Merlin and other poems online

A breezy golden sea.

Wlien o'er you clouds are rushing,
I'm borne on fancy's wing ;

Pass high in air old riders,
I list their bridles ring.



78 MY OWN FAMILIAR HILLS.

And then the heavens will open, —
The free fair face of noon ;

Awhile I rest in blest dreamland,
As I hear the burn-heads croon.



Ye bright and gladsome burnies,
That leap and flash and gleam,

Where the bonnie birk is drooping,
And the rowan shades the stream,-



Ye make the rarest music.
The rocks are earless, grey ;

In fulness of your own sweet heart
Aye singing by the way, —

The voice of one that heeds not

Our earthly sympathy ;
Still hymning to the Love Unseen

A lyric true and free.



MY OWJSr FAMILIAR HILLS. 79

Ye solitary uplands,

"WTiom rarely foot hath trod,
Known but to one who loves you,

And the open eye of God,



In saddest mood ye've found me,
Thought dark as of the tomb, —

The sun-glints glancing o'er you
Have scattered aU my gloom.



I've seen in skyey spaces
Looks not of earth or time,

And forms of shadowy niountaias,
In another far-off clime.



And then the mist would wrap me
In many a mazy fold, —

The spectre shapes around me.
From the dim dreamland of old



80 MY OWaV familiar HILLS.

They rise, they flit before me,

In silent airy tread ;
In the speeding forms and speechless,

I know historic dead.



A strange hushed life deep buried

Ye keep -within your breast,
The stain of ancient story,
The spirit of unrest ;



The grace of knightly presence,

The faith of lovers' vow ;
A tenderness of hearts long quenched.

Ye bear the memory now.

In that still sheen of moonlight
I see their track, their tread :

Behind them in the valley
The seven brothers dead.



3ir OWN FAMILIAR HILLS. 81

I see him stoop, drink faintly,

Beside the water wan ;
The purple stain ; the maiden.

She fears a dymg man.



This old life gone for ever,
A void and airy dream ;

The forms of all the legends,
But shadows on the stream !



No ! not whUe heart can feel it,
Or bosom heave a sigh ;

There is a living presence
For every living eye.

Ye give me thoughts all holy.
Ye knit me to the strong ;
Ye nerve the will for duty,
^ And stir the heart to song.



82 MY OWN FAMILIAR HILLS.

Let fickle fame go by me,
Mean forms of eartlily good,

If God my mountains leave me,
And my mountain solitude.



July 1882.



83



XIV.



' A hasty jest I once let fall —
As jests are wont to be, untrue—
As if the sum of joy to you
Were hunt and picnic, rout and ball."

— C. KiNGSLEY.



TO



It was a ligMsome word I spoke,
E"ot knowing in a perfect way

The being of your inner heart,

The varying powers there holding sway.



84 TO .

I said you were on pleasure bent —
The dance, the theatre, and the pride

Of life, and pompous circumstance,
"With gilded glory for your guide.



I knew you winced, and secret said :
" Is this the whole of life to me ? "

Doubtless I touched but half the truth,
Yet half the truth may make one free !



When dallying with the lower self.
Perhaps 'tis well to have it said —

" This, this is you," for thenceforth springs
The thought that quickens heart and head ;



And makes us feel how very near
"We are to edge of the abyss ;

How very near the glory waits,
"Which only for a word we miss.



TO . 85

The swallow from a sunny clime

Dips strange upon the darkened mere,

Then sudden rises high on wing
Into the genial sunshine clear.



So you have touched the chilling wave,
And found it not as once you thought ;

Then sudden with a lofty flight
Into a higher clime are brought.



Dear Friend ! ne'er let your drooping wing

Into the lower current fall.
But rise upon the glorious gleam —

This is your Father-God's recall !

Christmas Eve, 1882.



XV.

THE CYMRIC T0W:N-.

The remains of the dwellings or hill-forts of the
ancient Cymri are numerous on the hills of the
Scottish Lowlands, especially in the central or more
mountainous district, including the valleys of Eddie-
stone, Lyne, Manor, Tweed, Yarrow, Ettrick, and
Teviot. They are chiefly to be found on the
lower hills, of an elevation from 800 to 1600
feet or thereby. They consist generally of a
rounded space or area, encu-cled by a ditch
and mound. Sometimes they show more than
one surrounding trench and embankment, either



THE CYMRIC TOWN. 8Y

partial or complete. The inner area usually con-
tains remains that may be regarded as those of
dwellings, probably wattled. Time and other
agencies have done much to efface the original
lineaments, but very good examples of what
these fort-dwellings must have been at first still
survive, especially in the valleys of Eddlestone and
Manor. Caer was the original designation, and it
is now frequently to be met with in names of
places.

'Tis the place of the Cymric town.

On the high and airy hiU ;
The green o'er its ruined mounds,

Its once living voices still.

Shapeless the homes where they hved,
Shapless the cairns of their dead ;

Sim-God ! ye gleam as of yore,

But ye thrill not the mouldering head !



88 THE CYMRIC TOWN.

The bee hums low in the heather,
The old tune the waters keep ;

But nerveless the eager ear,

^Nought breaks on that dreamless sleep.



And fair lies the land they loved,
Around their old wattled home ;

Hill and moor and boundless sky,
Far spread as the eye can roam.



Sweet music flows in each name
They gave to the wavy hiU,

The haugh and the gleaming stream,
And the rushing moimtain-rill.



Garlet, Garlavan, Caerdon,

Ye speak of their ancient time ;

Penvenna, Trahenna, Traquair,
Ye fall with a mystic chime.



THE CYMRIC TOWX. 89

Theirs Talla, Manor, and Fruid,
Drummelzier foaming in speed ;

And streams to be famous in story —
Yarrow, Teviot, and Tweed.



The height and the might of the hill,
The depth of the misty glen,

The roaring wind and the flood,
"Were dear to the Cymric men.



And one great Power was in all —
The spirit of shade and gleam.

That made his peace with the eve.
And woke in the morning beam.



Now in forest gloom enwrapt,

Dim fear to the heart he brings ;

Then sweet with the bird out-speaks,
In each note that joyous rings.



90 THE CYMRIC TOWN.

By the Caer are the ancient graves
On this high and airy height ;

No lowlier tomb for the Cymri

Than the eagle sweeps in his flight.



ISTow meet falls the evening's peace ;

A lone clear star is on high ;
In ghostly line the white sheep pass

Up the hill 'neath the gloamin' sky.



91



XVI.

5n ^emoriam,
EEV. JAMES EUSSELL, D.D., YAREOW.

A MORN of mist and weeping rain,

As well befits our sorrow,
Hangs o'er thy vale, and o'er thy stream ;
Thou wrievest — rueful Yarrow !



The courtly grace, the kindly face.
Thou keepest not his marrow ;

A quiet, self-sufficing life

He lived by thee, Yarrow !



92 REV. JAMES RUSSELL, D.D., YARROW.

Of restless aim or fickle fame
ISo comfort would he borrow ;

But he would live the people's friend,
And be thy lover, Yarrow !



By deed of blood, by hopeless love.
Thou every heart canst harrow ;

Thy spirit in our gentle friend
"Was purified, Yarrow !



The strife of life he heeded not,
His joy to heal the sorrow

That fell upon each humble heart,
By thy clear wave, Yarrow !

On every hill, in every glen,

To meet him was good morrow ;

Now blithesome lark may o'er him trill
On thy dowie houms, Yarrow !



REV. JAMES RUSSELL, D.D., YARROW. 93

I've seen thee oft at winter tide,

But ne'er so sad beforrow ;
ISTe'er fern so sere, nor bent so wan,

'Nov birk so bare in Yarrow !



The pastor and the friend is gone ;

Be his a brighter morrow
Than ever dawned upon thy vale,

Even thine ! winsome Yarrow !

January 12, 1883.



94



XVII.

THE SYCAMOEE BEFORE MY WINDOW.

APRIL 7, 1883.

My sycamore ! my precious tree !

I've watched you through the years arise,
A sapling growing free and fair,

And now full-formed in noble guise !



A favoured nursling of the soil,

Through sun and dew, and raua and storm,
'Mid powers conflicting you have reared.

By higher power, harmonious form.



THE SYCAMORE BEFORE MY WINDOW. 95

Not turned aside by any gleam,

Througli witchery of the wooing sim,

Not warped by tempest in its swing —
Your steadfast purpose kept and won.



This hour you stand before me bare,
In symmetry of bole and plan ;

Hid at your root the spirit works,
As fresh as when the world began.



One common life you have in all,

In root and branch each other's good ,

And every careless bough is twined
In sympathy of brotherhood.



ISTow with the eve the sun hath set
In golden bars your leafless frame,

And through the tracery of your boughs
The hni slows in cathedral flame.



96 THE SYCAMORE BEFORE MY WINDOW.

An oriel 'gainst the southern sky,
A hundred scenes you give for one ;

Each checkered pane hath its own heaven,
Yet severs not th' infinite throne.



When summer clothes you green in leaf,
'Tis then you have a merry tide,

Play with the kisses of the sun.
And feel a joy you cannot hide.



And as I curious gaze on space.
You nod to me and I to you,

And back you call my wandering thought
With a familiar touch and true.



The figure always 'gainst the void.
To me more than a human friend.

Why should I roam the world wide,
While you have grace and joy to lend 1



THE SYCAMORE BEFORE MY WINDOW. 97

Five riders for yoiir tops you show,
And seldom rest they, foul or fair ;

With helmets on, they jocund spur,
A merry lot, and high in air.



As with the wind they ride and ride,
I wonder what they would be at,

For on they go and back they swing,
And ne'er progress a single whit.

In air they beat against the sky ;

On earth we strive a similar round.
Each finds the limit of his fate ;

'Tis ours to know that we are bound !



98



XVIII.
THE HUNDLESHOPES.

Heights sootlied and lapt in calm
This heaven's holy day ; o'er your broad brows
The sky-dropt shadows pass one after one,
Self-woven in a dream that hovers o'er
Your silent face, and gently steals its way :
The Spirit pure that dwells with you, grave hills,
Well pleased to be, in such a sovereign hour
Of bliss, the partner of the love of heaven,
Li deep abandonment to holy joy.
Let shadow darken, or let gleam illume.
Ye have no question, but are well content
To wait the opening of the mystery.

Sunday, July 29, 1883.



99



XIX.

A EEMINISCENCE.

An eager boy, yet of despairful heart,

As with the bright noon I set forth to scale

The sky-concealing height, that rose beyond

The red burn-heads ; methought I then should find

And know the mystery — the One who is

The fount of all ; and thus I strove far up

The lonely glen, 'mid screes and panting braes

Of green, still pressing on for Him above,

If haply I might find Him face to face,

In free communion : but I found Him not, —

Only the moor's silence, and th' infinitude

Around me, draped in clear-grey realms of sky,



100 A REMINISCENCE.

Wliere might reign the nameless One whom men

call God ;
Not here the vision, but the gleam that hints
And keeps the hope of Him in heart and soul.
And now that I have climbed well up life's height,
By Sense I find Him not, but in the Faith
Which, struggling, strives and holds, He beckoning

me
As by departing sign, — I with dim sight
Following lowly where His steps have been.

July 1883.



101



XX.

MY EEPLY TO THE SHEPHEED.

" Why do you go where no man goes

Among the uplands wild 1
Are you a man who's stem at heart, —

Your eyes, methinks, are mild 1 "



Thus to me spoke a shepherd grey,
With upturned wondering gaze ;

And thus to him I made reply
About my wayward ways : —



102 MY REPLY TO THE SHEPHERD.

" In inmost soul I'd be alone,
Beyond your farthest beat,

Beyond the valleys where the lambs
In June together bleat —



" Beyond tlie spring-fringed birks I'd pierce

To upland bleak and bare,
Where's but a tinge of green between

The heather dark and rare.



"There no man comes, and but the whaup,

With solitary voice,
Flies o'er my head with rapid wing, —

This, this is my heart's choice.



" But take it not I scorn my kind,
Or gentle things that dwell

By lowland haugh and lowland stream.
For I do love them weU.



MY REPLY TO THE SHEPHERD. 103

" Yet in my heart there is a void

Which all these may not fill ;
They give no calm, no doubt resolve,

N'or hold the restless will.



"Th' unpeopled voiceless solitude^
Which compasses me round,

Is open vision of a sphere
I cannot mete with bound.



" Out to the great immensity

I pierce with restless gaze,
And Sense and Thought sink overcome,

With heart in weird amaze.



" Here closer to the mystery,
Nearer the Living Throne,—

The same to-day and yesterday.
While we pass one by one.



104 MF REPLY TO THE SHEPHERD.

" And thus I ponder all that is
In that strange word before,

And how th' infinite tide will flow
When I shall be no more.



" No peace, I ween, hath any soul,
Until it knows the mood

Of awe cast from the Eternal Power
In the heart of solitude.



" If tliis be not a fit reply,
No more than any child

Can I teU you the reason why
I seek the upland wild."

July 1883.



105



XXI.

SMAYLHOLM TOWER

Deep-eooted on thy rock, 'mid knowes and crags
Untouched by hand of man, as rude and -wild
As when the sun first saw them green and grey.
And lit their straggling sombre whins with gold, —
Thou risest strong, a massive square-knit keep,
And sett'st on high thy watchful bartizan
O'er all the Border land, — of old, as now.
Its grim and solitary sentinel.

From thee keen warder watched, and eyed the moon

Eise slowly gleaming o'er the eastern sea.

While Tweed's responsive stream its reaches bared,





106 SMAYLHOLM TOWER.

And through the haugh-land spread its silver links,
As in the shadows lay white-spotted kine.

"Westwards the fronting Eildons caught the sheen,
And rose far north the lonely Lammermoors
In misty haze ; one after one the peaks
Of Cheviot glimmered on his ken, and showed
The long far line that barred the Southron's sky.

Grey-grim thou art ! storm relic of the years, —
And through thy narrow boles the wind upHfts
Its melancholy voice, a wail for all
That thou hast known, and all that thou hast been.
The wasted bent is round thee, and bows low
Its tresses on the eerie Watchfold Crag
That Icnew the flame whereby the Lady saw
That dead knight's umbered face, limned as in life,
And yearned with love as to an earthly form, —
Not witting he lay in a bloody tomb.

Grey-grim and weird ! and thy wan lochan keeps



SMAYLHOLM TOWER. 107

Thee fit coBipanionship ; not one dark tale

Doth it reveal, but inoveth restless aye.

As if 'twere stirred with memories of deeds

It holds within its depths, done ere dawn had come

To touch the darkness or the face of man.

Befits thee well this February morn,

As over all the hills within thy ken

The grey wide-spreading sky soft lays a calm -,

Yet sends glints sudden earthwards through the

clouds,
That in brief shimmer pass, one after one.
O'er the bared bosoms of the Cheviot heights ;
As if the Spirit of the Past were here,
With loving care for old historic spots.
And fain would glorify the vanished dead,
"With that pathetic peace from heaven that broods
O'er heroes' graves and ancient battle-fields.

February 16, 1884.



108



XXII.
5n ^cmoriam.
WILLIAM BUENETT OF BAENS. ,

DIED MARCH 5, 1884.

The representative of the ancient Tweeddale family
of Burnett of Barns, who held the estate for more
than six hundred years, from the twelfth century
to 1838.

'Tis gloamin' tide, and 'mid the parting clouds
The moon makes tender light, and shoots soft beams
Upon the blue-grey sky that lies along
The south-east hiUs, tear-laden ; in the west
A radiant splendour ling'ringly abides,



WILLIAM BURNETT OF BARNS. 109

Where late the sun hath been ; the long, low hills
Against the west and north are shadowed dark
On that sad eastern slope where they enclose
A dead friend's silent face, nought witting now
Of splendour, shadow, or encircling care,
Or passing murmur of his ancient Tweed
Beneath the chamber, where he shrouded lies.
Ah ! moon, and tearful sky, and lingering light,
Are ye e'en aught for us, or for our dead 1
Or are ye but the passing callous shows
That know no difference in our mortal fate.
Mating our grief with gleam, our joy with shade 1
I cannot tell, but this I know somehow
That in my heart ye make this gloamin' more
Than the mere gaze of sense, as ye o'erlook
And canopy the form of one who lies
Amid his old ancestral hills, and all
The memories of a long-descended line, —
Forebears that stood with early Scottish kings.
That knew the Bruce, and bled at Bannockburn,
Saw Modden, Pinkie, and the Douglas day.



no WILLIAM BURNETT OF BARNS.

And eager eyed Tweed's beckoning cresset-fires.
Grand old forebears, where now are ye ? A heap
Of shapeless dust, unfeeling, eyeless, mute !
Or know ye aught of him that lies this hour
In death 1 Perchance there may be faces now
Upturned to these high stars, this open heaven,
Amid strange stirrings in the moonlit glens,
"Weird passings to and fro of shadowed forms, —
Where oft o' nights his strong forefathers rode.
And where, in this sad hour, hearts once of earth
Are beating in undying sympathy ;
And fain would gather him, one spirit more,
"Within the welcome of their kinship home,
"Where, buried all the strife of times long gone.
Unknown the pettiness of modern life.
There reigns serene immortal brotherhood.



Ill



XXIII.

IN THE EHYMER'S GLE:N".

MAY 8, 1884.

Come now, Queen of Faery,
Come now and touch my hand ;

Dawn thou, gentle vision,
From the ELfin spirit-land :



Come at this hour a-Maying,
When the breeze is in the sky;

The joyous clouds are speeding,
The lark soars trilh'ng high.



112 IN THE RHYMER'S GLEN.

Come now, Queen of Eaery,

With the first love-steps of spring ;

The larch holds out its tassels,
The birks free splendour fling.



Thy Ehymer's glen is yearning,
Methinks thou tarriest long,

While breeze and bird and burnie
Sing one expectant song.



Come now, Queen of Faery,
In this the young spring-tide ;

Thy glen is decked and joyous,
All eager for its bride, —



The bride of long-gone ages,
In the days of glamoury ;

As vanished star whose glory
Still haunts the memory.



IN THE RHYMER'S GLEN. 113

Pray as I may, Vision,

Stretch hand in craving fain,
And gaze with yearning eye.

Thou comest not a^ain !



The spring returns as ever

With voice of wood and stream

The sun on pool is blinking.
And casts its olden gleam !



Well mayst thou hold us faithless.
And scorn the heart of men,

As the Ehymer's kiss none gracious, -
Thou comest not again !



Thou seest us kneel to Mammon,

And the god Utility ;
Thou, in the unhewn temple.

Thou iNTature-spirit free.



114 IN THE RHYMER'S GLEN.

How poor this earth without thee,
Bedeck it as we may !

Oh give me back the vision
That blessed the olden day !



115



XXIV.

ST MAEY'S LOCH.

FROM RODONO, EVENING OF SEPTEMBER 5, 1884.

Thou canst not stay, dear Loch, unmoved beneath

This moon, the full-orbed eager eye that glows

Above thy southern hills, and holds thee bound

By passionate face of olden memories ;

Under the beam thou racest from the east,

In long-drawn ripples, bright from shore to shore ;

Thy deep fuU heart leaps up in joyous mood,

Free-bound in moving links of silver sheen,

The eager unconstraint of new-bom love.

O'er thee thy guardian hills bend gleaming, fused,

Faint-dimmed, in the transparent veil, where now



116 ST MARTS LOCH.

In middle air the olden visions float, —

The love-lorn maiden of the Forest Kirk,

Her face whose tears bedewed the Dowie Den,

The lovers fleeing o'er the moonlit bent,

The widow wailing sore her loved slain lord, —

The dead that know not death, — assembled there

Serene and still, as is the pearly cloud

Of this night's heaven, whose calm encu'cles thee,

Thou gentle, conquering moon !



117



XXV.

ON FIEST HEAEING THE NOTE OF
THE CUCKOO THIS SPEING.

MAY 6, 1885.

JSTew heart and hope ! Why slioiild ye rise from

this, —
The simple note I heard a year ago,
From that same spot, — the centre of my world, —
The group of trees that guard the living spring, —
The "VVell-Bush, clasped in hollow of the hill 1
Note after note, thy welcome comes to me,
First from the year's long silence, speaking hope
And joy, the seer of a happier time,
The trusting prophet of a brighter day, —



118 THE NOTE OF THE CUCKOO.

While wintry showers are striving with the sun,
A voice thou art from the invisible Power
That girds this earth and all our human life,
God-sent, God-sped ; yet thou, strange visitant.
Dost know not all the purpose of thy call,
The living thrill thou bearest to the heart, —
Thou angel-minister of the Unseen, —
Fraught with His hidden thought. His quickening

touch
Of love and ever-living sympathy.



119



XXVI.

OlS" THE GLEN'RATH HEIGHTS.

AUGUST 25, 1885.

High where the great Heights enfold me,
'Tis here where I love most to be,
When the mist o'er the tops is speeding,
And the heart speeds on with it free.

Where the bent waves over the heather,
And the bracken is green on the brae,
And the burnie is leaping and pouring
Its song of young Hfe by the way.



120 ON THE GLEN RATH HEIGHTS.

Looking in awe but to heaven,
Here would I dwell and alone,
Let it clothe itself in the grey cloud,
Claim the sun-smit height for its own.



Passing now with its face of darkness,
Changing then to its sunny smile,
The patient hills never murmuring,
Be it gloom or glory the while.



Hills ! ye have stood through the ages, —
What do all your changes mean,
But flickerings forth on the daylight
From the Power enthroned and unseen 1



Are ye waiting a fuUer out-speaking.
Ye Hills with your silent face 1
Calm on your brows may I see not
The look of expectant grace !



ON THE GLEN RATH HEIGHTS. 121

Come thus, Spirit, upon me,

I know not all that thou art.

But thy footprints of love and of beauty

Are the solace and joy of my heart.



Thou hast clasped the screes in the heather,
The purple bloom spread to the day,
On blaeberry leaf dropt the blood-stain, —
"With Thee my heart burns by the way.



122



XXVII.

5n /iftemoriam.

JOHN CAMPBELL SHAIRP.

DIED AT ORMSART, IN THE EARLY MORN OF FRIDAY
18th SEPTEMBER 1885.

Oh ! soul to soul, and heart to heart,
A brother true, in every part,
The light of many a life on earth,
Deep quickening as a second birth !
And thou art gone ! my loved friend,
No longer hand to hand we wend ;
From my poor life a light is gone, —
The shadow where the clear eyes shone :



JOHN CAMPBELL SHAIRP. 123

I cannot pierce that foreign strand,
But "where thou art, no sunless land.

Ne'er truer man or purer heart,

'Twas thine to live " the better part,"

A soul untouched by worldly mood, *

Unerring in its rectitude, —

A spirit fair from Heaven sent,

To what was noble, thou wert bent !

The simple things of mother earth,

The wayside flower, the moorland birth.

The heather spaces, high and free,

" The bent sae brown," the bracken lee.

The grey rock where the bumie breaks.

The linn-pool where the rowan makes

A shadow o'er the water's face,

The braeside with its birken grace —

These were thy joys, gentle mind,

And these I've shared with thee, my friend.



124 JOHN CAMPBELL SHAIRP.

Yet not alone the simple sight, —
Through these, through all, a higher light
For thee aye burned, pure as a flame
That from a hidden glory came —
Shone gleamitig from a Power on high,
Beyond the mountain, star, and sky, —
His was the sunlight. His the storm,
His mountain mist, and shadowy form,
His the bright beam, the darkening mood,
The pathos, awe, and solitude ;
Clearest upon the mountain brow
Thou saw'st the Power, God-visioned thou !

Thy presence gone, thy work remains,
We bless thee, grateful for our gains,
For pathos, beauty, graceful art ;
Free nature's ways, the human heart
So touched that as the ages flow.
And higher soul shall in man grow,
The simpler vision, purer time.
Will cherish dear thy moving rhyme,



JOHN CAMPBELL SHAIRP. 125

In Kiltnahoe's creations fair,

And "The Bush," aye green, "abune Traquair."

Oxford ! thy courts and halls he knew,
A son deep loving, faithful, true ;
From thy past drew inspiring breath.
And fitly wore thy laurel wreath.
Thy learning prized, each storied name
Was power to set his heart aflame ;
Yet truest to old Scotland's days.