From Moray Frith to Frith of Clyde,
McDonald from his sea girt isle,
And Campbell from his broad Argyle.
But chiefly here you have come forth
From those counties of the north,
Some oft have trod Dunrobins halls
And gazed upon its stately walls.
Here to night in this array
Is Murray, McKenzie and McKay,
And there doth around us stand
The Munroe, Ross and Sutherland.
Your young men have high honor earned
In all of the professions learned,
Your bonnie lasses sung in song,
And youths are famed for muscle strong.
LINES READ AT ST. ANDREW'S ANNIVERSARY, 1868.
Scotia's sons to-night we meet thee,
With kindly feelings we do greet thee,
In honor of the land of heather,
Around this board to-night we gather.
Land where the fields for border edges,
Have garlands of blooming hedges,
Land of the whin and of the broom
And where the bonnie blue bells bloom.
Land where you may enraptured hark
To heavenly song of the skylark,
Which soars triumphant in the skies
Above the gaze of human eyes.
Land of bleak hills and fertile dales,
Where they tell oft their fairy tales,
Land where the folks do love the kirk
And on the Sabbath cease from work.
Land of porridge and of brose,
Of blue bonnets and of tartan hose,
The land where all good wives do bake
The thrifty, wholesome, oaten cake.
We hope some day to tread the strand
Of our own dear native land,
And o'er the sea we'll some day sail
To get a bowl of good green kail.
DICK AND EDWARD.
The Thurso baker Robert Dick[E]
Armed with his hammer and his pick,
Dame nature's secrets did reveal,
Which she for ages did conceal.
In Banff has genius found regard
In the person of an Edward,[F]
Who now does rank among the first
In the world as naturalist.
[E] Dick was both a geologist and botanist and was of great service to
Hugh Millar.
[F] Edward is a shoemaker by trade, remarkable for his knowledge of the
lower grades of animated nature.
CASTLE GORDON.
In youth we spent a pleasant day
Round Castle Gordon on the Spey,
There is no Clan can gird the sword on,
Can compare with the Clan Gordon,
In India, China and Soudan,
They manfully have led the van.
PRINCE CHARLIE'S GRANDSONS.
Oft' times these handsome gentlemen appeared in the garb of old Gaul.
Long 'ere Her Majesty the Queen
Had visited of Aberdeen,
'Ere she in castle did abide
'Mong glorious hills on the Dee side,
Or visited each Highland glen,
Or won the hearts of Highland men,
Here oft' was seen in celtic dress
Two Stewarts brave in Inverness,
Well worthy of the poet's lyre.
They claimed Prince Charlie as grandsire,
And that they also did combine
Stuart with Royal Polish line,
Their names Sobieskie, Stuart,
They won many a Highland heart,
But Royal order did go forth
To build Balmoral Castle North,
Then wondrous change was quickly seen,
All hearts were captured by the Queen.
The Royal Stuarts are owners of large estates on the banks of the
Findhorn and their great rivals were near by the Royal Comyns. The Lion
Hunter Gordon Comyn was of this stock. Professor J. S. Blockie has
written a fine poem on the wars of the rival houses.
"Here where the dark water'd stream rushes free,
child of the mountain."
ST. ANDREW.
Read at Anniversary.
Our ancient custom to renew,
We meet to honor St. Andrew,
He was of the Jewish nation,
A fisherman by occupation;
No warlike knight with lance and sword
But humbly following his Lord;
And Scotia she justly claims
Her soil contains his last remains,
In early times the Pilgrims drew
Into the shrine of St. Andrew,
For miracles it gained renown,
And thence sprang up St. Andrew's town;
Now clansmen twine round maple leaf,
When rallying at the call of chief,
And time will come when we'll be one,
And proud of name Canadian,
But Scotia must not be forgot
For sake of Chalmers, Burns and Scott,
But here upon Canadian soil
A man may own where he doth toil,
For here each may enjoy the charm
Of owning fine prairie farm.
Entwining of the thistle around the maple tree, Scotia's sons have
indented their names deep in Canadian history. The names of McDonald,
McKenzie, Cameron and Mowat stand conspicuous, and Brown second to none.
For wealth, enterprise and benevolence those Montreal Scotsmen stand
high, Sir Donald A. Smith, Sir George Stephens and Duncan McIntyre.
RIVER CLYDE.
The Glasgow people do take pride
In their river both deep and wide,
In early times the youth and maid
Did o'er its shallow waters wade.
But city money did not grudge,
And dug it deep with the steam dredge,
And now proudly on its bosom floats
The mighty ships and great steamboats.
No wonder citizens take pride
For they themselves have made the Clyde,
Great and navigable river,
Where huge fleets will float forever.
Dunbarton's lofty castle rock[G]
Which oft' has stood the battle's shock,
The river it doth boldly guard,
So industry may reap reward.
But more protection still they deem
Is yet required so down the stream
Strong batteries are erected,
So commerce may be safe protected.
Old ocean now he doth take pride
To see upon his bosom ride
The commerce of his youngest bride,
The fair and lovely charming Clyde.
[G] Mr. James Sinclair of this town has written a fine piece
remonstrating against the removal of the sword of Wallace from its old
place of safety, Dunbarton Castle.
ELF SHOT.
A lad brought up in Highland vale
Who did believe each fairy tale,
Which his grannie oft' to him told,
And of witches and of warlocks bold,
And he himself would often pour
For hours reading wizard lore.
One night his mother to the town
In a hurry sent him down,
So o'er his pony he did stride,
And to the town did fearful ride,
He thought that demons they would rush
On him from every rock and bush,
And as he rode through the quarry
It did great increase his flurry,
He felt that fiends with fiercest hate
Would surely there seal fast his fate.
But town he reached and 'neath his vest
He parcel pressed close to his breast,
The pony now he mounts once more
For to pass quarry as before,
But, alas, at that fatal spot
He heard a gun, he was elf shot,
He felt that from his breast a flood
Was pouring down of his heart's blood,
But he clung fast to pony's back,
Though loss of blood his frame did rack,
But in spite of his alarms
He resolved to die in mother's arms,
And when he reached his own door
He said that he was drenched in gore,
From bullet hole all in his breast.
His father opened up his vest,
And he did sadly fear the worst
But found yeast bottle had but burst.
HALLOWE'EN.
A tale we'll tell of what hath been
When maids and youths kept Hallowe'en,
It is a tale of old world lore
What happened in the days of yore,
When fairies danced upon the green
So merrily on Hallowe'en,
And witches did play many a trick
Assisted by their auld friend Nick,
And lovers meet around the fire
Near to the one their hearts desire,
For to burn nuts for to discover
The truthfulness of their lover.
They first did give each nut a name,
This was Sandy, that was Jane.
If they did blaze side by side,
She knew her husband, he his bride,
But if one up the chimney flew,
One knew the other was not true.
And one sure test did never fail,
Blindfold to find good stock of kale,
To pull the first comes to the hand
With heavy roots of earth and sand,
For the very weight of mould
Does denote weight of lovers gold.
In tubs children love to splatter,
Ducking for apples in the water,
For such were the delights of yore,
Which soon will cease for evermore;
At Balmoral Castle Britain's Queen
Oft' celebrated Hallowe'en,
But Highland landlords now do clear
Land of men to make room for deer,
But here upon Canadian soil
A man may own where he doth toil.
AMERICAN POETS.
Like fruit that's large and ripe and mellow,
Sweet and luscious is Longfellow,
Melodious songs he oft did pour
And high was his Excelsior.
He shows in his Psalm of Life
The folly of our selfish strife,
With Hiawatha we bewail
His suffering in great Indian tale.
Indian nation was forlorn
Till great spirit planted corn;
His story of Evangeline
It is a tale of love divine.
POE.
A great enchanter too is Poe,
His bells do so harmonious flow,
Wondrous mystery of his raven
On our minds is 'ere engraven,
His wierd, wonderful romances
Imagination oft entrances.
LOWELL.
With pleasure we would love to dwell
On the charming themes of Lowell.
BRYANT.
Some in front rank will defiant,
Boldly place the poet Bryant.
WHITTIER.
Others seek for music in the twitter
Of the sweet, charming notes of Whittier.
SAXE.
The mind that's sad it doth relax
The humor of the witty Saxe,
He puts us in a cheerful mood,
Mirthful as our own Tom Hood.
WILL CARLETON.
In homely apparel one
Clothes farming songs Will Carleton,
But they have a manly ring
And we his praises hearty sing.
MILLAR.
And Millar poet of Sierras,
For bold deeds he doth prepare us,
And now he lives by the golden gate,
Honored in California's state,
To poet 'tis position grand,
Commissioner of Forest land.
HOLMES.
O'er flowery fields full oft he roams,
The learned and pleasing genial Holmes.
WALT WHITMAN.
For erratic style he leads van,
Wildly wayward Walt Whitman,
He done grand work in civil war,
For he did dress many a scar,
And kindly wet the hot parched mouth
Of Northern soldiers wounded South.
LOFTY ACTORS WITHDRAW.
As one by one the lofty actors of the age
Withdraw from changing play on history's page,
The act of war and peace of old and new contending
For it is long 'ere there's harmonious blending.
And many a noble actor brave and bold
Hath perished in the fight between the new and old,
The victor and the vanquished Lincoln and Lee,
The former he four million slaves set free.
The latter General fought with bravery and science,
The first he on the Lord placed strong reliance,
And in the justice of his cause he bade the North
As grand emancipators they should issue forth.
And o'er great North the conquering name of Grant
His mighty deeds of valour they 'ere more will chant,
And now doth pass from stage this last named actor,
In crushing Southern slavery potent factor.
UNITED STATES.
The United States is wondrous land,
Within its mighty borders grand,
They are a world unto themselves,
In South the Negro plows and delves.
Raising tobacco, sugar, cotton,
Grapes and rice too may be gotten,
The west for corn, cattle and swine,
On which millions o'er the world dine.
The silver hills of Colorado,
Equaled only by Nevada,
And o'er the world you can't behold
Aught like California's mines of gold.
To vast extent her exports reaches,
Of grapes and oranges and peaches,
And Florida the land of flowers
Is famous for its orange bowers.
Pennsylvania's hills environ
Wondrous mines of coal and iron,
Great marvel of these modern days,
All you require yourselves could raise.
But still Canadians are content
With their own half of continent,
Though Uncle Sam is most wealthy,
Canada's content and healthy.
Sam and her are blood relation,
Sprung alike from British nation,
May peaceful odes alone be sung
'Tween people of one race and tongue.
When Canada's ten million strong,
Then none will dare to do her wrong,
Either as a youthful nation
Or in Imperial Federation.
CALEDONIA SPRINGS, NEW YORK.
The water spouts up from the ground
And there doth form a pond around,
'Tis fed from no apparent rills,
And it near by drives several mills.
And here the little ponds are seen
Where fish are propogate by Green,
Fish hatcheries here had their birth,
And now they're spread o'er all the earth.
Here in each pond thousands of trout
Rush around their circular route,
Of various breeds, age and size,
Speckled o'er with various dyes.
Geologists do gaze with pride
On specimens all petrified,
Here church is built of those rare stone,
Fish, reptiles, birds, in days bygone.
Strange thoughts in mind it doth awake,
As it is far from sea and lake,
Even the hill tops do abound
With proofs here flowed the sea profound.
With reverence we gaze around
On an ancient burial ground,
Those who once did tread the heather
Now rest quietly here together.
LOCAL SKETCHES.
On grassy amphitheatre,
Spectators sit to view the war,
'Mong bold contestants on the plain
Where each doth strive the prize to gain.
Come witness the great tug of war,
And see great hammer thrown afar,
See running, jumping, highland fling,
At concert hear the skylark sing.
And the bagpipes will send thrills,
Like echoes from the distant hills,
And the bold sound of the pibroch,
Which does resound o'er highland loch.
Young men and maids and fine old dames
Will gather on the banks of Thames,
And though we have a tug of war
'Twill leave no wound or deadly scar.
GREAT FIRE IN INGERSOLL, MAY, 1872.
'Twas on a pleasant eve in May,
Just as the sun shed its last ray,
The bell it rang, citizens to warn,
For lo! a fire appears in barn.
An ancient barn near hotel stood,
The joining buildings all were wood,
This barn a relic of the past,
There farmers' horses were made fast.
Our once fair town is now in woe,
And we have had our Chicago,
But soon a nobler town will rise,
For our town is all enterprise.
MASONIC LINES READ AT A BANQUET, 1884.
The prominent names in Masonry are Kings Solomon and Hiram and St. John.
Craft of King Hiram and St. John,
They figurative work on stone,
King Hiram he is the old sire
And he was famous King of Tyre.
But great as King upon a throne
Is the good, kind, true St. John,
Cathedrals did craftsmen raise,
Fills all our minds now with amaze.
No modern chisel has the power
To trace such leaf, and bud, and flower,
But though our structures now are rude
Let us all make the mortar good.
And this injunction never spare,
To have the work both plumb and square,
And it must have no crack nor flaw,
So masters will lay down the law.
Of all our work this is the chief,
To give the needy ones relief,
And with truth and brotherly love
We sublime structure raise above.
The greatest honor has been won
By that great builder Solomon,
And craftsmen o'er the world do sing
The praises of that mighty King.
ODDFELLOWSHIP LINES READ AT CONCERT, 1883.
We look in vain for our Past Grands,
Now scattered over many lands,
Now some o'er the wide world do rove,
And some have joined Grand Lodge above,
But ever since Father Adams' fall
We are dependent creatures all,
Though man is weak yet he may join
With others strength for to combine.
The illustration it is grand,
Five Oddfellows in one hand,
And yet they all united stand,
Each finger hath a different length,
Each finger varies in its strength,
Each one is weak, but a firm fist,
You can scarcely break or twist,
'Tis same with members of a lodge,
United them you cannot budge.
Then let us linked with pleasant chain,
Friendship, love and truth maintain,
And aid our brothers in distress,
The widows and the orphans bless,
Then let each lodge strive all it can,
Both Oxford and Samaritan
To aid distressed brother man,
Extending influence for good,
And universal brotherhood.
ADVICE TO A LITTLE GIRL.
The following lines were written at the request of a little girl, who
said she would recite them at a Sunday School entertainment. Prof. J. S.
Blackie of Edinburgh, in a letter acknowledging the receipt of my book,
said he considered this piece worthy of being committed to memory in the
public schools. Sir Daniel Wilson of Toronto University also approves of
them as containing good sentiments and should be impressed on the minds
of the young.
Dressing in fashion will be called vain,
And they'll call you a dowdy if you are plain,
But do what is right, let that be the test,
Then proudly hold up your head with the best.
For people will talk.
You will never be wrong if you do what is right,
And this course pursue with all of your might,
And if you're a child going to school,
Or full grown up take this for your rule.
For people will talk.
The best way to do is to let them rave
And they'll think more of you if you are brave,
For no one will ever think you are rude
If you are determined for to be good.
For people will talk.
Little girl on her way to Sunday School class,
Rude boys sometimes will not let her pass,
But if they see she is not afraid
They soon will respect the brave little maid.
For people will talk.
Little girls should learn to knit and to sew,
Then if to womanhood they ever grow,
Their hose they can knit and make their own dress,
And pathway of life for others they bless.
For people will talk.
And their homes they should make tidy and neat,
Everything should be so clean and so sweet,
This line for ourselves out we will chalk
And we are determined in it to walk.
For people will talk.
IN MEMORIAM.
Lines on the death of my only son, who died on the 5th of July, 1876, on
the anniversary of his mother's death.
His mother from celestial bower,
In the self-same day and hour
Of her death or heavenly birth,
Gazed again upon the earth,
And saw her gentle, loving boy,
Once source of fond maternal joy,
In anguish on a couch of pain.
She knew that earthly hopes were vain,
And beckoned him to realms above
To share with her the heavenly love.
PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPE.
Providential escape of Ruby and Neil McLeod, children of Angus McLeod of
this town. Little Neil McKay McLeod, a child of three years of age, was
carried under a covered raceway, upwards of one hundred yards, the whole
distance being either covered o'er with roadway, buildings or ice.
A wondrous tale we now do trace
Of little children fell in race,
The youngest of these little dears,
The boy's age is but three years.
While coasting o'er the treacherous ice,
These precious pearls of great price,
The elder Ruby, the daughter,
Was rescued from the ice cold water.
But horrid death each one did feel,
Had sure befallen little Neil,
Consternation all did fill,
And they cried shut down the mill.
But still no person they could tell
What had the poor child befel,
The covered race, so long and dark,
Of hopes there scarcely seemed a spark.
Was he held fast as if in vice,
Wedged 'mong the timbers and the ice,
Or was there for him ample room
For to float down the narrow flume.
Had he found there a watery grave,
Or borne along on crest of wave,
Think of the mother's agony wild,
Gazing through dark tunnel for her child.
But soon as Partlo started mill,
Through crowd there ran a joyous thrill,
When he was quickly borne along,
The little hero of our song.
Alas! of life there is no trace,
And he is black all over face,
Though he then seemed as if in death,
Yet quickly they restored his breath.
Think now how mother[H] she adored
Her sweet dear child to her restored,
And her boundless gratitude
Unto the author of all good.
[H] Mrs. Mary McKay McLeod, the author of some fine poems on Scottish
and Canadian subjects.
Moral and Reflective.
BRAIN ENGRAVINGS.
Great wonder is the human brain,
How it impressions doth retain,
Inscribed on it are autographs,
And there is also photographs.
And every hill and plain and nook,
It is deep graven in this book,
A great variety here belongs,
Snatches of sermons and of songs.
Here you'll find are numerous themes,
Both mighty thoughts and foolish dreams,
Here love and hope so bright and fair,
There hate and doubt and dark despair.
And here is too the bower of bliss,
Where youthful lovers first did kiss,
Here are memories of childhood
And of old ages thoughtful mood.
View well the whole, 'tis a strange sight,
Both of suffering and delight,
You see the parting with old friend,
And where new hearts with yours do blend.
Greatest blessing, hope of heaven,
For our comfort it is given,
Indented deep in mind of wise
Are glories of the heavenly prize.
SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST.
Now let the hero of our song,
Be he who gentle treats the throng,
And would not cruel treat another,
But to each be as to a brother.
And he must have both sense and wit,
And be possessed of strength and grit,
Then strong as proof of holy writ,
For to survive he is most fit.
And according to our test,
The fittest only is the best,
These have a right for to survive,
And well they do deserve to thrive.
And this kind of evolution
It will bring no revolution,
But revolve in Christian sphere,
Where scripture truths are prized and dear.
Give us the man doth persevere,
And presses on in his career,
Undaunted struggling for the right,
Though all mankind 'gainst him unite.
Though now on top of highest mount,
Where he has found true honour's fount,
Yet those below he don't despise,
But strives to aid them for to rise.
MOTTO.
Politeness, perseverance and pluck,
To their possessor will bring good luck.
THINGS SHOULD BE JUDGED BY MERIT.
A picture hung in a public hall,
And it was much admired by all,
Painted by a true artist's hand,
The subject it was truly grand.
Its fame o'er the whole world resounds,
Valued at ten thousand pounds,
Beauteous lady none 'ere passed her,
She was the work of an old master.
At last a critic keen did gaze
And saw 'twas work of modern days,
Then quick it was pronounced a daub,
And artist but a money grab.
The true, the noble and the grand,
Will lend to struggling helping hand,
Then let no man of dues be shorn,
If he a subject doth adorn.
LINES ON A FOUNTAIN.
We love cold water as it flows from the fountain,
Which nature hath brewed alone in the mountain;
In the wild woods and in the rocky dell,
Where man hath not been but the deer loves to dwell;
And away across the sea in far distant lands,
In Asia's gloomy jungles and Africa's drifting sands;
Where to the thirsty traveller a charming spot of green
Is by far the rarest gem his eyes have ever seen;
And when he has quenched his thirst at the cooling spring,
With many grateful songs he makes the air to ring;
For many nights he dreams of this scene of bliss,
And when he thinks of Heaven it is of such as this.
THE GATES AJAR.
A good kind man who knew no malice,
Happy with wife and daughter Alice,
More precious far to him than gold,
His little darling six years old.
True nobleman with many friends,
His career too soon it ends,
The casket friends enshrined with flowers,
While soul had fled to heavenly bowers.
The wreaths were lovely, but the star,
Admired by all was gates ajar,
The widow led her little girl
To where death his dart did hurl.
And stricken her poor father down,
But child exclaimed he's won the crown,
And he will watch for me afar,
And keep for me the gates ajar.
And when we cross the crystal fount,
He will point out the heavenly mount,
Here neither sun nor moon doth shine,
Lighted with radiance all divine.
For I know well for me he'll wait
Anxious at the pearly gate,
For I would fear to view alone
The glories of the heavenly throne.
Pa will admit his little Alice
Safe into the heavenly palace,
And glories to me will unfold
As we tread the streets of gold.
CHILD MADE HAPPY.
In a great city hospital
There lay poor Mary Crosby small,
She had no friends her heart to cheer,
So time with her passed sad and drear.
She sought for ease but all in vain,
Month after month she passed in pain,
She had no relative nor friend
Who aid or comfort could her lend.
A surgeon saw her cheerless state,
And deplored the poor child's fate,
She tried to make doll of her finger,
And sang to it poor little singer.
Her's indeed was an awful lot,
The weary days she spent in cot,
For the poor child she could not walk,
And it soon exhausted her to talk.
But surgeon bought her ribbon gay,
And with it she all day did play,
The giver often she did bless,
And thought sometimes she was princess.
For in it she did take such pride,
She fancied she was beauteous bride,
And was possessed of great riches,
Or thought herself a wealthy Duchess.
And she would bind it round her hair,
Imagining that she was fair.
But poor child feels that she must die,
She asks the surgeon to come nigh.
And kindly o'er her he doth stand,
She asked him for to take her hand,
Thanked him for ribbon green and blue,
Then evermore bade him adieu.
POETRY.
Poetry to us is given,
As stars beautify the Heaven,
Or, as the sunbeams when they gleam,
Sparkling so bright upon the stream,
And the poetry of motion
Is ship sailing o'er the ocean;
Or, when the bird doth graceful fly,
Seeming to float upon the sky,
For poetry is the pure cream,
And essence of the common theme.
Poetic thoughts the mind doth fill,
When on broad plain to view a hill,
On barren heath how it doth cheer,
To see in distance herd of deer,
And poetry breathes in each flower,
Nourished by the gentle shower,
In song of birds upon the trees,
And humming of busy bees,
'Tis solace for the ills of life,
A soothing of the jars and strife,
For poets feel 'tis a duty
To sing of both worth and beauty.
POWER OF LOVE.
Love it is the precious loom,
Whose shuttle weaves each tangled thread,
And works flowers of exquisite bloom,
Shedding their perfume where we tread.
HER LOVER'S STEP.