- That in brief triumph had been

phemy. lifted up making himself God. Therefore Against great Caesar. Oh, I know I bade them the man Take him away, and judge him by Nothing were less a crime among these Jews their law They had no power o'er life because Than treason against Rome. I've had to crush our law score of their rebellions, and this Held it no crime for one to be a god Annas Cassar was one, so were the great Was in them all, although his hand twin-brethren, And Hercules, and other mighty men. was hidden foolish Chief plotter he of all. I had no jurisdiction o'er the gods.

And
I

this

man might be one of them,

question

for aught

Better if I had frankly asked him,

why
%ate
But

knew

or cared.

Then

rose a yell

Do

these

your countrymen
accuse

so

of rage. Deep-throated, the pit

you that
fierce,

malignant, from

They do

you

falsely

somehow,


524

What

Pilate

Thought of

It

Then I went forth Seeing that broken, poor, and pitiful Rival of Cassar, I must say to him : Once more to face these Jews " I King, then, are you?" He find no fault Worthy of death, by our law, or of despised me for it. bonds And held his peace, which partly fretted me, In this your King, or God, or what:

"A

And

partly

my own
:

sense of being

soe'er

wrong.

The
" Dost thou
not
?

poor man
let

calls himself.

So, I

So then
that I

I said

know
But

will scourge him,

And
to take thy life

him go"

though

why

he

Have power

should be scourged calmly he : 'Twere hard to tell, except to humour " Thou hast no power, but as 'tis those should have had the scourge on given to thee ; their own backs So much the more their guilt who brought me here." Laid roundly ; but a man who is What could he mean ? These Jews accused. are cunning dogs come to think has reason to be

"

Who

We

Of course,
I got

had no power but what

thankful,

Ifhe escape with scourging.

Anyhow,

From

Cassar.

What,

if

Annas meant More

till

bitterly

to drive

me

The mob
large commission

malignant than before, of smiths and cobblers

plan.

To
it

stretch
rent
?

my

roared at me.

And my weak

My

nerves had

been unstrung, Just then came a note. I tell you, or I had not heeded them. Sent by my wife, and bidding me Pilate was never coward. take heed. Then some one said Nor harm this man. She had some Something about the Nazarene, whereat dream about him, I grasped as any drowning man. " He is And dreams are from the gods, Pshaw let the women Galilean then, King Herod's subject. See to their own affairs, not meddle with And Herod is in town to keep the The course of justice. No doubt, feast Chusa's wife 'Tis his affair : letter shall be writ She's wild about this prophet guard ho came take him to the king
I
!

must be wary.

to her.

let

Herod

And

It is none of mine." The law by this device. I'd half happy thought that! Herod had a mind been cool To do the very thing they wished Of late, or worse than cool ; and this me not. would please Just for their meddling ; but thought The old fox's vanity, delivering me

they between them had conspired Settle this business.

to stay

better of

it.

My

wife has a sharp tongue.

From me

the

so tangled

hank, and

let

break

What
My
fast

Pilate

Thought of
As

It

525

in

peace.

saw the meal

I turned to Jesus now,

laid out

In tempting grapes, figs, and melons.

and dates,

Weary he looked and broken, as a man and half in and Done with the world
;

pity I said,
?

And
The

grasp

old Falernian, and I longed to " So thou art come back crowned " king then truly ?

A
I

he answered ; " Yea, King ; At this rare stroke, I hurried them away. Only my kingdom is not of this world, But scarce came from the bath re- But therefore am I come, to witness of freshed, when lo The truth, and who are of the truth The wave rolled back. Herod had hear me." " Truth been well pleased what is truth ? " I asked. " Where is it ? Can With our sweet courtesy, but could
silver

cup and quaff

it.

Laugh- " Thou

say' St,"

ing, then,

am

not think

see,
it ?

or

touch,

or

taste,

or

smell

Of

meddling

with

the

Imperial

jurisdiction dreamer, being no In treasonable affairs ; so sent the man. longer boy, After some rough and ribald jest- But wearing beard unblemished, that ing back. he spake Robed in a mockery of regal purple. Of truth as of his kingdom where And crowned with thorns. irony he reigned of Fate Supreme ? an airy realm, ungrudged, even the gods escape not I ween.

" Was This man a

Whom
Led
on
I

what

fell

spite

By
now

Caesar

We
;

were youths,

my

thee

to

bind this burden

Lucius, once.

me ?
fool to look for

And wasted many a night in

barren talk

was a

From

Herod.

He

any help not long

About
ago

the truth

when

in the

Agora

We

breathed the

air that

Plato used

had killed to breathe Another of their prophets a brave man. While Athens still was Queen, and And eloquent, and true. I heard wore her crown him preach With majesty; but, since we came At the King's Court once, and he to manhood. made us all We've had to act, not dream. Nor

Willing, for half an hour at least, to strip did this man Our purple and fine linen off, and send Look like a dreamer ; and I must admit The banquet, getting ready, to feed These Jews, whate'er they be, are not the poor. like some And since that deed, his conscience Of those strange Eastern peoples whom pricking him. I've seen. The crafty Idumean had turned coward. Squatting for years in some uneasy

And
And

thought this Jesus might be John

to

posture,

come back From Hades

Fed on
amaze
his murderer,

a lettuce, or a stalk of garlic.

truth,

Talking of
the sun

and dreaming

in

haunt him.

What
Pilate

526
That
the

Thought of
in

It

blistered

them by day, and

night

moon
all

Crucify this

" Not this man, but Barabbas Crucify, I saw the one, or "

That

the

bedewed them,
most
a

old Priest

being held

Divinely
Is

wise

because

Writing upon his tablets, with a cold mad. Clear eye, and half a smile upon
the thin

The Jew
shrewd,

and

has

bottom of

And

good sense Beneath his superstitions, like the stones And gravel over which a river runs. He trades, and lends on usury, and gains Shekels where you'd scarce find an
obolus

What bloodless lips of him. could I do ? He knew of last night's frolic, and other things I need not name, which might look
bad
in

Rome
and worse when

Even

to one's friends,

Keen

And

hard as any flint, nowise given to dreaming. Yet

at a bargain,

this

man
truth,

by those Who hungered would not be

told
if

for

my
it.

post
It

they

Could speak of

and of a king- So eager

they

knew

was hard

dom
" Truth

what

there

To
is

do, for he

had

interested
free

me

truth

"

So

I went

forth again.

But yet if I should would rend

him, they

The man
no fault in this man. He has broken No law of Caesar's, nor may Caesar dread His schemes, or be he Prophet, King,

"

I find

fierce

And
The

if

in pieces, such was their temper he died now, while his dreams

had

still

sweet breath of young innocence,

or

God.

better so

But you've a custom, good or bad Than after that bad schooling he most part will get Bad I should say, or only good Among his people ; like enough at heart for rogues He was a traitor also all Jews are To get release of some offender now And only got his due ; but that

At

Pascha.
rebel

There's Barabbas, thief

I

thought called

and

A blush up in my soul,
knew
it

for secretly
rate.
I,

And murderer too, him take and crucify;

This Christ
let

was a

lie.

At any

I will

have scourged, and If one must

die, 'twere better

he than

him go."
had done

And

for a little

more

or less of blood

So

my utmost, tried all

To
Nor
In

save him, though he uttered not

ways Upon my hands, that did not trouble me. Although I washed them there before
the

a word.

mob

sought for

mercy, nor encour- In token of

Cried,

my
!

aged

me
nor

"Yea,
thing

his

innocence, while they blood on us and on

my endeavours, my deed.
happened then?
sullen wrath.

approved

our children

"

What

The
growl of
I

was

done

so,

not

to

be undone

wish

it

were
;

to do,

Low

murmur of petition unto

Caesar;

As

it is

now

and my head cool no matter, it is done.

! ! ;!

What

Pilate

Thought of

It

527

There was not one to say a word They find in these fond dreams. 1 for him know he's dead. He was alone, not backed by any man, My fellows never leave their work And yet he had for years been healhalf done
ing them,
I

Their

lives

should answer

for

it,

if

wot

not

by what

power,

only

the fact

they did. No doubt, he's dead

a spear-thrust

Was

however fancy coloured it. in the heart Their deaf and dumb, their lepers and Made sure of that; he'll trouble us their blind, no more. Their fevered and bed - ridden had 'Tis a strange thirst these priests have
clear,

been cured.

And some
By him
all

averred

their

still for blood j very dead If they had shed as

much of it
it.

as

we,

been raised

They'd

but that, of course, was ; a dream Something to learn if Annas' blood Of fond imagination, or, it may be, is like trick to catch their faith at any rate. What flows in other men. I hear The land was ringing with his them shouting " The Lord is risen indeed " mighty deeds. I
: !

the smell of yet I'd give

hate

And

And

yet there

came not one

to speak

wish he were

for him.

'Twould take

load

off

me
But

to see

Had any man stood up, and said to me, Him living, " Lo I was blind, and now I see," And what I did, undone. or "I past hope Was mad, and am in my right The dead are dead for ever.
!

that's

Speak well of me, and behold I walk. My Lucius, to Sylvia and Nerissa, And this man did it," then it would What time you sup in the old tavern by have been The Pincian, and the wine and mirth case to send to Csesar for decision, are free. Being past my wits, and needing a divine Caesar will hardly trouble himself about Insight like his. But no these This prophet's death, since it has

mind again,"

Or " I was

cripple,

grateful

Jews
but,

pleased the Jews,

Said

nought " Crucify !

say that

" Crucify him

But you might say a good word

for

him
he died sweetly, and
risen again,

truly.

And strike
They
they talk

that old rogue,

Annas.

good deed

Oh that I
of his
to

could but squeeze from these

talents,

About his having

To

certain

hard Jews and spoken followers, and Some certain

and get back

the priests

Rome
they have
rind
o'

Would have
the law.

these stories silenced by

But

sucked

me

rather,

leaving only

Nay,

let

the

poor fools have such

The dry

the orange.

Fare

comfort as

thee well

528

A
A PULPITEER

Pulpiteer
But That was his first thought. hardly had he reached out for his
book,

Sat

in

his inn after breakfast a lean

And

settled

him down
nook.

in an easy chair

little

man with

the look,

in the cosiest

Withered and shrunk, of one whose With a big cigar in his mouth, and cloud-smoke round his head moisture was dried, like a brook

the

Where the sun burns hot in the tropics but now he was home once more

Curling

in

wavy

rings,

when

once

more he looked up and said In the place where he first drew breath " Yet we were fellows at College together, and friends too once, near the sands of the North Sea This famous preacher and I, and he shore was not a bit of a dunce, And he held in his hand a " poster," But fairly well up in his classics, big-lettered in black and red, though logic was always his forte; Which he read with a cynical sneer rare, good hand at debate, ever then low to himself he said

prompt with a clever retort Not very strong in science, but skilled door will be open at ten " : with his pen to write. That means a crush to get in, with And making his half-dark thinking screaming of women, and men clearer than other men's light Barely just kept from swearing by smart rhetorician truly, with a dread of the Sabbath day, ready tongue in his head, And swearing the more in their hearts ; Though he looked so clumsy and it were better for women to stay loutish, and homespun and countryAt home, and see to their children, bred. instead of losing their wits Crushed in a trampling crowd, till they He is starring it here, as I learn ; has come to revive their faith, go off in fainting fits. To stir up the fire whose embers were smouldering nigh unto death. No, I'll not face it. How should I sit still in a narrow pew I care not much for your stars ; and For an hour, with my legs a-cramp, for starring parsons least and with nothing on earth to do The better they are at that, they have But stare at the white-washed walls, less the true heart of a priest. and gasp for a mouthful of air. But they say that he gave up a living And smell the hot peppermint breaths, to be free to go here and there. and the oil in the young bucks' hair. Where a boat was wrecked, or the And watch how faces grow purple, and Devil broke loose at a rural fair, bald heads are smoking like censers ? Or where the state of religion needed Nay, I will sit by the fire here, and a trumpet blast read that last volume of Spencer's. To rouse them up from the sleep into There's more in a sentence of his which their souls had been cast than in all that this fellow can say, By the abundance of bread. queer sort of life, no doubt Though he preach for an hour by the clock." So he kicked his boots out But everyone to his taste. So, freely he goes about, of the way.
'

Service

begins

at

eleven,

but

the


And

:;

529

A
passes now for a That means not much, Once great men took to
great
I allow

Pulpiteer

man.

And And

all

with the
the

the wild flowers were alive hum of the honey-thieves,

larks
their

the Church, but they're somewhat scarce there

now
One-eyed
Still

through if they

were hurrying fast morning songs, as

among blind folk. Dreaded that something might mar followed by throngs. them before high noon of the day. And speaks, they say, to the age of There was more than a Sabbath hush its duties, its rights and its wrongs ; in the listless fields, as he passed Not pulpit commonplaces the leaden Leisurely into the town, whither groups tokens they mint were hurrying fast For everyday use but sayings news- By twos and threes and dozens, like rills and streams that flowed papers are fain to print. Eloquent, flowing periods balanced Together at last in a river along the
he
is

men

and pointed

like sonnets,

great high road.

It turned out all as

And

his

too,

crowded with heads not with mere ribbons and

are

pews

he pictured

the

bonnets.

That's what they tell me, at least, and they say that you even shall grin. Now and then, at the hits which he
I

crush at the narrow door. The screaming and fainting of

but nobody cursed or swore

faces,

women

The

squeeze in the straight high pews,

How

of ghastly smiles. in the house of prayer ; The reeking and moping of bald heads, 'Tis so easy with smallest of jokes to the coughing and taking of snuff: spread ripples of laughter there Yet were they grave too, and patient. But yes I riiust go, after all, and hear It was God's house : that was what the man has to say enough. He was not a fool, and 1 daresay it well he remembered it all tKat will be as good as a play. quaint old chapel of ease. 'Twill be very bad if it is not, as plays With its high-pitched pulpit, facing the Ah me go now. high deep galleries, the bloom and the gloss get rubbed " And the sounding-board overhead, and off everything here that we see the dove with the olive branch, So he threw down his book with a
!

makes when describing a popular sin. The blaze of peony do not much care for humour or wit

the crowd packed close in the aisles.

and glimmer

How

grumble, and out of the room he

strode.

And
in

the votive ship that

was hung up

memory of the
first

launch

Not

quite in the
to the

mood

for a mortal to

Of the

of the Greenland whalers

go

house of God.

that out of the harbour sailed.

Proud was the gallant skipper of the port from which he hailed. And the kirk where he had been glorious sun in the blue. christened, and the ship where he Though clouds were massing all round held command, it, lurid and sultry in hue. And there was not a breath to stir the And the minister whom he reckoned the foremost in all the land thirsty and drooping leaves,

brilliant

midsummer day, with

34


53

Pulpiteer

And

it,

He

he modelled his ship, and hung And woe to him that came late, or and rigging and blockwho drowsily slept a wink. had married the minister's daughter Or lost a head of the sermon, or dared
hull

right over the gilded clock.

of his play to think,

there,

They were

sturdy Protestants

all

Or

fidgeted for a
constraint

moment, weary of

yet they saw not the deadly sin

stiff

Of

all came back on him now, with might bring in. humour and pathos blent, It was not like vowing candles, or And a something moist in his eye that hanging up waxen limbs somehow dimmed his view, In honour of healing saints, with As he thought, where now are they all chaunting of prayers and hymns that sat in the old church peW ? And it grew to be almost sacred in all Some at the ends of the earth, some men's memories. farther even than they When ship and skipper were crushed Low in the quiet graves, by the surfin the ice-packed Greenland seas. beaten sandy bay. Then he drew himself up, and muttered. But more than the high-pitched pulpit, Pshaw why should I yield to this ? and the dove and the olive twig, I am a man of the world, and not a And more than the many-sparred sentimental miss ? whaler, so neat and trim in its rig. And the great square pew where the I tell the tale as he told it me in the

a votive ship in the Church, nor It

it

the evils

elders spread out their

tails

long

coat-

parlour inn at night.

It

sat and smoked together by a was lined with green baize, handsome, guttering candle-light. and studded with bright brass nails More than all to the stranger was the After sitting well-nigh for an hour, he pew where he used to sit said, with a mind to go, They filled it once with a household, Could I only have seen my way, but

As we

now he knew not a face in it. the close-packed throng said No But, as he looked, he saw there brothers There was not room for an eel to and sisters true wriggle itself outside, All in their order duly ranged in the So I shifted and shifted my legs, and old church pew ; a change of torture tried ;
Here
door the father, guiding That was the most you could hope for, one side or other must be Each in his Sunday raiment, each with Prickly and stinging, or cramped and a well-clasped book, dead from the foot to the knee
at the

his flock with a look,

While

the pale mother sat at the farther

At

last

the minister entered, a handI

end, and he.

The

nestled

youngest, cuddled beside her, him on her knee.

some fellow enough. or Not like the country lout in his homespun rough

had known

Wet

or dry, they must be there, Butterfly is not less like its caterpillar morning and afternoon, than he Ere the bell had ceased to tinkle, or Looked like the memory of him I'd the clerk gave out the tune carried about with me.
;

; :

Pulpiteer

531

Then he was ruddy and strong, and Only one fancies, if earth and now he was pale and thin could be left out of view.

its

praise

Was

it with brooding of thought, or And the soul looked straight up to penance endured for sin ? God well, its words would be Spectacled too, though once he had simple and few. seen like a bird of prey While his were many and dainty, and That from its rock-nest watches the every one said they were fine. near and the far away ; Perhaps they were real : who knows ? Whiskers trimmed to a hair, and hair but I could not quite use them

in a wavy curl. While every tooth

as mine.

in his

white

as a several pearl.

mouth was Then he gave out " The Psalm

:

his text

from the
said
in

fool

hath

He had

the cleverest hands, too, alive

his heart,

to their finger-tips.

No God "
i :

and

after a pause,

with a

stroke of excellent art. Could make them speak to you plainly Repeated the three words "Fool! as ever he did with his lips And his voice was mellow and deep, No God " 'mid a breathless and clear and full as a bell. awe
!

And

touched

in

the

higher tones a

An

orator's

trick,

of course,

yet

passionate thrill and swell.

palpable hit, one saw.

;

Perfect in rhetoric truly, verging on; Pity he did not stop there

just that

something more. Could he only have boldly ventured, and cut right into the core Not much amiss with the thought too, or wrong in the argument, Could he only have once forgotten he had to be eloquent.

look, that tone

Why,
.

they were in themselves a sermon, had they only been left

alone

'

To

hint their many suggestions. But some men have a way Of not knowing when to stop, and of unsaying what they say.

He

read like a

man who

well hadj

That would have been the effect of his conned the words that he read. eloquence then upon me. Giving the meaning clear ; and his prayers were fine, they said Had the sermon ever been finished, which it was not fated to be. Likely I am no judge, but I thought them a shade too fine ; For mainly it was but a weft of Paley, Rhetoric is not for God, any more than and woof of Paul, Calico-printed with anecdotes, wholly are pearls for swine. apocryphal. The voice, too, was more than the thought ; and I asked myself some- Of Shelley and Hume and Voltaive,
times.

What
find there,

Can any one

But

now, for
?

his

set forth with manifest trick, Clever enough in its way, of artfulest

voice to be quavering at

rhetoric.

prayers, I allow, are not a kind

of literature In which I can boast any of my taste be sure ;

skill,

that there were not at times touches of,something higher, or quite When the man's own soul broke out, with gleams of a ce'ntt-al fife.

Not

532

A
were some strokes

Pulpiteer

Through the
also there

crust of his pulpiteering

But ere the

lifted

fatal

rush, the
to

minister

Of a

grim

satirical

humour

they were A

high tremulous

hand

heaven

jewelled one, by the by More like Elijah's biting scorn of the And sang, in a loud, clear voice, one Prophets of Baal, verse of a well-known psalm, Or the ring of the spear of Ithuriel, Joined in by some few near, which
not exactly jokes,
smiting the steel-clasped mail

Of Satan.

They were

the bits of the

Then he

sermon that I liked best

brought back a moment's calm ; cried out, " Do not fear ; not a hair of your heads shall fall

I seemed to look on the devil discom- If you do as I bid ; for God has given fited then with a jest me the lives of all. Wholly sincere and natural. But that Let no one stir, till I tell you the doors only came now and then ; are opened wide, And after a while I was wishing me Then silently go, while I pray that the home at mine inn again, Lord may meet with us
that latest volume of Spencer's, outside." That wrought like a spell on them ; he and wondering what came next, When something went crack somewas not like a man inspired, where, as the minister quoted his Yet the people gravely and silently did text as he had desired. To clench a paragraph with ; and Slow moving along the aisles, and down surely the gallery swayed by the narrow stair. Forward a bit, and the startled crowd Out by the several doors, and into the rose up dismayed. open air. horrible moment that, when murder- In their disciplined self-command ous panic appears. which their faith to them had given. That tramples on pity, and heeds not Meanwhile in the pulpit he kept praygrey hairs or the tenderest years. ing for them to heaven. Nor kith nor kin nor aught, but the Not at all " fine prayers " now, but wretched self it would save, the downright honest cry At the cost of its better self, from the Of a man who longed and hoped that coward-dreaded grave the poor folk might not die. They had sprung to their feet, and I did not hurry myself, for I did not moment in breathless stood a lose my head fear, But when the last had vanished, I drew So silent that out on the roof the rain a long breath, and said, " Well done. Parson and people was plain to hear Which now was heavily falling; and That was a sight to see. And better than any preachment the then there arose a scream man could have preached to me." That curdled the blood in the heart, For as they stood outside, ere taking and I saw, as it were in a dream, their homeward ways. Faces of men and women ghastly with They sang to the Shepherd whose terror, and all The galleries swaying, I fancied, away mercy had followed them all their days. from the solid wall.
!

With

A
straight into the vestry

Pulpiteer

533

Then, when the church was empty,

It was quite an impromptu thought, an inspiration plain, he went By the door behind the pulpit, and I Like a burst of sunshine gleaming out followed him, for I meant of the clouds and rain Partly to compliment him on the ready minute more, and the throng would wit he had shown, have trampled the old and the weak. Partly to claim acquaintance, as a friend Though I was not very much frightened

in

the days long gone.

old joisting

is

apt to creak.

But he hailed me at once by name, for And seats will crack with a weight mine was the one face he knew. they have not borne for years So he said, in the thronging crowd, as But how people lose their heads, to be he glanced from pew to pew sure, in their panic fears And where had I been ? and had I It is lucky for me, however. Somecome back, to the old Home again. how, I was losing my hold After long years of wandering far in Of the folk, and my tellingest hits the sun and the rain ? seemed to fall on them lifeless and And was he not glad to meet me, and cold to recall the times And there needed much advertising When we pored over Homer and which means a heavy expense Euclid, or hammered our brains for To gather a crowd worth speaking to, even on Sabbath. rhymes ? Hence It was pleasant to get such a greeting I was thinking what could be done so cordial, cheery, and frank it must be striking and new Like what you may find in your banker, To waken their interest in the things when your balance is good at the that are right and true. bank. But this now will set me up quite ; they will talk of it all through the week, I was yielding then to the kindly feeling we have for those And I shall have congratulations, and
!

We have known at school or at college

and, thinking of hardish blows

invitations to speak

Every evening

at

meetings in town and

And

rough horse-play he had borne village, when they Read in the morning paper from some of us then, I felt Some twinges of sharp regret, and ray happened in church to-day.
heart

what

was beginning

to melt.

When
And

there passed across his features

"

I never could settle

down

to a mill-

a smile as of self-content. I stayed the relenting I found out

mood, till " visiting each sick-bed. what it meant. "Now, tell me," he said, "was that Catechising the children, and comfortnot a right smart stroke of mine. ing them that mourn. To sing that verse of a psalm which Blessing the young folk's weddings, and christening their babes when born. they all knew, line by line ? It saved some score of their lives, and I tried it, of course, for a while ; but I very soon came to see, will be a good thing too for me, For the crowds will be bigger than Though it might be all right for some ever wherever I happen to be. folk, it was not the work for me.

horse round," he said, Of writing a weekly sermon, and

A
Pulpiteer

534

Would you yoke

plough
preach,
?

your racehorse to

a,

Am
So,

surely a chosen vessel

whom

it

My calling
fire

was

clearly to

will be

good

to hear.

To
By

put

new

in

our pulpits, and

rouse every heart I could reach

God has often sU|Stained me, vihen my heart was faint with fear, And made me feel that He means me

the art of the Orator, skilled to still to be doing His work. Dealing out bread to the hungry, and to persuade. Leaving the task of the pastor to men rousing a slumbering Kirk.

move now, and now

of a cpmmoner grade. Therefore, I have to be popular, have " Yet I admit there are tinies when to be followed by throngs, doubts do trouble me sore. And to hit at the sins of Dives, cry 'Tis not like a full day's woJ^k, this preaching an hour or more, out at the poor man's wrongs. And drop the hum-drum of the pulpit, And I don't write sermons oftefl the and maybe to startle men's ears old ones do as well For no one would heed \yhat I said, When the place is new, and it's likely there's no one there could tell if I did not bring laughter or If they be old or new. M\ich study tears-

hard on me, too. I have to be careful of health. But if you knew Men's lives any purer and truer ? or Life is precious. souls from their bondage break, My thoughts now and then, you would And walk in the freedom of Right ? not envy this popular fame
it

Does

win any

souls fpr
;

God ?

you

is

are fain to

know

does

it

make

And

Who
The

seed of the

He

Which musters its thousands just at the It is ours to sow kingdom and God, trumpet-call of my name. For oft when I take up one of these only can make it to grow.
knows
?
;

I leave that to

Now and then, sermons so carefully writ, hush of a crowd, All of them yellow with use, and One will go off in a faint, and one lyiU glance at an eloquent bit. Meant for some passing event, which take to screaming aloud But if their lives are bettered, I wot told very well at the time, The pathos seems to bave vanished, and not. In every fight There are scores of bullets that miss, it sounds without reason or rhy?ne. for one that kills outright. And I ask myself. How wiU it look, No doubt the vanities flourish, and sins when the reckoning comes, to say, are not less rife ; There, that's all the fruit of my vineI plant and water, but man cannot yard the harvest of my pppr day ? quicken to newness of life. Five score, more or less, of old Why do I yet hold on to a fruitless sermons And then, when my task ? But is it spirits were low, So fruitless, sir, after all ? These folk I have wished I had stuck to the croft will remember toy visit where my father made barley to grow Here now, and talk of that psalm, I Instead of the rush and the ling. But believe, till the day they die. of course, that was foolish, ant} came You would wonder how many things Of a jaded mind, and the strong recoil happen to make thein reckon that I of an o'er-tasked frame
Him.
in the heat or the

 "
;

Ruggles, the Salvationist

Strained by emotional fervour.

535

No, I Ah well ! I gave him his hire to can never repent put in the plate, no doubt Choosing the grandest of missions, on But I'd give it him ten times over not which the Apostles were sent, to have found him out. To preach the great gospel of peace.

To

know not if you will care wait on the afternoon sermon ? I told him I could not be there ; But I would remember the plate The
I

RUGGLES,

THE SALVATIONIST
Nay, nobody converted me
I

workman was worthy his hire So we parted, never to meet, at

if I

least

was not struck down by a sermon,

brought my evil way to see, on the better way determine.

get

my

desire.

And And
must
live
!

What

a life that fellow

half

That he

I did not drop by happy chance augurs Into some "Bethel" or "Little Salem," To be arrested all at once, that joked at their craft on the sly But he has not even that help to relieve And get up in a pew, and tell 'em.

knowing himself
is,

for the lie

like the old

Roman

He

mind. must try to believe he believes, Nor did some precious preacher meet My arguments with words in season. and therein his comfort find. Hard for a small pretender to be And bring me home in triumph sweet, The trophy of his cogent reason. preaching a faith that hates downright Hypocrites more than Good Christians did not sing nor say sinners, and nothing abates For one's poor circumstances, but will Their joyful hallelujahs o'er me. Nor did their magazines display have a man to play The hero, who has not a touch of the The work of grace that did restore me.
his troubled

hero to moisten his clay. Yes, I am sorry for him. now he managed that job

How

well I did not feel the sin of doubt.

Nor
!

haunt, like daws, the church and

The
I

singing

and praying, and slow

steeple,

I did not turn me inside out clearing out of the terrified mob wish that I had not gone after him For pleasure of the pious people. into the vestry
;

so

Why should one, I could not do it. might have believed in him now, With open wound, be fain to show it. for it is not good to know That your very worst thoughts of men And spread his heart out in the sun. That folk may stare, and flies may are the truest after all. blow it ? And when you've painted a hero,
I

'twere best turn his face to the wall

him, and, if you would keep I don't deny that some may find him, you must not look closely at him. Their sure way home in such a manner Though, I grant you, that life feels poor when the glow and the glory But I was never of a mind To march beneath that kind of banner. grow dim.

You made

536

Ruggles, the Salvationist

She echoed now my thoughts, and I, The more she spake them, shrank to hear them She thought to pleasure me thereby. And made me only loathe, and fear
them.

had not sinned the common way, was a base deceiver, I ne'er was in a drunken fray I simply was an unbeliever.
I I never

But look here ; had you loved a maid, Sweet - natured and sweet - nurtured,
saintly,

And

Who

lowly to the Father prayed.

then she sickened, and so died. Without a word of better cheering.

And told Him all her troubles quaintly, As drifting on a sunless tide. And in a black cloud disappearing. And had you set yourself to sap The faith by which she lived serenely. God what horror fell on me And round her shrinking soul to wrap What anguish of a heart still aching.
! !

Poor rags of doubt,

meanly.

that clothed her

Hidden by day that none might see. But when the night came, like to
breaking
1
!

How

one day she Gave back your thoughts in harder

would you

feel, if

knew what Hell was

then, all night

fashion.

Of saintly things made mockery. And fired your doubts with

passion
?

As
eager

I lay sleepless, moaning, sighing,

An*

could not wish to dwell in light, If she were in the darkness lying.

Would

And

not give you pause, at make your faithless purpose

it

least.

falter.

And in that passion of grief I felt What shallow thoughts I had been
airing,

If you should hear the white-robed

priest

Break out blaspheming

at the altar

Seeing them In depths of

now

like snowflakes melt

infinite despairing.

it was right I had deserved this ; Yes, you had worked for that, perhaps served my Master, wrecker, I had 'tis feel it shocking. Yet now come, you And piled up high a blazing light And shudder at so strange a lapse, As if some fiend your soul were For luring souls on to disaster.
;

mocking.
I

had not thought how much her

gone
to

faith

For she whom I had loved so well. For whom my life I would have
given.
-

Had

make her

perfect beauty,

Nor what
death

change would come by False

beaconed

by

that

light

of

Hell,

Of that which

was her

soul of duty.

Had

lost the

guiding star of Heaven.

Therefore I took my lonely way. And I who loved her so, by way Of mending, marred God's fairest Through clouds of thunder-darkness
daughter,
groping.

Who

on His bosom lay Like water-lily on its water.

lately

And

often like one dead I lay. Alike unfeeling and unhoping.

Herr Professor Kupfer-Nickel

Some Some
tried to

537
by the hearth,

comfort

me and

spake
;

And

one night,

sitting
fire,

Of healing
fain

for the chief of sinners

Which had no

but ashes only,

my
me

settled

gloom would
and dinners.

A wet wind wailing o'er the earth.

Eerie and dreary, and bleak and lonely,
I thought to

break,

By

bidding

to balls

make an end of

this.

What matter, The word I

whether false or true. heard from each new

And know
me
!

the worst that could befall

When, lo I seemed to feel her kiss. comer ? Their fleeces might be dank with dew, And hear her fond voice softly call me But mine must be as dust in summer.
In vain they reasoned with my mood, In vain a better hope unlifted. On one thing only I could brood

" Be still, although thy heart may bleed. Take up thy load of life and bear it, Christ did not come to frame a creed,
But
to reveal the Father's Spirit."

The

soul that into darkness drifted.

I clung unto

my

sharp remorse,

And as I heard, that message dropt Dewy and sweet on my heart's throbbing
;

And would not have its anguish lighter.

But ever
I clasped
Still

as
it

it

stung

me

worse,
tighter.

And

ere

its

tender accents stopt,

to

my bosom

I like a little child

was sobbing.

And

wrapt in dismal thought I stood, I've not been deemed a saint since then, from its gloom my light would Well found in orthodox opinion, borrow ; But I have loved my fellow-men, It seemed my only sign of good. And o'er my thoughts held strict That I could feel such bitter sorrow. dominion.

And

so I took my lonely way In utter sadness and forsaking, I could not hope, I could not pray, I could not see a dim day-breaking.

And

hope that somehow all is well, That all will one day yet be righted. That none in hopeless darkness dwell

Who

may

not yet with joy be lighted.

How
How
And

could I for

my

sin atone.
?

Except by

suffering

and dying

could I think of her, alone wretched, with the outcast lying

For God is greater than His Word, His love is like a flowing river. His voice in all things good is heard. His Mercy doth endure for ever.

If she were there, there I must be.

And by her side my soul

must languish. Draining her cup of misery, And wringing out its dregs of anguish.

HERR PROFESSOR
KUPFER-NICKEL

The lecture hall was filled with youthI ought to die, and die in sin, Without a gleam of light to cheer me, Pencil and notebook ready some Still, as in thoughtful search of truth, My only hope that I might win place where she would still be near me. Some noisy as an empty drum

::

S38

Herr Professor Kupfer-NIcke^

And
But man on which to live, Some purpose in his thoughts and plan. Which clearness to his world shall give.
let

Here one was bearded like a goat, Another was some mother's pet, With gay cravat and dandy coat, And face smooth as a baby's yet.

the daylight

in.

Must have some

faith

A seed-plot A graveyard,

this

of

fruitful

thought,

I call

it

faith

but

'tis,

indeed,

and Only large reason bodying forth schemes, What lies enfolded in the seed Where some shall grow, and some have been sowing. Froni the earth shall rot, clear away the former wreck, And some shall prove but idle dreams. And cart the rubbish out of sight. I sat me down ; and by and by Then straightway to our tools we take, Came from behind the bema, brisk, To build anew, and build aright. little man with clear blue eye, No soul can stay on vacancy. And giving his stiff gown a whisk. Or on mere blank negations feed. Tripped up, and spread his lecture out And though we cease to bow the knee, On the low desk ; then all was hushed. may not cease to have a Creed As he, complacent, looked about. And this is how I shape to me And we expectant were, and crushed. The new faith from the novel seed.
too,

of

hopes

We We

We

A small,
But yet
round

brisk man, with

compact,

little head. well-shaped, and

" We grow from

less to

From

vital cells,

more ; we rise by ordered schisms,

And And

in his face there

in his

was no shade, voice no tremulous sound

A tadpole now with breathing

Then
lizard
fit

To intricate complexities Of fine and subtle organisms

gills.

Features well chiselled, not one blunt Thin-lipped, and with a fighting air ;

for land or lake.

by and by an ape that skills husk of milky nut to break. his foeman care. And just as if great Nature kept With scorn for all who might resist Her moulds, that we might learn her His confident thoughts, and daring ways. flights And how she wrought, and never slept, Into the realm of cloud and mist. But grew through all the years and To fill it with new patent lights days. An able little man, and yet These phases of the coming race. Not able quite for what he tried. These stages of the shaping Past, Who had no doubt, and no regret. in the unborn babe may trace

And
The

As keen to bear And nothing for

the battle's brunt.

We

Nor

haunting shadow at his side Unconscious of the Mystery

That cheers some lonely home at last. So doth she keep her records true.
Repeating in each
life

The
His His

cross-light of a higher

will

on earth
grew

was plain to littleness was plainer

ableness
said,

see.
still.

What man hath been, and how he To fulness of his higher birth.
to
?

So standing there, he

" Out course " Why should we be ashamed

own

Of scientific search has been Our humble kindred in the Past To purge you first, without remorse. Why scorn the seedling that hath grown Of cobwebs, and to sweep them clean, Into so great a tree at last ?


Herr Professor Kupfer-Nickel
Shall

: ;;

;;

539
stone,

we

not love

all

creatures

more

That they

are of our flesh

and blood,

And And
Or

wrenched the iron from the

fused
it

And

that our ancestors of yore Squatted upon the oozy mud,

lit

with his subtle spark. the lamp, when day was done,
a

And made

new day

in the dark.

With fire he offered sacrifice. Or floated, pulsing, in the sea Which brought forth every living thing, When he his gods would please or Or chattered on the cocoa tree, thank. And nestled where the palm-leaves And baked the flesh, and boiled the rice. And with the gods he ate and drank. spring ?
For
life is

one and manifold.

He

worshipped

it,

yet

made

it

work,
well

And all spring from the self-same roots. And be his slave, and serve him He did not shut it in a kirk. And we are ripe and growing old, And these are but the tender shoots. And call men to it with a bell
" Our Eden

But made
'twas some

it sail

upon the
l^nit for

sea.

moor

or fen.

Or rolling prairie at the best, The savage haunt of savage men

Homeless and naked,
;

And And
The

snort along the iron road.

weave and
lifter

him

and be

of his heavy load.

like the rest

Of Nature's products only they Were creatures of a larger brain.

Fitter on earth to

Until he learned, at length, that he Himself was Lord of all, and God.

" long and troubled way he had make their way. from the earth its wealth to gain. Ere thus he came to clearest light At times, his fancies drove him mad. So, scheming brain and cunning hand Fashioned the flint-tool sharp and good. And he was in an evil plight And smote the wild beast on the land. At times through swamps of pious slush And hewed the oak tree in the wood. The ague-stricken soul must wade They made them snares for fish and Or hew a path through briar and bush

And

bird.

For hunger sharpened

all their wits,

And

imitating sounds they heard

For lures

By At Or
But

tangling metaphysics

made

times his leaders led him wrong. only right a mile or twain
still

the shrewdest of their hits

the instinct, deep and strong.

They framed at length articulate speech Unconscious brought him back again From owls and cats and wolves and Back to the bellows and the fire.
rooks,

Back

to the anvil

and the

tool.

Back to his inner heart's desire. Or seamew shrilling on the beach. Or song-bird by the murmuring brooks. And to the force that gave him rule. Then from the flint one stole the fire. They fabled he yras chained to rocks.

And And
"

blew the spark into a flame

igave

Which

him

all

his heart's desire,

shaped his path to power and fame.

flint.

He found the wild spark in the And tinder in the dry rush-pith.

And tortured by the frost and ice. And beaten by the tempest shocks On the sharp-pointed precipice. And torn by hungry birds of prey. And bleached and blanched by
rain,

sun

He
Of

and found that thorns would burn by As he

in

proud defiance lay

nights of racking

dint

blowing, and he was

Through days and

a smith,
pain.


540
Yet

Herr Professor Kupfer-Nickel

is

he lord of earth and

air,

Or

weight or

taste or smell or

hue
?

And that high power to him was given And who its parts can analyse To reign as Master everywhere, Enough that we have larger brain, By stealing of the fire from heaven. And that we are no longer dumb. So true the fable which averred And that the furnace burns amain. Fire made him rival of the gods, And that we have a proper thumb. For where the bickering flame is heard, And for tha rest, all men must die Man rules, and Jove supinely nods. Yet man shall live for evermore. The Greek saw deeper than the Jew, His growing purpose soaring high. In myth of high far-reaching kind The only God he can adore

He
"

shadowed forth the grand and true Humanity the noblest growth Discoveries of the modern mind. Of nature, and its lord and king.
!

Its servant

and

its

master both.

Materialist

why

not

Who knows The

What subtle powers

of life

sum and crown of everything." and thought Musing, I rose, as he once more
Tripped from the bema, looking brisk. as he vanished through the door Giving his gown another whisk. Self-satisfied that he had shed light that left no shadows, no ghosts, but

Lie in an atom, hidden close To-day, but ere long to be brought, Like music, from it by the touch Of the night-wind upon a string ?

And

Words
such

frighten fools, like

No Lo

terrors to the wise can bring.

!

matter

is

a crystal here, or octagon,

A self-made rhomb,
And
Wept,
silent,

there a dewdrop, like a tear

Transcending wealth of wine and oil. Ingot of gold, and silver bar. fair Why not a thought, too, good and And corn and all results of toil. wise? Did Shakespeare's pregnant utterance Why should not brain deposit thought ? bring They're not more alien and unlike Its wealth of words from owls and Than what from many a gland is got, cats ? Or fire that from the flint we strike. Did Dante's musical pathos spring Or currents of electric force. From squeaking of the mice and rats ? That acids make with metals twain. And whence the life that from the cell No need to seek another source Grows up in forms so manifold ? Of thought beyond the thinking brain. And what, if earth whereon we dwell deal with facts ; there's no such Shall be burnt up, as sages hold ?
light, skies,

A flower, an odour the A gleam of blue- vaulted A rainbow arching high and
in
air,

when

the day

is

done,

questions in the head, aching in the heart to know. Whence all the longing of the mind For more than hard material gain, And clinging of the nobler kind To mysteries even of grief and pain,

Unanswered

No

That

fruit in spiritual riches, far

We
As

thing
spirit
;

Where
that
is

then

the

man

that

shall

be

out of date

God,

Molecular tremors clearly bring

The

light

Who
Can

which metaphysics hate. ever saw a soul ? or who

strength or shape or size

The God that must be man alone. When he and all whereon he trod. And all his homes and graves
gone
?

are

tell its

Dream

A
I heed not of a creed like this ; It is too shallow even to hold;

541

A lurid
And
is,

glimmer, and a ghastly sight

filled

horrid moanings

the dis-

The

great facts of the

And fit them in its And how much less

Can
pierce

mal night. little mould And there were earthquakes shuddering its glimmering light far and near.
life

that

the

unfathoraed

depths

within,

A while we sat in silence,

At
!

as the

way
'neath

Or Or

search for us the Infinite,

funerals

is,

or whispered

mysteries of death and sin

all it

our breath.

It leaves

more questions on the mind

With

furtive

glance, and faces

hard

Than

And

seems to answer clear darker is the cloud behind

and grey,

And

silent

wonder who was

meet

From the sharp light that shineth near. I know the life which now we live
becoming something more. Yet must I evermore believe In One to love and to adore. Who unto all did Being give, And Law they were created for.
Is
still

to pray

fitting

prayer at this world-darken-

ing death.

Then

the Satan strode to chief mourner's place. Though Michael frowned, and Gabriel blocked his path,
lifted

And Moses

up

his

grand,

A DREAM
DREAMT a dream. God was dead. And that we all met
I

meek

face.

As
that

I dreamt
for

on that day of shame and deep disgrace When he the tables brake in holy
wrath.

His

Angels and men and

or said

devils

and

burial

sang

"

Silence

"

the tempter cried

" is

An awestruck Requiescat o'er the head Of Him who was the Father of us all.
Dreams have
gruities

this a time

For family
ful

quarrels

'Tis
Is
it

my

right-

due,

I
their

am

the eldest born.

I

a crime

logic

and

con- That
all

should that sublime

sorrow

most

for

Granted the starting-point, and

the rest

First Cause

whom
?

I have grieved far

more than you

Flows, like our fables of the birds and trees, " I am the Prodigal, In spite of reason ; and the dreamer sees then?

'tis

true.

What

No

strangeness,

even when they are Must I be always of the same wrong

eeriest.

mind
Is there repentance for the sons of

men.

Methought

all

lights of

heaven were

And

fatted

calves

when they come

husks
still

quenched, yet light

back again,

There was,
sphere.

but coming from another

And

only.^ swine's
?

for

me

to find

A
Dream

542

have more cause for sorrow than But is there any who is always wise ? you all And I was wroth to forfeit such a prizie. Who stayed at home, and did as you And, when you lose your temper, were bid. all is gone. But, ever since my most unhappy fall, I've always meant some day up here " You have believed me sometimes
I

"

to call.

when
all

I lied,

And

be forgiven for
it

the

ill

I did.

Can't you
the truth

believe
?

me now

speak
it

"And now
often heard

is

too

late.

I've
fool
at

You

ought to
say,

know how hard

sorry.

is

for pride

That

said

by

some

poor

To

I'm

But I wish

my

suggestion.

to abide

But never quite knew how his heart Once more among the old friends of my youth. was stirred, Till now; and really 'tis an ugly " Have you no kindness for me ? Yes, word, I know, Sour in the mouth, and bitter of
digestion.
I

am

blunt - spoken,

have not your

singing

smooth tongues.

" Your

grief

is

not like mine.

You've

Am

out of the

way of

hymns
soft

lost a friend

that flow

Who
As

loved you, but you never vexed Like rippling waters murmuring
heart.

His

and low

I have done. Can you not then In our place we have need of all our lungs. extend Pity for one who has some ways "You will not? You Impeccables! to mend. But you. And some bad memories of a! At least, who were my friends and guilty Past?

followers once.

" That's

the worst of a day like this

Ye men
;

of faith
all

who now

are

good

they buzz Like wasps

and

true.

these
sore,

memories

and
un-

Though
time,

my

arts

and wiles
refuse

ye, one

their sting

is

And

like the Patriarch

when he came

Ah

knew. ye will
chance
?

not

me

this

from Uz, They won't go back

pleasant does

last

nothing

"What!

not a word? you're the same boat,

all

in

But cling to you, and and more.

sting

you more

can't deny that some lies. And done some things have done
I

"

have

none of you believe I can repent ? it is somewhat hard, and might ; be thought told Scarce creditable to those of you

And

Well

I never should

who taught Some tricks to me, now relent.

for

which

Dream
task
is

543

" But I am sorry none the less, I say, " But now my worth while For what has happened to the Great
First Cause,

done.

'Tis not

Who
Nor

never lost faith in the righteous

in

way.
the

Planning and plotting for the like of you. What gives its zest to any clever wile Is the uncertain match of truth with
guile
;

Love which was His

walked, and Lord and

light of

day

That gone,

there's nothing

worth one's

Where'er

He

while to do.

Master was.

" The

prize once sure

is

nothing

let

it go. "It might be weak, but surely it The fisher cares not for the fish he was good snares Most goodness is a trifle weak, Only to find if he can master so no doubt.

Especially

if

You

still

persist

longer than you should in your so virtuous trim

The

cunning that contends with

line,

his,

or no.

mood.

He

throws his

and

pities

not nor

And

will

not

your

sail,

and

spares.

veer about.

" But you without

was
sport indeed
tridy
better

Him

'Tis poor

" Well
you

He

than
at

all,

For

He

could

pity

one

when

Gulling what comes so ready to one's hand, Wasting fine wit where wit you do
not need.

the worst.

Though

pity, I confess,

brings

com-

And

plying arts to

sow

the wild rank

in

To

weed, one whose back is fairly at the wall. Which, without Beaten and baffled and hated and
the land.
accursed.

fort small

art,

grows native

"No

matter;

now my way

of

life

And

" Life will not be worth living anymore, for a change, what if I preached

is dim. to you, Stupid and without interest any more. And told you to be good, and to adore cherub His memory whom you trembled at 'Twas He that kept you and seraphim before ? Out of mytoils,and were it not for Him, That would be rare sport now, and

should have trapped you daily by the score.

for

something new.
"It's

not the first time that I've preached indeed. since He Very good preaching too and orthodox, Is gone ; 'twould be like shadow Exalting still the faith above the deed ; without light And how men did devour my words Only where light is can the shadow be, with greed, It was His presence that occasioned me. And went away, and sinned like other

"There's no use

a Devil

now,

And by myUrrong I perfected His right.

folks

"


544

Dream

He

Having no

stood erect, a mocking spirit bold, Untrammelled, shaped my dream, and faith in aught but craft guided it and lies. With strange, unconscious reason, and
that
bitter

full of scorn and cold. And good and bad

And

was

flash

Too
in like

of wit daring for the

common day

o'

contempt

th'

mind.

And

did hold, even himself did

a voice cried,
light.

fitfully despise.

No

need of
life

God

for

science

But

our

Then

"There

shall

be Is

more than knowledge, and hath

other needs.

no more

is ended, evil is supreme " ; When sorrows come, and troubles too But I was fain to wrestle for the right. are rife, And beaded drops of anguish dimmed Or good and evil wrestle in hot strife. my sight And the heart fails, and wounded Then I awoke, and lo it was a dream. virtue bleeds.

The war

woke
of
guilt

up, with

trembling

sense

Truly he
it still

said,

though he that

said

as if that wild dream, profane Is father of all lies, that we should be blasphemous, must surely have The easy victims of his crafty skill. been built Were there no God to strengthen heart Of some vile matter in my heart that and will. dwelt. And guide the soul through its By some base spirit lurking in my brain. perplexity.

Upon me,

And

But as I brooded on it there appeared 'Tis not the making of the worlds Another meaning slowly breaking alone through That calls for His wise thought, and
lurid light, and horrid sounds, and weird Wild phantasms of my dream ; and as
it

The

shaping hand.

To

frame the atom, and compact the

a mystic
life

stone,

cleared

And breathe
me
again,

through

flesh

Peace came to
grew.
I

and comfort

and bone,

And
far into the night

stretch

the

heavens

above th

solid land.

had been reading

That " ultimate analysis of things There be more Can find no need of God, nor any light powers Shed, by the thought of Infinite wisdom Than ordered
and might.

lawless and rebellious

matter,

which

need

government

On

the large world which

order brings."

" No need of this And the free fancy, roving like the wind

more than growth of and flowers, Even these same wayward, wilful hearts hypothesis," one writ; of ours,
to

Law

And

guidance

plants

Deceitful, that on evil

ways are

bent.


And when

Moral-Sublime

545

our steps have spurned the Then said the Buddha; "Lo! this beast ferocious. appointed course Of duty, and sunk in miry slough of sin. Devouring me, shall straight grow mild and meek. And guilty fears rush on us with the And turn with horror from his deeds force

Of

billows,

who

shall

heal our keen

atrocious,

remorse,

His
mercy,
?

spirit

gentle

as

his skin

grows

And,

speaking

bring

back

sleek.

peace within

With

" For now he

heart, as if
it

is

fell

man-eating

lightsome a thing

were

villain.

Watching
one says to me,
pray, no praise
I bring,
is free.

for

Too

women

going to the well.

trifling to regret,

Waiting the lonely

traveller to kill in

I have no prayer to
to sing.

The
"But

quiet evening, in the lonely dell.

Nor

sacrifice nor offering do There is no living God, and man

I shall be a grafF in his wild

nature.
all his blood, and change ways Wherefore I gladly offer the Creator This ransom to redeem his evil days.

Ah
For

better to be smitten

there

is

comfort in His
in that

day by day staff and

and lose

To

sweeten

his

rod

Than wander thy way

mist,

Among

the

crags great

and chasms that

"If he go on
still

as

now,

he'll

grow

grinily say.

wilder

No

need so of God.

now

as

thy need

In him there is no spirit of sacrifice ; But, me devouring, he will soon turn

milder.

And

part with

all

his

fierce

blood-

MORAL-SUBLIME
Sakya-mounie one day saw a tiger, Shrunk i' the flanks, his staring ribbones bare.

thirsty vice."

Laughing I read, half thinking that he jested. Though he was nowise of the jesting
kind;

Creep from the jungle, shuddering

if rigor

as

And

to the fancy

which

his thought

Of

famine-stricken
there.

death

had seized

suggested

him

Awhile I yielded up a

willing mind.

splendid creature, but for pinching I pictured him, then, and the jungletyrant. hunger. scrupled not to smite him to With huge forearm, and ravenous the ground, white-toothed jaws, Branded with beauty, when his days And bear him off, lest haply some

Who

were younger, But age had somewhat blunted and claws.

35

aspirant
teeth

Might claim a share had found.

in that

which he

Moral-Sublime

546

Tigers, of course, have solitary habits, And haunt where brown and yellow
leaves are strewn

Them
Then

first

he hid for breakfast on

the morrow.
stretched

him

out

in

perfect

They're not companionable

rabbits,

beasts like

tiger-bliss.

And much
alone.

prefer

to eat their meals

And

as

he

slept,

he dreamed

I do

not wonder.

Sure such a meal would set one dreaming fast hunger, He dreamed another Buddha had I saw him, with my mind's eye, take fallen under a leap. His fangs, to be devoured too like And, with a snort of pleasure or the last. of anger. Bear off the Buddha to the nullah deep. He dreamed of crunching bones to

Weak

as

he was, and perishing with

reach the marrow.

Did

poor victim fangs in him. As they tore through

the
his lair
?

feel

the great jungle to

Of his head Of spurting

buried in the softer part.

blood that shot forth

like

the

And

only think,

What

matter, if

an arrow. And of some I the heart.

dainty morsels near

win him

To
Or

pity those

whom now

he would

horrid
a
;

dream

for

one

who had

not spare

been grafted

With
did he
late

meek

nature meant to sweeten

now
to

repent,

when

it

was

him

plainly

But he had tasted blood, and now he

think

Too

of anything but

quaffed

it.

death ? Or did he think of nothing, but was mainly

At

pleasure, in

dream-world wild

and grim.

Concerned
breath
?

to

get a gasp of hurried

And

on the morrow, not

raked
it

to waste his

treasure.

The

tiger

had
it

his

meal
not

He
I'll

up,

and

had

another

not

feast.

describe

These
laid

creatures

are

nice

And
As

then another dream, so doubling

then
it

pleasure,
if

him down.
slowly to imbibe

he were

mere cud-chewing

With good digestion

Into
his

beast.

system

well,

from claw

to

crown.

No

thought had he of growing and tender.

soft

But there were some odd fragments not to harrow Your feelings, for your flesh might
creep at this

Of sparing women Or being the poor From other cats

dwell.

going to the well.

traveller's defender

that

in the

jungle

Moral-Sublime

547

He

had no touch of Buddha's

taste

gentle

Yet

this

mad
of

fooling

of

mind,

spirit,

unwitting

Nor any
That

of chivalry at

all

The humour
mirth.

it,

wakens mocking

ghastly murder

seemed a deed

To

of merit, be repeated, nowise to appal.

brute,

Moral-sublime nay, but the brainsick dreaming

!

The

no doubt, was hopelessly

Of mind

diseased,

which we could
to

ferocious,

pity, indeed,

To eat a Buddha full of love and ruth, Were we not the seeming And only feel how much the deed
atrocious

challenged

admire
fantastic

Virtue that
fierceness of his

propped

up a

Had

reinforced the

creed.

youth.

And

yet,

perchance, like other tales

So did I picture, as my fancy willed it, The good man and his fruitless sacrifice

that

wander

The

blood he wasted, and the brute

it.

that spilled

Having
of vice

no
:

thought

of

virtue

through the ages, this too has been changed Buddha may ne'er have thought his life to squander or On the fierce brute that through the
jungle ranged.

Down

Having no
his

wit,

but

just

to

stanch

hunger
juicy

But some poor

scribbler, fain to exalt

With

meat

that

pleased

his

his merit.

unspoilt taste.

Some
Thus

plodding

dullard,

guiltless

of
the

And

gave him pleasant sleep and made

stronger

a jest,

him

To hunt for prey about the jungle waste.

That was
the touch too

fondly hoped Master's spirit, only his

to

show

much

that
in us.

And
So

own

folly well expressed.

tiger story

are the great and

good

ill

under-

Which makes
Rubbing the

a caricature ridiculous.

standed,

tinsel

pathos off and glory,

What time

To

tickle mirthful

humour born

their Faith a dead tradition grown, And on the doctors and the schoolmen

Were

one an owl upon the high barn

stranded.

rafter

Staring in serious gravity, or Nun That had forsworn the wanton trick

Breaks up, a wreck upon the and stone.

sand

of laughter Then one might read, and

the fun.

They were

not fools, those men,

that
still

who
spirit

fail

to see

earth's distractions

Left for an aim

stirs

our

But

though
sacred

would behold
to

with Enough,
actions.

to

answer,

only for

their

reverence

fitting
is

What

any soul on earth,

Not

for the stories of biographers.


548

'

Mirren
Never voyaged in a steamboat. Never travelled by the mail.

MIRREN
She was but a maid of aU work, For she could not bear to see
Idle sluts about her kitchen

And nothing could persuade To go jaunting on the raU.

But she knew the
streets

her
closes.

and

Slopping tables with their tea

And besides, she had a habit Of speaking out her mind

Which might
not look respectful
;

And And And

the harbour and the boats, the kindly fishers' houses.

their creels
all

and nets and

floats.

And And And

the grand old mansions

If another stood behind

For she'd scold a wasteful Very roundly to her face,

But would not
let

mistress

Where the gentry once did dwell, With their cork-screw stairs and turrets,
their

chambers panelled well.

another

Think

a thought to her disgrace.

Who
And

the stately Lords and Ladies had ridden from their doors.

She had seen her fifty winters, But was always trim and tight
In her printed cotton bodice, And her apron clean and white : Never knew her head a bonnet, But a cap of muslin thin

the fateful tragic dramas Oft enacted on their floors, She could tell you stories of them, Till a feeling in you woke That the nobles must have sorrows Not allowed to common folk.

Going weekly

to the market.

With
Tied

a bit of simple ribbon

in bows beneath her chin : her features, small and puckered.
tart.

You might
Not

safely trust her care

And
Did

to squander one halfpenny

thrifty

Of your

monies there

Looking tempery and

not truly
true
tell

the secret

Of her

and

faithful heart.

All the folk tjiat did not know her And there were not many did, For her faults were somewhat patent. And her virtues mainly hid Much disliked her prim preciseness, And her stiff unchanging ways.

She would have the best and cheapest. Yet she would not chaffer long They might cheat a young housekeeper, But they feared her caustic tongue Nor would she for a moment
;

Linger in the sun or rain ; She had gone to do her business. And must home to work again.

And And

the tartness of her sayings.

the scrimpness of her praise.

Going weekly to the Kirk too. Be the Sunday dry or wet. With her Bible in her kerchief.

And her features primly set. But the children, whom she rated There she sat in tireless patience. If their boots had soiled her floor. Knew how fain she was to cheer them. Thinking less about her sin When their little hearts were sore. Than about her common duties. And the frets she had therein. Not unpleased that she had done them She had never left the city. With some credit to herself. Rarely seen the growing corn, And with visions of her saucepans Never been a five-miles' journey All in order on their shelf. From the spot where she was born,

; ;

; ; ;

Mirren
One day
she told her mistress,

549
gentles

She had never served but

She must find another maid No, she had no fault to find with

And

she trowed she never would. So they quarrelled, and they parted.

Any And

thing they did or said.

Both of them

in

angry mood.

she was not like the fickle

Fools that wanted just a change. Nor did she much rebel at That new-fangled kitchen range ; And she had not made her mind up To take a place or no ;

And

the lady had her wedding,

Though

And

There was nothing she was Only just that she must go.

sure of,

a stranger dressed her hair. a hand she had not proven Robed her in her garments fair. But the marriage-bed was barren, And the wedded life was shame, For he wasted all her substance,

And
;

he soiled a noble name

Plainly there was something hidden

Till friendless and forsaken.

There was mystery in her look But she pursed her lips, and held
Tight
as in a close-sealed

With
it

They

wist not,

when

she

left

book. them,

a hot and fevered eye. In weariness and sickness She prayed that she might die.

What had

But

as she sat despairing

wiled her thus away. Puzzling over it, and guessing

her,

The

door was opened wide,

closed again in silence,

Twenty different things a day They were angry, for they missed
Nothing seeming to go smooth But the pathos of it touched them.
;

Then

And one stood by her side. As of old so trim and tidy. As of old with bodice bright.
With
the dainty cap of muslin.
;

When

they came to

know

the truth.

She had served a gentlewoman.

When they
They had

both were fresh and young smiled and sighed together.

And the apron clean and white As of old so peppery tempered, As of old so prim and tart
;

But

also underneath

it

And together wept and sung. Proud was Mirren of her mistress While her beauty was in bud. Yet prouder to remember She was come of gentle blood. Having Lords to her forefathers. With Ladies by their side, And loves and wars to tell of.

Lay

the old, true, faithful heart.

And

Right
It
is

she pushed a bag of something into the lady's hand.

Saying,

" Not a word. Miss Elsie, by the Lord's command ;

bones and joints would ache,

I've been toiling, scrimping, saving. Till

my

And

I've put ray soul in peril

And

tragic tales to hide.

But the lady, when her beauty

'Gan to have a faded look. Mated with a man beneath her. Which her handmaid could not brook.

All for filthy lucre's sake. Save me now from that temptation. Give my soul a chance of life. For I've just been self-deceiving. Though I have been no man's wife.

Why
If

Maidenhood was

could she not live single ? clean and sweet

"
I

Now
is

get

you

to the parlour.

This

not the place for you,

wed she must, why pick him From the gutter on the street ?

am

mistress of
I

And

have

my kitchen, my work to do

; ;

55

Mirren
seat beside the

Take your
There

window

you'll see the breezy bay,

in the

And
And And And
That

Dipping

sails of the fishers white sea-spray, the children pulling seaweed.

the brown

Which her handmaid washed Could wash in all the place And if their fare was scanty. No eye was there to see.

as

no one

As

the old

man

gathering

bait.

they held themselves aloof In the pride of poverty.

still

lads the old boats

mending

are in a leaky state.

And And And

For

the lighthouse on the skerry. the red lamp on the pier. the lass that's always waiting the ship that comes not here.
you'll never

Trim was still the lady's raiment. Never seeming to grow worse.

And she never lacked the glitter Of a gold-piece in her purse And on the Bishop's visit
;

" Oh,

The ships that Or to hear the sailors singing As they turn the capstan slow
Some Some
Some,
are

weary watching come and go.

;

She could give him rare old tea For of course she went to Chapel Duly with the Quality.

The Bishop

Was
ice,

for her lady the fitting minister

still

bound

for far

Archangel,

But the Kirk was

to

Mirren

for Greenland's

snow and

The

house of

God

for her.

it's likely, for a harbour In the land of Paradise. So the weeks went by in patience. But the hand of God is o'er them. And the Sabbaths brought their peace. And behind them and before, And the years sped lightly o'er them, And the gate of Heaven as near Though their labours did not cease ;

them

And And

in the

summer mornings
rise red.

On
"

the sea as on the shore.

Elsie,

They saw
Whereon

the sun

the sea a golden pavement.

his feet

O my bonnie, sweet Miss My blessing and my care,

You'll break

might tread

And
O'er
;

in the

winter evenings

my

heart now, sitting

their needles

and

their frames

With

that look of hard despair

They
yet,

told most tragic stories

Rouse ye

up, there's

work

to

do

Of the

old-world knights and dames.

peace for you to win. the web of life is never Only sorrow warped with sin. There's sunshine in the rain-cloud, And heat in wreaths of snow,

And And

And And And

their
their

way

of life was tranquil. thoughts were pure and

sweet. the poor that lived beside them

better of the street,

And

God's love

is

in all things

Thought the

That happen here below."

So Mirren pleaded
fondly,

When the gentry came to see them. And the great world, in the pride Of its carriages and horses.
Drew
Though
the children to its side a grander world was inside

And And

As The lady broidered garments, Or darned the dainty lace,

her plea prevailed at last, they lived together loving. they had done in the past.

If they had but eyes to see

The

faith

And

and love that dwelt there. true-hearted piety.

Dark Evening

Found and
I've lived

Lost
life
its

551

my

task of

work
do
;

A DARK EVENING
The
is

is

ended.
to

night
leaping

is

darkening, and the tide

And there is little more for me Oh that its ill done job might
mended That I could make
!

yet be

Upon
Soon

the narrow stretch of lessening

to

it

loving, brave,

shore,

and true
engulph
it,

while the mists

are creeping.

There
behind

And

folding

round

me and

before.

wrap it up I dare not look upon it, The wretched failure put it clean
! !

away;

My

world is growing small and dim Nothing can mend it, nothing will atone it, and lonely. And its brief day of brightness closing Bury the poor dead product of my day.
fast,

I have for comrades ghostly shadows

only.

FOUND AND LOSTi

voices
are

Whose

but

echoes from
I

KNEW him the moment he came Past the screen by the folding door, They went before me, some in youth- Though I could not remember his name, Or where I had seen him before fiil pride. In manhood some, or noble woman- And me, too, he knew at a glance. For a light kindled up in his eye hood. And none may take their places by When I stept a short step in advance. And greeted him as he passed by. my side.
the past.

Or make

this life,

as they did, full

and good.

Yet
Just

it

was not a notable face ; what you may meet any day

Much

love was given me, far beyond

service,

my merit And its fond

touch.

At Or

the hunt or the ball or the race.

and

its

tender

Somewhat ruddy,

the club or a country-seat high-featured, and

nostrils

M,
and sweet caressings haunt With well-chiselled and chin,
thin.

And words my spirit

Eye
!

blue, like a clear crystal pool,

O God, that I had only loved as much Aid the

'Tis not the love
give,

hair

on his temples was

we

get, but that

we

A forgetable face in this land.

Where
so

many

are cast in

its

mould,

Which

leaves glad memories

sunset,

for the

coming years, Rich after-glows of

live,

Nothing striking about it, or grand. Only handsome and manly and cold.
had this incident from M. Lempriere, it was communicated by one of the parties concerned in it.
^ I

and we
in

And

scarce

feel

any sorrow

our

to

"whom

tears.

; ;

; ; ;

552

Found and Lost

was over with Soult, and had seen Then he whispered to Soult, and I knew and "Sir Peel" and That my general told him my name the rest, But my name did not give him the clue At the time when they crowned their That he wished, and he still looked young Queen, the same. Yet this was the face I knew best. I did as he did, too, and heard His name from the man at the door Each feature stood clear in my mind. But it was just a strange foreign word, And how in his moods it would look, And I never had heard it before.
I

"The Duke"

When
Or

So we stood there apart in the throng, wonder and puzzle to each, 'Twas strange how familiar I seemed With the trick of that face and its Nor heeded the harp or the song.

troubled or fretful or kind. chastened by pain and rebuke.

truth

Or

the hiss of their sibilant speech,

Was
Or

he some one of dreamed ?

whom

had Though he chatted with Soult of the

wars.
?

perhaps an old friend of

I seen

my youth

While

I waited on, silent of course

a milord,

He

was

But where had

And
I

But he tired of this puzzling, and soon had mixed in the world among men, Had put it quite out of his head I had travelled by land and by sea For I marked him keep time to a tune, Could I hope, in the vanishing throng And laugh when a good thing was said. Of memories fast growing dim. These Islanders are not like us
;

his

name, too,

him ? and when ? what could it be ?

And

I but a captain

and had stars. of Horse.

To

pick out this one man,

among
?

The crowd,

and identify him

Quite patient of mystery they

But a

secret that fascinates thus

You have felt how a name or a word At the tip of your tongue shall appear.
you know it so well, 'tis absurd That you cannot lay hold of it clear So I seemed to be still on the nick Of finding out who he could be, When Id by some cozening trick He was gone, like that lost word from
!

We must

search,

till

we

clear

it

away.

And

I could not, then, rid

me

of

it.

But brooded

in silence apart.

Nor laughed at their humour and wit. Nor praised what they showed of their
Art. thought me a churl, no doubt, For my answers were not to the point And I thought they were talking about Merest nothings, and all out of joint.

They

A look 'twas not hard to divine

It

As

gazed

after

him, too, I caught

Not once did he cross me again, ; same thought I am sure, for a week and a day Was brooding in his head as mine. But still in the sun and the rain. For he knit his brows hard as he cast In the season of work and of play, swift, searching glance now and then He haunted me all day and night. At the face he had known in the And this way and that way I went. past Ever groping about for the light, But where had he seen it, and when ? Like a hound that is seeking the scent.
was
plain that the very

Found and Lost

I searched out

553

my memories all, Which, neither before nor behind. over the Past like a book, Had linked itself on to my thought. Page by page, even dared to recall Broke clear as a star on my mind, Things that covered my soul with And I knew I had found what I sought. rebuke I'd gambled with, drank with, One moment the curtain concealed Every hint of the scene and the play ; or fought, Then Phew all the stage was revealed were rivals in old love affairs.
Went

Whom
Who Who
To

was owing me money, or ought be paid what I owed, unawares.

things

In the blaze of a bright summer day

Strange

by

that

search

I knew that I had him at last. Knew, without any doubt, it was he were That face, in the far away Past,

And

revealed,

That lay
good
to recall.

so long staring at me.

a brisk skirmish one

Old

stories not

Things

that

Fate, too, for ever had

all.

We

had had

day

sealed,

Wrongs

that could not be righted at

Of outposts, when And wounded and

Soult was

in

Spain,

bleeding I lay.

Who
find

shall

ope

all

his cupboards,

Nothing there

to repent or regret,

No

scraps of old writing that blind

tears the

and Thinking ne'er to do battle again ; And the vultures were soaring up high. And the lean dogs were creeping about. And the grey-hooded crow, hopping
?

With

dim eyes

that they

wet

nigh,

Kept watch
Yet 'twas good for

for the life to

ebb

out.

me

so to review
;

My former
It

I lay

on the bank of a stream,

to

life,

scene after scene

gave

And
It

revived better thoughts that had

less,

me some thoughts that were new, That whispered

A brooklet some yard or two wide,

me
like a

dream

been.

shamed me no
it

here and there.

And

set

me

slowly lapsed on by my side dream of our beautiful France, With its white orchard bloom and

As

it

to putting things right

its

grain.

But on

one perplexing affair It shed not a glimmer of light.

this

And
I

the vintages gay in Provence,

to look

was never

on again.

had I shed, And right on the opposite bank was he in my debt, handsome young English face a card with him e'er had I played, Kept gazing at me with a blank. as rivals in love had we met. Vague look from his red resting-place. I was baffled, and threw myself down " He is plainly dying," I said, Ont he close-shaven grass of the Park, " But gallant and stout for his years " And heard the far hum of the town, For close by his side, and stark dead.
a drop of his blood a livre

Not Not Not Nor

And

the clear even-song of the lark.

Lay

one of our brave

cuirassiers.

So hour after hour there we lay. Then all of a sudden, when I With long, fruitless searching was spent, And looked at each other across The brook that went trickling away. Half-minded no longer to try,

Lo

one unconnected event,

Slowly licking our blood from the moss

: ;

! : !

SS4

Found and Lost

But I found he had gone, as they said his way, whither nobody knew. Perhaps, where the icebergs are bred,
Perhaps, to Japan or Peru.

Now we heard the loud bugle-calls clear,

Then
the noise of the fighting grew

Was

weak,

And the lean dogs came snarling up near. And the hooded crpw whetted his beak.

A traveller, restless and bold.

He
To
would
seas that

And
His

all

those long hours I perused

upon line. Half-conscious and dim and confused. As he, too, lay reading at mine I scanned him again and again, He was the one thing I could see. And he printed himself on my brain. Till he seemed like a portion of me.
features there, line

Now
Had And

now his wandering feet were frozen with cold. to plains that were blasted with
turn

heat:

He knew
oft

the

Red man

rid with the wild

of the West, Bedaween,

Where

been the African's guest, the spoor of the lion was seen.

If I closed

my my

As

plain as

eyes, still he was there he had been before

;

And
But

If I lifted

eyelids to stare,

Yet would he come back, they averred, take his old seat by the fire. As if nothing meanwhile had occurred

He was " He is
Be

lying there dabbled in gore.

plainly dying," I thought,

To make And
That
oh

foolish people admire.

I never to

have seen him again

it

" And better for me he were dead. Those pain-stricken features will not
e'er blotted out of

know what

could mean.

printing of

my

head."

Who

him on my brain was only once more to be seen.

And
I

We are tricked by illusory light. never a word could we speak ; was lying half-choked with ray blood. Are we mocked by realities too ? Is our life but a dream of the night Slow-gasping and fainting and weak, Whose facts have no purpose in view And grasping a handful of mud While he from the opposite brink So strangely my path he had crossed So strongly my mind had impressed Looked across, as if looking his last If he must like a shadow be lost, And oh for some water to drink From the brook that went rippling past Why passed he not light as the rest ?
;

Then

there

fell, as it

were, a great mist

You

paint a likeness with care.

and I saw him no more. Yet smudge it all out the next day, Nor thought of him even, nor wist For you feel that the soul was not there, Was he living or dead, till the door And the soul is the man, as you say Of the guest-hall opened, and he But what if your picture were all Strode stately into the room. You had hoped e'er to make it, and then And that face flashed out upon me. You turned the face back to the wall. Like a face from the shades of the tomb. Which was touching the spirits of men ?
eyes,

On my

Now
To Of

came back, and I rushed remind him again the day when our life-blood had
it all

Do

his club to

gushed.

And mixed

in

the brooklet in Spaiii

you grudge them the joy they have found ? Do you mean but to mock and to spite ? Why sow the quick seed in the ground But to trample it next out of sight ?

And

555

The
God or
Does

Lettre de Cachet

He

Nature, that shapes each event, labour to quicken desire,

the hope of the nations around.

Just to disappoint hopes

Just to quench
fire?

He

His own

waited on, dumb. has sent. Thinking, " too are fettered and fresh-kindled bound

Who

We

Let us see what will come." But their kings and their nobles and
as the night
priests
starless

It

is

dark to me, dark

That moonless and

moves on.

Gnashed
!

their teeth

when they
!

saw.

With

only such glimmer of light. As to show the clouds brooding thereon. And I never shall see him again, Or know what was meant by the look

And screamed at their altars and feasts, " Ho for God and the law
Did He not make us lords of the world.
?

That was

printed so deep on

As we

lay by the slow

And these for our slaves my brain. Let our armies be mustered, and hurled Spanish brook. On their heads like sea-waves."
In those days, then, when bold
ran
spirits

THE LETTRE DE CACHET

old man. In the days when France snapt her Half-reft of his reason. Who had been shut up for long years old chains, And rose up, and swore, In a stone-vaulted cell are men, we have hearts, we Wet-walled with his sweat and his have brains. tears Why, no one could tell. will slaves be no more No record there was of his crime. To king or to noble or priest. But all men shall be If crime he had done ; No trial had he at the time As brothers from bondage released. When they shut out the sun All equal and free " : From his life ; and alone there he lay, And some stood in wonder amazed, Their wits of no use And heard not a sound. And some said the people were crazed. Save the grating of bolts once a day In the silence profound. And Bedlam broke loose Or the fall of a drop on the floor And some, in pure terror aghast. From the roof overhead. In troops ran away ; Though the streets might be all in But some held it safer to cast

From prison to prison, They came on a squalid

"We

We

Them
While

into the fray

a roar

others took snufF with a smile.

As

they tramped through the mud. Saying, " Time we should teach this
Canaille

To have wakened the dead And he dreamed, as he lay on his straw.

;

Of the sun and the lark. And day followed day, and

By

the letting of blood."

Well, the people were mad, if you will, In those days of hot rage. Yet the shout of their multitudes still

he saw But the dusk and the dark For at noon it was gloaming down there,
;

And And

at evening, as
still

death

in the close, foetid air

Was

the pulse of the age.

He

was gasping

for breath.

556

The

Lettre de Cachet

So our shepherds took

flocks

care that their

And

blinked, bewildered
a bat.

and

blind,

Like an owl or

Should not stray from the fold, Feeling out with his lean hands to find If stone walls and strong bars and locks What he wished to be at Might be trusted to liold. For he had not seen daylight for years. But the bands of that mighty revolt Only dim, pallid gleams Flung open his door, Through stanchions and cobwebs and

And

cried, as they shattered the bolt,

art free, as

tears.

" Thou

When,

of yore schoolboy, thy wont

Or
was

at night in his

to stray

And it was To look on

to see

dreams. not a joy, but a pain the light.

faces again.

By the wood and the brook. Or And the trout in the ripple would play Or
With the Or when,
gay-feathered hook
as a
;

human

to stand straight upright.

man thou would'st go

Through the

So, dazed and amazed, forth he went iron-nailed gate.

To the tryst in the glen. All tremulous, shrinking, and bent, And love whispered, tender and low, A man out of date. What is dearest to men. Come forth from thy wet-walled cell. He passed through the iron-nailed door.
Where
the

damp and

the mould

For they

said

he was

free

And
And

the dusk and the dark ever dwell

;

With the cramp and the cold Be merry, the land now is free.
thy gaoler, the king. Is where all wicked kings ought to be Go dance, then, and sing."

To do as he had done of yore, When the hill and the sea And the wood and the heath
the stream

and

coming so well was only a dream They were rough, coarse fellows He had dreamt in his cell. and yet Was he not once a lord, and had lands, They were touched to the quick And a chateau somewhere. By the pale, bloodless spectre that met And serfs who obeyed his commands. Their gaze, and the sick And a wife passing fair Wan flicker of light in his eye. Too fair or was all that again Which had not any hope. dream and no more ? Nor a longing to live or to die, There were so many passed through Content just to mope. his brain Without converse of things unseen. As he lay on the floor To sweeten his pain. 'Mong the straw, and had nothing to do. Or remembrance of things that had Yea, a dream it had been, been. For a king must be loyal and true To restore hope again. To his peers and his queen.
his
it

Knew

Unless

Then
So dazed, and
uncertain, he crept
his

he smote brow.

his

thin

palm on

From

his cell

and

his straw.

And

they marked that he and wept.

the sunlight he

trembled

As if striving What would him now

to see

never

come

clear

to

When

saw

Best never to be

557

The

Lettre de Cachet

Just a glimmer of light broke on him,

With Then

a spasm of pain.

Some gay as to wedding they Some mocking with scorn

rode,

the grey look, sodden and dim.

Settled on

him

again.

The crowd, Of the high

Oh the horror and terror of that Aimless walk up the street Was he sleeping or waking ? and what At next turn should he meet ?

that was raging for blood and well-born. There were matrons and maidens fair, Who bent their heads low ; No powder they need for their hair. It is white now as snow. There were old men and boys doomed
to die

Now
Then

his

ear

was jarred
;

with

the

strain

What

could
!

it all

mean

Of the

wild Marseillaise

And

lo

in the distance rose

high

was smit with the pain The black guillotine. Of some wolf-hungry gaze. And why were the workmen abroad As they hurried him onward, at In the hours of their toil ? He would shout like the rest. And where were the good priests As if some fell demon accursed
his heart

first

of

God
the

Had
oil
?

got into his breast.

But at length on the skirt of the And where was his light-hearted crowd France, The madness was quelled, And its wit-loving soul ? And his soul within him was bowed And who were those dames in At the sights he beheld. the dance Could that be the pulse and the throb Of the mad Carmagnole ? Of a great-thoughted age That hoarse, fierce yell of a mob And oh the fell rush and the tramp
they jostled and struggled and the lamp, plashed As they bore him along. Through the mire and the mud. Where they'd hoisted a noble, per- Thefrantic Unbreechedand Unwashed, haps, In their craving for blood As the nobles of yore Nailed the vermin they caught in Once more for a moment his brain their traps Had clearness and power, To the big barn door, And the soul of his youth came again With maybe a priest by his side In that terrible hour. In his old black soutane He had fain closed his eyes at the sight They were fain to have priests, when He was looking on there they died. But so strong was the spell in its might So they coupled the twain. That he could not but stare. And then, as he shuddered and stared, While he sickened to gaze on that hell The tumbril drove past Of the fiend and the brute. With the victims that law had Which was holding him fast in its spell, ensnared Some pale and aghast. Tongue-tied there and mute
!

With

pyx and the

Of the hurrying throng And the sights here

In

its

masterless rage

and there by

How

558

Calm

And where were the nobles of France, And all in confusion is whirled, And the knight and the squire ? And strangeness and fear And where were the sword and And I have but one friend in the world. the lance, And lo he is here." And the cord and the fire So they let him go back to his cell. And where was the king and the throne. And the straw and the mat_ And the order of state And his friend, who could he be? And where all the world he had Ah! well;
!

known.

The
?

friend

was a

rat.

And

forgotten of late
in

Flashed a light frown

his

eye,

and a

On

his forehead

was

plain

Do you mock at my story because Thus lamely it ends. But the man in a prison-cell has
Small choice of his friends
:

Then

the dull grey look settled

down

Apathetic again.

Just turns from the hard stones to aught

That has

life in it

now
grow

Next day he came back to Looking weary and sore.

his gaol.

To

a seedling flower, chance blown,

and taught
In his

And

prayed with a pitiful wail They would open its door. No, he had not committed a crime

window

to

And now to a spider whose web Was devouring his light.

For
life clings to life in

had just lost his head. he did not belong to the time. his friends were all dead. Would they not let him back

He

the ebb

And And And And

And And
to

dead hour of
there
is

its

night

a pathos

where such

Fond

clinging appears,

his

cell.
its

A something human to touch

its

straw and

peace

The deep

fount of tears.

would dwell. So, I deem that his instinct was true Till death brought release. When he turned back to that " For it pains me, the glare of the Which was the one friend that he knew.
light,

there for the rest he

Were
It

it

only a

rat.

And they fill me with fear. The horrors that meet me by And the sounds that I hear.
Still

night,

was something that trusted Something to love.

in

him,

And
ringing.

the tocsin

is

ringing

and

it shed on his darkness a dim Feeble light from above.

And women
Round

are seen

That song of the

Marseillaise singing the black guillotine ;

A CALM
Yesterday the wind blew high.

And princes and nobles are killed By the axe and the cord, And orgies of darkness are held
In the courts of the Lord
;

Tore the Minch in tatters small. Drove us back to dripping Skye Wrapped up in a black cloud-pall
saw upon the strand. Broken boat and shattered oar. Women wailing on the land. Terror stalking on the shore.

And
Nor Nor Nor

there a

is

monk

not a priest to confess. begging alms,

And we

a pyx for a soul in distress,

a nun singing psalms.

: ;

559

A
Then
the fickle waters, spent, Stretched them out and lay supine Samson resting now, content

Calm
Happy
creatures round us be,

To

have wrecked the Philistine.

Joy is in our hearts and love. Peace is on the earth and sea. Glory in the heaven above."

Rocking now

in

summer calm,

Making not an inch of way, While the air is soft as balm,

And the hills in Wrap them in a

Whereon

loch and bay

purple haze
ablaze.

" Stuff! Gruffly then our skipper This may be a heaven to you As for me I've had enough Of those oily waters blue. Here have we been all the day
:

the lingering sun doth lean,

Listening to that creaking spar,

And the And the

With

clouds are

all

While

waters catch their sheen.

spread.
sail tall

And
Hear

the seagulls fly away, the dab-chicks wander

stiff

far.

Every rag of canvas

flapping

Let me have a good

breeze.

Pennon at the Drooping like

and creaking boom. mast-head

a draggled plume.

We have rolled here to

Till the westering sun

and fro All the long, hot August day,

is

low,

Making not an inch of way.

a rushing at the prow, and then be shipping seas, Lurching in the hollow now Anything a wind ahead. Racking cloud and driving rain Sooner than these waters dead. And watching for a breeze in vain. Heaven there's only one thing worse

Now

Than
Beyond the shadow of
Keen-eyed screaming
the ship

to lie here like a log

is

That

not to

know your

course.

seagulls

come,

Touch

And

the sea with light wing-tip. skim away the floating crumb Guillemots are calling low

Sounding in a dismal fog. Vain to keep the helm aport. Vain to spread the topsail high
Better like a porpoise snort. Better be a gull and
fly,

To their chicks And rising, flap

are;

that

wander

far.

show Better to have flat, webbed feet, The two bold swimmers where they Bad to walk, but good to swim.
their wings to

Than
by.

Hungry cormorants hurry

Till the gloaming light

be drifting in the heat. is dim.

Snorts the porpoise here and there.

And

not a ripple can

we

spy

Stirring to the

moving

air.

He who made the worlds, When His busy work was

Till

they say, done.

Blue the cloudless sky o'erhead. Blue the waveless sea below,

Only the

tide,

low-pulsing,

made

A lazy rocking to and fro.

!

Rested on the Sabbath day. its listless hours were run. I've been in the East, and know

That

is still lie,

the bliss they crave.

and let the slow Hours go dreaming to the grave. So basking in the purple light, heaven, Well ; if that was all the heaven is this One said, " Lo The devil had to be happy in, indeed I do not wonder much that even Yesterday we had the fight. By way of change he took to sin. Now we get the rest we need.
Just to

!;

56o

Spring Morning

Orwell
ORWELL

There's that creaking boom again How the lazy shadows float 'Tis enough to turn one's brain

To

hear that croaking guillemot

STAND on the shore of the lake,

Where the small wave ripples and frets

SPRING MORNING
In the spring when the cuckoo calls From the shade of the fresh green
leaves,

the land has its weeds, and the lake has its reeds, And the heart has its vain regrets.

Oh

Hark

how

the skylarks sing.

in each

And the young lambs leap on the grass, And the swallows are brisk on the
eaves,

Far up about God's own feet. And the click of the loom is
little

room.
long, bare village street.
stands.

Of the
With
There

And
Bask

things with glittering wings

in the sunshine
it

Yonder the old home

the
little

brings

are

grey kirk behind ; children at play on the

In the morning when glad birds sing, And flowers on their dewdrops close,

sunny brae.

And the meadow is breathing its

Where

And
With

their shouts

come down the wind,

sweets
the smell of the old sweet flowers
;

the bee-loved clover grows.

And

the

gleams

and the ripple of

We

planted there long ago

streams

And

Are like joys that come to us in dreams

red moss - rose still buds and blows By the door, where it used to grow.
the
it still

Oh the sweet, bright mornings of spring.

With
the

dew and

the song and the

All of

unchanged,
its bliss

flower.

And the glad young life As it laughs in the glory

It
is

Yet all so changed to me of the world. For love then was sweet, and
of power,
complete.

good

for the spirit as food.

And

there

was no cloud

to see.

The

tender green leaf of the wood.

well that the heart,

Ah

With the frosts of the wintry years, Can still be made glad as of old,

But the light is quenched and gone That brightened the place of yore, growing cold And all the suns and the shining ones
Shall bring back that light nevermore.

When the spring And the light,

might.

in its beauty appears.

Ah me
has

for the shore

and the lake

coming forth

in

its

Where the small wave ripples and frets The land has its weeds, and the lake
its

Drives away the sad ghosts of the

night.

reeds,
its

And

the heart has

vain regrets.

BALLADS FROM SCOTTISH HISTORY

And
there
is

not a quarrel so bad

INTRODUCTORY
What have our men of old times To say for themselves, Now their loves, hates, quarrels,
crimes

But that we may see

Some
Some
and

point in
it

it

we

should be glad

Had

got mastery

right

How
For

true hearts

amid wrong, to explain by it might remain.

Have

been laid on the shelves,

And
Or

I think scarce a

man can be hot

his lot
ill

buried in cobwebs and dust.

eaten by

mildew and

With

a fervent goodwill,
a cause

rust

And
It

cast in his life

Strong

men
so

their passions their faith,

were strong

With

and wholly

And

was

must have some savour of good

rouse the self-sacrifice

Strong to stand up against wrong, And resist to the death : But fell were some of their deeds In the warfare of clans and of creeds.

To
Ah,

mood.

well

there

were schemers of
right.

course.

Heeding not wrong nor

Oh,

was the wrestle for good In the quick womb of Time,

theirs

And

captains of foot

and of horse

Loving only the

fight.

Which
They
With

they only in part understood. But with courage sublime

struggled on towards the light
their hearts
;

And waiters-on To find out the

watching the tide safe, winning side.

in the war.

still

set

on the

right.

Camp-followers these

Eager only for gain. was not Like the vultures that come from afar Without mean crafty ways ; To feast on the slain And our Esau had glimpses of thought Or gamblers who played their big game. Not unworthy of praise And were cast forth at length in their Not saints right path.

Maybe

yet our Jacob

all

who

chose the

Nor

the others
shall err

all

children of wrath.
if

shame.

We
And

from the truth

we keep But the great groaning multitude, dumb,

Just to old Party lines.

up old hatreds that sleep In the books of Divines, And rulings of Lawyers, and tales That haunt the dim hills and the dales.
stir

Had at least a true thought. And looked for God's kingdom to come, And brighten the lot Of the needy and poor and oppressed, And crown their long struggle with rest.

36

!; ;

562

Ballads

from Scottish History

For

And so, through the ages, Of mixed good and ill

Confusedly wrestled along,

the thron

my

Barons are

selfish

and proud,

Taken up with

old family feuds

And
At

the Prelates are clamouring loud

heretics' lives

To work

out

His

will,

For the

and their goods

Who

aims not to finish the strife. But to open new doors into life.

And the monks glare

out of their hoods

the progress of freedom and light

peasantry sullenly broods

"IT CAME WITH

A AND WILL GANG WITH A LASS"

fy!
!

And the LASS, On their

right.

wrongs, and to have them

set

The end

of the old world

!

is

near.

Oliver fled! Yet he had ten thousand men All captured now, wounded, or dead, And the foe had not one for his ten They were gathered from hill and from glen To the muster on Solway shore.
!

Fy!

And alas

much there will be to avenge Ah, God's work is fearful and strange; Crown and sceptre and temple and
!

How How

shock of the change. much will go down that is dear

in the

tower,

And

there's grief

But the

all that man's wit may arrange now on many a Ben, Goes down when He stirs in His power. shame of it touches me more.

And

But get ready the christening feast. Let the gossips bring candle and cup. By the news of this sorrowful day And the child have a good time at least. Let the women make ready my shroud. Ere the depths in their terror break up. It is time I were hasting away. I will put on the crown when I sup. I have often been merry and gay Though I wear it in shame and in pain, With a lass and a glass and a stave, It came with a lass on the crup. For I cared but for pleasure and play, With a lass it will leave us again. And now they have dug me a grave.

My

heart within

me

is

bowed

That dower of Marjorie Bruce

And
fit

send for the

also

A crown with no head

And we loved

it

would

That Oliver

man on the Dryfe, may feast.

On our brows it has ever sat loose. And brought only trouble with it.
Yet we lacked not courage or
the old land and
wit.
its

Why
And

not ? since he still has his life, 'Tis but honour and valour have ceased,
he'll readily find

him

a priest

fame.

Who
As

will heal for a groat his smart,

When a woman would rule inithe game. And

The
gossips

But we heeded not

snaffle or bit,

'tis

only the poor he has fleeced. broken his old king's heart.

now

tell

me

I've got
;

It is not the

slow touch of

Time

fine lass-bairn to
!

embrace

Heaven help her a sorrowful lot She will have, I fear me, to face. For let her have beauty and grace. And a mind that is noble and great. She comes of a tragical race.

That has sprinkled my hair so with grey. For I'm all but a man in my prime,
life is away. end of my day, And seen its last lights where they fall On the clouds, and have only to pray,

But the spring of

my

I have

come

to the

And

she will have a tragical

fate.

As

I turn a grey face to the wall.

563

George Wishart
And so my loved

Master and Friend

GEORGE WISHART
They lured him away from my side, The man likest Christ I have known
I felt in
:

Meek and brave he, as ever was known They brought to a sorrowful end.
Yet he died
like a king

on

his throne.

And

I rede you.

Lord

Cardinal, soon
shall

my

heart that they lied,

The day
come,

of God's vengeance

And vowed

he should not go alone.

But he waved me aside, saying, " One Is enough for a sacrifice

When
the
Shall

the pride that

soared high as

moon
lie in

Your work here is only begun, Wait you till God's time for the price."

the dust, and be dumb.

Oh, lightly the Cardinal laughed, Having snared his meek victim
length,

know not the day nor the Nor yet by whose hand
I
at

hour.
'twill

be
in

And
And

gaily

the

quaffed

That night

And that right shall be done, as it ought. of strength ; he sent forth a message straight- I have faith though His judgments be
in his castle

wrought. But I know that power. French wines were

God

reigneth

way

strange.

To his brother High-priest in the West, And at times darkly hid from our sight.

To

share in devouring the prey.

That

at

length.

His own

saints

to

Which would give to their Babylon rest.

avenge.

They

will break forth as clear as the

The Glasgow Archbishop was

light.

vain,

And

the Cardinal haughty and proud

quarrelled, too, once

They had
again.

and For the

spirit that

now

is

abroad
is

'Mong
first

the nations of Europe

here,

Whose

cross should go

through

the crowd.

And will cast off the horrible load Of priestly oppression and fear
Our land
too has

And had
With

fought at the altar for place

come

to the birth

surplices tattered

and

torn.

And

the pains of her travail begin.

And

crowns had been cracked, by the But I trow she has strength to bring forth mace. The life that is stirring within. Of clerics all shaven and shorn.

But Pilate and Herod agreed

We have only a young lass

to rule

When they plotted to crucify Christ, Our rude and turbulent folk. And these, too, were one in their deed, Who was trained in a pestilent school. When Wishart was sacrificed. And comes of a light-minded stock.
Together, with feigning and lies. She knows not the land of her sires. The saint to the faggots they doomed. And she loves the gay doings of France Together they feasted their eyes On the flames which the martyr Its trinkets and changeful attires. And the viol, the pipe, and the dance. consumed.

; ;

S64
Well,

Ballads

from Scottish History

And her mirth we

only like youth to be gay, But beyond, I can see a great light. might haply forgive, And the'land resting peaceful and calm Though I fear me it is not the way 'Neath the rule of high wisdom To prepare for the life she must live and right,
it's

But they've poisoned her mind against With the Kirk praising
truth.

God in a psalm.
and the Rock,
Christ's

To quench the faint spark of our hope. I have faith in And the mass-priests have thirled her Our refuge in
youth

the

Word

trouble and care

For the one thing forbidden

To

the service of

Rome and the Pope.

filled

flock
Is to wring the

Small wonder God's people are

weak hands of despair.

With

fears

and

anxieties, then.

Chief, in the battle's hot brunt.

fall in

When

they see all our rulers unskilled In the wise arts of governing men. All selfishly seeking their own. Ambitious of power and of place,

May

the pride of his strength,

But another shall step to the front, And march on to triumph at length.

And

fain, for a bribe, to

disown
grace
;

And
For

a land, to be famous in story

piety, letters,

The Word of the Lord and His

While

and

truth.

Shall arise in her splendour and glory

the Baal-priests stand at the gate

Of

the

High

Kirks, and

group

in

Ever fresh in the dews of her youth For poverty she shall have wealth.

the porch.

And
;

honours

in

room of her shame.

yet
ring

And And And

As

mutter their malice and hate. threaten the faggot and torch
treason and

Her plagues shall give place unto health,

And

the world shall

with

murder and
the Cardinal

strife
still,

her fame.

Are hatched by

he broods every day of his life How to bend the whole land to his will.

Yet dark

as the

hour

now may

be.

THE RETURN OF THE QUEEN

Saw
ye the Queen,

And long as the night still may last. By the Truth we shall yet be made free. And the Truth spreadeth surely and fast. God will not forsake us, or fail When we pass through the fire and
the flood

Our Queen without peer. With the wind blowing keen,

And

a fog creeping near,

Yea, He will be our buckler When the sword shall be

for blood.

and mail
thirsting

As she came from the land Of the sun and the vine
our mist-shrouded strand. the heather and pine Blend their breath with the smell of the salt sea-brine ?

To

Where

There

are evil times coming, I know, Confusion and terror and wrath. And the strong man shall then be laid low.

She passed me

close by
ship.

As
With

And

the

weak

shall

be turned from

she stepped from the a tear in her eye.

a smile on her lip
:

the path

And

The Gordons and

The
smile from a glance

Corrichie

56s

566

Ballads from Scottish Historyscant three hundred

Yet

men

From Dee and Spey

way.

they took

their

Have answered

to her call

Or

In fighting gear, with sword and spear, From Buchan and Braemar. arquebuse and ball. Glentanar lads arose,
Strathbogie was not slow,

'Twas known that robber bands Beyond the Grampians stood.

And
stark

Enzie's
girt their

carles

gave up their

quarrels

Who
And And And
if

raided

cattle,

and
blood

did

And

swords to go.

battle,

shed the

lieges'

Aboyne from

the truth be told

He

a sick bed rose, was aye of a ready mind,

They

laughed at Queen and Crown, had no awe for Kirk or Law, Stronghold or Borough's town.

There was not room in the North For Huntly and also the Queen The Gordons gay had all the sway, The Sheriff was never seen ;

sware no Gordon there Should leave him far behind Ellon and Udny came, And grim old Rothiemay, And Gordon o' Gight, ere morning
;

And Haddo

light.

Was

up,

and horsed and away.

With

shaveling Priests to sain

The clansmen when they fell, They robbed and killed even
willed.

as

And
To

feared nor death nor hell.

She might not

leave her folk be so sore oppressed.

Bonnie and broad their lands By Livet and Ythan and Dee, they Where Deveron flows, and Lossie goes Past Elgin to the sea ; The Bogie drove their mills, The Gadie cooled their heat. In Spean and Spey the Gordons gay

Did wash
be

their horses' feet.

Nor yet would she let Huntly Too utterly distressed

Therefore she ordered so

And now
:

from Peel and Grange,

Castle strong,

From Clachan and

That a small array came forth Not one in ten of her noblemen

Went

with her to the North.

O'ermoor and moss, past cairn and cross. They merrily march along. Loose in its scabbard each His sword held ready to draw
Their hearts were weapons bright.
light,

When
About

Huntly heard the

the Queen's array.

bruit

and

their

sent to call his kinsmen all And they laughed at Queen and Law. Bog-an-gight straightway, While they might meet secure, The Earl was old and fat. And hunt a stag and dine, And therefore might not brook And counsel hold with the wise and Graith of steel on head or heel. old. Or brazen clasp, or hook ; And drink a flask of wine. But wily and cunning plots Came ready to his brain. Then trooped to Bog-an-gight For more by wit than by weapons fit The Gordons near and far. His ends he strove to gain.

He
To

Corrichie
567

The Gordons and

Now, when
the feast was ended
their
fill,

And

And The

all

had drunk

Chiefs still sat, consulting what Might bode them good or ill What meant the base-bom Prior,

up the rest leaped with him. Clashing their blades with might And drank a noggin, and cried the
slogan.

Keen
I

for the

coming
the

fight.

What Lethington wished to get. What Grange would do if the trumpet

blew

know

not

if

Gordon
a crafty carle

A note of battle yet.

And
some
said this,

Spake sooth about the Queen,

For Huntly's Earl

From
and some said
that.

And And
And

hot debate arose. young heads got with the good

And And And

youth to age had been. royal hearts are deep. who may search their thoughts ? her way of life amid storm
strife

and

wine hot,
well-nigh came to blows. Then the Earl held up a brimming
cup,

Some cunning may

well have taught.

They reckoned

that the muster clan

Of the Gordon
" Pledge we
all

would daunt

Saying,

our Queen,
rarest grace,

The
That

fairest face,

and the

The little band from the Fife lowland. Which was all the Queen could vaunt.
But though her force was scanty

ever the land hath seen.

When
" She comes not here for judgment. Nor comes she here to fight.
But trusts in you whose hearts are That you'll maintain her right Lord Gordon has been wooing. And I think that he has won
true,

she rode off to the North,

host,

She well might boast of her gallant For they all were men of worth.

Lord James could play the man, Though he liked to rule the State,

Her

love and faith that until death

Shall bind

them

into one.

And few with him And Maitland,

" As

for her bastard brother

Who
And

thinks our lands to gain

both, mine they are.

Kirkaldy stood a soldier good. could mate ; deep in thought, could keep cool head in the fray ; They had learned in France to wield

Moray and Mar

mine they

shall remain.

And
lie.

the lance. to order the battle array.

Cleverly she has fooled them

To Corrichie marched the Gordons, All ready for the fight. smite them hip and thigh." With cords and bands to bind the hands Of captive Lord and Knight Two thousand plaided men Up sprang Adam o' Gordon, With dirk and sharp claymore. cockerel brisk was he, With a lusty shout his voice rang They were ill trained, but they had

Here where our

six to one

strength doth

And And

we

shall set on.

out.

stained

And

his

sword he brandished

free

The

heather

full oft

with gore.


568

Ballads from Scottish History

They came on

with a rush

Some

And a barbarous slogan cry, That his House was And taunting words, and brandished This only I say that

held that he died of shame brought so low dead he lay

never a

And
But

swords, the pibroch sounding high The odds indeed were great.
their foes
theirs

With
;

wound

to

show.

So the Gordon's might was broken,

And And

were better drilled. too was the better cause,

And

it

did not

fall

alone.
a

For never again was

fain

great

House

their leaders better skilled.

Half-way

across the field.

When

They had to cross a black flow moss For the power o' th' Law now in awe Where their ranks were swiftly thinned. Both chief and baron bold. The volleys from the muskets They answered still with cheers.
But they
faltered plain

the race had tried their wind.

To wrestle a fall with the throne. As Somerled and Bell-the-Cat Had done in days of old.
held

when

they

reached the main Battle of bristling spears.

a Chief But hardly a fighting man ; It might not be fear, but from the rear He ordered still his clan,

LADY SEATON'S
COMPLAINT
Alone
here, and in anguish

Lord Huntly was

As motherhood
While
Yet,

draws nigh,

I pine and faint and languish the hours drag slowly by

Though he saw Lord James

in front.

My

Lord,

I'll

not upbraid him

And Grange And their

solid

lead on his men.

serried

rank

from

the

That he is not here ; Mary, Mother, aid him.

He is not gone a-stalking The red deer on the hill, Right soon the play was played. Nor yet with falcon hawking And shouts were changed to shrieks By marsh or moor or rill. 'Twas scarce begun ere it was done, Else I might upbraid him Though it had been planned for weeks. That he is not here Brief was the time of battle. But Mary, Mother, aid him. The Coronach needed more. Holy saints be near. But it will be years ere the woman's
tears.

bank Hurl back his force again.

Holy

saints

be near.

Are dry

as they

were before.

He

is not with gay young nobles A-playing at the ball. Nor is he throwing doubles

Some said Earl Huntly fell For he was an unwieldy man.

Where

dice uncertain

fall.

Else I would upbraid him And scant o' breath and was done That he is not here ; to death But Mary, Mother, aid him, In the back rush of his clan. Holy saints be near.

In Edinburgh Castle

569

When

the Council ponders,

57

Ballads from Scottish History

You

will

not?

you don't mind the

Who

clearly

saw through

all

the plots

planned Or is it religion restrains ? And with hardly a trump card once in And have we got rid of the oldhis hand, fashioned Pope, He has won the great game from us all. But to cling all the more to the fear
that

rope?

we

and the hope

I grant

him a head always

clear.

Which were
gains.

the

mainspring

of his

And

a will that no terrors could bend,

fear,

A
!

heart that felt never a shrinking

of

Ah

well

By and by

I shall

know

And would

not be

moved by

a smile

or a tear than Priest or Presbyter can, Of the place up above, or the place Of his Queen, or his lovingest friend. down below, And I'll take all the risk of it rather And it was not his own ends he sought, I allow him honest and true than show dreamer of course, and a danger, That I cannot face death like a man. but not

More

Knox prays for you every night, But has never a good word for me I am doomed, as it seems, to go down
to the pit

To mend
his lot.

his

own

fortune, or better

As we

mostly were minded to do.

As

the one place for which I thoroughly fit. And where I must evermore be.

am He

is not the manner of man be tricked or terrified no But had you adopted the one certain plan

To

Yet

fancy that

John might have

Wise

rulers

have used since the world

dropt

began.

A word for me, just by the way.

He
To
All
foolishly

He

would have been dead long ago.

must know that when some of you hoped blind him, or bribe him, 'twas I
efforts at that

And we should have ruled in his stead, And brought back the Queen to her
throne.

alone stopped

kind of play.
to think

And

seen on the Tolbooth the grin

of his head

'Twas

Where
insulting

him even

Of winning him Or getting him

to wink.

o'er to our side.

it stuck on the spike, as I hear that he said He hoped yet to look on my own.

even for a

moment
But you scrupled to ransom the State By the life he was ready to give.

When
Of the

he had,
thing

as

he always had, some

striving to hide.

certain blink

we were

Though your
its

He

was

just the

one man

We could neither corrupt

in the land

fine gospel glory is great, On the fact that a man head unto Fate

rests,

and
his

bowed

nor appal,

That the

perishing people might

live.

;; ;

There's a Hole in this Parliament"

So the Queen has been driven from Perhaps
her throne. And the Kirk has been robbed of
lands,
its

571

Maxwell

bites his nail.

And straight a Johnstone's sword is out

Perhaps an angry Scott may
rail,

And Carrs

their slogan then will shout.

And

Mitres, Madonnas, and Masses

Let Douglas keep the Causeway crown,

are gone,

And Knox, o'er the ruin

But
I'll

exalted alone,

Plays Pope, and our nobles commands.

And Hamiltons will storm the while And half the Clans will throng the town To mock the pride of great Argyll.
;

and Gordons are not slack when they can So long as I know how to pay the The Chisholm hangs on Lovat's back old debt To prove which is the better man ; With a fair cup of wine after supper, Lochaber troops out from its glens and get To the end of all uncertain thought. To bar the Mackintoshs' way And all the Macs from all the Bens Hunt the M'Gregors of Glenstrae.

none of

his orders, nor yet

The

gallows he means for

my

throat.

The Grants

To

dirk each other,

That supper did never take place, For the Castle was rendered that day.

And

the rebels obtained neither favour

They

brawl even

nor grace, But were haled to the prison, and

And And

plot

in the Hall of and organise deceit,

State,

at the

crossways stand in wait

looked

in the face

Of a
With

great howling

mob

all

the way.

For broil and battle in the street While thieves are raiding on the border.

Only Maitland one morning was found.

a flask near his white finger-tips.
in his
cell

And doing murder in the North, And there's no power of Law or order
Beyond the bridge
!

across the Forth.

Lying low

on the rush-

covered ground. a sweet sickly smell hanging heavily round. And a cynical smile on his lips.

With

Lo Arran swaggers 'mong his And lords it like a very king

peers.

A man in vice,
Who
chance

a boy in years, women's hearts is fain to wring. They come by sudden death who
stand, apparent, in his

"THERE'S

A HOLE IN
vi.)

PARLIAMENT "
(James

THIS To

way

And

yet he gaily leads the dance,

trifler

and a popinjay.

Ill fares the laijd when favourites rule king that makes pretence to reign, And power is given to knave or fool Who nothing heed but lust of gain.

There

is

no order

in the State,

No

safety in the

common

street

For brawls and feuds among the great, That rage wherever they chance With nothing,
to meet.

An evil time of wild unrest, And malice plotting how to kill, And sorrow doth our homes infest, And plague and famine work their will. And hard the lot is of the poor, On every hand by ills beset.
but their hunger, sure,

And

nothing growing, but their debt.

! ! !

! !!

572

Ballads

from Scottish History

'Tis sorry work in growing age To see all love of learning fail, And youth turn fromthethoughtful page To stoups of wine and cogs of ale, And lewd-eyed women lead the men,

Well

their

meaning she understood, Well-a-day

said
in

And

she

her heart that

the
hate

it

Who
And And

lead the nation in

Priests
all

its

path.

was good. For she heired

ancient feud

of

the

and Masses back again, the signs of coming wrath.

have pity on the land,

Well-a-day

May God

From early youth she had breathed it in, Nor wist that it was a breath of sin.

Give wisdom to the King to rule. Let Law and Justice, hand-in-hand. Put down the oppressor and his tool,
Bring back the order of the State,

And plenty to the poor man's home. And make the Kirk her pride abate, And let His kingdom truly come.

EUPHANE SKENE
Between
Skene
Well-a-day
the

She plied him now with her winsome smile, Well-a-day With luring word and glance and wile But she lost her heart to him the while Well-a-day And the love was more than the hate had been In the better heart of Euphane Skene.
5

Houses of Leith and

A brief stolen hour in the gloaming dim,

was the hate of
hell,

A deadly feud had for ages been.

And
I

their hate

Well-a-day all she might give to him. Dreading the wrath of her kins-

That was

ween,

men

grim,

Well-a-day AH of the Skenes were of ruthless mood, But the young lord Leith was meek and good.

Well-a-day

And
I

am

every evening she meant to say, not worthy, haste thee away.

But
Said her brothers to Euphane
fair,

still

as

she

framed
!

her

lips

to speak,

Well-a-day

Well-a-day

Her
song
in

tongue
she said.

refused,

for

her

heart

Your speech
morning
air.

is

like

the

was weak

And
eyes,

He

is

tender and true

And

your shining golden hair,

and

your

Well-a-day Will blind him, and bind him fast, and then Trust us to do what is fit for men.

and meek, Well-a-day And when he shall hateful game.

hear
like

of
a

my

He

will

cast

me

off

thing

of shame.

! ! !

! !

Young Erskine of Dun

7

573

him with sword She did not weep, and She did not moan, and dirk, Well-a-day Well-a-day As he sat with her near to the old But her eyes were as fire, and her heart as stone, grey Kirk Under the boughs of the weeping birk And she took her way to the moors alone, Well-a-day Well-a-day He was but one, and they were three, They were her brothers, her lover he. With an eldritch laugh, and a snatch

They

fell

upon

of song

That
She held him now in a Well-a-day
last

startled

the

night

as

she

embrace,

tript along.

12

The The

Off to the hot blood spurted in her face. and fox, red blood plashed in their trystWell-a-day

moors with

the

whaup

ing-place,

Well-a-day

Where
wound, and the gashes

the glede has her nest in the

And
She

fain to stanch the cruel

ragged rocks,

rent her

robes,

And the raven follows the sickly flocks

Well-a-day

bound.

And
She
to

called to

9 him loud, and she

Nor
called

never again to the Kirk came she, yet where her love-haunts wont

to, be.

him low, Well-a-day

13

In sweet love-words from the heart

that flow,

Summer and
springs,

winter,

by brooks and

And
him

never
so,

before

had

she

kissed

Well-a-day

Well-a-day

Weird and Weird and

where
the
life

eerie her songs she sings.

eerie her laughter rings,

The

pale cold

moon looked down upon

face

pale

cold

was gone.
10

And And

Well-a-day poor folk sain them by the

milk-maids shiver

fire.

in lonely byre.

The

pale cold

moon

that looketh

down

YOUNG ERSKINE OF DUN

Well-a-day On moor and garth, on tower and town. The lands of Dun right fair they be, On the peasant's cot and the Prince's Where Esk runs rippling to the sea Past broomy bank, and daisied lea, crown, And cheerful cottage door. Well-a-day
!

Saw

nought that night like deep despair Of the maiden that clasped
lover there.

the her

From dark Lochee its water flows By Brechin tower to bright Montrose,

And

Through

there into the ocean goes, the crimp sandy shore.

574
Like
I

Ballads

from Scottish History

life

it

hoped to make

my

Tranquil and free from

sturt

and

strife,

My uncle's envious wrath fell. My aunts are in a league of hell

is

And

To cast on me a witch's spell And wind rae in ray shroud. abound ; But for my foster-mother brave, For I would keep an honoured name From taint ofwrong, and shade of blame. I had ere now been in my grave. And would exalt my grandsire's fame. And slept beside the breaking wave Among the silent crowd. Who life in learning found.
that, in patient labours rife.

It should in fruit

And now that she is gone, I know would not follow trump or drum. poison slow. handle sword and spear like some. They drench me with a is waxing faint and low. And life But love of wisdom should become And lo the end draws nigh. My heart's desire and aim. They tell me that they only deal Let schemers hang about the Court,
I

Nor

And soldiers to the wars resort, And idlers take them into sport, And hunt the moors for game
But
I

With one who

That
I

has the art to heal

feel

But every potion makes me

am doomed

to die.

would be
till

a scholar true, I thoroughly

Better I had been cottar's son

And
With

ponder

knew

Than
I

heir to all the lands of Dun

Greek sage and

all their

tragic poet too,

And
The

wealth of thought and look For manuscript and printed book, Then ponder in the ingle-neuk

go

to other lands,

treasures I

had

got.

had been envied then by none. But had of love my share. O Bell and Annas, could you go. O'er Cairn-a-mount amid the snow, For witch's drugs to work this woe. And shame the name ye bear ?
Fain would I
live a while.

With ample

But
is.

this

wealth, I did not care

To heap up gold, nor yet to wear Fine robes in some high State affair. And ruffle it with Lords. I would be rich in things above The lusts of sense, and I would prove The worth of a more noble love For wise and faithful words.

Slow sinking where no mercy

And every sign of love I miss. And every touch of grace Oh rather to be dead indeed, And watch no more the wicked And the hard looks of hate and
That
stare

deed.

greed

from every

face.

bright

dream of aspiring youth

at learning's gate for truth.

Waiting

And

So death upon him subtly crept. no one mourned for him or

wept,

And keeping her way rough or smooth, But justice woke up when he slept. Thy hope has vanished soon. And smote though all too late.
For honoured name and good
Brought
Before
estate

me

an heritage of hate.
to a cruel fate
full

Woe's me The House

!

that, like a

hideous dream,

that

all

men did esteem

!

That dooms me

Should perish

in a

murderous scheme

my

day's

noon.

Of dark

malignant hate

The German

Scots

575

THE GERMAN SCOTS

Mackay
of Strathnaver
his clan,

It fell to Gustavus,

King,

soldier,

and knight,

'To blend

rival peoples,

He
And

summoned

And order the fight And never was army

Inspired as his was

plaided and clayfflored,

to a

They came

man

With

faith in their leader.

faith in their cause.

Brisk lads of Strathnaver, And gallants of Reay, thousand brave fellows In tartan array.

And
Our
In

Scots bore them bravely

many

a fight

The

Leslies and Gordons,

With

the great

King Gustavus

Sent forth, too, their sons. With Munros and Mackenzies

To
At

witness the sight,

Leipsic, and Nurnberg,

And And

Sinclairs

and Gunns

Another good thousand To cross the North Sea,

fight under Mansfield In high Germanic.

'Gainst Tilly's Walloons, And the big Pappenheiraers, And Walstein's dragoons.

Oh, never such

a captain

For ages our Scots lads Had " boun " them to France, And guarded its monarch With good sword and lance
But
their hearts

As

ours, led the host,

And while he commanded No battle was lost

In raid and
in skirmish

now were

burning

With new

To

and hope match the grim legions

faith

They still had From triumph to

the best,

Aye onward

triumph they pressed.

That fought

for the Pope.

Dead was

On
stout Mansfield

the dark day of Lutzen

They

followed the bier

a tear

Before they touched land, But the Dane seized the banner That dropt from his hand :

Of the

death-stricken victor
;

With many

And
At

straight at his

summons

Yet Lutzen with glory

Mackay led his men. Though at Oldenburg perished

least three in ten.

Was

filled to

the brim.
lost battle. lost

But it seemed a Because they

him.

At onslaught and leaguer The Scots bore the brunt.

Held
the rear in retreating.

And

their hearts

raged with fury.

In battle the front

But the Dane, beat by Tilly, Soon gave up the lead In the conflict of nations. Which fell to the Swede.

Hearing men say That there had been a traitor. And death by foul play. And that one of their number. Who scaithless had been When the battle was ended, No longer was seen.

576

Ballads

from Scottish History

Well he schooled them, and them From childhood for war
;

know
But

this

not for certain I do find,

trained

He who

faced the foe always

Was wounded behind And a Gordon had lately

Sat long
at

But they learned from their Bibles What God's soldiers are.

a feast

With

a Jesuit cousin,

A trafficking Priest.
If a

And they learned to love freedom. And yet to obey And none were more stedfast
;

At Naseby
Gordon played
traitor,

than they.

And Munro
Ever

sold his sword,

The men of Strathnaver Were true to their word.

patient

Thinned had their ranks been At Oldenburg Pass,

And

and

faithful.

They

held by the right.

And

for freedom and justice Maintained a good fight.

they perished by hundreds Lutzen, alas Yet home with old Leslie, All covered with scars.

At

They came

to take part

In the Covenant wars.

They failed not brave Banier, They stood fast by Horn, Though stricken and starving

Thrice had the Highlands Recruited their ranks. And twice on the stricken

field

And tattered and torn And they followed Duke

They
Bernard,

received thanks.

Staunch ever and keen. Who mocked at the Snow-king, But worshipped his Queen.

But barely a three-score Of bent broken men. Ever returned to

Strathnaver again.

But it was to Gustavus Their thoughts ever turned. And when they recalled him Their hearts in them burned.
they sat round their watch-fires cold winter nights, It was good cheer and comfort To talk of his fights.

FATHER
He
And And

INNES,

S.J.

As

On

was a dark, spare, sickly man. had a rapt look in his eyes. Still young in years, but pale and wan
well himself he could disguise

A fisher's garb he sometimes wore.

As chapman now he
bore a pack,

he ordered the battle. And still led the way. As keen for the tussle. So calm in the fray ; How he saw to his soldiers That all had their dup,

How

A valet next at a great man's door.

But ever the Priest was
at his back.

One day he

And his little name-children Of all ranks he knew.

wind-swept moor, And heard the cry of the wild curlew. And thought of the ills he did endure.

lay in a cave, perdu

cave in a waste and


Father Innes,
S.J.

;
!

577

And

to himself he muttered low, I take my life into my hand Impatient of his luckless fate, And never would I grudge the price For he had trysted then to go When offering up by Christ's command Where death was coming, and would The sacramental sacrifice.

not wait.

Hark

to the shouts of

armM

men,

I take

my

soul into

my

hand.

And

the tramp of horses ridden hard.

search for

At

times,

when,

to avoid pursuit,

They

me

o'er hill

and glen

To

earn a vile law's vile reward,

While one who

has my promise true, And who is needing ghostly aid. May wait until his hour is due, And pass unshriven among the dead.

In some rude ale-house far inland I ruffle it with sot and brute Or worse, when I perchance must go To kirk, with many sickening qualms, And groan, and wear a look of woe. And hear their sermons and their
psalms.

What

have I done that I must hide With the wild beasts in dens and caves. I do it not for men's applause Whereon the heart oft vainly leans, Or on some sea-girt isle abide. Where gulls shriek to the breaking I do it for a holy cause That surely sanctifies the means waves ? I do it for the Church's sake. My father's home I long to see. But they have lodged a preacher there Although I have a sense of sin, Till full confession I can make. To catechise the family.

And

trap the children in their snare.

And

priestly absolution win.

I pass

from house
there
is

to

house

at night
star,

Yet wherefore do I now complain

In poor self-pity,

When
That
I

neither

moon nor

when

think

may

reach, ere morning light.

Some

shelter

where the Faithful

are

By

moor. Oft blinded by the rain and snow.

faintest tracks I cross the

To creep in by some secret door. And hide me in a chamber low.

Perchance it is a baron's hall. Perchance 'tis but a fisher's cot. But mansion big, or hovel small,

Of the full cup of shame and pain The heroes of our Order drink. The tortures that do rack their joints. The horrors that they have to see. The aches and grief that God appoints

To

perfect their great Charity

And oh, when

I venture

in

some house of worth

hiding-place.

from

my

A hiding-place
No home No haunt
Where
for

is all

I've got

me, no warm fireside. of tender love and peace.

sudden
peril cease.

fretting cares are laid aside.

And And And And

bring the sacred vessels forth.

them for the work of grace, then decore the altar fit. cense the air with incense faint
sain
saint

And

fears of

In castle-chapel, dimly lit, Or crumbling shrine of some old

Why should
And

I as an outlaw live
enjoins.

they all, with one accord. Before the uplifted Host do kneel. Poor souls the grace that girds their And worship and adore the Lord, Oh the glad recompense I feel loins ?
giving, as I strive to give.

For doing what the Church

And when

37

578
I know my face And every pulse

Ballads

from Scottish History

Yet care I not my hands to soil and strong, With your dull peasant's sluggish blood My darkness then is filled with light Hence to your proper task of toil. And glory and the voice of song. And plod among the muck and mud."
then shineth bright,
beats clear

them comfort, dry their tears, Their longing souls I satisfy What matter then my cares and fears
I bring

other answered, " Lying Priest, Deceiver of the souls of men. Your time will come, but I, at least. What matter if I live or die ? E'en let the rogues make harsher laws, Will leave you in God's hands till then. And hang or drown or burn my youth, Far better toil at meanest task Than traffic in deceit like thee. martyr in a holy cause. And daily wear a lying mask. They shall not overthrow the truth.

The

And

practise plain idolatry."

He

knew

it

not

but close beside

A hot recusant darkly lay.

Who
from the same pursuit did hide. And to the cave had made his way. As lean and pale and frail was he. The same rapt look was in his eyes. He had the same hard weird to dree. But not the same art for disguise.

heard the baffled troopers rage. And marked their hot pursuit abate. Each brooding o'er a well-conned page ; One read his book of Hours, and one Through chapters of his Bible ranged.

Then They

silent both, in

scorn or hate.

And when
For always he must That
testify

the lingering day was done.

still

Their hearts abided

unchanged.

'GainstPopeandPrelate, and the Priests

traffic in idolatry.

And
and
feasts

parting sullenly at
several

last.

And And

keep old Pagan

fasts

They went their

ways

but yet,

hearing what the other spake.

When many
Once more

troubled years had passed,

He

cried in accents loud and clear,

for

one brief hour they met

fate,

" I do arrest thee. Priest, and make Thee captive of my bow and spear."
So
there they stood up face to face,

A Priest was carted to his A Whig brought to the gallows high

I 1

doubt

if either

ceased to hate

know

that neither feared to die.

And looked into each other's eyes. And both were silent for a space. And touched as with a strange surprise,
They were
so like, so

THE MACGREGORS
Landless and nameless. By clachan and grange.

wan and

lean,

So hot in theologic strife. So sure of all their thoughts, and

keen,

And

had so

frail

a hold of

life.

Among foes that are shameless. And friends that are strange.
!

Then
still

said the Priest,

;

" Go,
day.

fool

be

We skulk,
And
Here we

but are tameless.

live for revenge.

I've been a soldier in

my

And

carry arms, and I will

kill

are Campbells,

The man who would my

life

betray.

And

there

we

are

Grahames

The

Little Pilgrims

579
denials

We join in their rambles,

Take part in their games Till we make their homes shambles
;

They heed no

Of guilt
Nor

and bloodshed,
trials.

wait they for

And

wrap them

in flames.

Outcasts from Glenfalloch,

proof to be led. To pour out the vials Of wrath on our head.

there's a to-morrow That comes soon or late. When Vengeance shall borrow

Or

Glenstrae and Glengyle, Balquidder and Balloch, And Katrine's green isle, Our red deer they gralloch. Our graves they defile.

But

The

semblance of Fate,

For the hapless MacGregor There is no law nor kirk.

But only the trigger, The sword and the
dirk.

And they shall have sorrow. And we wreak our hate.

And
the braes of Balquidder

And
All

for a grave-digger
in

Shall see us again,

The crow
faith

the mirk.

and opinion

When the bloom's on the heather. And the sun on the rain. As we bring back together
The
tale

They wholly ignore Our only dominion The mists of Benmore, Or the crags of Stobinion Where wild the winds roar.
Hunted
for ever

of the

slain.

THE LITTLE PILGRIMS

A TRADITION OF THE PLAGUE ABERDEEN
IN

day and by night Over moor, loch, and river.

By

And

We

bleak mountain height. empty our quiver

in a fight.

When

Father was killed the year before, the Gordons raided the town
one day,

Each day

And now we

The grouse on the heather Has its season of rest,

were sitting in grief once more. For the Pest had taken mother away.

And the hare in By fear is not

rough weather
pressed

But MacGregor has neither

Close time, nor safe nest.

There were only three of us now alive. Me and Willie and little Kate Katie was three, and Willie was five, And I was the oldest, nearly eight.

Estranged and escheated.

No

birthrights

we own,
seated

Where

our

homes were once

Grass hides the hearthstone.

None of our neighbours came to see Whether we were alive or dead. The Plague made all of them cowardly.

Like brutes we are treated, Like brutes we have grown.

And

they passed our door with a Jook of dread.

58o

Ballads from Scottish History

But we had an aunt

A childless woman,
Who
To
was
fain

to

in Elgin town, and well to do. have Willie once

And And

watch and run,

nest.

how

the

rabbits

sport

the pewits flutter to hide their

for her

own.

brighten the days that lonely grew.

It was early morning still when we But though we were poor, and it was ill Left the pest-stricken town behind To win bread for us, and keep us trim, Blithe was the blue of the summer sea. And sweet the breath of the morning Mother still clung to her little Will,

And never
I

could bear to part with him.

wind.

When we came to the Don, we had saw we must go to Auntie, now to go But the way was long, and the days Along by its side, and across the bridge were hot. And thieves were on every road, I trow. That spans the black water, deep and slow, And the Plague was in every likely spot. With bonnie Balgownie upon the ridge. Yet go we must, so I went and slid By this time Katie had weary grown. My hand into the crock, where lay So I carried her on my back a while. little purse which mother had hid. Will at my side came toddling on. She told me, against a rainy day. And we made in this manner a long Scots mile. It was not much, but I thought by wit And thrift and carefulness howto spend, If the thieves on the road did not Not far from the road, a bourtree grew That would shade us well from the come at it. noonday heat. It would carry us on to our journey's And a wee bum rippled on briskly end.

through Then,havingseen to the children's food, The grass, where we bathed our hands and feet. 1 told them we would as pilgrims go. And fare for a while in field and wood Where the little birds sing, and the There on our bread and milk we dined. daisies grow. Blithe as the glad birds on the tree. Merry they were these words to hear. Which picked up the crumbs that we left behind. And oh so gaily they questioned me

Would

I build

them a

nest

like the

As we

waited a

little

way

off to see.

dainty birds.

And

ing tree

rock them to sleep on a swing- That night, low down among pleasant broom. ? In a little hollow we snugly lay.
hunt the butterflies
in

They would
the sun.

It

was

better far

than a small close long past break of

room.

And

for the yellow bee's

byke would

And we
day.

slept

till

quest.


The
Little Pilgrims
S8i

Sweet was our bed, and our slumber Willie held on

sweet,

to

my

And

so together

we waded

garments tight, through.

And sweet the breath'of hay-scented air;

So I said to the little ones it was meet But into Ellon we might not go. That Pilgrims should gather for morn- Though the little ones now were weary grown. ing prayer. They drove us away with a threat or Mother had done this every day. a blow. For she said that it made her heart For the dread of the plague was in
feel strong

To read And to
Some

every town.

of the
sing

new and

living

way,

God's

praise in a

God- At
read,

a cottage, a

good mile

off, I

spied

given song.
verses then of the

A woman
Book we

And

"

sad with a kindly face, my bonnie, wee bairn,"

she cried, And sang together the Shepherd Psalm, And we all knelt down on the grass, As she lifted up Kate in a fond embrace.

and said

The

children's prayer, and were

meek

My

baby was
lies

just like her, she said,

and calm.

With the sunny face, and

But she
could see a row
roadside plain,
in

the curly pow.

the kirkyard cold and

heart
is

A short way off I

dead,

Of turf-built huts by the And hurried me off with

And

oh, but

my

empty now.

speed to know If milk could be got for the love of gain. She made us food, and she bade us eat. She cheered our hearts which were But outside the clachan I heard a cow sunken low. Straining her tether, and whisking She gave to us also store of meat,
her
tail,

And I said to myself, as

She
is

And
I heard her low.

told us truly the

in a

way

to go.

waiting
pail.

the

maid

and

the

That night we lay

warm

hay-rick.

milking

Straightway into the byre I ran I had learnt before with cows to deal The milk came free, and I filled my can,

And And

was high above. said our prayer in the morning air With hearts that were full of peace
slept
till

the sun

and love.

But

I left a coin, for I

would not

steal.

Another day, and another yet

Our fare was good, and we rose to go' Passed as we cheerily fared along. Not through the village, but round about Sometimes racing a little bit.

Among

fields

where

daisies

and butter- Sometimes singing a

little

song.

cups grow,

And we

pelted each other with laugh

and shout.

That was the last of our happy times. For now to a hamlet I must run, That lay low down among sickly
us food, for

limes, To the ford of Ythan we came ere night. And close to my bosom wee Katie To buy
I

our bread

was

drew,

done.

S82

Ballads

from Scottish History

them there was a Dragon there in the hamlet among the trees. And his breath had poisoned the wholesome air.
I told

I left the little ones

on a bank

With wild thyme and pansies their laps Down

to
fill

The
Yet

air
it

was hot and heavy and dank,

gave

me somehow

a shivering

And

he could devour us
must not go near
it,

all

with

ease.

chill.

We
I

for our lives,

spot.

And when

came

to the hamlet, lo

But hurry away to some happier

awful silence held the street, Which smote my heart with a boding

An

Where we
make

could break our

fast,

and

of woe

Sport of the Dragon

who
we

found us not.

But I

said

we must have

bread to

eat.

We took to
And

a path that crossed a moor.

lost our

There were no children

No women were sitting on step or stair, But the air on the moor was clear and pure. Hammer and saw in silence lay. And we fed on ripe cranberries well And there rose no smoke in the
sultry air.

out at play,

there for a while

way

that day.

There was no gleam of the red

fires.

peat

No careful mothers had left their bed, The cattle were moaning in the byres.
And
the rats in the gutters lay dying
or dead.

At night we lay in a woodland shed Made of pine branches loosely bound The deer lay near on their bracken bed.
;

And
I

the fox slunk past on his nightly round.

Never Never

in the place did bark, caged bird tried to sing, All the windows were blind and dark, And a horror lay brooding on every-

dog

could not sleep, and when morning broke, And the light wind whispered among
the trees.

And

thing.

the little ones from their dreams awoke, They were heavy and fractious and ill
to please.

Only a shambling idiot there Along the causeway came stumbling

on,

told

them

stories,

and

laughed
eat

and sang.
cried with a voice of dull despair,
1

And

And

said in an

hour they should

" Dead, dead

gone."

all

of them dead and

of the best

And

showed them how

lightly the

Then

I turned in speed To the bank where I

at play.

wild deer sprang terror, and ran with Up to their feet from their bracken
left

nest.

the bairns

So then they began

to leap

and run.
too bore

And toss their heads, as

as
if

if they

For

death was in every Branching horns upon forehead dun, And we took to the weary road once breath. And I must get Katie and Willie away.
I felt

The
Yet did
pain
I
;

Little Pilgrims

583
took

my

heaviness sdll abide

There was no help near

out
all

so I

All through the hours of that day of

my

purse.

Which he
careful their
steps to
It
it all

snatched from

my hand,
that

and

had been so
guide

that I

Far from the Pest, was

in vain

was him curse.

and bad.

had not much, and

that

made
false

And vow
Willie grew better, but little Kate Fevered more as the sun rose high.

the

coins were

And

folk on the road that we,

now and What

our

should
all ?

we do now, robbed

of

then,

met
and hurried by.
Katie died
forth

Took

to the far side,

We could not beg,

steal

and we would not

And
That

so our sweet

little

We
And

were among strangers, children

I hardly could either think or feel. I lay awake.

night as

the stars came

small.

once more.

Lying low on my lap, she sighed, " I'm coming, mother," and all was All through the night
o'er.

And And And

the Judgment Day. But

tossed on the sun-baked hardened

And

weeping low, and wailing loud,

scraped a shallow grave off the
there, without coffin or sheet or

sod; prayed though

it

seemed
than

as

my
just

We
And

heart
I

would break.
got

way,
shroud.

no

farther

"O God!"
suddenly

Left her alone

till

came
disciples

this

thought to

me. Lord,

What
It
is

We

followed after I hardly know. blurred with sorrow, and all confused went on still, but our pace was slow.

When Thy
with

were walking
hearkening
to

Thee Through cornfields,

And sometimes grossly we

One day
Though
For money, he
I

were abused.

Thy word. And they were an-hungered too, as we.

They plucked the
ears of corn,

a sturdy beggar whined

said, to

and

ate,

buy him food.

that

noticed, myself,

the

And Thou didst never their act forbid And may not we now, in like
sore strait

rogue had dined Better a deal than ever

we

could.

Do

as

Thy

servants that

day did
then,

Therefore I would not give him aught, That gave me we walked And he took from his girdle a gully
knife.

light

and as

By
its

the great fields of yellow corn.

And

held

point against

Willie's

We

munched

the

milky groats, and

it

throat,

talked

Swearing that straight he would have

his life.

Good

words, for morn.

was the Sabbath

S84
I thought

Ballads from Scottish History

should go Soon our troubles were all forgot. Yet not our sorrows, for when I think And it did us good, I am sure, although Of mother and Katie, my heart is hot. mostly slept in the kirk that day. And in the night-watch I have tears
it

right too that

we

With

others to worship

God, and pray

We

to drink.

And

had sunk that Sabbath sun We came to Elgin town at last, And now our pilgrimage was done. And all our troubles were overpast.
ere

have all we could wish of meat and drink ; But oh for the mother's guiding hand. And the little one's smile, which was
like a blink

We

Auntie,

And
Her
With

it seemed, was known to all, they said I could not fail to find house where it stood by the

Of sunshine

to

me

in a

weary land

Cloister wall,

the great Cathedral just behind.

I

Humbly
door.

knocked
stately
fear,

at

the

big

oak

JOHN NAPIER OF MERCHISTON

Merchiston Tower
apart.

For

it

was a

And

I, in

my

house to see. did tremble sore

stands, lone and

Lest she might be ashamed of me.

On

the

high Borough moor, among

elms and limes, Not many minutes we had to wait. And lone and apart were the thoughts And when she came to us, all I said of his heart Was, " Auntie, this is Willie, and Kate Died on the road, and mother is dead." While the struggle was brewing, in
kirk and in mart,
the
ills

Kinder greeting could none have had Willie she clasped to her bosom, Other his labours, and other his cares. and wept. Other the ends that he sought to Partly sorrowful, partly glad.
;

To mend

of the hapless times.

Meanwhile
she kept.

my

hand

in

her

own

gain,

Other
than
for us

his

di-eams

and

his

hopes
the

theirs

There was nothing too dainty

to eat.

Who
Or
and

busied

themselves

with

State's
for us to wear.

affairs.

Nothing too handsome

stood up for freedom with

brain.

hand

With

her

own

hands

she

washed

And

our feet. tenderly combed our matted hair.

I
told

By

a paper, writ

over with cipher-

ing neat.

When

her

the

tale

of

our

The

master sat in loose-flowing robes,

Unbonneted head, and slippered feet. And how the thief took our purse away. Eager to see his long labour complete, She uttered some words in a holy rage In a chamber littered with books Mother would never have let me say. and globes.
pilgrimage,

John Napier of Merchiston

585 His

Toil and trouble he never had spared, But year after year had wrought at his theme, Often been baffled, but never despaired, Still had come back, and his errors
repaired

And

the glory, befitting

greatness,

which flows

From

the saving or damning of souls,

or

whom He chose To show forth His grace

upon them.

His wrath

And now

he was sure that

it

was not But many His thoughts

are,
all

a dream.

old

and yet new His task was nigh finished ; the end Mathematic, mechanic, and chemic drew near. and we. As page after page he threw down on In our brooding and searching to find the floor, out the True, great pile of writing, where truth Do but glimpse, with long toil, what did appear He perfectly knew With every new scroll growing ever From the first, when He held the young more clear. world on His knee. Convincing the reason that doubted

before.

Yea, many His thoughts

are,

and many
for

With forehead deep-furrowed he wrote

every word.

His cares. Not only for

silent

souls,

but

dead,

The
till

strain

was

so hard,

and he toiled

things,

the sweat
his

That beaded

brow

trickled

down

And

on his beard. the sound of his heavy, hard breathing was heard Like the panting of athlete that struggles with Fate.

Thoughts of number and form, of circles and squares. Of the grass on the field, and the dews
and the
airs
it

And

the salts that

it

lives

on,

and

sweets that

brings.

Then

there

came a glad
his

light

on

his

And one
me
it

of His thoughts
before,

He
and

has given
to follow

face,

and

head

to find.

Was
"
I

lifted

up grandly and proudly

Never dreamt of
on
results

the while,

have found it, and 'stablished it clearly," he said, The Law that God wrought by that day when He made The stars in their courses, and measured
their mile.
says, and you might suppose He has no other thoughts save about

To

that

enlarge

and deliver

the mind

From bonds
and bind

that did

hitherto fetter

The

pursuit of light that leads

up

to

His

throne.

Hear what the Kirk

Lo

the fruit of long patience, hard

science,

thinking, and pains.

And

by

its

means, shall range

His own Name,

over space,

586

Ballads from Scottish History

As

easy as merchant can reckon his

gains

LIVINGSTONE'S WOOING
failure

Without

or

flaw to

bewilder
I

his brains,

HAD gone

to a friend for

Communion

Or

uncertain

shadow of doubt

on

his face.

week. And when' it was over

my soul was sad,

heart

How
How

For
simple
hopeless
it

felt

that

my

had been
failed

looks,

now
it

the key

has been found

cold and bad For lack of the grace I had

to seek.

and

dark

looked

often to

me
as simple as they

folk did not see it, some even opined Yet hard as the path over untravelled That, with the live coal from the ground.
are profound.

God's thoughts are

The

Till a

way

altar fired,

has been

hewn which

the I

had spoken
inspired.

at

times

like

simple can see.

man

But it was not the fire of a heavenly men are fighting where peace mind. should have been. Clashing their sword - blades, and For now it came home to me, clear shouting their cries as light, If they but knew all the triumph serene When a great Law of Nature is I had sought but my own things, not the Lord's

Hark

certainly seen,

And

God's

secret given to the patient

Had

tickled men's ears with enticing

and wise

words That could not have helped any

in the fight.

soul

What are
lives

the schemes which their poor

?

devour

What

are the ends they're so eager to gain ? but strive to get honour and

Then

a shadow of trouble came over

I

They do

thought that I power, And wield them in pride for a brief loved more than all Proclaiming the riches of God's large little hour grace. This while the world lasts still shall remain.

my face. And I doubted if ever To the work I once

had a

call

My
Truth
is

friend to cheer

me

then, said that

the

one power to loose or

he knew

to bind. My word that day had been greatly Not to oppress, but to set the world free. blessed. Power over Nature by masterful mind, For some had been quickened, and Power to enlarge the great thoughts some had found rest.

And

of mankind, by obeying

And Law
its

some had got comfort

sure and

Lords

to be.

true.

;:

Wooing
had thought of
life

Livingstone's

587

Still

the cloud lay on me, and I saw

heart in
its

I never

yet in that

My

faithlessness

clearly

laid bare,

way. But only of making

my

calling sure,

Vain and self-seeking

claw.

and dull despair Seemed to be clutching me with its

;

And

getting

my

heart

more clean and

pure

A task that seemed heavier every day.

my
friend

Then

said

for

he was a

And

friend

In good and evU all through my life " John, what you want is a loving wife To bring these thoughts to a whole-

I never had thought of May Fleming that way. Though I often had noted her up-

turned face

As

she drank in humbly the

word of
pray.

some end

grace,

Or folded her little white hands to

"And there is May Fleming might take

you
in

She

is

hand good and

Yet she had been

true,

to

me

but a lamb of

she

is

bright

the flock

and kind,

Whom
way,
too as the Pro-

I strove to lead, in the

narrow

Of a And

cheerful temper, and pious mind,

she's beautiful

To
By

the pastures green that are found the

river

mised land."
I

alway
that

flows

from

the

knew of
a

old he was fond of his jest

stricken

Rock.
shepherd
I

But

surely that

was a

flippant

word
the

man who was wrestling for Lord With the powers of darkness in
breast.

To

And

faithless

needs

must be
his If I led her

And
silently

Therefore I rose up, and

now to myself, not Him, kindled a human love, poor and dim. For the love divine I had longed to see.

Went
For
I

to

my

chamber and
there

to

my
like

knees,

knew

was nothing
so

prayer to ease

The

load

that

was lying

That made me surer than ever before That I was not fit for the Master's work ; heavy For my soul was tossed, like a helpless cork.

on me.

And
But
still

drifted on to a barren shore.

that speech

of his rang in

my head And all through my

groans and cries

Then
pleadings

went

in

grief to

my

friend,

and

and

said,

" You have

mine
and

put a temptation in
to

my way;
try

May's face
eyes.

rose, smiling, before

When

turn

my

books, or
get out

to pray,
in

And

I wandered dreamed instead.

prayer,

May Fleming my head.''

cannot

of

588

Ballads from Scottish History

But he only laughed, and answered, I must give up the task that I did Well, so ill, Let her come down from your head Must put out the light that would
to your heart.

lead astray
there,

And make
depart

her

home
all

and never For I had no rest by night or day, But went on dreaming about her still.

You

will 'preach
tell

the

better

when Once

you can

my thoughts

Who
" Of love
that unifies
is

had been all of Him bore the cross for His chosen
to the sorrowful truth I

Love
Love
" For

that

faithful,

Singing a song that

that
is

more

to

man and wife. meek, and true. is ever new. you even than life

folk;

But now

woke

That the faith I once all grown dim.

lived by had

you'll have in your soul the But one day I met her on the high road, master-key All by herself, and stepping free To open treasures of Love divine, text for next Sabbath was workAnd draw for your people the mystic ing in me.

My

wine

And
when days of
I

I felt

it

then as a heavy load.

That

will cheer them,

darkness be."
1

was not

satisfied

yet I
at

know
peace
;

After that I was more

The
to

strife in

my

told her my trouble, and she threw out Modestly only a hint, a thought. But it suggested much, and brought

soul did partly cease,

Clearness to

For the seed he had sown began

grow.
that I loved her yet as one
shall

me

instead of doubt.

Not

Which made me
be
to

Surely that impulse God had given. disburden my mind

Should love the maid that

his bride

one

So

But

like

my shadow

she kept at

my

make the dry well run, Free and full, with the grace of Heaven.
able to

side

AU

through the hours, tUl the day

That sermon was

something

fresh

was done.
I saw her face as I read

and new, And shone with a light I had never

before,
I

my

books.

Even in the darkness it was there Looking ever so sweet and fair.

seemed to get

And

And

I heard her voice and brooks.

in the

winds

to the very core. searched the mystery through and through.

What
I

could

it all

mean

what should

Therefore I and told

that day.

went

to

her
for

mother,

do?

What May had done

my

work

I could not study, I scarce could pray.

And I felteach Sabbath,my heart to-day And the hope it begot in me, that they Was not in my work, and my people Would not reckon my love to be
knew.
over-bold.

Warrlston and the Signing of the Covenant

It

589

was not marriage-love yet, nor did Of all our Houses of ancient fame till days and weeks were Only the Gordons held them back ; passed, Hume and Maxwell and Elliot came. And only by prayer it came at last, And Stewart and Bruce would have But it burned like a fire then, and deemed it shame would not be hid. If men of the Royal blood were slack.
I get that I

To

had much ado to moderate it. keep it from taking the Master's
place.

Few

of the Chiefs of the clans were

there

With

the light of her

love
in

for

the

Clanronald, Macdonald, the Chisholm, Locheil,

light of

His

face.
it

Though I tried to keep

measure

fit.

All lay close 'mong their mountains bare But they count not for much in a
State affair.

And

of

all

God's

gifts

to

me,

truly

Unless there be

cattle to raid

and

steal.

the best,

Was
And

Save only the Spirit of grace and truth, Mackintosh sat by the fire and drank, the wife that he gave to my Cluny was busy about his game, Seaforth was playing the Lewsmen troubled youth,
the

home

that she

made me of

a prank,

peace and

rest.

And

all

of them truly were papists

rank.

While hardly one could have signed

WARRISTON AND THE SIGNING OF THE COVENANT

Enough
for

his

name.
little

We

looked not for them, and

there,
for

was lost That they were not

they
brag

have lived to see always bring This glorious day, and its godly work, Quarrels with When our nobles have buried their and boast.
to

me

them

as

they

ancient feuds.

And
left

dirks too are drawn, and swords

And

merchants have gains and goods

our
sign our

their

are crossed.

And

tongues that

babbled

begin

to

To

bond

in the Greyfriars'

sting.

Kirk.

There was not room in the kirk for Truly my heart leaped up in me, while more Douglas and Hamilton, Athole and Than a tithe of those who were fain Mar, to write ; Pressed on the heels of Montrose So they spread the sheets on the and Argyll, gravestones hoar. And Lindsay and Lauderdale walked All the way out to the kirkyard

down the aisle With Kennedy, Cunningham,

and Carr.

door,
Scott,

And many who

outright.

signed

there

wept

590

Ballads

from Scottish History

Oh what a sight it was, all the land, God grant that they may stand fast Gentle and simple, humble and high, that day ; Setting their seal to our Covenant band. But some are ambitious, and some are That vowed the people, with heart proud, and hand. And some are fain just to get their To stand by the Cause and the Kirk, own way ;
or die.
I pricked

AndtheremaybeaJudas.

Who

can say
in a

What

kind of folk
?

may

be hid

my

finger,

and dipped the

heart's blood
Is

crowd
it

pen In a drop of
to write
It

my own

right to join hands with

them,

in

view

was but

a drop, but

it

pledged

me

then That every

vein

Oftheir alien mind. band,

Were not Gideon's

hundred,
staunch

drop

in

each throbbing
to

The
and

gallant
true,

three

Should freely be given

fight.

win the Better by

far than

a motley crew
but the teind

Who
know
there were not a

care for nought

?

and land

Of

course, I

Who Who

Some of God's servants will have it so, no glow of our patriot fire, For they say He can save by many cared not for freedom or truth or few. or right, And they blame me as one who is But loved the darkness, and shunned fain to go. the light. By worldly policy. Yet I know For the lust of gain was their one shall need every man to carry it
few
felt

We

desire.

through.

Stoutly they clave, like the

the grave.

maw

of But the people are stirred, for they have heard

all

To And
The

the wealth
all
ills

of the Monks, and

Of

the
their

quarrel

'twixt
hot,

King

and

the Bishop's lands.

Parliament,

the pillage that did avenge of the past with ills as strange.

And

hearts are

and they

will not yield

When

they plundered the they broke her bands.

Kirk

as

To
One

Charles or Laud,
side or other
its

till,

on stricken

field.

force has spent.^

All they heeded was wealth of gain. All they dreaded was loss of gear ; I am no soldier, and I shrink But their swords are good if their From battle and blood as
hearts are vain.

things

abhorred
all

And
That

we'll need
strain

them

in the stress

Yet now that we stand on the deadly

brink,

and

will try our mettle this

coming

No more may I

counsel peace, but think

year.

Of the Kirk and its only King andLord.

Gask and Montrose

Where
free;

S9I

the Spirit of

God

is,

men men

are

When we
To

marched through a blinding

snowstorm
the spirit of truth
is,

Where

are

Inverlochy, Argyll
his ship, like a

strong

Lay down on
form which we Ever marched
trooping

worm.

And
be

strong and free shall our country But our gallant

young

leader's brave

When

the storm

is

past,

in our front

with a smile.

plainly see.

Laden with thunder, now

along.

As they spied us, they faced right about.

But our claymores were
blood,
thirsting for

And we

rushed on their ranks with a

GASK AND MONTROSE

Montrose All through his grand campaigns, When he swept o'er the hills and
I

shout.

WAS with the

great

And And

broke them in stark, utter rout. drank the red stream like a flood.
spoiled the fat burghers of Perth,
just

We
And
At

the snows.

With

And

the wild curlews and the crows, the winds and the clouds and

if checked Dundee,

for

once

at

Kilsyth

their

dead covered the

the rains.

earth.

Like swathes, when the reapers with

Was never a leader like him To know what his lads could

do

Lay

mirth the ripe corn low on the

lea.

There were rivers and lakes to swim. And moors where the mists lay dim. But he burst on the foe ere they knew.

Oh the spoil that we gathered that day When our banner waved o'er Aberdeen!
Though

We
And And And
Or

were
I joined

neighbours

of

old

in

As

our forces then melted away. they started for home with their our musters next morning were

Strathearn,

prey,

him before Tippermuir,

by
his side

And

Marched

close

fought by his side at

up to Nairn, Auldearn,

lean.

Where the Whigs of our ruin made sure. That was

War
Till the Campbells

the worst of the job with them was a foray for gain.

oh how we raided Argyll, had hardly a roof

The

foe

was scarce more than a mob.

Whom
And
I

shieling, for mile after mile.

they hasted to kill and to rob. be off with their plunder again.

And we drove off their cattle the while. And left scarce a horn or a hoof.
Then

So long

was young, and I did not much care. as the sword did not sleep.

Though they trooped off with all They'll not soon forget how our men kinds of ware, harried their clachans and byres ; There was wailing in every green glen, Pots and pans and cloth-webs, like a fair. And burning on every high Ben, And droves of fat cattle and sheep. But laughter at our watchfires.

;; ;

592

Ballads from Scottish History

The

Highlands were swarming with But he looked very sad, and he sighed, " have poured out rivers of blood, men, All idle, and keen for a fight. And beaten them yes," he replied, And for one that dropt off there were " But we've not gained a man to

We

ten

To

fill

The

up our thinning ranks, when Whigs once again were

our side 'Tis like

in
its

thrashing

the

tide

at

flood.

sight.

"We
Yet
It

have swept o'er the land, and

doubtless our leader must feel.

;

the shock

When

his army was melting away Has filled them with fear and unrest was hard to know how best to deal No longer they flout us and mock, With fellows more eager to steal Yet I know that the bulk of the folk Hate the sight of a kilt like the Than to stand by the flag and obey.

pest.

But

All I

And

had not the care of command. " For the king our lads care not a jot wanted was just a good fight. of course to bring back to Their king is the chief of the clan ;

the land

Not once
fought.

for

the

Cause have they

The rule of the king, and to stand By the Church and Episcopal right.
was never so cheerfial and gay. Though some of my comrades had
I
dropt.

But only to better their lot. Or avenge an old feud when they

can.

"No more for the Church do they heed,

For

I thought

we had

play,

For order or worship or rite played out the Perhaps for the Pope and his creed They might take to the sword, but
they need

And

the Whigamores, losing the day. Their wicked devices had stopped.

No

faith as a plea for a fight.

So one

night, the

On

the

moon shining clear " I am weary of half-savage men Tweed, where I stood with Who seek but some gain to the tribes

Montrose,
I said,

And
a glorious year
!

the

Whigs have been

beaten

in

" What

vain.
far

We
And

have

scattered

the

rogues

Ere long they

will bind us again

and near.
we'll have

By
back the king, ere

the

parchments

and

quirks

of

their scribes.

he knows.

" In the land of

his fathers, at least.

" And I'm weary of these civil wars, And the desolate homes they have
made.

He
In

shall

have

his

own once more

spite of the Presbyter Priest,

And
at

the wide waste

fields,

and

the

And
That

the new-fangled Puritan yeast

swells
in

scars

their

hearts

the

That

are aching under the

stars,

And

the

widows bewailing

their dead.


The
" After all men have
Civil
said, too,

Sectary

593
you now, up there
in the

and sung, "

Lo

box,

war brings its bitter remorse, When you hear your own dear mothertongue Appealing for mercy among The hoofs of your iron-shod horse."

Sir Presbyter Priest," he began,

" We poor

sinful folk.

black sheep of the flock. Will hear your rebuke, as we can.

The

If you will but hit

fair, like

a man.

that was the man, who, they said, " I am ready our sins to confess, Mostly sins of the flesh, I admit Gared only for battle and strife, We are given to strong liquors And to look on the dying and dead, In flagons or beakers. And who reckoned the blood he had And to handsome young maids that shed are fit The glory and joy of his life.

And

On

the knee of a soldier to

sit.

THE SECTARY
Corporal Hogswash of Grimsby,

" That's the worst can be

said about us,

set

And
One
of

for that

you have

up

this

stool,

Brazen wall," and exhort, Reposte and retort

"The

Could

fight

And And
or a ball

ring your cracked bell.

stand there and

tell

With the Word, or the sword,

Of your Kirk, and its good godly rule, And Tophet ordained for the fool.

He He

was equally handy with

all.

"Now,
was fain to lord it supreme O'er the weavers and cottars of Fife, As he led on his troop. With a halloo and whoop, Ever foremost in fray and in strife.
kept folk in fear of their
life.

spare not;

his seat likes

me

well;

And
One

But when you have spoken your word, I have somewhat to say. In my own homely way. To you who are serving the Lord With your sins, which He ever
abhorred.

On

day, in the kirk, he sat down the stool of repentance, for choice.

" Oh, you're

silent, are

you, to-day

With

and a wink Sign of shrewd morning drink

a laugh
his soul
it

You

leave

all

the talking to

me

Very

well, I

am

ready

And
In

did greatly rejoice.

lift

this

manner, to

up

his voice.

up there steady, My dear, erring brother, and see What other folk know you to be.
just stand

You

He

called

himself
ne'er

"Seeker"
stayed
to

or

"Waiter,"

Though

he
;

listen

or learn

" What of your envy and pride. Hypocrisy, lies, and deceit. Your high Sabbath-keeping,

And
At

the wolf at the door, and the feet That sinners should now have their turn. That are swift to shed blood in the street ? Whose hearts in them hotly did burn.

loudly he swore the open kirk-door

With

the shepherds

all

sleeping.

And

38

594 "

Ballads

from Scottish History

who
will
still

Lo

the violence,
;

strife,

tion

(See Habakkuk,
nest

ist

and conten- But for those and 3rd), the knee

bend

Your

may

be high,
shall

Where

the

Priest

and the

steeple-

But the stone shall cry From the wall, and its voice

house be."

be heard, Like the hoot of an ill-omened bird.

Then he
stair.

strode

up the high

pulpit

While the "

I
sit

minister said with a groan,

!

on the Penitent's
poor

stool,

Where many
shamed

souls

have been

depart peace in your heart For bread he will give you a stone.

"

Ho my people

With God's

Let him do his blaspheming alone." like willows For small peccadilloes Meanwhile your worse vices, untamed. The flock with mixed feelings were

With heads bowed

Have

thriven unrebuked and unblamed.

stirred.

Some
" Yea, I sit on the Penitent's stool. Though 'tis fitter for you than for me
;

groaned, and some laughed, and

some wept.

Go

build up a creed.

Some loudly shouted. Some mocked and flouted,

But the more part
sorrowful
silence kept.
crept.

Not of word,
Rebuked by
"

but of deed.

And meanwhile come down here, and be And

the sinful and free.

homeward

We

We

The Corporal preached for an hour have broken the yoke of the About Oliver's power and trust, King, About vials and trumps. have cast off the bonds of the And Parliament rumps. Pope, And the sword of the Lord, and And we will not submit rust,
and the
bit

its

To the rein Of the Presbyter

With Noll and

Till his throat was as dry as

March

Priestlings, that

hope

dust.

his

army

to cope.

"For
With

the

work we have done God

has sealed
victory everywhere In great feats of war

BURLEIGH ON MAGUS

MOOR
The
turncoat
!

late at Dunbar, Worcester His arm was laid bare. In the great crowning mercy wrought

As

the traitor

So

at

We
And

sent

him

to

London

to plead our

cause.

there.

our Covenant band with the

Al-

creator,

"And
of

we're free
Spirit has

from the bondage

And

the rights that are ours by our

lo

Law,
made
is

ancient laws,
us free

For the

And

he comes back with a mitred

all

The Command
For the

not meant

head.

latter-day saint.

False to

he had sworn and

said.

Burleigh on

Magus Moor
List
!

595

My
That's

Lord, the Archbishop

clerical

Rathillet,
his Lordship's

how they usher his Grace now in, Hear you

cooks
are
fain

six-horsed

For our
dish up

to

Pope's old orders of pride and sin. doubt, he will be Cardinal soon approachCardinal Judas the crafty loon Strange are the ways

The

coach Bearing him on to his well-earned billet, With an out-runner heralding his
of heaven and
to

No

grim.

Oh, he was to have brought us Times of peace from a gracious King Only trust him, so he besought us,

For we did not come here

him.
;

ambush

And we
to sing

should have

grateful

songs

It

was

for another

We waited,
and a
its

one of
all

his hateful tools.

arts

For a

quiet land,

Cheerfully doing

Kirk Master's work.

faithful

Who
The

tries

the

of

hell

to

smother
truth in Fife,

where he

sits

and

rules But our troubles and sorrows Are harder than ever they were before. With the boot

And

dark as to-day's to-morrow's.

lies

With

in the air,

for our bones, and a rope for our breath. In the name of this high Arch-priest of death. and spies at the
are,

darker

door;

For the boot and the thumbkin and

the rack

The Lord
traitor into

Are

all

that

his

graceless

Grace The

hath delivered our hand this day,

slack at the
cause, for

brought back.

And

he who

is

work hath

severed
It is fine

and prison

Himself from the

which good

If we meet on a moor to hear the truth, You've a private quarrel, Rathillet, I Braving the blasts of a stormy season

men pray
know.

Rather than prophets that prophesy But you'll stand by our deed, though smooth ;

And

a gibbet, if we withstand cornet of horse and his swearing band.

it is

you deal not a blow.

We have loved freedom,

And
sake have fought and bled, Faced proud armies, and did not heed them.
for
its

So we grouped on the moorland, Pledged and sworn to the fell, stern

deed.

smote the old man with a swift and sure hand, And saw the gashed wounds on him Holding our own among dying and gape and bleed dead 'Twas a public work, and every one And now shall we tamely cower before there Lawyers and Priests that scourge us Had to thrust in his weapon, and take
sore?
his share.

And

596

Ballads from Scottish History

The

gloaming had gathered grey,

ERICSTANE BRAE

had gathered that night for Clyde-burn head, went round, as we For he had been a stalwart man, came to the ground, Big both in body and limb, That our L eader and Preacher was dead. And his simple dress, in its homeliness. Had always been neat and trim. The troopers had come on his track As he sped down the bank of the Daur; Now broken he was and bent. They were seen to follow, with whoop And his face was pale as death. and halloo. He was soiled with mud, and stained While he made for the Buckshead scaur. with blood, And he gasped at each painful breath, Shots had soon after been heard, And blood had been certainly spilt As he wearily dragged his feet So we reckoned it plain that he had To the great grey stone on the hill. been slain, Where he often had stood to do us And we doubted not whose was the good.

We

the light was fading fast, So we did not see, at first, how he prayer Had changed since we saw him last.

And

On the hill above When a whisper

guilt.

And

to strengthen our heart

and

will.

We

Sad, then, and stricken at heart. There for a moment he paused. hasten away. Girding himself to speak, When some one said, " If our leader And the hearts of the crowd were is dead. wholly bowed have all the more need to pray." To see the strong man so weak.

We were turning to

Unbonneted
Till

all

of us stood.
;

we heard

a whaup's shrill cry

at

We
To

" My hours ^re numbered," he said, " But I hasted to send you home,
they knew that to-night we should meet on the height Where the Clyde-burn frets in foam.

had posted men

warn
that us if danger

the foot of

For

the glen

were nigh

And

was the
heard

signal agreed,

Which we
head.

now

at

Clyde-burn

" Earlshall and his hard-riding troop Saw me come down by the Daur, And followed me close, o'er moor

And we
still

held our

breath,

and were

as death.

And And

and moss. on by the Buckshead

at

scaur.

Where we
shed.

stood on the high water-

" They caught me

horsed

Elvan

foot.

We

me

there,

hard

and

could hear the beat of our hearts,

tight

But by and by came a cheer. And out of the mist a form uprist, And our pastor himself drew near.

Without saddle or
middle.

bridle I rode in the

With a

trooper to

left

and

right.

; ;

Lady Diana
"Then
Where
feet;

597

the inn,

they had a great drink at So I crawled up the hill, and crept on still. a lad somewhat loosened my Though weary and weak I grew.

had been strong, and with " Now haste you, every one, home. For I think they will soon be here and song And leave me alone by the big They carelessly rode in the heat.

The

ale

jest

grey stone

"The day And their

drink,

Where I've preached was muggy and warm, in fear. brains were sodden with

to

you

often

At

no " God's will be done ; I had hoped To lead you in prayer this night. But there's One who will pray for you night and day " There I got my feet free of the rope, To keep you true to the right. Where the gully is sudden and deep It was half-full of mist, as I surely " I leave you now in His hand,
Ericstane Brae they were more gay. But the wakefulest 'gan to wink.
i

wist.

Who
bank
is

And
"

its

stony and steep.

Hold

never will leave His own fast to the faith, and fear not

death.
I thought I
slipt

And

had gotten my chance. from the back of my steed.

But think of the great white Throne.

Crept under the man to my left, and ran " Away ! every man to his home. Right down the rough bank in hot Let your sorrow for me now cease ; Alone with God, on this bit of green speed.
sod,

" I heard them shout and swear. I shall yield my soul in peace." For none of them minced their words With a sudden bound some leapt to That was the last word he spake. Straightway he fell down dead. the ground. As we heard the beat of the horses' And hurriedly drew their swords.
feet,

" But some their carbines fired. And one of them reached the mark. Yet I ran on fast, tiU I got at last Down into the mist and the dark,

And

silently scattered

and

fled.

LADY DIANA

" And reached the Annan, but faint Well, yes, I was fond of him once I admit With loss of blood and strength From a wound that, I feel, will never He was gallant, and courtly, and
heal.

For

my

hour

is

come

at length.

" But I could not rest, until I had brought a warning to you

handsome, and big. plenty of means, and was not without wit, Till he took to mad ways, and became a rank Whig.

Had


S98

Ballads

from Scottish History

were neighbours my father and Now, a girl might well fancy a man the Ken, such as that. And our forebears had hunted together, Might deem him a hero, or hold him and fought, a saint Had always been staunch friends, and kind of small god, to be just right-hearted men, wondered at, Who stood by the Church and the And loved with a love which had no earthly taint. King, as they ought.
he

We

on

her I can scarce now believe I was e'er such a fool. Had trampled the Covenant down in And I dare say my friends would to the mire. laughter be moved Had followed Montrose o'er the Bens At the thought that I ever could and the rocks. whimper and pule And swore to King Charles, as they For a psalm-singing Puritan rogue that I loved. did to his sire.

They had backed

quarrel with

up the Queen

in

Knox,

There was not in them all,

;

a strain of the

Whig

Their blood was untainted, their were all true a Whig, as they said Horse and rider were ready to answer For we were of the Old Church that the call bred saintly men. When the King wanted friends and And oft for its faith, too, our blood had fighting to do. had been shed.
;

But I was in my teens, and I worshipped him then, hearts Though I wished that he were not

But he took to hill-preachers, and on the moss

course, I stood by him, the more they opposed. When a Peden, Cargill, or a Cameron And the worse they spake of him, spoke the better I thought Of Christ's crown and kingdom and I was not to be crushed, nor my mouth bearing a cross. to be closed, Though it was plain rebellion they But all the day long for his honour tried to evoke. I fought.
sat

Of

was warned by his friends, but he would not take heed. He was fined o'er and o'er, but that troubled him not; Not a man to be swayed, he, by fear
or by greed.

He

My My My

father

was wroth was

still,

that I

stuck so

to him,

mother

worse,

and

kept

nagging

me

brothers looked at tenance grim.

I

me

with countoo, and

He

would

stand, as

he

said,

by the Till

swore I'd turn

hill.

Whig

thing that he thought.

take to the

"

Lady Diana
They were
at their wits' end, for the

599
wise, then,

They were

to

send

me

house had no rest away, for ere long I held my own well, though at times I got rid of heroics about wrong and
I

would gasp,
temper grew hot
at

right.

When my

ill-mannered jest, For I had a sharp tongue, and like a wasp.

it

took to the dance and the lute and the song. stung And thoughts that were cheerful, and ways that were light

some

And

Then they
in

and sent me away to a Convent And came back a woman ; France woman is not It was not a strict one ; the Mother Like a girl in her teens that goes was gay. mooning about And the Father Confessor was fond I knew the world now, with its cynical
of a dance,
thought,

And we

learnt to

make

love, like the

And

looked

at

its

facts,

and

left

girls in

a play.

sentiment out.

Our morals were nowise improved,

allow.

said to
love-fit.

myself:
it

"I

have had

my
fast-

But then our religion was

severe

strict

and

And

found

day-dream, a

fading flower,

We

cloud which the sun for a moment were taught when to kneel, and hath lit and to bow. And we went to Confession six times With glories, that end in a dull,
to cross,
in the year.

drenching shower.

We
But

counted our beads, and our Aves "

said.

One must think of position and jewels

and dress. meanwhile our thoughts were And comforts and pleasures, in choosing a mate about the next ball We chaunted our Psalms ere we lay And what can one look for but times of distress, down in bed To watch our fine gallants come over If her man is a fool, and will fight
the wall.

we

with the State

What would you ?

Young minds
pious looks.
will

Young blood

will I

knew what
to pinch

it

was

to be poor,

and

not always run slow.

rebel against dull,

And scrape just to

for we.

keep things a-going,

Young

fingers will tire

making

lace-

Though

our

acres

were many, had

flowers to grow,

And

oh,

how we

dismal looks.

hardly an inch hated the Nun's Of land that paid rent from the to the Cree

Ken


6oo

Ballads from Scottish History

All moorland, the haunt of the whaup I was sorry, of course, but the truth and the grouse must be told And the falcon and fox but our His Kirk was a schism, his faith was salmon was good not mine, And we had to keep up a great ark And I could not approve of his purof a house, pose to hold Filled with idle retainers who clam- The Law in contempt, and the King's oured for food. right divine.

He

was richer than we, for were well tilled,

tenants
all

his farms

So we parted

on

my part, with

someship-

thing of scorn

His

thrifty, his rents

duly For a

man who could wantonly

wreck his life They were psalm-singing rogues, but For a cause that was lost, and a Kirk that was torn yet steady, and skilled To make of the land all that well In pieces by jealousy, envy, and
paid;

could be made.

strife.

But a

Whig
to

he must
!

be, with a con-

So

the Sheriff, of course, had his duty

Must go

do must pay for their preaching, had forbid, and they found it dear. And must have a room where " The When the troopers were quartered Witness for Truth," upon them, and slew Whom the troopers were seeking, Their kine and their sheep, and might safely be hid. ate up half their gear.
science forsooth
to

hill-preachings the

Law They

It

is

true that we, too,

had a chamber They rose

found
perdu,

in

rebellion,

but speedily

concealed.

Where
But

the

Priest

lay,

when That

Claver'se

made

short
;

work of

fanatics held sway.

them and

their pikes

it's one thing to preach to rude I am told they fought well, but were clowns in a field. borne to the ground And another for lords at God's altar By our fellows who rode straight o'er to pray. hedges and dykes.

I gave

him

my mind when

met him That's what he brought on himself by

his pride,

one day. And he spake of old times ; but the old times were dead ; He was still as he had been, and went the old way.

And

he brought it no less too on most of his folk. Who were soon hunted out of the glens where they hide.

But
in

for

me

had

quite other thoughts

And who

lie

now

securely in fetter

my

head.

and lock.

Lady Diana
'Tis a pity, no doubt, that so

60

many Perhaps he
so.

is

one of them

Be

it

were

killed,

He

best farmers and Will be sold anyhow when the ship comes to port round When you came on a trim house, and And why should not some of the price fall to me, fields nicely tilled, You might know that a Whig held a As well as to fine Lords and Ladies at Court ? lease of the ground.

For they were our

workers
all

Our

fellows are nearly

all

roystering There's Queensferry in for a slice of

his land.

loons,

Who

take to the ale-cup more than

And Lagg
What
is

will not rest

till

he shares

the plough.

with Dundee
over, unless Earlshall get his

Carousing each night, singing Cavalier

tunes.

hand
till

Which

they shout,

the birds

wake

On

the fields which

march nicely with

upon the green bough.

his

on the Cree.

The Whigs
They

have

their

psalms
sun
for

and
the
I

They

take

what

they

can,

as

my

their sermons, but then

father does too,

are up with

the
;

And

tasks they must

do

needing
rogues,

They

are all

canting

but

My
I

wish our brave men Were as fond of their work, and as honest and true.

I'm poorer than they are, and it more debts at the Tables are more than knew.
duns come and
at the door.

And
day

hammer each

There's a batch of them waiting in This grant will be worth a two hundred, at least. gaol to be sold To -the Colony planters, all healthy And will quiet their angry demands

And

and strong. worth a round sum to be paid

here they are bargained for an old song.

for a space

And

perhaps I

may

spare a small

sum

there in gold.

for the Priest,

Though
just

To

absolve from the sin, if sin be in

the case.

am

told

they will

bring

twenty But there

is

not.
all.

I liked

him, and

guineas a head

so did they

Over there, and probably some of But that does not hinder them doing their most them more. So I got at the Lady old Lauderdale To get at the wreck, and to profit
wed.
withal

And

she gave

me

a grant of at least

When

the ship of a fool

lost.

has

gone

half a score.

down, and been

602

Ballads from Scottish History

was hot about the Ryehouse Plot, Were it right to give up all this money Wherein he had no part, for all such to pay doings he abhorred Old debts, when I'm needing new There were ten of us to feed, and his heart had daily need frocks and a hat, For it shamed me last night to be seen Both of courage and of caution, and he trusted in the Lord, at the play ?
I

am doing

quite right,

then.

And

Just then the rage

speaking of that,

My
Up

debts they can wait.

to

I've a

good

mind
to

go
a while, and look in at

And

London

the Mall,

And see the Court beauties and gallants,

Where
although the beauty easy to tell.
is

went astray from the and narrow way Of truth and right and duty, which his Master trod before ;
never
strait

He

was staunch

against

oppression,

found

'tis

not

and his heart bled for the nation. But he waited for salvation, till God opened wide the door.

One must hope

some But his
taste in

our

good King has

But
astonishes

guiltless though he was, they knew he loved the cause That Churchill might well give his Of the wronged and ruined people, Majesty fits. and the Kirk he held so dear ; Were it not that the others are worse And his innocence had failed, when even than she. such lawlessness prevailed. To protect the friend of Baillie from their fury and their fear.

politic wits.

women

me

GRIZEL BAILLIE
He must take to hiding, then, where " the Killing Times," when the prying eyes of men consciences were crimes, Might not find him, till the trouble And over all the Merse were scattered and the terror overpassed ; troops of wild dragoons And the only likely place was a grueSwaggering in the streets and squares, some one to face saucy, daring " deil-ma-cares," Where he laid his honoured father, All in bravery of scarlet, and brawny when its door was opened last. handsome loons.
It was
in

For Claver'se and Dalzell had

the rascals well

trained Polwarth

tomb beside the Kirk,

and mirk.

it is

eerie, cold,

For the pillage and the carnage, they With a mere slit in the wall and air to enter in set them now to do
;

for light

They haunted

scant the light and air ever came unto him there. Watching keenly for our father, but As he lay repeating Psalms, and praying to be kept from sin. we watched them keenly too.
all

our shores, and spied

And

about our doors,

; ;

Grizel Baillie
I often thank the

603

Lord

for

His good
for
his

had always been

ness,

afraid in the dark-

and holy Word,

And

also

George Buchanan

My

when I made way along the footpath

beside the

Latin verse ; kirkyard wall Father could not have got through I knew that ghosts were nought, yet the waste and weary time he knew, my heart came to my throat, But for humming the old Psalms he If a rabbit scurried past me, or I heard learnt in schooldays to rehearse. an owlet call.
craft in

now I stumbled on over mound and grey headstone, As the dogs barked in the manse, when the clammy wall. they heard my stealthy feet. While he breathed the sickly breath of And I heeded not the dead, not a ghost old decay and death. was in my head. For the long line of his ancestry had But I only thought how soon he should there been buried all. have bread enough to eat.
his

That kept

heart up well, as the But

glimmering sunlight fell On the coffins heaped up grimly against

Mother and I alone were aware where he had gone. My brothers were too young to be
told a secret yet

found him always gay, ready

jest

stiJl

to

How
And

and play he laughed out when I

said the

children called
first

me " greedy

gled

"
!

And

each night, when they slept, forth into the dark I crept Under the twinkling stars, when the
sun had wholly
set.

had to tell him if all at home were well, And then he thanked the Lord, and bared and bowed his honoured head.
I

At

meal-times it was good watch our mother's mood

just

to

He

was

pious, cheerful, wise,

and

my

happiest memories

the fun she made till every one Are the hours that I passed with him in must turn to her his head, the tomb by Polwarth Kirk ; While I swept into my lap dainty bit Though his wrath would burn and blaze, as I spake of our evil days and wholesome scrap, Which they thought that I had eaten, When there was no law in the land, but the rule of sword and dirk. and called me "greedy gled."

And

For the children must not know, nor the servants, where I go Or what it was I took with me when
I stole out at night;

We were feeling
secret

quite secure that our

like to

Any

would endure search they would be

make

among the kirkyard

in

stones.

But

father

must have meat

I got

hiding-place to eat.

And when

my

basket

filled

Though at times they might have heard, now and then, a Latin word. my Or even a peal of laughter from the
his

heart was very light.

house of dry old bones.

6o4

Ballads from Scottish History

it chanced upon a night, when the I was fain to play the ghost with them, moon was shining bright, and take, at any cost, That the parson in the manse beheld The food that he would need upon a me through the kirkyard go cold and wintry night
j

But

was but a craven loon, and the For wrapt up in a sheet, and coming . glamour of the moon up with silent feet, Made him take me for a phantom that I felt sure that sudden terror would was gliding to and fro. seize on them at the sight.

He

Next day he took

to

bed, and the I had no fear at

all,

for I

knew

the

kirkyard wall. Through the parish, that he had been And could jump it, and take shelter driven into fainting fits where they should not find me then By a vision he had seen, flitting where But though father was so dear, mother
the graves were green.

tidings quickly spread

And

filling

him with
all his wits.

terror

till

it

Of my

shattered

would not even hear running any risks among wild and godless men.

those

laughed, and others hinted it She had thought out in her mind was drink that had demented another way by which to blind The creature, who was known to be a The foes if they suspected that he still spy upon his flock was near at hand, There were some, both young and old, And she liked it all the rather that she who were lying then in hold thus could cheer our father
;

Some

On

the

curate's

information

to

the

With

military folk.

the voices of the children, and the comforts she had planned.

But there were some troopers swore There was one whom we could trust, that they feared a ghost no more as clearly now we must. Than a Whig, and they would watch And we took him into counsel, and
the kirkyard willingly
all

night

began our task straightway

Give them but some cups of wine, and In a room on the ground floor there they would make wassail fine, was a bed and little more. Though the Devil and all his angels And we hoped to hide him there, until came from hell to do them spite. he might get safe away.

What

could we do to save our loved one good and brave.

Then we dug
to hide his

beneath the bed a hole honoured head,

his father's grave he could Scraped the earth out with our fingers, no longer hope to hide ? till the nails were worn away. They were reckless and profane, those And bore it in a sheet outside, until we dragoons, and it was plain did complete They might keep their watch on nightly, The work we had in hand before the till he pined away and died. weary close of day.

Now that in

Grizel Baillie
Mother looked bright and

605

brave, but I

He

said 'twas like his grave,

And

the box the man had made for it was like his coifin too tease her with a jest. But with holes in it for air, and a little But gently stroked her hair, and bade room to spare. her not despair And a mattress for his comfort, she That the rain should flood the old house thought that it might do. no mortal could have guessed.
:

smiled at our pet scheme, which had proved an idle dream. But mother was so vexed, he would not

The night was dark and wet, and before " Well,
the watch was
I brought
set,

him

safely

home from

his

to-morrow's Wooler Fair," he " and we should have horses there If we would not lose the market. Let
said,

gruesome hiding-place
of late so sad,

the

And oh but she was glad, who had been And

As she fell
up into

let

man set forth to-night. him take the highway, while

I will take the byway.

his

upon

bosom, and looked

And

pick him up, I reckon, before the

light.

his face.

morning

she'd make him a gay feast, and " must run some risk, indeed, but I wine should be increased know the fords of Tweed, From a flask up to a flagon, and they And there is no safety here, now two should dine alone. suspicion is awake, As on their wedding day, when he bore John will ride my good bay horse, and his bride away, use it tenderly of course. prouder, happier man than the king For none can tell how long a journey upon his throne. next day I must take."

Then
his

We

had no time to waste, yet we must not seem in haste. Doors banged and windows rattled, and But as if we went on calmly in our the old house seemed to rock ; ordinary way

Meanwhile the rain fell fast, and beneath

the howling blast

We

But though the night was eerie, their So the colts were all got ready by our hearts were very cheery. trusty man and steady. And they only said the storm was hard And father crossed the Border before on poor and homeless folk. the break of day.

At length
The

she rose to show his hiding-

Then we had

a while

to wait in a

place below

troubled, restless state,

great bed by the wall, where none TiU tidings came from Holland he had landed on its coast. would surely seek for him But the box it was afloat, and leaking Having been to Wooler Fair, and sold
;

like a boat

his horses there. in the sunshine, to

Which had gazened

till it

And

got

money

in his purse to

" pay

scarce

was

fit

swim.

the lawing of

Mine Host."

6o6

Ballads

from Scottish History

Sank

his ship in the deep mid sea, bore him a slave to Barbary. There he is dragging a heavy chain. It's oh, there was never a happier wife As he toils all day in the sun and rain. Than I was in all the old kingdom of And he sleeps in a den among rotten Fife; weeds. And never a brighter fireside than ours, And rats and toads and centipedes.

THE ROVER OF SALLEE

And

With

the bairns around

;

it all

blooming
love,

like flowers

my

love, as I stood that day

pier

never a better goodraan than mine Whose home made him blither than
stoups of wine

And
And

On
And

the

windy

when you

sailed

away.
the ship

swung cheerily

o'er the

he loved

me

as if I

had

still

been
our

bar.

a bride.

And
Lord was
at

And the
But now,

fear of the

fireside.

the sails swelled out on each bending spar. Little I dreamt I had seen the last Of the good old ship and her bending

as the wild

wave breaks on

mast.

the sea.

Or what

sad
that

fate

should her
to

crew
than

Even so is my sadheart breaking in me befall. For the woeful news that have come to And him
hand
aU.

was dearer

me

the Barbary shore, and the Blackamoor's land. It's oh, if I were but Queen of the land, And who will now be my honoured With ships of war at my free head ? command, And who will win for us daily bread ? 1 would not send them to harry Spain, And who will bring to our hearts good Or to fight the Dutch on the lowcheer land main ; The moment his foot at the door we But they should sail to the Barbary

From

hear
It

coast.

To battle
was a rover of Sallee
at his vessel

the

Moor where he

keeps his

host.

That drove
three,

with galleys

And my goodman
From
the wicked

should delivered be

Rover of

Sallee.

Leaping out from the Spanish shores Under the sweep of a hundred oars. What is the use of our great war-ships John fought his ship till her decks If honest sailors, on trading trips. were red. May be boarded by pirate crews and

And And

fifty

Moors lay dying or dead. of his twenty gallant men

killed

slain.

But two were unwounded, the were ten.

Or bound as slaves with a cruel chain ? Oh that we had again Andrew Wood,

Who

for his country so bravely stood

Or William

Scott,

who by

night and

The pirate robbed him of all his gear, day Tortured his body till death came near, Hunted the rovers from creek and bay

The Cameroriian Regiment

607

To
The

ransom

my man

have given up

all

means that I means were small

;

had

but

Had all been as stout As he was that day. As fearless and faithful my Amid all the deathful

And

the Kirk is collecting, from rich Rushes and shocks of the battle array. and poor, There had not been a wail at the end, Money to send to the rascal Moor. but a shout. But what we need is the hand of the Well, the verse he will write strong,

And

the

sword

of

might

to

down wrong

put Is a profitless task ; Yet it soothes his hot

spirit.

And

oh, that our sorrows and shames

And

so

we

can bear

it

might evoke King of some mettle

for his folk.

But give him a sword

in his

hand, and

who

cared

you'd ask

No

gallant soldier to order the fight.

He

knows

us each man,

THE CAMERONIAN REGIMENT

Sound- HEARTED and true. All men of good-will, Healthy and hearty.

And we know and trust him, And will show him our mettle
In the
fierce tug of battle,

For

it

nerves

dust-cloud
still

is

every arm, dim,

when

the

Just to watch his

And

staunch to our party,

tell

good sword flashing on the van.

Douglasdale sends us to
still

you that
there's

We're

It can find the right

men when

right

work

to do.

Our

Colonel's a

Of the

old Douglas
is

Lord name

But next him

Cleland,

And
Gone

Cameron's men, Covenant work, And we'll not do it slackly, But strict and exactly, As Cromwell's lads did it at Naseby and York, They were Sectaries, but they did godly work then.
all

Pledged

to

there

is

not a gallanter.
Claver'se, will play All our knapsacks contain

off

now with
game

the great

Better than he will, by

word and by

The good Book of God's And every blue bonnet,

With
Holds
a

word.

Sword.

was but a lad he fought at Drumclog, And At Bothwell a bullet, stoutly maintain. Well aimed for Rathillet, Glanced off, and hit Cleland who For the Kirk and its Cause We are banded to fight, stood by the Bog, Every man of us zealots Cheering the men when the business Against Popes and Prelates, looked bad.

He

When

the top-knot upon it, head that can think and resolve for the Lord, the born rights of Freemen will


6o8

Ballads from Scottish History

Erastians, Arminians, and those birds

of night,

The

trafficking mass-priests
all

Yet there's more to be said for our work Than some of our wiseacres think, who scorn We did not set on, like the Turk,
Inflamed with religion and drink.

the laws.

We shall
That we

not fight the worse

also can pray,

To wreak a blind vengeance, and strike The good and the bad both alike.
It

And
With

are not, like the troopers.

stupors.

was

justice

we aimed

at.

We chose

Roused from deep, drunken

pistol

With

and sabre

to

smite,

and

And

meant to cast out, when some would have roughcare

evil

whom we

to slay,

And
" For

to trample the saints 'neath the

We

handled those knew nothing

about
to do.

hoof of

tlie

horse.

F or there were some devout curates too

With them we had nothing
Crown,"
fight.

Christ's Cause and

That's our watchward in

But the

priests

who were

spies

on

And we mean to deliver The nation for ever

From
the false perjured king, and his
priests

their flock.

Who

sent

lists to

the soldiers to

kill,

Or who dragged
block

to the cord and the

surplices white.

His mass-books, and

wholly disown.

whom we Those who liked a discourse on the hill. Which did them some good, as they
thought,

Let

Highland Host come. They'll be here by and by. For they may not long tarry By Tummel and Garry.
the

Them we harried well, sparing them not.

looked a rough work to be sure But we struck at none of their lives.
It

Lads, close up your ranks, see your

Only

cast out their fine furniture.

And

big drum.

powder is dry, We carried off none of their stores. blow up the trumpet, and beat the But left them outside the manse doors.
'Tis like enough some caught a cold. For the weather was not always good. And it might be too much for the old. Yet I never have understood That any one died outright Of our rabbling, that gave them a fright.

And meddled with

none of their wives

THE RABBLING OF THE

CURATES
Yes
!

they blamed us loudly of course,

The man who oppressed us so long. No blood by our lads, then, was spilt, That we counted on. But it was worse We sought not for any one's life. When our friends too said we did But our hearts were wroth at the guilt wrong, Of the man who, when troubles were

And
The

had

sullied,

and tarnished with

rife.

crime
grandest event of the time.

Debased

their high office to be

The

tools of a vile tyranny.

; ; ;

The

Siege of the Bass

609
work

Would you have us look on, and be calm Let them

quietly

at their trade,

When

our shepherds, whose duty

is

Eat and drink, and go down to the

grave,

plain,

By preaching, by prayer,

and by Psalm,
again.

And they may be

good

citizens,

To

bring us to
to

God's way

Not a throb of great

Yet,

Spirits they

though know.

Took

hounding dragoons on the

Who

people preferred the

steeple
?

when they can

thoughts
find

safely reveal

hillside

to

their

The

of

their

heart,

you

may

That they long had been fain to conceal In our worship we mostly were slack. The wrath of a well-ordered mind, But we all were human at least As the thunder lies hid in the cloud, And when friends got the boot or Till it bursts at length angry and loud.
the rack.

On

the hint of some rogue of a priest.

in our hearts like a fire

We
And

were mostly young

lads

from

That burnt

the plough. our wrath was a kind of horse-

And

our

scorn

and

our

loathing

were

dire.

frolic of justice, which now There were heads on the Netherbow Looks to me just too mirthful and gay Port It had better befitted the cause We had honoured for patriot zeal. Had our rabbling been worse than While turncoats and triflers at Court it was.

Were wrecking

the

common

weal
shield

And

the Church,

which should
its

We gave the
And we
looks

the oppressed. Cared only to feather

bad curates a fright. laughed at their crestfallen

roused them from slumber

nest.

not a whit No, I am not Of the work that I did in those days.
It

ashamed

When we
And

that night.

had been

foul

shame

just to

sit,

And join in the prayer and the praise But we left them to go their own way. Of the wolves in sheeps' clothing, With their lives and their gear for aprey.
who

burned their messe- books

messe-robes

and

Had the
I grant

then cure of the souls of poor men.

SIEGE BASS not enough faith the time of their might. Like those who withstood unto death. Just two miles off from the mainland. And held by the truth and the right Where the Forth is broad and free. The Bass and its grim rock-fortress shared in the nation's complaints. But we were neither heroes nor saints. Stands fronting the grey North Sea The wild gulls nest on its ledges.
we had

THE

OF THE

To

resist, in

We

What would you?

so made.

Some men
;

are

Or

over

it

fly in clouds.

And

They

are not very noble or brave

round it the sea-waves breaking Turn white for the sailor's shrouds.

39

; ;;

6io

Ballads

from Scottish History

By day they would boast and swagger, By night they would rob and steal Where they found a cove to shelter. Or a shore to beach their keel

Four of Dundee's wild

gallants,

Left in its prison to pine, Seized on it, one day the soldiers Had gone off for fuel and wine. Closed the gate fast on them sternly.

And And

they flaunted the king's broad

And
its

threatened to shoot them

down

They

would

hold

the

Fort

banner for Aloft in the sun and rain.

The

Master, king who

drank to his health, and shouted

owned

the crown.

He

should soon have his

own

again.

A Middleton,
Leader

a Halyburton,
as the

With ensigns Roy and Dunbar, They were reckless and brave

Wroth were

the Lords of Council

They had followed in peace and war But she had to lie off helpless Young Crawford, Ardmillan, and others Till the sailors' hearts were sick.
Ere
long, too,

When they met in Parliament, And the Lion ship of battle To the leaguer straight was sent

would share

in the fight

And

sixteen men, at the utmost.

They

bearded a nation's might.

And

For the guns of the Fort were heavy. they would have sunk her
quick.

They had ample shot and powder. More guns than they well could man.

And plenty of swords and muskets To ply when the fray began And watch and ward they kept strictly. As the soldier's custom is,
;

The French king heard their story. And thereon manned a ship Which the Lion feared to tackle,

And

straight away did slip So the French left fresh munitions.

;

For it was the last rag of his kingdom And store of food and wine, That they might maintain the King James could still call his.

battle.

They had

nights of wild adventure

And

also bravely dine.

When they And nights

roved in search of prey. Around the Council table of deep carousal The nobles gnashed their teeth ; That lasted till break of day. Their swords hung at their girdles. Where the Whigs were of late psalmBut each glued in its sheath. singing, nation stood behind them And their prayers had been loud With all its power and might. and long. Yet sixteen men on the Bass Rock Now the roof was with laughter ringing. Held out in their despite. And ribald jest and song.

They They They With

Where was the ancient courage plundered the towns of Fife, That stood by the gallant Bruce ? tithed the Merse to provide them And the large resource and patience bread to maintain their life. That sought nor peace nor truce ?
raided the coast of Lothian,
in a fortress

But sixteen men

Where were
?

the daring spirits

Two
What What

miles out at sea,

could they hope to accomplish could their purpose be ?

That did to Wallace turn ? And where the skill of battle That won at Bannockburn ?

6ii

Damien and Marion Cunningham

Once Scotland had
her soldiers could her cause make good Her Douglases and Randolphs, Her brave Sir Andrew Wood, Her Lindsays and her Leslies, And hosts of fighting men ; But now she has Dalrymples,

Who

DAMIEN AND MARION CUNNINGHAM

It's

oh the bonnie Tynron braes

the ivied
wall

Where the broom grows high and green.

And

and the birch-

And

for the

sword a pen.

tree tall.

And
they use for courage, And blows dealt in the dark. As the men of Glencoe can witness. And no dog dares to bark They follow the ways of Rothes, And Lauderdale, and those Who sought but to find their profit In the nation's wrongs and woes.
It is craft

the burn that runs between

Where, in the dewy gloaming So oft our tryst had been.

light.

The

stars

came

forth to

watch us there,
;

And

smile upon our bliss

The small birds and the wanton They shared our joy, I wis
;

hare,

There were no other eyes

to care

How
And

fondly

we might

kiss.

We

hoped when the Papist monarch

shipping across the sea,
all

My love
I

Took
That

would be now well ordered.

is

was lord of Abingdon, was a Glencairn ; But true love levels all, and none
Its blessedness

And
But

the people glad and free.

may

learn.

their rule

weak and

cruel.
;

Who

will not pass, as lad

and

lass.

And And

the nation rent and torn

sixteen

Among
Rock
Still far

the

broom and

fern.

men on
all

the Bass
to scorn.

Could laugh them

below the waters flow. Low-whispering as they move.

the mavis
still,

For two long years it lasted, That siege of the brave sixteen

And
;

at his

sweet

will.

Sings high on the tree above

And when

at length they yielded.

lean,

He

sings the

same song

o'er

and

o'er.

All hunger-pinched and They came off with flying colours In soldierly array. With sword, and dirk, and pistol. And a sporran with their pay

As we

did with our love.

braes

And still the primrose pranks the When spring is in the air. And still the broom is in a blaze When young birds flutter there
;

Now, shame upon the laggards. With hands so weak and skck. To be mocked by these rough
troopers,

But the scented broom and its golden bloom Are heavy with grief and care.

No more theyspeak about love and hope.

!

With

a nation at their back

to

As

they did so fondly then.

pay the rogues for robbing The poor folk on the shore. And send them away, still bragging They would play the game once more

And

But of a host that pine and drop. All fainting, famished men. And a lonely grave by the breaking wave On the shore of Damien.

: :

6l2

Ballads from Scottish History

LADY GRANGE
THE
villain
!

to leave

me

here

he learns, as he shall, that a lady born Lies on his desolate isle, forlorn, Moaning her fate to the moaning sea.
will

When

On this desolate rock far out at sea, Among red-shanked Celts, with their What
freckles

he think of

my Lord

of

And
and

and warts. gannets and kittiwakes,

scarts.
all

Grange,
puffins

When

the wrongs I have borne shall

to light
?

come
that I have for

Which are

company.

And whatwill the rest of the Fifteen say Of their brother Judge, when they have
to lay

Never a word of their Erse

1
gulls

I know, might as well talk to the screaming

The Law down me right ?

about him,

and do

And
all

the big waves crash on the rocks

day,

I have shielded him long, as a wife growl through the night, like will do, beasts of prey But now I will speak out all the truth ; Worrying over rib-bones and skulls. He is come of a traitorous, viperous

And

tribe,

The

poor folk

mean

to

be kind in

And

is

falser

and baser than tongue

fair,

their

way
in

But I cannot breathe smoked rooms.

can describe. their peat- Though his looks are so tongue so smooth.
think of

and

his

Nor eat of their oily, ill-cooked food. Nor sleep at night, for the vermin brood The hypocrite You might sweep from the bed with for hours
their heather

him

reading

brooms.

my Lord
For
a
sense

Grange, I held you once good man truly, with wit and
for a rogue in-

His Bible at nights, when the lamps come in, While his madame creeps stealthily up
the back
stairs.

And

hears

him

ere long at his evening

his load

But I know you now

grain,

prayers.

Loudly bewailing
?

of

sin.

And how can you ever show face again Among men of honour and reverence And
Four of your gillies, bare-legged loons, Broke into my chamber, and bound

then,

too,

he

must dreams

have his
to

prophet-maids.

Who

reel off their

him by

the yard

me

fast

In a dingy back-shop in the Potter-row,

his faith

Gagged me, and carried me out of town. To freshen

Hither and
thither,

when

it

waxes low,
reward.

and up and down.

last.

And

to fool

him out of a
are
said

fine

To

land

me

here on this rock at

We
But you dare not keep
1

Chievellys

to

be rash

know

the

me always here and hot. MacLeod will set me free, Ready enough

with a word and a blow,-

:;

Lady Grange
And
their hands, I allow, have with blood been stained Of some they have stabbed, and some they have brained, But they count not a hypocrite yet

613

And And

oh, the tasses of usquebagh

the

gallons
!

of

potent

wine

he drinks

And his nasty stories, and As he soaks his carcase,

strokes

filthy jokes.

and slowly and

leers

that I

know.
he's a hollow pretence
all

His
But he
!

great

fat

paunch,

and winks

through.

There is nothing he wUl not deceive Was ever a woman so vilely wed ? Was ever a wife abused like me ? you about He lies to the Kirk in his pious words. Cast forth alone among gulls and seals. He lies to the King, and the Court, And jabbering Celts, with their lines and creels. and the lords. And he lied to me, till I found him out. And the dreary call of the moaning sea?

Hear him sentence a witch to be burned,

OraBorderthief to be hanged for a cow. What a God-fearing man you would
take

I cannot get rid of that

moaning

call
still

Go
It

where
rings

I
in

may,

it

follows

me

my

ears

the whole day

its

him

for!
that the country

long.

Yet

I think

would

And

haunts

my

dreams with

wail-

more If it were his own neck " rax the tow."

profit

ing song,
that should Till I wish there
to kill.

was something near

FUGITIVE PIECES
THE ELDER'S DAUGHTER
Cast her forth in her shame. She is no daughter of mine
;

Is the night

dark and wild

We
AH

had an honest name, of our house and line

she has brought
it

Dark is the way of sin The way of an erring child. Dark without and within And tell me not she was beguiled.

And

to shame.

What should beguile her, truly ? Did we not bless them both ?
There was gold between them
duly,

What

are you whispering there, Parleying with sin at the door ? I have no blessing for her

And we
Though
were
! !

blessed their plighted troth,

I never liked

him

truly.

She

is
!

dead

to

me evermore
to

Dead Dead

would

God

that she

Let

us read a

I think that

my
sit

word from the Book eyes grow dim

;

and the grass o'er her head There is no shame in dying They were wholesome tears we shed
!

She used

to

in the

nook

There, by the side of him, And hand me the holy Book.

I

Where

all

her wee

sisters are lying

is

And
I

the love of

them

not dead.
?

wot not what

Jesus
!

ails

me

to-night,

I cannot lay hold I did not curse her, did I

on

a text.

meant not

that,

Lord:
a

O
:

guide
is

me

aright,

We are
I

For

my
the

soul

sore perplexed.
as the night.

cursed enough already

Let her go with never

And

Book seems dark

is

word

have blessed her often already.

are the mother that bore her,
;

Ah

the night

stormy and dark.

sin
; ;

You
I

do not blame you for weeping They had all gone before her. And she had our hearts a-keeping

And And
;
!

dark

is

the

way of

the stream will be swollen too

in the

And

oh, the love that

we

bore her

and hark How the water roars There's an ugly ford

Lynn

in the dark.

I thought that she

was

like

you

What

did you say

I thought that the light in her face

Might she

sleep in her

To-night little bed

!

Was And

your youth and its morning dew, the winsome look of grace But she was never like you.
:

Her bed

so pure and white

How

often I've thought

and

said.

They were

both so pure and white.

614

The Mystery
But that was a He for she Was a whited sepulchre ; Yet oh she was white to me,

615

Oh

might

I but look
lost

Once more, my
;

on her loved child

And And

I've buried
it's

my

heart in her
be.

dead wherever she

For I thought, not long ago, That I was in Abraham's bosom

And

Nay, she never could lay her head Out of the depths below. Again in the little white room. Where all her wee sisters were laid She would see them still in the gloom, Do not say, when I am gone, That she has brought my grey but dead. All chaste and pure
;

she lifted a face of woe, Like some pale, withered blossom.

hairs

to the grave

; ;

We will

go

all

together,

Women

do that

but let her alone.

She'll have sorrow enough to brave, She, and you, and I ; There's the black peat-hag 'mong the That would turn her heart into stone. heather Is that her hand in mine ? Where we could all of us lie, Now, give me thine, sweet wife And bury our shame together. I thank Thee, Lord, for this grace of Thine, Any foul place will do

For a grave to us now in our shame She may lie with me and you. But she shall not sleep with them,

And And

light,

she

is

and peace, and life Thine and mine.

And
Is

the dust of

my

fathers, too.

THE MYSTERY
" Through
;

you say, I have spoken ? I know not ; my head feels strange And something in me is broken Lord, is it the coming change ? Forgive the word I have spoken.
it sin,
;

desire a

man, having separ-

ated himself,

with

all

wisdom."

seeketh and intermeddleth Prov. xviii. i.

THE haunted house on the moorland, how lone and desolate,

!

Was

In its antique fashions grand, it seems know what I have said ; to frown upon its fate hard on her for her fall ? That was wrong, but the rest were dead. Looking over the bleak moorland,
I scarce I

And

I loved her
all

more than them

all

For she heired

the love of the dead. Defiant

looking over to the sea, in the haughtiness

great

of some

memory.
and stunted, for

One by one as they died, The love, that was owing

to them,

Few

trees are there

Centred on her at my side ; And then she brought us to shame. And broke the crown of my pride.

the salt-wind blows across. And swathes their twigs in lichens grey,

and

flakes of ragged

moss

And
Lord, pardon mine erring child
:

the cotton-grass nods in the fishpond beside the spotted rush,

roots

Do we

not

all

of us err

?
;

And the

Dark was my

heart and wild

newt creeps thro' their sodden where they grow rank and lush.

; !

6i6

Fugitive Pieces

But moor and marsh and stunted

with mosses overrun,

tree,

And him

that shelters

there

a-night

from the wild storm or rain. And the Druid stone where the raven Will death or madness set upon, and sits blinking in the sun leaguer him amain All are bleaker from its neighbourhood, With eldritch shapes, and eerie sounds and grouped around it lie, of sorrow and of sin. As round Ja desolate thought that fills And cries of utter wailing that make
a subtle painter's eye.
the blood

grow

thin.

acre, with a O the haunted house on the moorland, how lone and desolate. rough-hewn masonry. There are portals heavy-arched, and In its antique fashions grand, it seems gables crested with the fleur-de-lis. to frown upon its fate Mounted turrets, curious windows, and But sit not thou in its tapestried rooms

Straggling over half an

armorial bearings quaint. Full of rare fantastic meanings as the dreams of some old saint.

When

about the midnight drear. the chains clank on the staircase, and the groaning step draws near.

the grim old tower looms darkly with its shadow over all Beast unclean and bird unholy brood

And

The

chains clank on the staircase, and

is

the step

coming slow,
is

And

the doors creak on their hinges,

or burrow in

its

wall

and the lamp

heart
is

burning low,
intently,
;

Moans

the wind thro' long blind lobbies

And thou listenest too

throbbing

and thy

distant doors are heard to slap,

fast

And the

paint falls from the panels, and the mouldering tapestries flap.

Be thou coward now

or bold, 'twere

better face the stormy blast.

storm without, you I cannot tell Fade the ancient knights and ladies from Perhaps we lose the power, perhaps the tapestries quaint and cramp ; we lose the wish as well And of all the rare cai^ved mantels only For I have watched and pondered many here and there are seen a weary night and day. bunch of flowers and vine leaves, Ever listening thus intently in our with a satyr's face between. mystic house of clay
all

Falls the paint from scripture stories,

blurred with

Better

face
?

the

mildew damp.

think

Alas

Through chinks the sun is

rain breaks

breaking, the Ever listening to

its

strangeness, to

its

through the roof

sorrow and

its sin.

a boldness and a terror, and a throbbing heart within ; And flitting as in woodlands, strange Bold to know the very thing which I lights are in the rooms, feared indeed to see. And to and fro they glimmer, alter- Would the lamp but only hold till I nating with glooms. searched the mystery.

There
and

are sullen pools in the corners,

With

sullen drops aloof;

617

The Mystery
For
is

not this our

human

life

even such

And
With
Have

if

thou watch there thoughtful, in

a longing

a wreck of greatness, Where the trace of an ancient grandeur marks an equal desolateness ? Since that which hath been is not, or

silence of the night.

and a listening too

the right
j

intent to

know

a care, for there are phantoms

only serves to

wake

A thirst
alas
!

for truth
it

and beauty, which, That

cannot slake.

be thou cowardly or bold, syllable and whisper what shall make the blood run cold.

And

the ruin of
air

its

greatness casts

all

Oh to
From

rid

me

of that longing

to stand

of gloom ; Earth's loveliness is darkened by the shadow of our doom ; And the richness of our nature only adds a bitter point Of irony to the thought that all is plainly out of joint. round an

aloof and free

the dread, or from the power of

the dread Infinity

Oh

to grasp, or to be careless of, the

subtle thoughts that fly

And shun

the sense, like flower-smells,

the closer

we come

nigh

And

fitfully,

as through a chink, the Just to dwell

among the

little

things of

higher world of

God

life,

and be content

Breaks in to make more visible our With its ordinary being and its ordinary bent waste and drear abode And syllables and whispers, all dis- Still to wade in the clear shallows and the old accustomed fords, cordant to rehearse. Hint unutterable harmonies in the 'Mong the thin and easy truths and the babbling of old words great Universe.
there are pictured tapestries in To think and feel, and comprehend all I might think and feel. chambers of the brain. The memories of a higher state which With a heart that never sickened, and a brain that did not reel still with us remain. But faded all and mildewed they but Under the sense of mystery and mighty shadows, cast deepen our regret. Like twilight glories telling of a glory Upon the soul from life and death the future and the past. that is set.

And

mingling with the traces of a So thou'rt crushed beneath a shadow Ah I would that I could smile wondrous beauty still. There are lustful satyr faces turning all With your satisfied philosophy ; but on my heart the while the good to ill And like birds unholy nestling and The shadow of the Infinite is laid

And

defiling every part.

oppressively.

Oh,

the broods of evil passions in the corners of the heart.

And

alas

though I know that it darkens me.

!

it

is

light,

Fugitive Pieces

6i8

In the lonesomeness and thoughtfulness of the still midnight hour,

Oh, I've heard that echo mockery away

often dies in

Hast thou never felt the mystery of In the distance of conception, like the being, and its power ? waters of a bay The great light from the Godhead, and Surging far into a lone sea cave you
the cross-light from man.

cannot

tell

how

far

From

that

which

is

and ought to be
?

And there is
light of

neither light of torch, nor or star.

the portion and the plan

moon

How

they are twined and parted, yet Can I will, and can I be, and do, all I still have thought and felt ? By necessity of being in the dread Can I mould mine opportunity, and Almighty will shake off sin and guilt ? Hast thou never yearned to see the sun Is life so thin-transparent, as men have thought and said ? break thro' this gathered haze. Though he quenched thy little hearth- And God a mere onlooker to see the fire by the glory of his blaze ? game well played ?
firmly linked

Never

felt

the

eager

longing

in the

'Twixt the

willing

and the being

inner heart of men.

'twixt the darkness and the light.

tiger pacing restless to and fro Is there no interval for Him to exercise His might ? narrow den, For his mighty limbs grow irksome Then perish all my hesitance, and all your power and pelf; with the lack of room to play, And he pineth for a leap a bound into I will be loyal to the truth, and royal to myself. the night or day ?

Like a
his

Ah, me

to be a

botanist or

bookall

I will call out

less truth

worm

just to task

from the depths a bounda certain

key

herbal or a

history to answer

I'd ask;

And

be content to live, and rot nor ever Writhe with a mighty longing and a sense of high endeavour.
die,

unlock the ancient secrets of our hoar perplexity and work, and For the glow of one vast certainty

To

And

would banish chaos-night. canopy my soul as with

of rainbow light.

dome

Why

are

all

things yet

a question

the sounding waves should speak to

;

What is nature ? What is man ? me, and be well understood What is truth ? and what is duty ? The violet should tell the secret of its Why, answer as we can, pensive mood Has the soul a deeper question still to And the dew-drops why their tears are
put,

when

Which

all is done, goes echoing into darkness, and

is

And

formed on the eyelash of the light. that lorn wind in the woodland

answer there

none

why

it

sobs the livelong night.

The Mystery
For the whole
a sorrow not
creation groaneth with
its

619

To

myself I

am

all

mystery

I fain

own,
voices grief
is still

And And
Lift,

to all

its

many

would act my part But the problem of existence aches

unsolved within

the undertone.

my

heart.

on

all

its

sunny aspects
fain

lies

How can this

shadow

would

and know with what a birth

it is

What be possible ? matter now to ask ? an urgent, 'Tis already a necessity

life

travailing in pain.

hourly task.

I would speak with the wild

Arab deep-

Ah

there the clouds break up

!

and

throat guttural truth,

The

a clear bright star uprearing, heart-depths of ascetic, squatting Its face deep, deep in heaven, beside
lo

and sound

loathsome on the ground ; Taste all truths of past or present, and all truths of clime and race. Where'er a true Divinity was deemed to have a place.

the crystal throne appearing

Though

be dreary, and truth be dark ; yet duty is not so : Lay thy hand then to its labour, and thy heart into the blow.
life

would know all creeds and gospels, Like the light of a dark guiding light for thee, and how they played their part,
its

lantern

is

the

Each with

place appointed for this a

circle

on the earth

just
:

where thy

human heart Each with a dawn of progress, and

changeful
share of

foot should planted be

encomand doom. Each with its work appointed by the And it flickers like a shadow, and only shows the gloom. Eternal will.
But turn
it

to the mountains that

good and

ill,

pass life

But tossing on the ocean of a changeable belief.

the haunted house on the moorland,

all

lone and desolate. no certainty and hope Let it stand in its antique fashions frowning grimly on its fate ; for no relief. With no faith in the old causeways and But brood not thou with thought intense about the dark midnight. the lamplights, it is dreary To be wandering as I wander now, so But turn thee to thy task, and do thy work with all thy might. aimless, dark, and weary.

To deem there is

Woe's me

short and changeful, drawing on, Thoughts they come and go, like spirits And maybe there is light beyond, maybe there is none ; with the mist about them still And the strife is ineffectual towards But the grief and pain and struggle, the hoar perplexity, lighting up the soul. Like the faint and glimmering twilights Will not yield their secrets up to questioning of thee. that creep around the pole.
!

but

life

is

rigid

is

not

The day
night

is

the

plastic to

my

will

is

and
and any

Fugitive Pieces

620

And

it's all

that sweet child's doing

at the lattice there.

THE REVELATION
He
was wont to creep and stumble, with a slow uncertain pace,

see

them

How
And

his fingers steal

amid the long

;

brown

clusters of her hair

she looks up with her thoughtful And a supplicating doubt o'er all his eys of lustrous, loving blue. hard, unbending face And tells him of the rosebuds that And our mirth would make him scornare peeping into view. ful, and our pity made him wince. When the fitful moody dream was They say he found her one night, on, perverting the good sense.

He

was sharp, and his deep,

the

too, with his reasons,

invet'rate sneer

humming o'er As he walked,

a quiet tune,
in

mournful sadness,

Mocked

highest

and

without reverence or fear ; And our pious saws and customs, he Like a blind old Samson grappling with the pillars of the earth. would laugh at them, and call The old lace that did embroider the hypocrisy of all. And she came upon him gently, as an
angel from the Lord,

beneath the tranquil moon ; divinest Yet sporting in his sorrow, mourning with a scornful mirth.

world seemed out of joint to him, and rotten to the core. With Gods and creeds, once credited, but credible no more, And duties high, heroic, that once were bravely done ; But for action, we had babbling only
the

For

And And And

she led him with a loving hand,

a pious

and with

word

she fringed the dark clouds of his soul with lights of heaven's own
grace.

she breathed into his of tranquil hopefulness.

life

a breath

now

beneath the sun.

And

there was nothing sacred in the

And And

he's no

more sharp with reasons

him No lights of awe and wonder no temple fidy dim Ever scornfully he reasoned, ever
universe to

thought
the

calmly on his brow. dew upon his thoughts

sits

is

not changed to hoar-frost now And he plays such rare sweet music
'twill

And

with a natural pathos low ; not understanding, the There is no sorrow in it, yet make your tears to flow. fine sanctities of thought.
battled with his lot.

he

rent,

But the blind old man

cheerful hopefulness.

is

altered to a

For he's

full of all bird-singing, and the cheery ring of bells,

serenest thought and joy are The rain that drizzles on the leaves, mantling in his face the dripping sound of wells. At one with his own spirit, at one And the bearded barley's rustling, with all his kind. and the sound of winds and brooks. At one with God's great universe That in the quiet evening floats he sees though he is blind. about the woodland nooks

And now

The
And
the oJd ocean-murmurs, and

Revelation

621

all were sometime dark and dreary, of bees, we were sometime wroth and And varied modulations of the manyproud. sounding trees, Warring with our fate defiant, scornThese tune his heart to melodies, ful of the vacant crowd, that lighten all its load ; Thoughtful of the seeming discords, Yet their gladness hath a sadness, and the impotence of will, though it speak to him of God. And questioning the universe for meanings hard and ill.

We

the

hum

And

he knows

all

shapes of flowers

the heath, the fox-glove with its bells.

Cometh Faith upon

spirit is serene.

the

spirit,

and the

The palmy

ferns'

green

elegance,

Seeing beauty in the duty, and God fanned in soft woodland smells where these are seen the mossy turf his God in every path of duty, beaming nice-touch fingers trace. gracious from above. And the eye-bright, though he sees And clothing every sorrow with the it not, he finds it in its place.

The milkwort on

garment of His love.

And
as

it's all that sweet child's doing, they saunter by the brook. If they be not singing by the way,

And

the dark cloud is uplifted, and the mists of doubt grow thin.

she reads the blessed

Book

Leaving drops of dew behind them, as

Reads the story of the sorrow of the

Man

that loved us

all.

And And

the light comes breaking in ; the surges of the passion

quiet slumbers
fall.

into

Till the eyes that cannot see her let

the tears in gladness

fall.

the discords do but harmony through all.

hint a grander

For around the Man of Sorrows all the and even so we find sorrows of our lot When we, bedridden with sick Find their law and light in Him, whose mind in our wandering thoughts, are

Oh, a

blessed

work

is

thine, fair child

From

the simple truth of nature, the calm

how

life is

And

our divinest thought the Infinite, the Dreaded, draws

blissful is

"When Faith holds up

the aching head,

and presses with her palm.

nigh to thee and me In the sacrament of sorrow

blind and yet

we

are

we

see.

That's the keynote of existence ; the For if the way of man here is a way right tone is caught at length ; of grief and loss. Cometh Faith upon the soul, and we Even so the way of Godhead was go on in love and strength ; upon the bitter cross, go on with surest footstep, by Upon the bitter cross, and along a

We

And in its deep abysses whom we had sought.

the dizziest brinks of thought. see the

tearful story.

God

Till the wreath of thorns

became the crown of heaven's imperial glory.

;;

Fugitive Pieces

622

So

the sorrow and the sacrifice, whereat we do repine, Are but symbols of the kinship 'twixt the human and divine But the law of highest Being and of highest honour given For the wreath of cruel thorns is now the empire crown of heaven.

And

the

mournfulness

and scornful-

ness will haply, melt away,

They were
windows,

on your frost - work and they dimm'd the light of day; And you took their phantom pictures for the scenery of earth. And never saw in truth the world that made your mournful mirth.

Rest thee on that

the history of

faith divine,

and

all

man
will
crystallise
;

Only
in

let

the Heaven-child, Jesus, lead

Round
For the

its

thread
is

thee meekly on the path.

order of a glorious plan

grief
still

Through thy
and our

divinest,

strains

of deepest gladness

troubles, strewn with blossoms of a kindly aftermath ; And for reasons sharp and bitter, quiet

Show

their kindred

by

their trembling

ever on the verge of sadness.

As when

thoughts will rise in thee, light, instead of lightning,

gleams upon the earth and

sea.

Rest thee on that holy faith, and all the misty mountain tops. Where thy thoughts were cold and beam forth with cloudy, shall radiant hopes

And
From

the world will

murmur

sweetly

many

songs into thine ear, the harvest and the vintage, as

their gladness

crowns the year

life's

And

the

harmony of

all things,

never

From From

the

laughter of the

children,

uttered into ears.

glancing lightsome as

foam

Shall be felt in deep heart-heavings,

like the music of the spheres.

the Sabbath of the weary, and

the sanctities of home.

'Tis the shallow stream that babbles 'tis in shallows of the sea

Where

its

Yea, the sickness and the sorrows, and the mourner's bitter grief ineffectual labours for a Will have strains of holy meaning,

mighty utterance be notes of infinite relief. All the spoken truth is ripple surge Whispering of the love and wisdom that are in a Father's rod upon the shore of Death ; There is but a silent swell amid the And their sadness will have gladness depths of love and faith. speaking thus to thee of God.

But be

still,

and hear the Godhead,

footsteps fall

And

if

He

give thee waters of sorrow

how His solemn

to thy fate.

In the story of the sorrow of the Man He will give them songs to" murmur, who loved us all though but half articulate. Be still, and let Him lead thee along Like the brooks that murmur pensive, the brink of awe. and you not know what they say, Where the mystery of sorrow solves But the grass and flowers are brightest the mystery of Law. where they sing along their way.

: ;

623

The
Thus
in

Revelation
Oh,

thoughtful contemplation of
life

not this the

way of

Faith, not this

the full-orbed

divine,

Shall the fragmentary reason find the

way Where the

the

of holy Love, Christ of human story, and

All the

the Christ of heaven above, combine seeming antinomies of the Blends the duty and the beauty blends the human and divine, Infinite decree That has linked the highest Being By His crown of many sorrows ever glorifying thine. with the highest misery.
that doth

Law

Ye

that dwell among your reasons, Tell me no more of your reasons ; do not call me to embark what is that ye call a God, But the lengthening shadow of your- On a voyage to the tropics with an
selves that falls

The shadow
orders
Sitting
all

iceberg for an ark. upon your road ; of a Self supreme, that Swaying grandly o'er
in

the

billows,

our fate.

shining brightly in the sun,

bland

contemplation
?

the ruins desolate

of But to melt away beneath voyage be half done.

me

ere the

Oh, your

subtle logic-bridges, spanning I

heed not of your logic

am

well

convinced of God its sadness, to the 'Tis the purpose He is working, and the path that He has trod Infinite of bliss You would find out God by logic, Through the mystery of misery the labyrinth of sin, lying far from us, serene. In a weighty proposition, with a That clouds the world around, and
over the abyss From the finite, with
!

hundred links between

overcasts the soul within.

And

and you've not discovered God though you did Speeding over the broad universe to That is not the ancient secret from the generations hid find the only truth That lies at your hand for ever. Get 'Tis the purpose, and the moral, and

you send your thoughts on every

And

side in search of

Him

forsooth

I care not

thee eye-salve, man, and pray

the harmony of
it

life.
till

God
is

walking in the garden, and the noon of day.

is

That we

ravel in unravelling
strife.

ex-

hausted with the

Roll up these grave-clothes, lay them in a corner of the tomb He is risen from dead arguments

And my heart was all despairing, and my soul was dark and dreary. And the night was coming fast on me

a lonesome night and eerie what seek ye in their gloom ? As bit by bit the wreck went down, Leave the linen robes and spices and all I clung to most. foolish hearts are thine and mine. How could love and faith be called Turned to straws and drifting bubbles, and was in the darkness lost. upon to bury the divine ?


624

; ;

Fugitive Pieces
the

And my heart gi-ew more despairing, Heed and my soul more dark and dreary, the

not, then,

many

reasons

and the broken. Till I saw the Godhead bending, That are glimmering all around thee faint and meek, and very weary with half-meanings but half-spoken Not in blessedness supernal, sitting Turn thee to the Man of Sorrows !look on God ECCE easy on a throne. Dealing sorrows unto others, with no He will ease thee of thy sorrows, opening blossoms in the rod. sorrow of His own.
cross-lights
;

HOMO

And
Even

I read in His great sorrows the All the creeds are but an effort feebly
to interpret

significance of mine,

Him,

of highest Being, Like the sunlight through a prism proving kin with the divine ; that breaks into a chamber dim ; Love travailing in pain with a birth Hie thee forth into the daylight, of nobleness. wherefore darken thus thy room. And dying into Life with sure de- And then moan that there is only velopment of bliss. light enough to show the gloom ?
the the discords lost their terror, ECCE all ye nations, tribes, and peoples of the earth, and the harmonies began To be heard in sweetest snatches, Leave the priests their poor devices, where a peaceful spirit ran and the scribes their barren dearth Through strangest variations of the Here is flesh and blood and feeling universal pain, thou shalt eat of Him and live. With the still recurring cadence of the And walk with Him in glory whom cross for its refrain. the heavens did once receive.

Law

Then

HOMO

your tears a morning shower ; Yet discovering in their pathos, the All the germs of nature opening dim outline of the plan. fragrant, underneath the power Whereby the pain and sorrow, and Of the quiet light that claspeth all the evil might be wrought. the world in its embrace. Into the rarest beauty, and highest And makes it beam and prattle up into unisons of thought. the Father's face.

Snatches of the concord, never fully uttered unto man.

And your

path shall be a path of light,

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