III. JOHN BRIGHT AT TAYNUILT. (1). SAYST thou and he was truly seated here That stout broad-breasted, firmly-planted man, Who with brave heart, blithe look, and jovial cheer, To victory led the democratic clan. There are who deem there is no truth in history, But I'll speak plainly out and say, the mystery And spurred with him, not to be left behind; IV. JOHN BRIGHT AT TAYNUILT. (II). WHAT? lodged he here and sat in that same chair, The thunder-tongued, high-purposed democrat ; He was an honest man, I'll stand for that— And where he sate I'll sit well seated there. No doubt his hand a seething broth did brew, Perhaps too strong for old John Bull's digestion, But 'twas a needful purge beyond all question He deemed, life's crazy framework to renew. If he was wrong, and history tells no tales, Then who was right, if false then who was true, When Whig and Tory spread their rival sails To catch sweet favour from the gale he blew? All sinned but they transgressed all honest rules Who knocked the workman down, then made bread with his tools. OBAN. HUMOURS OF HIGHLAND WEATHER. WHITHER, O whither hath fled The lightsome and lovely display Of Beauty, but yesterday shed On the crag, and the Ben, and the bay? Up from the West came a cloud, Small, but to greatness it grew, Till it wove from its tissue a shroud That curtains the breadth of the blue. I look and I see in the far Banners of darkness unfurl'd, Volumes of dimness that mar The smile on the face of the world: Gone into blankness hath fled The emerald stretch of the glen, And the rosy gleam on the head Of the broad purpureal Ben. Such are the humours that blot The sky with the change of the year ; Would'st thou be mortal, and not Temper thy bliss with a tear? Would'st thou have day without night? Ponder a moment, and own That shadow must come with the light, And day by the darkness be known. Wisely the Mighty one blends Gloom with the glory of things, Grieving with gladness he sends Wisely to beggars and kings. Wisely he liveth who links His life as a part to the whole, Wisely he thinketh who thinks Humbly, with hymns in his soul. A SEPTEMBER BLAST IN OBAN. By Heaven! the house is rocking like a ship; The strong trees bend like osiers, and the sea glee, And rides with madded speed high-armed, to whip From yesterday, when in the breezeless glen Fearful to feeble man! but thou art strong, |