POEMS,

ETC.

MUSINGS BY THE LYNE WATER.

Occasioned by the receipt of a kind letter from an old schoolmate, now in Ontario, to whom these verses are respectfully dedicated. 1880.

B

Now that the dreary drenching rains
Their latest vials have outpoured,
And when the wide-spread fruitful plains
To summer beauty are restored,

My favourite haunts I seek anew
Where wind the waters of the Lyne;

Scenes that bring vividly to view
The sunny days o' Auld Langsyne.

Here, then, amid this peaceful scene
Of foliage rich and flowers profuse,
Let me attempt to seek again

The favours of the lowly muse.

Here where I oft have revell'd long
Amongst the bards in life's young day,
When balmy evenings found me 'mong
The scenery which I now survey,

With Ramsay, Burns, or Tannahill;

With Milton, Wordsworth, Young, or Graham ; Here o'er their page I'll ponder still,

And seek to kindle at their flame.

Not to the lordly or the great,

Or those whom men may term the same, My homespun lays I dedicate

Let lowlier ones my friendship claim. But unto one who loved to tread

These broomy braes, that shady dell,
Who toils and sweats for honest bread,
And fights life's battle brave and well.

A plain and honest type withal
Of those who shall in future be
The great, the influential,
The genuine nobility.

Yes! for the sun of idle names

And silly titles soon shall set;
And only they who win them shall
Wear star, or wreath, or coronet.

Here where I frame my humble hymn,
Here where I wake my lowly lays,
I seat me 'mong the yellow broom,

The bonny broom on Leadlaw's braes.
While from the dense, deep, woody maze
Embosoming the streamlet clear,
Lyne's waters, murmuring, gently raise
Their ceaseless song to soothe the ear.

And in the distance tower the hills,
Whose heathy sides we oft did climb;
The nursing place of prattling rills,
And many a pure pellucid stream.

While in the deeper vale below

The tapering spires that heavenward rise
Tell where, half-hidden from the view,
The quaint and ancient hamlet lies.

The landscape now before me spread
With lake and tower and spreading tree;

With light and shade diversified,

Is dear, ay, very dear to thee.

It has been thine to sojourn long

'Mongst strangers on a foreign strand; It has been mine to live among

The mountains of my native land.

It has been thine to find thy sphere
Where trade and commerce drive apace;
It has been mine to linger where
The chariot wheels find resting place.

I do not ask of thee if thou

Possessor art of lands and gold;
If bright and brighter prospects now
For thee with future days unfold.
'Tis well thou dost already see
The welcome fruits of labour hard,
That honest plodding industry

Is followed with its meet reward.

That in thy peaceful home which lies
Among the woodlands of the West
Kind sons and daughters round thee rise
To comfort thee and call thee blest.

But what the joys that gladden now

When welcome hours of leisure come? Say, are they such as thou didst know When dwelling in thy Scottish home?

In times of joy and festive mirth

The lively dance, say, dost thou share? Do young and old then sally forth

And to the well-swept barn repair?

And do ye foot it lightly there

To lively reel and sweet strathspey,
Till forced to quit enjoyment rare
By dawning of the coming day?

Or do ye gather round the hearth

When nights are long and chill and cold,

To wake the voice of jocund mirth

When Scotland's stirring tales are told?