Poems of James McIntyre Part 18

SCOTTISH POETS.

The following ode was read by the author at the Centennial Anniversary of Burns in the year 1859.

This night shall never be forgot For humble life none now despise, Since Burns was born in lowly cot Whose muses wing soars to the skies.

'Round Scotia's brow he wove a wreath And raised her name in cla.s.sic story A deathless fame he did bequeath, His country's pride, his country's glory.

He sang her hills, he sang her dales, Of Bonnie Doon and Banks of Ayr, Of death and Hornbook and such tales As Tam O'Shanter and his mare.

He bravely taught that manly worth More precious is than finest gold, He reckoned not on n.o.ble birth, But n.o.ble deeds alone extolled.

Where will we find behind the plow Or in the harvest field at toil Another youth, sweet bard, like thou, Could draw the tear or raise the smile.

We do not think 'twas Burns' fault, For there were no teetotalers then, That Willie brewed a peck of malt And Robin preed like other men.

'Tis true he loved the la.s.ses dear, But who for this would loudly blame, For Scotia's maids his heart did cheer And love is a true heavenly flame.

So here we've met in distant land Poor honest Robin to extol, Though oft we differ let us stand United now in Ingersoll.

BURNS AND SCOTT IN EDINBURGH.

When Burns did make triumphant entry 'Mong Edina's famous gentry, A discussion did there arise Among those solons learned and wise, About some lines by a new poet.

The author's name none did know it, Poem was of Canadian snow And how o'er it the blood did flow, For it had then been swept by war Where armies met in deadly jar.

But 'mong philosophers was boy Of tender years now Scotland's joy, He there did quickly quote each line And author's name he did define, Burns glanced at him with loving eyes, Youth ever more that look did prize, The happiest moment in his lot Ever revered by Walter Scott.

Thus Scotlands greatest poets met, And they did part with sad regret.

LINES ON SOUTH OF SCOTLAND.

The South of Scotland did produce Heroic Wallace and the Bruce, And even time will never blot The record of her Burns and Scott, And Tanahill renowned bard, And that sweet songster Ettrick Shepherd.

REPLY TO THE TOAST OF SCOTTISH POETS.

Burns sang so sweet behind the plow, Daisies we'll wreath around his brow, Musing on thee what visions throng, Of floods you poured of Scottish song.

Scott he did write romancing rhymes Of chivalry of ancient times; For tender feeling none can cope With Campbell the sweet Bard of hope.

Eye with sympathetic tear in Will shed it for Exile of Erin, And Tannahill while at his loom Wove flowers of song will ever bloom.

Hogg, Ettrick Shepherd, did gain fame By singing when the kye comes hame, With good time coming Bard McKay Still merrily doth cheer the way.

JAMES HOGG.

The wondrous shepherd James Hogg Was happy with his good sheep dog, Meditating o'er his sweet lays While his fleecy flocks did graze.

His education it came late After he reached to man's estate, While his flocks were busy feeding His favourite authors he was reading.

Wondrous tales he did rehea.r.s.e Of witches both in prose and verse, And he in fairy tales did glory Traditions of each shepherd's story.

The shepherd he sang late and early Of the deeds of bold Prince Charley, And how the charming bonnie Flora Soothed the Prince when in his sorrow.

Few songs possess so much vigor As his gathering of McGregor, The lover's heart is all aflame To meet la.s.sie when the kye comes hame.

But one who loved the shepherd's songs And sang them unto countless throngs, Great Kennedy has pa.s.sed away Now mournful is our Scottish lay.

HIGHLAND SKETCHES.

The Romans, Saxons and the Danes Did oft o'er run the Scottish plains.

So daring were those mauraders And skilful too were invaders.

The lowland man enjoyed his farm, But oft he was in great alarm, When Highlanders o'er plain would sweep And drive to hills his steers and sheep.

For highlandmen were taught in song The lowlands to them did belong, Each highland chief he ruled like king And Bards they did his praises sing,

In war the chief he led the van, Marching to battle with his clan, And when the foe attacked their chief The clansmen rushed to his relief.

When they King William's forces ma.s.s In Killicrankie's famous pa.s.s, The highlanders with joy and glee Rushed on them led by bold Dundee.

Lowland troops they would not tarry But they strove to ford the Garry, Soon many on the field lay dead, In river floated many a head.

For clansmen with the good broad sword Of battlefield they soon were Lord, And historians will rank the Chief highland victory of Killicrankie.

Again there sweeps the highland clans, Victorious at Preston Pans, Under Prince Charlie full of hope, They drove the troops were led by Cope.

But from Culloden Charlie flies While Highland blood the heather dyes, For months he wandered 'mong the hills Young Flora strove to soothe his ills.

While he was hunted by blood hounds, For sake of thirty thousand pounds, But Highlanders the gold despise, And honor only each doth prize.

At last to Charlie's great delight, From France a vessel hove in sight, And safely bore the gallant Prince To the sunny sh.o.r.es of France.