Aye takin' up puir woman's quarrels,
your first care be woman's morals;
For social ills, an' deeds impure,
Prevention easier is than cure.
Help mithers wi' their maiden charge,
Help lassies coosten oot at large
Upon a warl' baith caul an' stern,
Wi' muckle baith tae thole and learn.
An' since ye've time an' win' tae spare,
Them baith on sister woman ware,
Tae touch her heart, an' teach her saul,
This mission's yours-obey the call.
LINES ON THE TRIAL OF MADELINE SMITH
FOR THE MURDER OF L'ANGELIER.
SHADE of the hapless stranger, lost L'Angelier,
Whose life's young light was quenched in guilt and shame, Say haunts thou still the lane, the fatal gate, Where to thy arms the fair, false syren came?
We seek not now thy "merits to disclose,
Nor draw thy frailties from their dread abode;"
We would not sit in judgment on the man
Whose soul hath stood before the bar of God.
Not proven was thy thrice-repeated deed-
Thou of the stony heart and dauntless eye:
Smile not, in Heaven's high court thou yet shalt hear
The unerring, proven verdict of the sky.
A lovely isle lies cradled in the deep,
Its flowery glades embowered in fruitful trees,
A weeping mother wanders on the beach
And pours her sorrows on the seaward breeze.
Ah! to her widowed heart, her only son,
She last had clasped upon that island shore;
He came, he saw, he loved, he sinned, he died-
We wait till heaven and time shall tell us more.
VERSES ON THE CALDER IN ITS COURSE
BY ST. ENOCH'S, ROSEHALL, &c.
LONE CALDER! sweet Calder! beloved of my youth,
When Nature I worshipped with fervour and truth;
Sweet memories float like a beautiful dream
O'er thy musical woodlands and murmuring stream.
'Tis fifty long years since, and now as I range
Thy flower-spangled margin, alas, for the change!
My youthful companions, ah! where have ye fled?
Sweet, sad voices whisper, They sleep with the dead.
Bright, golden-haired Bella, dear, delicate Anne,
And warm-hearted Jessie, how swiftly ye ran
Down the dell of the hyacinth your cousin to meet,
And guide through the Calder her small, shrinking feet!
Then o'er thy green holms we went bounding along,
And woke up the echoes with laughter and song;
With freedom and sunshine, with birds, and with flowers,
And young hearts all joyous, how swift sped the hours!
Dear Jessie, thou only, of all the blithe train,
Art left-shall I ever behold thee again?
Thy pale, gentle mother went early to rest,
And her dear ones soon followed to sleep on her breast.
Sweet sylvan, St Enoch's fond mem❜ry recalls
Sweet voices, fair faces, that dwelt in thy halls—
"Tis long since they left, and the stranger possessed
The home of their fathers-the dearest, the best.
From thy desolate chambers, Oh lonely Rosehall!
The dwellers have vanished-"the steed from the stall;"
The hearts that have loved thee and owned thee are dust,
And thy chill halls are tarnished with mildew and rust.
Though garlands of poesy entwine not thy brow,
Nor bard in soft numbers thy charms will avow;
Yet, Calder, a muse that is nameless will bring
song that is nameless thy beauties to sing.
A HUNNER funnels bleezin', reekin',
Coal an' ironstane charrin', smeekin';
Navvies, miners, keepers, fillers,
Puddlers, rollers, iron millers;
Reestit, reekit, raggit laddies,
Firemen, enginemen, an' paddies;
Boatmen, banksmen, rough and rattlin',
'Bout the wecht wi' colliers battlin',
Sweatin', swearin', fechtin' drinkin',
Change-house bells an' gill-stoups clinkin';
Police-ready men and willin'-
Aye at han' whan stoups are fillin',
Clerks, an' counter-loupers plenty,
Wi' trim moustache and whiskers dainty
Chaps that winna staun at trifles,
Min' ye they can han'le rifles.
'Bout the wives in oor location,
An' the lassies' botheration,
Some are decent, some are dandies,
An' a gey wheen drucken randies,
Aye tae neebors' hooses sailin',
Greetin' bairns ahint them trailin',
Gaun for nouther bread nor butter,
Just tae drink an' rin the cutter.
Oh, the dreadfu' curse o' drinkin'!
Men are ill, but tae my thinkin',
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