[The Falls of Foyers, near Loch Ness, are menaced by the projected
proceedings of an Aluminium Company.]
"_Among the heathy hills and rugged woods
The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods,
Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds,
Where, thro' a shapeless breach, his stream resounds.
As high in air the bursting torrents flow,
As deep recoiling surges foam below,
Prone down the rock the whitening stream descends,
And viewless Echo's ear, astonished, rends.
Dim-seen, thro' rising mists, and ceaseless show'rs
The hoary cavern, wide-surrounding low'rs.
Still thro' the gap the struggling river toils,
And still, below, the horrid cauldron boils--_"
The above never-finished fragment was written by BURNS, with
a pencil, standing by the Fall of Fyers (now called Foyers), near Loch
Ness.
_Shade of_ ROBERT BURNS, _loquitur_:--
O "brither Scots," and is it thus,
For all your patriotic fuss
O'er names and sic-like trifles,
Ye can stand by whilst soulless Trade,
With greedy pick, and grubbing spade,
Old Scotia's charms so rifles?
How well the hour my heart recalls,
When, fired by all the Muses,
I strove to honour Foyers Falls!
But now my song refuses
Its singing, swift-springing,
At sight of Scotia's charms,
My song now is wrung now
With patriot alarms.
That I, "for poor auld Scotland's sake,
Some usefu' plan or beuk could make,
Or sing a sang at least,"
Was aye my wish. But, Scotland dear,
What is this shameful news I hear,
That racks your poet's breast?
That ruthless commerce, spreading wide,
Will stain the shores of Ness,
And turn those mossy floods aside
I sang--with some success?
That Beauty and Duty--
It sure _must_ be a hum!--
A Scot still can blot still,
For--Aluminium!
I know my country's love of "brass."
'Tis loth to let a bawbee pass,
A saxpence bid go bang.
Yet "Caledonia stern and wild,"
Rather than see these Falls defiled,
Should bid gross gain go hang!
Fancy those "rocky mounds" replaced
By refuse-heaps--alack!--
And all the "heathy hills" defaced
By smoke and chimney-stack!
A tunnel?--Each runnel,
In river and cascade,
Seems shouting, and flouting
The claims of tasteless Trade.
And shall a private company
In interests of mere £ s. d.
Rob Ness of Beauty's dower?
Shall Scotland in new-born stupidity
Pander to sordid Trade's cupidity
To get cheap water-power?
Monopoly tap the torrent-stream,
And "viewless Echo's ear"
Be harried by the hideous scream
Of railway whistles near?
I'm firèd, inspirèd!
The Muse, though mild and meek,
Now dashing, eye-flashing,
Assures me I _must_ speak!
Scotland may list her BURNS'S song
And stay, ere all too late, a wrong
To beauty and herself.
She's not so fast midst Mammon's thralls
As sacrifice her noblest Falls
To paltry greed of pelf.
If she'll not heed the patriot's cry,
She'll heed the poet's jingle.
The prospect fires the Ploughman's eye,
And makes his heart strings tingle.
Ye're no men, nor wo-men,
As Scots ye're false and fickle,
Should Trade thus degrade thus
The Falls to a poor trickle.
Where are ye, bardlings, full of fire,
Who tune to-day a Scottish lyre?
Where is your sounding line?
No stirring stanza can ye spare?
Faith, Sirs, this aluminium scare
Should waken all the Nine!
Ah! could I hand my lyre to Lang,
Loch Ness should echo loud
To such a strain as ne'er yet rang
In ears of Mammon's crowd.
Wake "WULLIE"! 'Twon't sully
_Your_ fame, you grand old Scot!
For what land like Scotland
Should raise your ire red-hot?
* * * * *
[Illustration: ACCOMMODATING.
_Old Lady._ "NOW THEN, WHAT DO YOU WANT?"
_Joe the Tramp._ "I AIN'T PERTICKLER, LADY. WHAT 'AV' YER
GOT?"]
* * * * *
In France female enterprise knows no limit and no law. CELESTINE
JOLIVET of Belleville--who has a jolly "vay" about her--discovered
a son of Mars asleep. "Not hers to reason why hers but his togs
to try," so she promptly relieved the slumbering warrior of his
uniform and transferred it to her own person, and--doubtless to
"cover" the loan--left her own petticoats by the side of the sleeping
soldier. Poor _Piou-piou_ had a rude awakening, and was compelled
to don the girl's garments, in which unwarlike garb he reached the
barracks. CELESTINE was apprehended, and got fifteen days.
OFFENBACH would have given her eighteen months.
* * * * *