Chapter III

Earth's glamour fails, it cannot mar
The calm, pure radiance of the star;
Discordant music floats afar
From real song.

Essence divine! leal hearts will sing
Though baser souls mean offerings bring;
True anthems o'er the false shall ring
Eternally.

TO THE OCEAN.

Mirror of might and of splendor!
Type of immensity!
Smiling in face of the upper blue;
Beautiful! crystal Sea!
Yet, under thy brilliant beaming,
As chills at the heart of love
When a smile o'er-gilds the placid face,
Cold under-currents move.

Over thy glistering waters,
Out of the purple haze,
Thrilleth the chords of memory
With touch of other days.
Once more, by thy rim, bright Ocean!
A youthful, happy band
We course along the yellow sands
Afar, in fair Scotland.

Once more we plash our childish feet
Amid thy shining waves;
Or shelter from the sudden gust
Within thy border caves.
Ho! voices of the summer sea!
Ho! voices sweet and low!

Ye mournful chant their requiem,
Those days of long ago.

He sailed upon thy whitened crest,
The choicest of our band;
Thy seething surges wail his dirge
On far New Holland strand.
That other sleeps--we know not where,
Who early braved thy tide;--
Sing wavelets! we shall meet at length
Upon that further side.

Yes, mighty Ocean! all thy storms
Shall lull to perfect peace;
And all thy weary monotones,
With rhythms sad shall cease.
So now, we stand upon thy brink;
Whilst 'yond thy sparkling foam,
We hear sweet voices calling us
To our eternal home.

"I GAVE HIM AN ORANGE."

FROM DR. CONROY'S EVIDENCE.

Beside the lowly couch of pain,
They watched the flickering breath;
They knew that mortal skill was vain
To stem the tide of death.

For ruthless hands, and heart impure,
Though unprovoked by strife,

Had aimed the missive all too sure
Which dulled the warm young life.

When skill had failed, love took its place;
The little gift was given;
One moment's brightness lit the face,
And life from death seemed riven.

Oh! deep within each mother's soul
This deed of love shall tell;
While He who made the wounded whole,
Such acts He noteth well.

Yea, Who the reins of right doth hold
'Yond tortuous frauds of time,
Sees brazen vice, ungilt by gold,
And poverty no crime.

He shall adjudge in righteousness,
And sickness, woe and dearth,
With mammon fall; and Heaven's own bliss
Outweigh the wrongs of earth.

ST. ANDREW'S DAY.

WRITTEN FOR THE CALEDONIAN CLUB.

Another year hath passed away!
Once more, a joyous band,
We hail with mirth thy Natal Day,
Saint of the Heather Land.

For, though we love our Island home,
Our "home upon the wave,"
In Fancy's flights those shores we roam
Which Scotia's waters lave.

True Scottish hearts, in every clime,
This day lift up their voice;
And Memory's joy-bells sweetly chime,
And wearied souls rejoice,

As gorgeously, to longing eyes,
Comes forth, in glory bright,
Those mountains which the nearing skies
O'er-flood with purple light.

Again we climb Ben Ledi's steep,
Or skim Loch Lomond's tide;
Or muse where sunbeams softly creep
Through haunts of byegone pride.

Again we tread the Solway shore,
Or banks of bonnie Dee;
Or watch the Forth's proud waters pour
Into the Northern Sea.

Or gaze upon that tragic field
Which ancient minstrel sang;
Where warrior died upon his shield
As shouts of battle rang.

Or hark through Bothwell's ivied towers
Soft winds sonatas play;
Whilst Clutha, sparkling 'yond the bowers
Lights youth's long, golden day.

Fair land! beyond all other lands
The theme of tale and song;
The present and the past clasp hands
Thy glory to prolong.

Disgrace be his, and lasting shame
Who heeds not Heaven's just laws;
And, traitor to the Scottish name
Who owns not freedom's cause.

But hallowed be their memory
Who kept thy honor bright;
Thy great of every century,
Even down to Wallace wight.

* * * * *

Now drink we to the heath-clad hills
Beloved of bard and sage;
The silvery lochs, the rippling rills,
The blood-bought heritage!

And drink we too, with heart of grace,
Victoria the Good!
Our queenly queen of Stuart race,
That reigned in Holyrood.

All honor to our Highland Chief!
White-wreathed of glory's crown;
Who dignifieth[Note] honors brief
His sun shall ne'er go down.

And last we honor each and all
Of Celt, or Saxon blood;
Whose acts attest, in hut or hall
God's type of brotherhood.

GOOD-BYE AND GOOD-NIGHT.

Good-bye! it quivers through the years,
Low-breathing of despair;
The sunniest flower of life it sears,
And dulls the summer air.

It echoes through the falling leaves,
Through ocean's ebb and flow;
In Spring's soft gales, in Autumn sheaves;
Sore parting, bitter woe.

It speaketh through the vacant chair
To every yearning heart;
Howe'er so noble, gifted, fair,
Earth-born on earth must part.

Good-night! Oh eyes long used to weep!
Faith spans the mist of years;
High o'er life's toil, death's darksome sleep,
Heaven's fair, sweet dawn appears.

Refulgent with its glorious rays,
O'er earth, o'er ocean's foam;
Where'er the weary wanderer strays,
To light the spirit home.

Home to the painless, sinless land,
The never darkening sky;
Where hearts ne'er break with clasp of hand;
Where friends ne'er say Good-bye.

THE ROSE.

She passed as a ray of sunshine
O'er the dark, piazza floor;
And the gloaming turned to noonday
As she neared the open door,
And in her white and dainty hands
A precious gift she bore.

Thou baby rose! from parent stem
Far traveller from my heart's first shrine;
Sweet breathings of the olden days
Speak from each tiny leaf of thine;
Thou! velvet-clad in robes of state;
Rich-crimsoned of the Hand Divine.

Sweet art thou as the dreams of youth
Or dew-drops glist 'neath orient ray;
Still, smiling in thy fair, young bloom
Thou'rt frail and perishing as they;
Yet, aftermath of glory-light
Doth rise o'er darkness and decay.

HOME FROM SCHOOL.

Oh! sweet the whispers of the Spring
Which stir the greening leaves;
And sweet the melodies which ring
Through Autumn's golden sheaves.
Oh! sweet the prattle of the rill
As, in its youthful pride,
It danceth down the smiling hill
To join the foaming tide.

But, sweeter far than nature's chime
Unto a mother's ear;
More tender than the river's rhyme
Those tones she longs to hear.
Those notes unset to music's rule;
Those high-strung notes of joy,
Which herald coming home from school;
The coming of her boy.

Oh! beauteous are the rainbow hues
Which deck the oriole's wing;
And sparkling bright the pearly dews
Which 'round fair morning cling.
Oh! lovely are the flowers which wreathe
Heaven's hope o'er earth's dark wold;
And grander far than aught beneath,
Those orbs of gleaming gold.

But, unto mother-love aye true,
More bright than amber sky
That boyish form against the blue,
With ensign cap swung high.

The beauty of that fair young face
Outshines heaven's clearest star;
Nor ills of time will blur its grace,
Nor fate impress one scar.

The waning year is nigh its round,
The air is crisp and cool;
Though footsteps linger, love, unbound,
Doth greet my boys from school.
I feel the shadows lengthening,
The twilight slipping fast;
Yet, through the good God strengthening,
Dark night is soon o'erpast.

Methinks, even in that holier land,
I'll cross the pearly floor,
And by the blessed angel stand
Who guards the hallowed door.
And, while seraphic voices soar,
Amid supremest joys,
From earth's hard school, I'll list once more
To welcome home my boys.

TO

H. M. S. BLAKE.[Note]

Hail to Britannia's noble ship!
Whose pendant, streaming high
Doth shadow forth a nation's might
Athwart our placid sky.

Thou comest not in pomp of power,
Nor din of battle's roar;
Thy cannon wake no trembling hearts
Upon our peaceful shore.

Hail to Britannia's sailor sons!
Great sons of greatest fleet!
We tender ye a welcome true
Unto fair Abegweit.[Note]

Our happy hearths, our blooming fields
We owe to such as you;
For Nelson, Howard, Frobisher
Were of the "boys in blue."

Long live our noble Admiral!
May his noble deeds afford
That crown which lustres poortith's brow,
And graceth prince or lord.

May bonds of sympathy unite
Great Neptune's greatest sons
With lowliest tar, within whose veins
The blood of fealty runs.

And ne'er forget, on whiche'er sea
The tide of time sweeps past,
_Port La Joie_[Note] prays you, 'yond all storm
Safe anchorage at last.

RETROSPECT.

Sir Ronald leaned back in his easy chair;
He gazed abroad on the prospect fair.

On the soft, white carpet of new-fallen snow;
On the ermined branch with its gems aglow.

Snow white those locks of the threescore and ten
Yet, smooth is that brow as of younger men.

He beareth his years with a right good will,
And life floweth on as a placid rill.

For though evening's sun is well nigh set
His heart holds the dawn of the morning yet.

From memory's treasures of years gone by
He portrayed scenes for the mental eye,

Wondrous experience by land and by sea;
Fain would I tell as he told it to me.