TO THE OCEAN.
Mirror of might and of splendor!
Type of immensity! Smiling in face of the upper blue;
Beautiful! crystal Sea! Yet, under thy brilliant beaming,
As chills at the heart of love When a smile o'er-gilds the placid face,
Cold under-currents move.
Over thy glistering waters,
Out of the purple haze, Thrilleth the chords of memory
With touch of other days. Once more, by thy rim, bright Ocean!
A youthful, happy band We course along the yellow sands
Afar, in fair Scotland.
Once more we plash our childish feet
Amid thy shining waves; Or shelter from the sudden gust
Within thy border caves. Ho! voices of the summer sea!
Ho! voices sweet and low! Ye mournful chant their requiem,
Those days of long ago.
He sailed upon thy whitened crest,
The choicest of our band; Thy seething surges wail his dirge
On far New Holland strand. That other sleeps—we know not where,
Who early braved thy tide;— Sing wavelets! we shall meet at length
Upon that further side.
Yes, mighty Ocean! all thy storms
Shall lull to perfect peace; And all thy weary monotones,
With rhythms sad shall cease. So now, we stand upon thy brink;
Whilst 'yond thy sparkling foam, We hear sweet voices calling us
To our eternal home.
["I GAVE HIM AN ORANGE."]
FROM DR. CONROY'S EVIDENCE.
Beside the lowly couch of pain,
They watched the flickering breath; They knew that mortal skill was vain
To stem the tide of death.
For ruthless hands, and heart impure,
Though unprovoked by strife, Had aimed the missive all too sure
Which dulled the warm young life.
When skill had failed, love took its place;
The little gift was given; One moment's brightness lit the face,
And life from death seemed riven.
Oh! deep within each mother's soul
This deed of love shall tell; While He who made the wounded whole,
Such acts He noteth well.
Yea, Who the reins of right doth hold
'Yond tortuous frauds of time, Sees brazen vice, ungilt by gold,
And poverty no crime.
He shall adjudge in righteousness,
And sickness, woe and dearth, With mammon fall; and Heaven's own bliss
Outweigh the wrongs of earth.
[ST. ANDREW'S DAY.]
WRITTEN FOR THE CALEDONIAN CLUB.
Another year hath passed away!
Once more, a joyous band, We hail with mirth thy Natal Day,
Saint of the Heather Land.
For, though we love our Island home,
Our "home upon the wave," In Fancy's flights those shores we roam
Which Scotia's waters lave.
True Scottish hearts, in every clime,
This day lift up their voice; And Memory's joy-bells sweetly chime,
And wearied souls rejoice,
As gorgeously, to longing eyes,
Comes forth, in glory bright, Those mountains which the nearing skies
O'er-flood with purple light.
Again we climb Ben Ledi's steep,
Or skim Loch Lomond's tide; Or muse where sunbeams softly creep
Through haunts of byegone pride.
Again we tread the Solway shore,
Or banks of bonnie Dee; Or watch the Forth's proud waters pour
Into the Northern Sea.
Or gaze upon that tragic field
Which ancient minstrel sang; Where warrior died upon his shield
As shouts of battle rang.
Or hark through Bothwell's ivied towers
Soft winds sonatas play; Whilst Clutha, sparkling 'yond the bowers
Lights youth's long, golden day.
Fair land! beyond all other lands
The theme of tale and song; The present and the past clasp hands
Thy glory to prolong.
Disgrace be his, and lasting shame
Who heeds not Heaven's just laws; And, traitor to the Scottish name
Who owns not freedom's cause.
But hallowed be their memory
Who kept thy honor bright; Thy great of every century,
Even down to Wallace wight.
And drink we too, with heart of grace,
Victoria the Good! Our queenly queen of Stuart race,
That reigned in Holyrood.
All honor to our Highland Chief!
White-wreathed of glory's crown; Who dignifieth[Note] honors brief
His sun shall ne'er go down.
And last we honor each and all
Of Celt, or Saxon blood; Whose acts attest, in hut or hall
God's type of brotherhood.