Chapter IX: Part II (4)

The fort was taken at last,
Blood and fire mingling fast,
Death's bitterness was past,
For none were breathing.
Where lay our enemies,
Side by side were swart allies,
Brave and pale-face mingled, lies
Christian and heathen.

This feat of arms that gave
Unto these bravest brave,
Death and a bloody grave,
Is told in story.
All the valour and the might,
Of the pale-face in the fight,
When the story's told aright,
We will share the glory.

A SATIRE.

A HUMBLE IMITATION.

The rage for writing has spread far and wide,
Letters on letters now are multiplied,
And every mortal, who can hold a pen,
Aspires in haste to teach his fellow men.
Paper in wasted reams, and seas of ink.
Prove how they write who never learned to think;
Some who have talents--some who have not sense;
Some who to decency make no pretence;
But, skilled in arts which better men deceive,
They spread the slander which they don't believe.
A township turned to scribblers is a sight!
Venting their malice all in black and white,
And with, apparently, no other aim
Than merely to be foaming out their shame.
--My own, my beautiful, my pride,
I must lament where strangers will deride,
O'er thy degenerate sons whose strife and hate
Will make thee as a desert desolate
Men of gray hairs are not ashamed to strive
From house to house to keep the flame alive,
Whispering, inventing, without rest or pause,
With a "zeal worthy of a better cause."
Drilling low agents, teaching them to fly,
And spread on every fence the last new lie.
Oh that it were with us as in the past,
And that our peace had been ordained to last
When kindness reigned and angry passions slept,
E'er hatred's serpent to our Eden crept,
Are these the same or of a different race
From those who made this spot a pleasant place,
When cheerful toil, mingled with praise and prayer.
Wealth without pride and plenty without care,
When comely matrons wore the homespun suit,
And mocassons encased his worship's foot
No brawling then disturbed the quiet air,
No drunkard's ravings, and no swearer's prayer
The godly fathers all are passed away,
Gone to their rest before the evil day
The sons serve other gods, bow at their shrine,
Of the bright dollar or the gloomy pine
While envy, jealousy, and low purse pride
Those who were loving brethren now divide,
Like fabled pismires how the scrambling race,
For the small honours of a country place
And thou, who hast a spark of nature's fire,
What are thy aims son of a godly sire?
Thy good right hand, and calculating brain,
Have given thee wealth with honour in its train
Others may strive with anxious cares and fears,
Thou hast much goods laid up for many years,
Wilt thou forget the line from which thou'rt sprung?
Deem rich men always right and poor men wrong?
Forget thy early friends and bearing free?
When thou art angry have no charity?
Shall wealth, not worth and vulgar pomp and show,
Be the sum total of all good below?
Shall we, then, cease for innate worth to scan?
Look to the new made coat and not the man?
Those who are raised in such an atmosphere
Are they who have the ever-ready sneer
At honest poverty, and at the road
To competence which their own fathers trod
If men of worth will stoop among the vain,
We turn from them with sorrow and with pain
Man may repent, reform, his steps retrace,
But is there renovation for a place?
Will a community forego their strife,
Bury the tomahawk and scalping knife?
Will pride, and will self interest prevail,
Where reason and where revelation fail
Like cause makes like effect, abroad, at home--
In this small township as in Greece or Rome.
One motto is my moral, true and sad,
Whom the gods would destroy they first make mad

JUVENILE VERSES.

ON THE BIRTH OF ALBERT EDWARD, PRINCE OF WALES

Sing and rejoice,
With heart and voice,
An heir is born to the British Crown,
A royal son,
A princely one,
One born to glory and renown.

A nation's mirth
Rose at his birth,
On every side great joy prevails,
The nation's joy,
The royal boy,
Our dear Queen's infant, Prince of Wales,

With gladness we
Rejoiced to see
A virgin wear Britannia's crown,
Then hailed the bride,
By Albert's side,
And saw her look benignly down.

And now with joy
We hail thee boy,
Heir of thy royal mother's fame,
And see our Isle
With rapture smile,
Resounding Albert Edward's name
Edward, a name
Of deathless fame,
A name each British bosom hails,
That name we see
Revived in thee,
Another Edward Prince of Wales.

O blessings rest
With kisses prest,
On that sweet infant bud that grows,
An early flower,
One born to power,
A scion of the royal rose.

Our bosoms burn,
To thee we turn,
In willing homage bend the knee;
Hope of our Isle,
We see thee smile,
Edward the hero hail in thee.

We pray for thee,
Our king to be,
The greatest prince the world e'er saw.
May the great King
His blessings bring,
And be His Book of life thy law.

May God above,
In boundless love,
Guard thee and keep thee as his own,
And bless thee so,
That thou mayest grow
Up to support thy mother's throne.

May glory shine,
And grace combine,
Pure as thy father's life be thine.
Mayest thou be strong
Against all wrong,
And be a Prince by Right Divine.

May future days
Record the praise
Of our Victoria's royal son.
May all the earth
Hear of his worth,
And of the greatness he has won.

Innocent babe,
In cradle laid,
Unconscious cause of all this joy,
Each Briton's prayer,
For Britain's heir,
Is "Angels guard thee, royal boy."

GRACE HILL, NOV., 1840.

THE BIBLE.

WRITTEN TO ---- WITH ONE.

The book of life to thee is given,
To warn of death, to guide to Heaven.
Wanderer on the wild astray,
Here wilt thou find the King's highway.
Has thy soul suffered, hunger, pain,
Trying to feed on husks in vain?
Here thou wilt find the palace fair,
Where there is bread enough to spare
Thou'lt find where living waters roll,
To satisfy the fainting soul.
Thou hast been thirsty, very sore,
Here come and drink and thirst no more,
Thou'lt find the pearl of greatest price
Hid in the Master's promises.
And so this book to thee is given
To warn of hell, to guide to Heaven.

GRACE HILL, 1842.

THE ADIEU TO ELIZA.

The night was bright and beautiful,
The dew was on the flower,
The stars were keeping watch, it was
The lover's parting hour.

The night wind rippled o'er the wave,
The moon shone on the two,
The boat was waiting, part they must,
"Eliza, love, adieu!"

"You know how fondly I have loved,
How long, how true, how dear,
And though fate sends me far away
My heart will linger here.

"Bright hope, the lover's comfort, can
Alone my heart console,
Or soothe the pain of parting with
The empress of my soul.

"When other suitors vainly talk
Of fondly loving you,
Remember him who truly loved
As no one else can do.

"I'll think upon the place contains
My dark-eyed source of bliss,
When roaming idly, blindly through
The gay metropolis.

"Weep not, weep not, my dearest girl,
Your tears my bosom pain,
Remember," fondly added he,
"We part to meet again."

He made her pledge him heart to heart
She would not him forget,
Asked her to sigh when at the spot
Where they had often met.

He spoke much of how deep was stamped
Her image on his mind;
One more adieu, the boat was gone.
And she was left behind.

True was the maiden, and she kept
While weeks and months took wing,
His name deep treasured in her heart,
As 'twere a sacred thing.

And he--did he return again
Her long love to repay?
No! in good sooth, as Byron says,
He laughed to flee away.

G HILL, 1839.

TO MY VALENTINE.

1844.

Adieu! Adieu! may angels guard thee,
Hovering near thee night and day,
For all thy good deeds God reward thee,
The rest forgive and blot away.

May no gift nor grace be missing,
May He all on thee confer,
And add a heartfelt prayer and blessing
From the distant wanderer.

O'er the trackless, foaming ocean,
In weal or woe, ever shall be
Mingled in my heart's devotion
Many a prayer for thine and thee.

What tho' across thy memory never
Shall flit my once familiar name,
Hallowed by distance, thine for ever,
Memory shall conjure up again.

All thy follies ever hidden,
All thy virtues raised above,
Thy name, so long, so much forbidden,
Strangers shall learn from me to love.

Adieu! and may we meet in heaven,
Through Him, the Lord, who guides our ways;
And he to whom much was forgiven,
Shall swell the highest notes of praise.

FIRST LOVE.

(A. S.) 1845.

We met--he was a stranger,
His foot was free to roam;
I was a simple maiden,
Who had never left my home.

He was a noble scion
Of the green Highland pine,
To a strange soil transplanted,
Far from his native clime

And well his bearing pleased me,
For I had never seen
Keener eye, or smile more sunlit,
Or more dignity of mien.

His brow was fair and lofty,
Bright was his clustering hair;
I marvelled that to other eyes
He seemed not half so fair

His it was to plead with men,
With "Thus my Lord hath said;"
He stood God's messenger between
The living and the dead

When I heard how earnestly
His pleading message ran,
I said, "Here God has set his seal
To mark a perfect man."

The rapture of a moment
Came suddenly to me;
With softened glance he asked me,
'Could you learn to think of me?'

The star of love shone o'er us,
His arm was round me thrown
And he fondly said he loved me
And loved but me alone

I was but a simple maiden
Village born and village bred
And when this crown of gladness
Dropped down upon my head

A simple maiden's feelings
That moment sprang awake
I wished myself rich, noble
And lovely for his sake

Ah, love akin to sorrow
Ah, ecstasy so fleet!
Why is parting made the surer
When the meeting is so sweet?

Quick as the flash of summer
Came bliss to fade too soon
My poor heart swelled, as ocean
Swells for the lady moon.

I saw him at the altar
Upon a morning fair
The matron and the maiden,
And paranymph were there

There were holy words, and wishes,
And smiles when tears would start
A fair bride stood beside him,
And I--I stood apart.

Then came the parting moment,
After I loved him well;
I stilled my heart's sore beating,
And so I said farewell,

And oh! may no remembrance
Cause him a moment's pain,
But yet, indeed, I loved him,
And I'll never love again.

CHILDREN'S SONG.

We little children join to praise
The Holy Child of endless days.
The Lord of glory undefiled
Was once like us a little child.

Chorus.--
"Sweetly, sweetly, sweetly singing,
Let us praise him, praise him, praise him, bringing
Happy voices, voices, voices ringing
Like the songs of the angels round the throne."

He hears the ravens when they call,
He sees the little sparrows fall,
He heard the little children sing
Hosanna to the Saviour King.
Sweetly, &c.

O Jesus, we sing to praise thee,
Who said let children come to me;
We gather round the mercy seat,
O let our songs to thee be sweet.
Sweetly, &c.

Jesus, our Master, Lord and King,
Spread over us thy sheltering wing,
Keep us unspotted, let us be
Thy children singing praise to thee.
Sweetly, &c.

ANSWER TO BURNS' ADDRESS TO THE DE'IL.

O thou wild rantin' wicked wit;
Are thy works, thy fame livin' yet?
Will thae daft people never quit
An ne'er ha'e done
Disturbin' me in my black pit
Wi' Burn's fun.

Though mony years ha'e fled away
Sin' thou wert buried in the clay,
Thy rhymes, unto this vera day,
Are mair than laws;
Thy name's set up on ilka bra'
Wi' great applause.

And yet, thou wonder-workin' chiel,
I'd let ye' charm Scotch bodies weel,
But that "Address unto the De'il"
Made i' your sport,
Has raised a maist revengefu' squeel
In my black court.

Still by the names you gi'e I'm greeted,
By every Lallan tongue repeated,
I canna turn but what I meet it,
In toun or village;
My bluid, though hot enough, is heated
Till't boils wi' rage.

My deeds that ha'e been handed down,
Sin' I aspired to Heaven's crown,
By thee, Rab, lad, dressed up in rhyme,
To do me skaith,
Are circling still the empire roun'
After thy death.

Ye say I roam in search o' prey,
An' rest na' neither nicht nor day;
A' that ye heard ye'r grannie say
Ye hae confest,
An' mair than hinted at my stay
In Robin's breast.

My secret agents everywhere,
A' Scotland roun', but maist in Ayr,
O guid abuse their ain' an' mair
Ye try to gie them;
Nae credit tae ye that ye were
Acquainted wi' them.

O' ghaists an' kelpies deeds, you ken,
Hauntin' the foord and lonely glen,
Lurin' the tipsy sons of men
In bogs to die;
0' auld wives girnin' but an'ben
Ower bewitched Rye.

An' screeden down, wi' wicked han',
0' my deep laid successfu' plan;
Vexed at the idlest o' man,
Your faither Adam;
That got him sent to till the lan',
Him and his madam.

You are like money I ha'e saw,
For though ye kenned I caused the fa',
An' as ye say, "maist ruined a',"
In that same hour,
You did na strive to get ava
Out o' my power

At Kirk you'd neither pray nor praise,
But on the lassies ye wad gaze,
Notice neat feet, blue eyes, fine claes,
Or Jenny's bonnet,
An makin rhyme on what ye ha'e,
Seen creeping on it.

Hech Rab ye were na blate ava,
Ae time ye're mockin Kirk an' a',
An' then tae me ye gie' your jaw,
Or my abode,
An' tell how weel I laid my claw
On patient Job.

Aye! an' although ye richt weel knew
That I wi' masons had to do
Ye could na' rest, oh, no, not you!
Till numbered wi' them;
Gi'en your "heart's warm fond adieu,"
When gaun to lea them.

An' aft ye did your sire provoke,
By jest and jeer at better folk,
A' solemn thought wad end in smoke,
Sae wad his teachin',
And fun wad fly in jibe an' joke
At lang faced preachin'.

The mair they frowned, you joked the mair,
0' grave ye had a scanty share,
The verra text ya wadna spare,
Be't e'er sae holy,
An' rhymin' ower the pithy prayer
O' pious Willie

Aye' Rab, ye, rail it at me and mine,
Yet hungert after things divine,
I kenn'd how sairly ye wad pine,
For deeds ill done;
Ower talents lost, ower wasted time,
For sake o' fun

An' then remorse wi' pickled rod,
Wad gie' ye mony a lash an' prod,
But aye ye went the rantin' road,
An prone tae err,
You sair misca'd douce men o' God
An Holy Fair.

I winna say it is untrue
What's certified o' me by you,
If ilka ane their duty'd do
As quick an' weel,
As I, my certie! they'd get through,
Spite o' the De'il.

There's ae guid turn ye did for me,
An' I acknowledge't full an' free,
In praisin' up the barley bree
"In tuneful line;"
Nae bard but you its praise could gie
In words sae fine

An' listen tae me 'Rab, my man,
I dinna ken a better plan,
To ser' my turn wi'silly man
An wark them ill,
Than charming them to pleasure drawn
Frae the whisky gill,

This is what gars me maist complain,
Maist as weel kenned as mine's your name,
Auld Scotia claims ye as her ain,
Her dearest one;
An' that daft gilpey, Madam Fame,
Owns thee her son.

I thocht that jests wad flee fu' fain,
Forgetfulness come in again,
That I wad claim ye as my ain,
Tae baud an bin' ye
But noo through a' o' my domain
I canna fin' ye.

Noo fare ye weel, whaure'er ye be,
Ane thing I ken ye're no wi' me,
I ha'e searched high an' low to see,
By spells an' turns;
Sae I maun even let ye be,
O Robert Burns.

G. Hill, 1840.

SEPARATION.

ELIZABETH TO WALTER

He has come and he has gone,
Meeting, parting, both are o'er;
And I feel the same dull pain,
Aching heart and throbbing brain
Coming o'er me once again
That I often felt before.

For he is my father's son,
And, in childhood's loving time
He and I so lone, so young,
No twin blossoms ever sprung,
No twin cherries ever clung,
Closer than his heart and mine.

He is changed, ah me! ah me!
Have we then a different aim?
Shall earth's glory or its gold
Make his heart to mine grow cold?
Or can new love kill the old?
Leaving me for love and fame

Oh, my brother fair to see!
Idol of my lonely heart,
Parting is a time of test,
Father, give him what is best,
Father keep him from the rest,
Bless him though we fall apart.

Well I know love will not die,
It will cause us bliss or pain;
We may part for many years,
But my loving prayers and tears,
Rising up to Him who hears,
Will yet draw him back again.

From the fount of tenderness,
All the past comes brimming up;
When his brow is touched with care,
When no grief of his I share,
When we're separated far,
It will be a bitter cup;
Bless him from before Thy throne,
Thus my heart to Thee makes moan,
Keep him Lord where he is gone

TO ANNE ON HER BIRTHDAY

Let mirth and joy a season reign
And sorrow flee away
Sadness were perfect sin it is
My Anne's natal day

And now a birthday rhyme for her
This sister of my own
Accept the song then for my sake
Sister and only one

So long we've lived together here
Our hopes and fears the same
Like two of autumn's last grown leaves
Last of our race and name

The past we know its grief and joy
Its pleasure and its pain
But know not what may happen ere
Your birthday comes again

Shall we be cradled in the deep
Beneath the briny wave?
Or shall the white deer lightly bound
Over my forest grave?

Or living yet divided far
With lands and seas between
And sorrow reigning in the hearts
Where childhood's joy has been

The future's sealed we know it not
But wander where we will
On this broad earth we shall remain
Lone loving sisters still

TO ISABEL.

(ISABELLA STEWART)

Since ere I left my native isle,
My childhood's home, life's happy smile
And crossed the separating seas,
Nothing my lonely heart could please
Till now--and oh, I cannot tell
How I admire thee, Isabel!

There are, in my dear island green,
Most lovely faces to be seen,
Beautiful eyes, with kindly glee,
Beamed there in laughing love on me
Now I'm alone from day to day,
They're all three thousand miles away.

A stranger's face each face I see,
And every eye is cold to me,
No friendly voice, no kind caress,
No spell to break the loneliness,
Until I fell beneath the spell
Of thy rare beauty, Isabel

I watch thee from my window pane
In hopes a stolen glimpse to gain
I know that purely lovely face,
I know that form of stately grace,
The sweet blue eye, the silken hair
Whose tresses shade thy forehead fair

Thy beauty, like God's summer flowers
Blesses and cheers this world of ours.
Thy smile, the sunshine clear and true
Of a bright spirit looking through
But words of mine can never tell
All of thy praise fair Isabel

Fair Isabel fair Isabel
I learned to know thy beauty well
It rose upon my exiled sight
A very treasure of delight
My loneliness so comforting
That my caged heart began to sing

And if I sing thy beauty's fame
Thy loveliness is all to blame
I loved before I understood
That in thy veins flowed Erin's blood
And I could not help but tell
Of the fair maiden Isabel

On earth the fairest sweetest spot
I'll leave and shall regret it not
Since I have left my earthly home
What matter is it where I roam
Not to the hill I bid farewell
But to the gentle Isabel

Accept then from an Irish heart
This humble tribute ere we part
For thou to me art very dear
The lone star of my sojourn here
To thee I sadly bid farewell
God bless the maiden Isabel

V K HILL 1846

ISABEL.

(ISABELLA STEWART)

Heart of mine, by thy quick beating,
Thou knowest Isabel is near,
And the gladness of the greeting
Dims my eye with rapture's tear.
Heart of mine, each beat will tell
How I love young Isabel.

When I first beheld the maiden,
So fair to see, so sweet to bless,
I, a stranger, sorrow laden,
Arrested by her loveliness,
Then I thought some hand would set,
On that brow a coronet.

She had grace all hearts beguiling,
She had the wealth of silken hair,
And sweet lips, half proud, half smiling,
Neck of snow and bosom fair,
And each eye a sapphire gem
For a monarch's diadem

Oh, she was peerless in her beauty,
Like the fair moon she walked alone,
And loving her was but a duty,
A spell her loveliness had thrown;
And I thought that I could trace
Erin's pencil on her face

With the fervour of my nation,
I worshipped her as months went by,
She was the one constellation,
In my cheerless sky;
Though on me there never fell
One kind glance from Isabel.

Heart of mine we love, we love her,
She is still our lady bright,
Fairest of them all we prove her
Queen of beauty as her right.
And in simple verse we tell
The praises of fair Isabel.

THOUGHTS.

I am glad when men of genius
Array a common thought,
In imperishable beauty
That it cannot be forgot.

The heart thoughts all bright and burnished
By high poetic art,
As sweet as the wood-bird's warble
Touching the very heart.

Have not I, poor workday mortal,
Some thoughts of living light,
In the spirit's inner chambers,
Moving with spirit might?

And they come in the fair spring time
Of heart and life and year,
When sweet Nature's wild rejoicings,
Draws votaries very near

To the heart of all that's lovely
On earth and in the sky;
Making audible the music
Of the inner melody.

Underlying all the sunshine,
Whispering through every breeze,
As it crests the ruffled ocean
Or sways the forest trees.

Bright thoughts that are heart prisoners
Vibrating on its chords,
For, alas! I have not genius
To bring them forth in words.

But full oft, like friendship's greeting
Upon life's weary way,
Do I meet in other's language
What I most wished to say.

To such words my bosom echoes,
I feel they are my own,
They bright echo of my day dreams,
That else were ever flown.

Ah to think, ye men of genius,
What joy your art affords,
Giving to the thoughts of millions
The dress of glowing words!

And a blessing on these words then
To bear them far and free;
That they glad the hearts of many
As they have gladdened me.

TO J W

Dear Jane you say you will gather flowers
To win if you may a verse from me
Can you bring to me those brillant hours
When life was gladdened by poesy?

Bring me the rose with pearls on her breast,
Dropped down as tears from early skies,
Pale lilies gather among the rest
And little daisies, with starry eyes

The heart's-ease bring for many a day
In vain for that flow'ret fair I sought
Turn not your gathering hand away
From the wee blue flower, forget me not

Unless inspiration on them rest
In vain you tempt me to rise and sing
The passage bird that sang in my breast
Has fled away with my life's young spring

My harp on a lonely grave is laid,
Untuned, unstrung, it will lie there long,
If you bring flowers alone dear maid
Without bringing the spirit of song

But accept the friendship that can spring
Out of this romantic heart of mine,
Devoted, true and unwithering,
And for ever thine, for ever thine

THE ORPHAN'S GOOD-BYE.

When my heart was sad and lonely,
And had closed its inmost cell
Over the impulsive feelings
That rule my nation's hearts too well.

When the tie was cut asunder,
That had bound me to a home,
And I felt the desolation
Of being in the world alone;

When I first, the veil assuming,
Masked before a treacherous world,
And the hopes romance expanded
Reality had sternly furled;

And the touch of disappointment,
Blighted what was green and fair,
And the spirit's bright revealings
Are not so hopeful as they were.

Precious are the words of kindness,
Falling on the heart like dew,
Freshening though, alas for weakness,
They cannot make things new.

Thoughts come warm from that deep fountain
Where the hidden feelings dwell,
First to thank thee, noble stranger,
Then to say a kind farewell.

1846.

TO ANNIE ON HER BIRTHDAY.

Sister, sweet sister, years have passed away,
Since first, 'mid warm hearts, sunny, frank and true,
I commenced rhyming on thy natal day,
On the green sod where Erin's shamrock grew.

'Twas in that age that ne'er returns again,
Whose tears are but as dew on Summer flowers;
And young, warm hearts beat kindly round us then,
And eyes beamed brightly, answering love to ours

And now an exile from my native land,
Thinking of well remembered, loved Grace Hill,
To mine own sister verses I will send,
Worthless, yet proving that I love her still

It is thy birthday, and I am alone,
Thinking of that dear land that gave us birth,
The land of hearts that beat to truth alone,
The brightest emerald gem of all the earth.

These fond regrets that press around my heart,
And bring a pain I cannot rise above,
Makes thee still dearer here, alone, apart,
For fate has left me nothing else to love.

Changing life and ever swallowing death,
Have taken what I loved against my will,
But, never mind, for thou, kind hearted, true,
Changeless and noble, thou art left me still.

Happy returns I surely wish thee, Ann,
In this new land that's fated to be ours,
And may you have a happy heart, that can
Enjoy the sunshine, and endure the showers.

GONE.

The heavens look down with chilly frown,
The sun blinks oot wi' watery e'e,
The drift flies fast upon the blast,
The naked trees moan shiveringly.

The sun is gone, by mists withdrawn,
Muffling his head in snow-clouds grey,
The earth turns white, against the night,
The laden winds drive furiously.

The flowers are slain that graced the plain,
The earth is locked wi' bitter frost;
And my heart cries to stormy skies
After the dreary loved and lost.

The spring will come, the flowers will bloom,
The leaves in beauty clothe the tree,
But never more, oh, never more,
Will my lost darling come to me.

Beyond the skies her happy eyes
Look fearlessly in eyes Divine;
The bitter smart, the hungry heart,
Waiting with empty arms, is mine.

THE END.

End of Project Gutenberg's Verses and Rhymes by the Way, by Nora Pembroke