The Modern Scottish Minstrel Volume V Part 20

Oh, dule on the poort.i.th o' this countrie, And dule on the wars o' the High Germanie, And dule on the love that forgetfu' can be, For they 've wreck'd the bravest heart in this hale countrie.

THE LADYE THAT I LOVE.

Were I a doughty cavalier On fire for high-born dame, With sword and lance I would not fear To win a warrior's fame.

But since no more stern deeds of blood The gentle fair may move, I 'll woo in softer better mood The ladye that I love.

For helmet bright with steel and gold, And plumes that flout the sky, I 'll wear a soul of hardier mould, And thoughts that sweep as high.

For scarf athwart my corslet cast, With her fair name y-wove; I 'll have her pictured in my breast, The ladye that I love.

No crested steed through battle throng Shall bear me bravely on, But pride shall make my spirit strong, Where honours may be won.

Amidst the great of mind and heart, My prowess I will prove, And thus I 'll win, by gentler art, The ladye that I love.

THOU GENTLE AND KIND ONE.

Thou gentle and kind one, Who com'st o'er my dreams, Like the gales of the west, Or the music of streams; Oh, softest and dearest, Can that time e'er be, When I could be forgetful Or scornful of thee?

No! my soul might be dark, Like a landscape in shade, And for thee not the half Of its love be display'd, But one ray of thy kindness Would banish my pain, And soon kiss every feature To brightness again.

And if, in contending With men and the world, My eye might be fierce, Or my brow might be curl'd; That brow on thy bosom All smooth'd would recline, And that eye melt in kindness When turn'd upon thine.

If faithful in sorrow, More faithful in joy-- Thou shouldst find that no change Could affection destroy; All profit, all pleasure, As nothing would be, And each triumph despised Unpartaken by thee.

LAMENT FOR THE OLD HIGHLAND WARRIORS.

Oh, where are the pretty men of yore?

Oh, where are the brave men gone?

Oh, where are the heroes of the north?

Each under his own gray stone.

Oh, where now the broad bright claymore?

Oh, where are the trews and plaid?

Oh, where now the merry Highland heart?

In silence for ever laid.

Och on a rie, och on a rie, Och on a rie, all are gone; Och on a rie, the heroes of yore, Each under his own gray stone.

The chiefs that were foremost of old, Macdonald and brave Lochiel, The Gordon, the Murray, and the Graham, With their clansmen true as steel; Who follow'd and fought with Montrose, Glencairn, and bold Dundee; Who to Charlie gave their swords and their all, And would aye rather fa' than flee.

Och on a rie, &c.

The hills that our brave fathers trod Are now to the stranger a store; The voice of the pipe and the bard Shall awaken never more.

Such things it is sad to think on-- They come like the mist by day-- And I wish I had less in this world to leave, And be with them that are away.

Och on a rie, &c.

THOMAS AIRD.

Thomas Aird, one of the most distinguished of the living Scottish poets, was born in the parish of Bowden, Roxburghs.h.i.+re, in 1802. He received the rudiments of his education at Bowden and Melrose parish schools; and went through a course of literary and philosophical study at the University of Edinburgh. In 1827 he published a little treatise, ent.i.tled "Religious Characteristics." After a residence of some years in Edinburgh, in the course of which he contributed occasionally to _Blackwood's Magazine_, and other periodicals, he was, in 1835, on the recommendation of his steadfast friend Professor Wilson, appointed editor of the _Dumfries Herald_, a conservative journal newly started in Dumfries. The paper has prospered under his management, and he is editor still. In 1845 he published "The Old Bachelor in the Old Scottish Village," a collection of tales and sketches of Scottish scenery, character, and life. In 1848 he collected and published his poems. In 1852 he wrote a memoir of his friend, David Macbeth Moir (the well-known "Delta" of _Blackwood's Magazine_), and prefixed it to an edition of Moir's poems, which he edited for behoof of the poet's family, under the generous instructions of the Messrs Blackwood. In 1856 a new edition of Mr Aird's poems appeared, with many fresh pieces, and the old carefully revised; Messrs Blackwood being the publishers.

THE SWALLOW.

The little comer 's coming, the comer o'er the sea, The comer of the summer, all the sunny days to be; How pleasant, through the pleasant sleep, thy early twitter heard-- Oh, swallow by the lattice! glad days be thy reward!

Thine be sweet morning, with the bee that 's out for honey-dew, And glowing be the noontide, for the gra.s.shopper and you; And mellow s.h.i.+ne, o'er days' decline, the sun to light thee home-- What can molest thy airy nest? Sleep till the morrow come.

The river blue, that lapses through the valley, hears thee sing, And murmurs much beneath the touch of thy light-dipping wing; The thunder-cloud, over us bow'd, in deeper gloom is seen, When quick relieved it glances to thy bosom's silvery sheen.

The silent power that brings thee back, with leading-strings of love, To haunts where first the summer sun fell on thee from above, Shall bind thee more to come aye to the music of our leaves, For here thy young, where thou hast sprung, shall glad thee in our eaves.

GENIUS.

Eye of the brain and heart, O Genius, inner sight, Wonders from thee familiar start, In thy decisive light.

Wide and deep the eye must go, The process of our world to know.

Old mountains grated to the sea, Sow the young seed of isles to be.

States dissolve, that Nature's plan May bear the broadening type of man.

Pa.s.ses ne'er the Past away; Child of the ages springs to-day.

Life, death, and life! but circling change, Still working to a higher range!

Make thee all science, Genius, clear Our world; all Muses, grace and cheer.

And may the ideal thou hast shewn, With joy peculiar be thine own; For thee the starry belts of time, The inner laws, the heavenly chime; Thine storm and rack--the forests crack, The sea gives up her secrets h.o.a.ry; And Beauty thine, on loom divine, Weaving the rainbow's woof of glory.

Power of the civic heart, More than a power to know, Genius, incarnated in Art, By thee the nations grow.

Lawgiver thine, and priest, and sage, Lit up the Oriental age.

Persuasive groves, and musical, Of love the illumined mountains all.

Eagles and rods, and axes clear, Forum and amphitheatre; These in thy plastic forming hand, Forth leapt to life the cla.s.sic Land.

Old and new, the worlds of light, Who bridged the gulf of Middle Night?

See the purple pa.s.sage rise, Many arch'd of centuries; Genius built it long and vast, And o'er it social knowledge pa.s.s'd.

Far in the glad transmitted flame, s.h.i.+nar, knit to Britain, came; Their state by thee our fathers free, O Genius, founded deep and wide, Majestic towers the fabric ours, And awes the world from side to side.