Merlin and other poems online

With blessings for the spray that leaps to kiss
It by the way. There may I commune free
With creatures of the wild that come at eve,
Whose language is the depth of loving eyes,
Who err not from the order of the world.

Spirit of my fountain — pure, benign,
Whose dwelling is in depths of Nether Erd,
Far down, beyond the turmoil of the world,
Serene and sanctified, untouched by storm.
Or aught that can defile, — who wearest aye
Unstained face in trouble or m calm

Of earth or air, — I pray this evil heart

In me may pass. Now would I be at peace

With thee, Spirit, and all gentle things.

1 know mine hour is come.



MERLIN. 33



EusTics (Jierdsmen find Mm at the fountain).

Lo ! Wizard Merlin, lo ! the devil's son !
Destroyer of our crops, bringer fell of storms,
ISTor sparing herdsman in the moorland drift,
N'or tender lamb in bitter wind of March, —
Grip, bind him with the green withes from the tree
Blessed by the priest. Then swiftly to the stream.
\T1iey carry Mm to the Tweed.
Son of air and earth ! let water hide thee,
Gurgling o'er, when thou, sunk deep, art dead
In wheeling Debbit, — devil's pool, where dwells
The iron-toed, the fiend who waits thee there :
On earth or in the air not thine to die.

Strong Spirit of the flood ! we give to thee

The lord of all the elements of air, —

Who from the hills sent torrent through the haugh,

That strove and roared, and bore its tawny mane,

Outsweeping, merciless, in joy of wrath, —

E



34 MERLIN.

To be for ever thine, ne'er more to touch
Our earth with wizard spell.

Merlin (^raising his head once from the current
ere he sinks).

One gleam upon the stream ! My Hwimleian !

My love ! fair daughter of the sun, — thou, thou

Alone art faithful unto passing death

Of this poor feeble framework of the soid

That fears the dread unknown and yearns for

love.
E'en in that future baffling all our ken.
I am for ever consecrate to thee !
What boots it aye to be, if not to be
With love ! — the loved and lost, the soul that

waits
In ever-living love ! With thee I grasp
Anew the golden thread of life, — to be
No more 'mong living men where life is not.



MERLIN. 35



HwiMLEiAN {in the air over the stream).

Now hold I tliee, the spirit, free from taint
Of mortal flesh, and from the tempter's thrall.
Now we are one — one in our strength and love —
Ne'er one before in all that checkered world
Which men call earth, where passions rage and

rule,
And love but seems, and gilded guilt has sway ;
And the brute hand that understandeth not
Can strike the brave, the noble, and the wise —
God-sped, whose kingdom is where earth is not :
There to the best doth e'er befall the worst.
Base earth no longer dominates the soul !
We know it now, one orb among the stars,
A speck upon infinity ; and far
Beneath our winged flight, through ether borne,
In pure and simple vision we shall see
Free beauty undefaced, the truth undimmed,
And purity unsullied — face to face



36 MERLIN.

In that unbroken light which faintly here

Gleams through the veil, and seeks with pitying

heart
To win the unheeding darkness of the world !

And seeing, we shall be what we behold.
Through the unwavering purpose of the soul.
Transfixed by glory of th' Eternal Throne,
Boundless as craving of the heart for bliss.
Here eJffort wanders not in devious ways,
And strength wails not its wasted energy,
N'or love is pain, but will and heart are one
In high endeavour after nobler good,
As life on life evolves, infinite life,
Th' unwearied process of th' eternal years.



37



I.

A BAPTISM AT ST GOEUIAN'S CKOSS.

This Cross was erected by the late Sir John

Naesmyth of Posso and Dawyck, near the site of

the ancient church in the valley of Manor, either

founded by or dedicated to St Gordian. Sir John

was one of the few who knew and felt the power

of the story of Tweedside. Gordian seems to have

been a man of Eoman descent who embraced

Christianity, and whose name became connected

at a very early period with the upper part of

the vale of Manor. There is a cleugh on the

Kirkstead side which is known as Gordon's, but

which is unquestionably Gordian's cleugh. A St

Gordian was beheaded at Eome under Julian the

Apostate about the year 362. A St Gorgon was

martyred under Diocletian. The kirk or chapel in

Manor is variously named Gordian's and Gorgon's.

St Gordian's feast was kept on the 10th of May.



38 A BAPTISM AT ST QORDIAN'S CROSS.

A little gathering of simple folks :
From Kirkhope, Langha', and far Manorhead,
Come plaided shepherds, wives in neat attire,
And their wee lassies, eager, sunny-haired.
Bring posies of fern-leaves and heather-bells.
Rare blooms that nestle late in nooks of glens,
There cherished by the Spirit of the wild,
To be a sweet surprise for shepherds' bairns.
Or autumn wanderer who haunts the moors !

True worth and reverence are in their mien,

Their manners simple, open as the day ;

The heaven's free face has daily greeted them,

And in them dwell, although they wot it not,

The fear, the faith, the worship of the hills !

On the green brae they group them round the cross

That marks the spot where stood an ancient church,

Far in the wild, forgotten long ago ;

Yet 'twas a fane to which the hearts of men

Had yearned of old as to a loved place

Of sepulture, — their prayer that they might lie



A BAPTISM AT ST GORDIAJVS CROSS. 39

At last beneath the eastern oriel,

Where beam of morn would glint upon their grave, —

A link with heaven, and pledge of hoped-for day.

October's tide had touched the purple heath
With russet brown, made bracken golden-hued,
And on the spreading hills there rose and fell
In quiet wavy flow, the lint-white bent, —
A sunny splendour passing from the earth.
Then in his arms the shepherd-father raised
His infant for the holy rite of Christ —
The sweet young life now in its dawn amid
This pathos and this glory of decay !
Oh ! we know not, sweet child, that e'er for thee
The bracken wiU be green, the heather bloom,
Or any spring bring verdure to the hills :
This fading scene may be the world to thee !
But thou art consecrate to Him who was,
And is, and is to come — the abiding Life —
Who on a hillside long ago clothed death
With glory more than splendour of decay.



40 A BAPTISM AT ST GORDIAITS CROSS.

Or lingering streak of summer suns now gone ;
Shed o'er its sombre face the gleam of life, —
The life that holds thee now with Him in God !

The simple rite administered, our heads

Were bowed in prayer, and at the pastor's words

There rose the memories of those who lived

In other times, now laid beneath our feet,

In whom had been the faith, the hope that binds

All fervent men in holy brotherhood,

Through all the years past, present, and to come.

Our souls were moved, — no word was uttered ;

Only the burn, that paused not in its flow,

But came that hour with deep voice from the hills.

In harmony of solemn resonance,

Spoke to the vale the feeling in our hearts.



October 1875.



41



11.

JOCKIE :

COMPANION AND FRIEND, WHO DIED OF OLD AGE, DEC. IS, 1876,
IN HIS EIGHTEENTH TEAR.

Cold, stiff, and dead, thou liest to-day,
My friend on many a pathless yvaj,
Up glen, o'er hill, and moorland lone :
No fear hadst thou, aj^e bounding on,
For I was there !

On many a misty top we've been,
For long where nought was heard or seen,
Thou by my side, — thy lint-white hair.
To me a gladsome vision there.
Lighting the gloom !

F



42 JOCKIE.

By weird grey cairn on windy height,
Where, far away from human sight,
We sat an hour in storm or shine,
Thy wondering eyes would peer in mine,
In wistful gaze.

If but a crust I gave to thee.
How grateful Avas thy look to me !
Thou ne'er didst want, yet well I knew
Thou wert as faithful and as true,
Whate'er thy lot.

One common joy, one common life.
We had apart from human strife ;
I was thy trust, and thou didst lend
To me the charm of single friend,
A blessing rare.

Wilful sometimes, as mountain-hare.
The source to me of heartfelt care,



JOCKIE. 43

Would tempt thee to a vagrant cliase ;

Threatened, till back thou cam'st apace,

To be forgiven.

Since first we went among the heather,
'Tis fourteen years, and, there together,
Thou hast pursued thy silent thought,
And in my brain have fancies wrought.
Some marked, some lost.

But, gentle soul, I cannot say
That any gleam of fancy's ray
E'er touched me with the softening power
Thy love and faith, from hour to hour,
Aye had for me.

And now this eve thy grave is low,
And white beneath the Christmas snow ;
The silent moon gleams calm o'er thee.
As it shall steal one night o'er me,
When laid as thou.



44 JOCKIE.

Thy simple faith, thy loving trust,
Thy kindlmg eye, — are these but dust 1
Cast forth as weeds to rot in earth,
With nothing of immortal worth 1
K'o ! God is just !

Christmas Eveninrj, 1876.



45



III.
OCTOBEE m THE SCOTTISH LOWLANDS.

The russet's o'er the heather,
The grace of the bracken gone ;

Sere and dim each moorland space,
Where the gleam of summer shone.



The mist creeps o'er the height,
The burn comes hoarser down

The wandering wind is wailing
Among the bent "sae brown."



46 OCTOBER IN THE SCOTTISH LOWLANDS.

The blaelaerry leaf, blood-red,
Flushes the face of the brae,

As a crimson drop distilled
From a deed in an olden fray.



The last golden sheaves of the haugh
Are borne on the creaking wain ;

Another year is upgathered,
Ne'er to be mine again !



The varied days may pass,

The varied times go by !
Let the spirit in me grow,

Seasons may ceaseless fly !

On the sun-bright hues of summer

May come a sober grey,
And the wreath on autumn's meUow crown

Have the pathos of decay.



OCTOBER IN THE SCOTTISH LOWLANDS. 47

For the sunny liours I've known

No vain regrets I find,
If, passing, they but leave me

Fresh heart and a wider mind !

October 1878.



48



IV.

GLENHEUEIE.

Glbnheurie, or the Dark Glen, is the name of
the deeply cleft and rocky valley which rims from
near the top of Broadlaw north-eastwards in the
direction of the Tweed. The burn in the glen
joins the Herstane Burn about a mile above Her-
stane House. The line of the Glenheurie Burn
affords the most picturesque ascent of the Broad-
law. It may be noted that Herstane takes its
name from two standing-stones by the burn, and
is probably derived from the Icelandic hdr (masc.)
Jdgh, and steinn, stone. In Welsh and Cornish 7wV
or her means long, and we have maenhir or long
(standing) stone. But the Icelandic derivation, as
accounting for both parts of the word Herstane, is
preferable.



' ;



GLENHEURIE. 49

In the heart of the hills,
Grand Glenheurie ! Dark Glen, —
How fitly they named thee,
These old Cymric men, —
Thine was the forest gloom
Wliere the sun vainly shone ;
Not a leafier shade
In thy wood, Caledon !

l^ow the forest shaw gone,
Storm-swept aU the glen,
Only rowan and birk
Here and there ye may ken ;
J^ot a copse for the lurking deer,
!N"ot a shieling for man ;
But a stern mountain-wall,
And, high as we scan.
The scant heather clings
To the screes in its fold.
And down in thy depths
Lies an awe as of old.

G



50 GLENHEURIE.

Down the vast mountain-cleftj
Deep, secret, and deme, —
From the sky-line afar,
In the misty heights born,
Foaming thy waters leap
From rock into linn ;
But thine ear, Glenheurie,
Lists the voice in its din,
And dear to thy lone heart.
As the echoes rebound.
Is the Spirit that moves
In the wild rushing sound.

Grand Glenheurie ! Dark Glen,
It is well to be here.
And to brood in thy wilds
With the spirit of Fear !
With thee dwells the lonely.
E'en the old forest grace.
The wild birds that haunt thee,
The last left of their race.



GLENHEURIE. 61

Falcon, eagle are gone,
Yet a raven's sole brood
Seeks a meet resting-place
In thy stern solitude.
Oh ! ruthless the hand, bird.
And cursed be the sport,
That holds not for holy
Thy last place of resort !

High here in the wilds
One green Eowan abides.
All defiant of storm,
Fierce time and its tides :
Forest chieftain he is,
In liis state and his glory,
Old as long centuries.
And grim as their story.

A chieftain forsaken,
Subjects, rivals, all gone :



52 GLENHEURIE.

Yet a true lord lie rests,
With a grace of liis own !
Great-toled and outspreading,
Limb-scarred in the strife,
Firm-nerved through the years
In the battle for life, —
Thy Eowan, Glenheurie,
Has the strength of the free,
Eock-throned at thy head,
As thy monarch should be !

Tree ! the tales thou couldst tell
Of the years that are gone, —
The huntings, the night-raids,
Wlien clear the moon shone.
Of Hawkshaw and Powmood,
Fruid and Stanhope, Cardon,
Drummekier and Dawyck,
Each a stalwart baron, —
How they followed the deer



GLENHEURIE. 53

In the good olden day,
How fleet in the chase,
And how prompt in the fray !

Ay ! Drummelzier and Dawyck
May have sat in thy hield,
Speaking sad words together
Of sad Flodden field.
How they saw the king's face
As he passed 'mid the stour,
Knowing not if he lived.
Or met death in that hour !
May have spoke of a youth
Brave and keen in the van,
"Whose troth was to heal
The old feuds of the clan.
His still form by the TiD,
As the gloamin' drew on, —
Gone the hope of his house,
Dead the heart he had won.



54 GLENHEVRIE.

This old life now is past, —
Here thy Eowan abides,
E'en with whitest of bloom
Still greets the spring-tides ;
As the bridal guests saAv it
When they rode to Powmood,
And they spoke of young Bertha,
Sweet flower of the wood, —
Shows its berries deep-red,
As on that autumn day,
When, blood-red, the hands
Put the fair bride away.

Dark, haunted Glenheurie,
All my heart is with thee,
And the hoar face of eld
On thy brave Rowan-tree !

July 5, 1878.



55



V.

A PICTUEE AT GLOMIIN'.

The solitary way I love,

When gloamin' darkens o'er,

And but my own footfall I hear,
'Mid shapes and shadows hoar,



The dusty road, a long white line,
The fir-woods round me dim.

Through spaces of the moorland dun
One cottage sends a gleam.



56 A PICTURE AT GLOAMIN".

The going burn grows grey and wan,

And pours a deeper sound,
And in the darkening air o'erhead

Are strange cries round and round.

When, lo ! upshoots the eastern moon,

Silvers the birken tree,
Then streaks my path with gleam and shade,

'Mid the spreading moorland free.

October 1878.



57



VI.
THE VOICE OF THE DANISH BOY.

A TRADITION OF THE BORDER HILLS.

The sun is passing behind the hill,

The eventide falls soft and still,

And down the glen from the western steep

The shadow moves in a dream-like sleep.

Peace there is for each farm and tower.

And the bliss and the rest of the gloamin' hour.

Around the vale on each wavy height
There streams the glow of a meUow light.
The farewell boon of the parting sun
To the hills that watch till his race is run.

H



58 THE VOICE OF THE DANISH BOY.

But list ! A strange deep-passioned tone
Is borne from the height that light shines on,
As of harp-strings touched with a gentle hand,
And the voice as of song of a foreign land.

E'ot loud or strained is the mingled note,

Only loving ear can hear it float ;

It breaks not the calm of eve profound,

How gentle, yet deep, is that mountain sound !

!N'ow it thrills in hope, then it faUs in pain,

Eises and thriUs and falls again.

As if passion had sunk to soft regret

O'er its fruitless day of strife with fate.

And empire held and the pride of power

Were a mournful dream of the evening hour.

From the hill there came a shepherd fair, —
" Had he heard the voice in the silent air ? "
" Yes ! " was his answer, — '• I know it well ;
Oft in the evening I hear it swell.



THE VOICE OF THE DANISH BOY. 59

When the stillness comes in the summer night,

And the far hill-tops are aglow with light.

'Tis suddenly born, 'tis speedily dead ;

As the gleam that glows on the mountain's head,

So suddenly comes and speedily goes

This strange weird song at the evening's close.

It dies with the light in a softening strain,

Till in the quiet eve it wakes again —

The plaint that follows the note of joy —

And I know 'tis the voice of ' the Danish Boy,'

Who sits a brief space on that green grave-mound.

Where say they his forebears' bones are found."

Sweet burst of regret for the olden time.
When hope was high and life in its prime, —
The theme is old, the strain ever young,
Nor heard alone in a foreign tongue.
From many a heart in this life of ours
There comes a like strain in the evening hours, —
A thrill from hope perished, and effort unblessed.
When our day is o'er, and our sun's in the west !



60



VII.
THE CLOUDBERRY.

Nay, touch it not ; 'tis the cloudberry bloom,
My friend, you and I have found,

On this far height, 'raid the soft June winds,
Pale- white on the mossy ground.



Ah ! rarely 'tis seen by the eye of man ;

By us let it be not soiled :
The spirits linger long on the mists of the morn.

To watch it ope on the wild.



TEE CLOUDBERRY. 61

Up the hill we have climbed by dyke and burn,
The heather was breaking in green,

The blaeberry flower was red on the brae, —
Now we kneel to the Mountain Queen !

High 'neath the clouds thou bloomest alone, —
Last flower of the moorland free —

Thy homage the circling peewit's cry,
And the hum of the mountain-bee !

N'o blacker waste have the heights than thine,

White star of the mossy lea !
Face-turned to the dew and the light of morn.

Thou winnest thy purity !

Bloom fairer than thine I ne'er have seen

In dale or on hill I've climbed,
And ne'er have I known a darker birth

By the power of Heaven sublimed !

June 1879.



62



VIII.

ANDEEW HISLOP— MARTYR

About a mile to the north of the parish church in
Eskdalemuir, and not far from the river, stands a
solitary tombstone on the green hillside. It bears
the following inscription : " Andrew Hislop, Mar-
tyr, shot dead upon this place by Sir James John-
ston of Westerhall and John Graham of Claver-
house, May 12, 1685." Hislop was a young
shepherd living with his mother near this spot.
They had given shelter for the night to a fugitive
Covenanter. The atrocity of the circumstances
attending this murder is not overdrawn in the
poem.



ANDREW HISLOP— MARTYR. 63

Andrew Hislop ! shepherd lad,
" Martyr " graven on your tomb ;

Here you met the brutal Clavers,

Here you bore his murderous doom —



Coming from the hill that mom,
Doing humble duty well ;

Free in step, your honest look
Born of sunlight on the fell —



Here, — the Eskdale mountains round you.
In your ear the murmuring stream ;

Here, — 'tis May, the bleatmg lambs ;
Life but seems a peaceful dream.

K"o weapon have you but the crook.
Your soft helpless flock to guide ;

Here they shot you, shepherd lad.

Here you poured your warm heart-tide.



64 ANDREW HISLOP— MARTYR.

"Ere I pass into tlie Presence,
May I make a prayer to God ? "

" E'ot 'one word," said brutal Clavers ;
" Kneel to ns, you rebel clod !



" Draw your bonnet o'er your eyes,
That is boon enough for thee. "

" My God I meet with open face —
AVhom you will hardly dare to see."

Westerhall and Claverhouse —

Turn now since the deed is done !

What care ye for rebel corpse 1
Let it bleach beneath the sun.



So they left you, martyr brave, —
Left you on the reddened sod ;

But no raven touched your face, —
On it lay the peace of God !



ANDREW HISLOP— MARTYR. 65

On the moor the widow-mother

Bows to lot of dule and pine,
And Westerhall and Claverhouse

Have merrily rode back to dine !



Jvly 1880.



66



IX.

THE EETUEN OF SPEING.

Oh ! long beneatli the wintry blast
Has cowered the Angel of Spring ;

'Mid showers and sunshine at last
She has risen on timorous wing.



The birch she has gracefully tressed,
The larch tipped with delicate green,

The fresh hues of the spruce has set
The dark mantled firs between.



THE RETURN OF SPRING. 67

Low-sweet is her voice in the vale,
^Vhere the water is singing free,

And the trout sun-circles are making
On the pool in their heart of glee.



The linnet a love-call it pipes
To its mate from a leafy bower ;

And the bumble-bee is burrowing
'Mid its music in the flower.



The yellow violet peers on the hill, —
Eye of love for the spring's new green ;

And each meadow-runnel is blessed
With the milk-eyed cardamine.



From the grave ariseth the soul
Of a new and trustful life.

In calm of faith, — as if ne'er despair
Had ruled 'mid the winter's strife.



68 THE RETURN OF SPRING.

Blessed Angel of spring, to me

Thou'rt bringer of joy and tears, —

A bright-winged and dreamful thought.
To weaken my doubts and fears.



June 8, 1878.



69



OCTOBEE.

The glory is gone,

The purple, the sheen,
The deep heather-bloom,

The spaces of green.



The moorland is clad

Li the buff and the brown,
The brackens dishevelled,

The bent bowing down.



70 OCTOBER.



Your brightness too brief,
Ye moorlands and fells ;

Fades the green that bedecks
Your burn-heads and wells.



Soft the wind soughed

In the glad summer time ;

Pensive the hiU-face,

Now mourning its prime.



Pass all our best joys,

Short-lived in their hour,

As the one splendid glimpse
In a sweet summer shower.



October 1880.



71



XL
A PASSING SCENE ON THE HILLS.

AUGUST 2, 1881.

This day
A gentle and a balmy south-west wind,
From ocean far, upbrings grey woven clouds
That softly veil the sun ; their spreading skirts
Close o'er the sky-line of the circling hills.
Suddenly one vale, beneath the sombre heavens,
Is lit from haugh to height in radiance
From the unseen. The rude moor brightens with
A fervid joy, as of an angel's kiss
Impressed upon the brow of one that wakes
To rapture in a shimmering land of dreams,—
The home of happy fleeting phantasy.



72



XII.

3n /Iftcmoriam.

JOHN BEOWI^, M.D.

The yellow violet on the hill

Came forth to-day in tenderest mien

A month before its earliest time,

And up my heart leapt full, I ween.

But sudden rose a saddening thought,
That quick repressed the impulse meet,

For I had learned, an hour before,
Thy noble heart had ceased to beat.



JOHN BROWN. 73

The violet comes from out the death
Of winter, when thy tender eyes,

That would have watched it with all love,
Are closed to every glad surprise.



Thou, Scotland's son by birth and blood,
The heir of all she loves, reveres ;

Her pith of sense, her power of worth,
Her humour, pathos, pitying tears.



]S"o borrowed strain, no trick of art —
The home-grown theme thine offering ;

Anie and Eab, Pet Marjory,

And Minchmuir with its haunted spring.



Thy life a fount of simple joys,
A sum of duties nobly done ;

The meed of love, the memory dear
In human hearts for ever won.

K



74 JOHN BROWN.

Yet not unclouded was thy sky ;

Some hours of doubt and dark were thine,
Ere brighter grew thy close of day,

The splendour of a sun's decline.



Thou truest friend, thou warmest heart,
"Where art thou now % my spirit cries.

"Within the veil I see thee stand.

And round thee are the pure and wise.

The brow, the face we loved on earth,

These, these are thine ; what nobler guise %

The crown above thy silver locks,
And radiant o'er thy gentle eyes !

May 12, 1882.



75



XIII.
MY OWIST FAMILIAR HILLS.

Your charm abideth ever,

My own familiar hills ;
Let Sim or storm enwrap yon,

My heart with passion fiUs.



Though yours no Alpine grandeur
To thrill the sensuous eye,

A hand unseen, slow-working,
Through ages long gone by,



76 Ml' OWN FA MILIAR HIZLS.

In wavy lines hath shaped you,
Far-spreading, silent, free ;

O'er an earth-ocean moveless
The eye goes ceaselessly.

Your ujjlands have a music

In the depths of summer calm ;

Your noonday voices fusing
In one low heavenward psalm.



0' night, your broad brows shimmer
In the white and weird moontide ;

In your glens far doAvn and awesome
Dim haunting shapes abide.



Oft on the morn of winter

I've seen your grey crags stand,

White-crowned in snowy radiance,
The joy of all the land.



MY OWJV FAMILIAR HILLS. 77

In June you gracious greet me,

With the rock-rose, meek and still ;

The yellow violet smiles to me.
And the fairy tormentil.



In August glows the heather.
And gleams the bracken green ;

The milk-wort lifts its gentle face.
The grassy tufts between.



October spreads its spaces.
High o'er the moorland free.

Of lint- white bent in ripples,