New Collected Rhymes [3]
For Kirk and Presbyt'rie, This Kenmure faced his dying day, For King James across the sea.
It little skills what faith men vaunt, If loyal men they be To Christ's ain Kirk and Covenant, Or the King that's o'er the sea.
CULLODEN
Dark, dark was the day when we looked on Culloden And chill was the mist drop that clung to the tree, The oats of the harvest hung heavy and sodden, No light on the land and no wind on the sea.
There was wind, there was rain, there was fire on their faces, When the clans broke the bayonets and died on the guns, And 'tis Honour that watches the desolate places Where they sleep through the change of the snows and the suns.
Unfed and unmarshalled, outworn and outnumbered, All hopeless and fearless, as fiercely they fought, As when Falkirk with heaps of the fallen was cumbered, As when Gledsmuir was red with the havoc they wrought.
Ah, woe worth you, Sleat, and the faith that you vowed, Ah, woe worth you, Lovat, Traquair, and Mackay; And woe on the false fairy flag of Macleod, And the fat squires who drank, but who dared not to die!
Where the graves of Clan Chattan are clustered together, Where Macgillavray died by the Well of the Dead, We stooped to the moorland and plucked the pale heather That blooms where the hope of the Stuart was sped.
And a whisper awoke on the wilderness, sighing, Like the voice of the heroes who battled in vain, "Not for Tearlach alone the red claymore was plying, But to bring back the old life that comes not again."
THE LAST OF THE LEAL--DECEMBER 31, 1787
Here's a health to every man Bore the brunt of wind and weather; Winnowed sore by Fortune's fan, Faded faith of chief and clan: Nairne and Caryl stand together; Here's a health to every man Bore the brunt of wind and weather!
Oh, round Charlie many ran, When his foot was on the heather, When his sword shone in the van. Now at ending of his span, Gask and Caryl stand together!
Ne'er a hope from plot or plan, Ne'er a hope from rose or heather; Ay, the King's a broken man; Few will bless, and most will ban. Nairne and Caryl stand together!
Help is none from Crown or clan, France is false, a fluttered feather; But Kings are not made by man, Till God end what God began, Nairne and Caryl stand together, Gask and Caryl stand together; Here's a health to every man Bore the brunt of wind and weather!
JEANNE d'ARC
The honour of a loyal boy, The courage of a paladin, With maiden's mirth, the soul of joy, These dwelt her happy breast within. From shame, from doubt, from fear, from sin, As God's own angels was she free; Old worlds shall end, and new begin To be
Ere any come like her who fought For France, for freedom, for the King; Who counsel of redemption brought Whence even the armed Archangel's wing Might weary sore in voyaging; Who heard her Voices cry "Be free!" Such Maid no later human spring Shall see!
Saints Michael, Catherine, Margaret, Who sowed the seed that Thou must reap, If eyes of angels may be wet, And if the Saints have leave to weep, In Paradise one pain they keep, Maiden! one mortal memory, One sorrow that can never sleep, For Thee!
TO HELEN
(After seeing her bowl with her usual success.)
ST. LEONARD'S HALL
Helen, thy bowling is to me Like that wise Alfred Shaw's of yore, Which gently broke the wickets three: From Alfred few could smack a four: Most difficult to score!
The music of the moaning sea, The rattle of the flying bails, The grey sad spires, the tawny sails - What memories they bring to me, Beholding thee!
Upon our old monastic pitch, How sportsmanlike I see thee stand! The leather in thy lily hand, Oh, Helen of the yorkers, which Are nobly planned!
BALLADE OF DEAD CRICKETERS
Ah, where be Beldham now, and Brett, Barker, and Hogsflesh, where be they? Brett, of all bowlers fleetest yet That drove the bails in disarray? And Small that would, like Orpheus, play Till wild bulls followed his minstrelsy? {2} Booker, and Quiddington, and May? Beneath the daisies, there they lie!
And where is Lambert,
It little skills what faith men vaunt, If loyal men they be To Christ's ain Kirk and Covenant, Or the King that's o'er the sea.
CULLODEN
Dark, dark was the day when we looked on Culloden And chill was the mist drop that clung to the tree, The oats of the harvest hung heavy and sodden, No light on the land and no wind on the sea.
There was wind, there was rain, there was fire on their faces, When the clans broke the bayonets and died on the guns, And 'tis Honour that watches the desolate places Where they sleep through the change of the snows and the suns.
Unfed and unmarshalled, outworn and outnumbered, All hopeless and fearless, as fiercely they fought, As when Falkirk with heaps of the fallen was cumbered, As when Gledsmuir was red with the havoc they wrought.
Ah, woe worth you, Sleat, and the faith that you vowed, Ah, woe worth you, Lovat, Traquair, and Mackay; And woe on the false fairy flag of Macleod, And the fat squires who drank, but who dared not to die!
Where the graves of Clan Chattan are clustered together, Where Macgillavray died by the Well of the Dead, We stooped to the moorland and plucked the pale heather That blooms where the hope of the Stuart was sped.
And a whisper awoke on the wilderness, sighing, Like the voice of the heroes who battled in vain, "Not for Tearlach alone the red claymore was plying, But to bring back the old life that comes not again."
THE LAST OF THE LEAL--DECEMBER 31, 1787
Here's a health to every man Bore the brunt of wind and weather; Winnowed sore by Fortune's fan, Faded faith of chief and clan: Nairne and Caryl stand together; Here's a health to every man Bore the brunt of wind and weather!
Oh, round Charlie many ran, When his foot was on the heather, When his sword shone in the van. Now at ending of his span, Gask and Caryl stand together!
Ne'er a hope from plot or plan, Ne'er a hope from rose or heather; Ay, the King's a broken man; Few will bless, and most will ban. Nairne and Caryl stand together!
Help is none from Crown or clan, France is false, a fluttered feather; But Kings are not made by man, Till God end what God began, Nairne and Caryl stand together, Gask and Caryl stand together; Here's a health to every man Bore the brunt of wind and weather!
JEANNE d'ARC
The honour of a loyal boy, The courage of a paladin, With maiden's mirth, the soul of joy, These dwelt her happy breast within. From shame, from doubt, from fear, from sin, As God's own angels was she free; Old worlds shall end, and new begin To be
Ere any come like her who fought For France, for freedom, for the King; Who counsel of redemption brought Whence even the armed Archangel's wing Might weary sore in voyaging; Who heard her Voices cry "Be free!" Such Maid no later human spring Shall see!
Saints Michael, Catherine, Margaret, Who sowed the seed that Thou must reap, If eyes of angels may be wet, And if the Saints have leave to weep, In Paradise one pain they keep, Maiden! one mortal memory, One sorrow that can never sleep, For Thee!
TO HELEN
(After seeing her bowl with her usual success.)
ST. LEONARD'S HALL
Helen, thy bowling is to me Like that wise Alfred Shaw's of yore, Which gently broke the wickets three: From Alfred few could smack a four: Most difficult to score!
The music of the moaning sea, The rattle of the flying bails, The grey sad spires, the tawny sails - What memories they bring to me, Beholding thee!
Upon our old monastic pitch, How sportsmanlike I see thee stand! The leather in thy lily hand, Oh, Helen of the yorkers, which Are nobly planned!
BALLADE OF DEAD CRICKETERS
Ah, where be Beldham now, and Brett, Barker, and Hogsflesh, where be they? Brett, of all bowlers fleetest yet That drove the bails in disarray? And Small that would, like Orpheus, play Till wild bulls followed his minstrelsy? {2} Booker, and Quiddington, and May? Beneath the daisies, there they lie!
And where is Lambert,