Chapter III: Part 3

In oor grand "Scots Wha Hae" the patriot is seen;
'Tis the slogan o' Scotland to-day;
An' whaur is the Scotsman, on hearin' its ca',
Wad ever be last in the fray?
"The Land o' the Leal" is equally gran'
In conception of true human love,
An' belief in the Land whaur there's naething but joy
'Neath the smile o' the Faither above.

"Flow gently, Sweet Afton," "To Mary in Heaven,"
"The Lea Rig," "My Nannie's Awa'"--
Such gems o' love-sang oor best minds declare
Made Rabbie the king o' them a'.
When his hand swept the strings o' auld Scotia's lyre
The notes were sae bonnie an' sweet,
Like the heavenly bliss o' the fond lover's kiss
When in their ain Eden they meet.

Let the story, the toast, the speech, an' the sang,
An' the glass tak' their coorse roun' the table;
Though it mayna be muckle that ilk yin can dae,
At least let him dae what he's able.
Tae help in the cause we a' hae at hert
Let's toast it afore we disperse--
That brithers we'll be on the land an' the sea,
Embracing the hale universe.

WELCOME HOME.

_TO DEMOBILISED SOLDIERS._

Welcome home! brave sons of Scotland,
From the far-flung battle line;
Welcome home to peaceful labour
In the workshop, field, and mine!
Welcome to our social functions,
Free from war with all its ills!
Welcome to our love and friendship,
And your native glens and hills.

You have nobly done your duty;
Firm and steadfast you have been
In the most terrific conflict
That the world has ever seen;
Daring death within the trenches,
Daring death from out the blue,
In the mighty charge and carnage,
Strong in motive, brave, and true.

You have earned a grateful nation's
Thanks for giants' work well done;
You have helped to crush the despot
In the vict'ry that's been won--
Victory that cost your kindred
Heavy toll in blood and tears.
Forget you? No, we will not,
Though we live a thousand years.

Mourn not for your comrades fallen
On the field or in the deep:
Realise 'tis sinful calling
Them from glory or from sleep.
Tyranny no more can grieve them,
Broken every galling chain;
They have gone to serve the Master
On a brighter, higher plane.

A DAY DREAM.

Prone by the side of a moorland road,
Soothed by the green of the velvet sod;
I dream of the time when war shall cease,
And a weary world will be at peace;

Of a time when the mind of man will recoil
From the lust of gain and from needless toil;
When honour and love will ne'er be sold
For worldly power or the gain of gold;

When man shall arise and cast aside
Corrupting wealth, with its pomp and pride,
And a system that's long been tried in vain,
That breeds the worst in the hearts of men:

When the shadow of want shall be chased away
That darkens the home of the poor to-day,
And the fruits of the earth, at the harvest fall,
Will be gathered and used for the good of all;

When the babe shall be tended and ope' like the flower
That so sweetly blooms in my lady's bower;
And the maimed and the old with the silvery hair
Shall be treated in love with the tenderest care;

When the spirit of brotherhood shall command
From the Arctic Zone to the Coral Strand;
And the flag of freedom will wave on high
On every land beneath the sky.

DEDICATED TO WANLOCK SOLDIERS.

Away from the head of the Wanlock Glen,
Where nurtured you were to the status of men,
You marched when the heather was shedding its bloom,
With the war song of freedom, your spirits in tune.

The surge of true manhood carried you on
To the thick of the fight in the fire-swept zone,
Through the fume of the gas shell's deadly breath,
Through blood and mire, on to glory or death.

To you, still part of Britannia's shield,
Back with victory crowned from the dark stricken field,
Along with the broken, the maimed, and the dead,
We owe an account that can never be paid.

Shades of the dead! Now with war drums still
We hear in the wind of the moor and the hill
Your voices, that tell in triumphant song,
All is well with you there, in your Father's home.

THE LOWTHER WIND'S WAIL:

A memorial of Death by Exhaustion on the Lowther Hills.

_By the_

_AUTHOR of "GOD'S TREASURE HOUSE IN SCOTLAND."_

_Janet Miller left her service at Kirkhope on Wednesday the 3rd January, 1877, instead of Friday the 12th, as previously arranged, on a visit home, to be present at the marriage of her sister. The day was so stormy, and the roads so full of snow wreaths, that the carter, with whom she should have gone, could proceed no further than Leadhills that night._

_It is considered to be ten miles between Kirkhope and Leadhills--a dreary, steep, and rough mountain, without any very distinct path, and that which is traversed was obliterated by the snow. Still, she had passed the Lowther heights (upwards of 2300 feet) in safety, descended and crossed the Shortcleuch water, and the fence, ascending the rough side of the only ridge which separates this valley from the village, and without deviating from the track, exhaustion and death overtook her within twenty minutes' or half an hour s walk of home._

_A shepherd's Wife, returning from a funeral on the following Tuesday afternoon, discovered her body. Little thought she that the very day fixed for her home-coming would be her funeral day. Obtaining leave sooner than expected, unfortunately, instead of coming by the road with company as advised, she resolved to take the hill. Though urged to go early, she delayed; though warned of the coming storm and night by more than one friendly voice, still onwards and upwards she pressed. She knew the hills and the paths: she was young and strong, and how much would her happiness be enhanced by gaining home that night; and then, the morrow and the month, how full of joy! So bravely on she struggled, battling with the blinding drift, till her strength was gone--quite gone. Then gently she laid her down to sleep. It was her last on earth; and the cold snow-drift gathered quickly over and formed her winding-sheet, hiding her body from human eye for well-nigh a week. Her bonnet and parcels were found in the bottom of a fallen-in shaft, up to the edge of which she had climbed. With shawl drawn over her head, cloak tucked in about her, and her cheek laid upon her hand, there she sought a rest which proved to be her last on earth._

Leadhills village bell had ceas'd,
Mourners from the graveyard pass'd
To the lonely shepherd's cot.
Jeanie then--her dismal lot--
Walking lonely up the glen,
Thinking of those in heav'n--When!
A form lay sleeping!--A form lay sleeping!
A form lay sleeping! Yea--_in death!_
Hand 'neath head upon the heath.
When carried--and buried--lamented--
Lowther winds wail'd--story presented:--

"Daurna tarry--I maun hame,
Though I clim' the hills my lane.
Mirk the day, an' heich the win',
Oot ow'r the muir I'll brawly rin,
Speel the Lowthers like a grew,
Wade the burn--hame safely through."

"Na! my lassie, dinna gae,
Far ow'r short this winter's day.
Hear ye no' the sough o' storm
Howlin' roun' Glenucher's horn?
Bide ye, lass, in Kirkhope biel,
Fair the morn, the hills ye'll spiel."

"Daurna tarry--I maun hame,
Aft the hills I've clim'd alane.
Sister's marriage--ken ye no'?--
Comes e'er lang, sae I maun go.
Fareweel, Kirkhope's freenly ha',
Fleetch nae mair--I maun gae wa'."

"Weel, my lass, on hame sae set,
Cart an' road, an' hame ye'll get,
Sun's ow'r laigh to tak' the hill;
Wi' sna' the heuchs an' hags 'ill fill.
Ne'er to get the len'th o' hame--
Death wad cry ilk day, me blame."

"Daurna tarry--I maun hame,
Langer stey! 'twad be a shame!
Roun' the road, or ow'r the hill,
Hame this nicht I've set my will.
Noo I'm aff, the month t' spen'.
Crawford Muir, gude-bye till then."

* * * * * *

"Over muir and vale she sped,
As if Elfin feet her tread.
Pass'd the river, cross'd the road,
Where a shepherd's cottage stood.
He concern'd, thrice urged her stay,
Mountain scale another day.

"See the storm, it's gatherin' fast,
Strong men couldna stan' that blast.
Shelter tak', an' I'll convoy
Oot ow'er hills wi' muckle joy,
The morn's morn as sune's it's licht.
Stey wi's noo. It's a'maist nicht.

"Fifteen fouk, an' mair they say,
Lost the life, e'er break o' day,
Amang thae hills. Sae may ye
Fa doon, warsle till ye dee.
Tak' ye advice; stey here the nicht;
Mornin' sun may shine fu' bricht."

"Daurna tarry--I maun hame.
Dinna bid me!--I'm gaun hame.
Young an' yaul, I'm no' sae fleyd,
Warsle through baith win' an' tide;
Stan' the snifter ow'r the hill--
Lovin' herts wi' joy to thrill."

"Blew fierce snow-drift. Almost gone,
On she struggled, bravely on;
Paus'd to take a breath of air;
Step by step cross'd over where
Lowthers wore their winter's sheet;
Down-hill, blinded with the sleet.

"Daurna tarry--I maun hame,"
'Twas on heart her upmost theme.
"Burn! ye roar fu' lood an' baul';
An' oh! yer water's dreedfu' caul'.
Ventur' maun I, an' get through,
Should ye swell frae bank to broo.

"Wae's me! Waded aft this burn,
Ne'er till noo felt sic a turn!
Think I'll faint--I'm unco wauff!
Water! then, gi'es ae bit quaff.
Raether better!--Noo--I'll try:
Fence an' hill 'll sune be by.

"Daurna tarry--I'm gaun hame!
Thocht gi'es stren'th, though I feel lame.
Wae's me!--What's come ow'r me noo?
Up maun dim' this scraggy broo--
Hech!--That blast is unco keen;
Bannet canna noo be seen.

"Daurna tarry!--Yes--I maun!
Lay me doon for this weak dwaum.
Shawl my heid 'ill shelter gi'e;
Claes keep warm!--Come-to a wee!
Daurna tarry!--Wish 'twere sae--
Faether!--Mither!--Sister!--Wae!

"Whaur am I?--On caul' hillside!
Maun I here--"Hoo lang--abide?
Faether, in the heav'ns hie,
Think, for Jesus' sake, on me.
Deein' though I'm, a' my lane--
Daurna tarry--I'll get hame!

"Daurna tarry--I _maun_ hame!
Aeh! Hoo _my_ hert lang'd for hame.
Hame on earth's nae mair for me;
'Mang the sna' I'm gaun to dee.
Freen's, 'O leave them no' alane!'
Daurna tarry--'Bring them hame.'

"Noo sleep I maun! an' this caul' sna'
Cleer win'in'-sheet roon' me will bla'."

* * * * * *

Almost a week her body lay,
The grave its home--home-coming day.