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Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
Grief and change and sure decay
All on earth are doomed to know,
What the Past's memorials say
Must the Present undergo.
Time but shifts his glass about,
And the sands their aims adjust,
In Creation's bounds throughout
All that is returns to dust.
On the bud and on the flower,
On the child and man grown grey,
Change is passing every hour,
Death has set his snare to slay.
And the feelings when they glow
With a taste of joy intense,
Soon a tinge of sadness know,
Dimming quickly all the sense.
Vainly do we strive to keep
Such scant solace as we feel,
Blight unseen on all doth creep,
Pleasures hidden stings conceal.
Weary soon become the things
That at first make glad our way,
And To-morrow never brings
The same joy we knew To-day.
Toil exhausts, and strong Desire
Wasteth both the heart and head
With its strugglings, as the fire
Fastest burns the more 'tis fed.
Life is all a chequered score,
Death and Time direct the chess,
One hath not a triumph more,
 Nor the other one the less.
Thus amid Mutation's range,
Man, impatient of relief,
Learns himself to long for change,
Even though bringing with it grief.
VIRTUE.
He was a sage old man who said,
While in the public way he stood,
Virtue is best of all, because
Without it there is nothing good.
He was no stoic who thus spoke
A word so practical and true,
Nor sophist that would grandly say
What he would ne'er attempt to do:
But one of those wise heathen men
Who Reason followed as a guide,
And by it he was learned a truth
So humbling to mere human pride.
Yet even to him, with all the lore
Philosophy amassed of old,
Was the full meaning all unknown
Of what unaided Reason told.
A wiser man than he hath said,
By God's own spirit taught the same,
That wisdom is the chiefest thing
Deserving of man's fervent aim.
Wisdom and virtue both are one,
And only are attained aright
In their whole fulness and intent,
When sought in Revelation's light.
By it the sage old heathen's word
In all its breadth is understood;
Wisdom is best of all, he said,
Without it there is nothing good. (11)
 VAIN HOPES.

Vain is his labour who begins to sow,

Ere he has well prepared the soil below;
And vainer still his aim who hopes to win
To Heaven, before repenting of his sin.
Weak is his wish who looks for full crops grown,
Who has prepared his land and no seed sown;
But weaker still his hopes who thinks to win
To Heaven, with mere repentance of his sin.
To till the land and lay it out for seeds,
And yet none sown, will bring forth nought but weeds;
And wanting grace to fill, the void within
Breeds, with self-merit, all presumptuous sin.
Fruitless his skill who would a vessel steer
Without a rudder to direct and veer;
More fruitless still his aim who seeks to win
To Heaven, when wanting prayer for light within.
Hopeless his task who seeks to safely go,
Without a chart the dangerous rocks to show;
More hopeless still his aim, who seeks to win
To Heaven, when wanting faith to lead him in.
THE VALLEY OF LIFE.
In the still midnight hour I sat alone
Within my chamber, sunk in reverie,
No sound disturbed my musings, all was hushed
In silence and in sleep, the light near done,
A dim uncertain flickering threw around.
The waning fire was but a heap of ashes,
While there and there a feeble red remained,
That now and then threw out a fitful gleam.
Something like slumber fell upon my eyes,
And a dream passed o'er my spirit stealthily,
As, in the early grey of morn, the mists,
Gathered in masses, up the hill-sides creep,
Ere they dissolve before the sun away.
Remembrance cannot all its features tell,
Though vivid and particular they seemed
When that dread vision on my senses came,
And I could trace the shadowy details,
As one might mark a phantom army march
O'er its last field of battle, ere it passed,
Into obscurity,—could note it then,—
But afterwards cannot recall the place,
Order and rank, of each brigade and file.
Methought I stood upon a bare hill-top,
And overlooked a vast and fertile plain
Peopled with many multitudes,—there met
Men of all tribes and nations that the globe
Holds in its wide extent, of every kind,
The Mongol, the Malayan, and the Negro,
The red American and Caucasian fair.
Among them Evil strode ubiquitous,
And threw its shadow wheresoe'er it came.
Its Jackal, lewd Temptation, went before,
With angel face and soft alluring eyes,
While close behind Guilt, Anguish, Care, and Pain
Followed incessantly, and left on all
Followed incessantly, and left on all
Their mark impressed as with hot iron seared.
As then I looked upon the scene below,
Meseemed that wheresoe'er Temptation came,
And she came everywhere,—no spot escaped,—
That many, most indeed of these vast crowds,
Themselves threw madly in her way, and sought
To win her smiles, nor deemed them poisonous;
And once within her meshes, few had will
To fly them, or to manfully resist,
As a strong man confronts his enemy,
And strives to overthrow him where they meet;—
And she the while assumed all shapes and moods
That suited were to their intents and aims,
For, with a penetrating eye precise,
Intuitively still their minds she knew,
Tendencies and dispositions, and wore,—
As snares in readiness she had for all,—
The very guise adapted for their lure,
But carefully concealed the stings they bore.
Disease and sorrow on her victims fell,
Too late they felt the curse that is entailed
On all who to the Tempter yield, and thus
Become an early prey to Evil, whose
Inheritance is misery and woe.
And I beheld some 'mongst the various crowds
Who stood aloof from her, and would not be
Entangled with her witcheries or wiles.
These with a resolute will refused to come
Within her reach, and so escaped the first
Of Evil's followers, Guilt, though more or less,
They had their share of what the others left
Behind,—Care, Pain, and Anguish,—for the doom
Pronounced on Man was on them, but they knew
That these, to all who hold out to the end,
With a pure conscience and unspotted mind
With a pure conscience and unspotted mind,
To their endurance will be tempered still,
And, in due season, turn to lasting good,
Which to their spirits consolation brought.
The valley watered was with goodly rivers,
Upon the banks of which were many met.
Prudence was one, and on its grassy sides
Sat some who, calculating every chance,
A deaf ear to Temptation, when she came,
Turned, unseduced from their proprieties.
Repentance was another, near it lay
Those who Remorse felt and a wounded spirit,
Seeking relief from agonising thought
And racking self-reproach. Beyond these two
Was Perseverance, where returning health
Was found by all who there due time remained.
And farther still, with borders ever green,
And fresh flowers ever springing, ever new,
Were two sweet rills, Virtue and Faith their names,
Where peace of mind was known and purity:
And those who sought their banks,—they were not few,
Though, midst the mighty myriads around,
They seemed but small in number and select,—
Remained unshaken in their constancy,
Resisting all enticements of the Tempter,
And gladly following the path of duty,
Which brought to them a sure and high reward.
On these, whate'er their griefs and trials were,
And they had many, to refine their souls,
And make them nobler after victory,
Enduring hope and perfect peace abode.
But whereso'er I looked besides, was seen
The power of Ill, shedding on all who bore
The fated impress of humanity,
Torment and fear, and bitter agony,
And pain intolerable,—At the sight
 p , g
My spirit shrank, and, starting, I awoke!
AFTER-THOUGHT.
Man values many things far more
Than their own worth told o'er and o'er,
Computed at its highest score.
He counts his gold with anxious care,
As his whole heart's desire were there,
And hoards up treasures for his heir.
He gives his labour, time, and health,
To add still something to his wealth,
And life enjoys as if by stealth.
When pleasure's mood his thoughts employ,
He plays with every passing joy,
Just as a child does with its toy.
He does not to reflexion call
What after reckoning may befall,
For how he has possessed them all.
In the lapse onward of his years,
Ere age or grief his spirit sears,
He keeps no note of hopes or fears.
Nor does he estimate his days,
That each its after-mead conveys,
Whether for censure or for praise,
As they deserve especially,
Each day it is his lot to see,
As bearing on futurity.
At night he tells up all his gains,
The more he gets the more he strains,
Or at his losses he complains.
And then, as one who does his best,
He folds his arms upon his breast,
And with contentment takes his rest.
And with contentment takes his rest.
Thus daily should he estimate
His bygone hours, and calculate
Their good or ill upon his fate;
That when his days all vanished have,
They may no bitter reckoning crave,—
There's no renewal in the grave.
NOTES.
 NOTES.

Note 1, Page 55.

"The Alpine Horn."

Reichard, a German writer, affirms that when the sun sets, the
shepherd who dwells on the highest part of the Alps, calls through
his horn, "Praise God the Lord!" and the other shepherds, hearing
the sound, hasten out of their huts and repeat it. This continues for
some time, and the name of the Lord is thus re-echoed from
mountain to valley. When the sound ceases, all kneel down on the
mountain, and their prayers ascend together to the throne of grace.
The shepherd from the summit of the mountain then proclaims
"Good night!" which is instantly repeated by the rest. They then
retire to their homes.

Note 2, Page 69.

"But come not near the hollyhock."

The flower of the hollyhock contains a species of poison, which is

fatal to bees, and round its nectaries and petals several of these
insects are frequently found lying insensible.

Note 3, Page 85.

Loch Awe.

A lake in Argyleshire. My earliest years were spent in its

neighbourhood; but I have not been there since I was a mere boy.
 "Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wandered,
My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid;
On chieftains long perished my memory pondered,
As daily I strode through the pine-covered glade."
Byron.

According to the Guide Books, Loch Awe and its vicinity, more
perhaps than any other district in the Highlands, abound with
memorials of former ages. The lake is thirty miles in extent, and of
the average breadth of one, although in some places it does not
exceed half a mile. It is surrounded by mountains finely wooded,
and like many of the Scottish lakes, its surface is studded over with
small islands, beautifully tufted with trees, and some of them large
enough to admit of being pastured. Upon the island of Innis-Hail are
the remains of a convent; and on a rocky promontory at the eastern
extremity of the lake stand the magnificent ruins of Kilchurn Castle.
This structure, which still exhibits the vestiges of a castellated
square tower, was built in 1440, by Sir John Campbell, (second son
of Argyle,) Knight of Rhodes, and ancestor of the Breadalbane
family, and in later times it became, from the extensive view it
commanded of the lake, the favourite residence of the chiefs of the
family. In 1745 it was garrisoned by the king's troops, in order to
defend the pass into the Highlands, and secure the tranquillity of the
country. Emerging from the ocean, and rising on the north-east bank
of Loch Awe, soars Ben Cruachan, the largest mountain in
Argyleshire. Its perpendicular height is 3,390 feet above the level of
the sea, and its circumference at the base is upwards of twenty
miles. On the south, the ascent is gentle nearly to the summit,
where it rises abrupt, and divides into two points, each having the
form of a sugar-loaf. Before the storm, "the spirit of the mountain
shrieks" from Ben Cruachan, Ben Doran, and some other Highland
mountains. When Burke made his tour in Scotland, he declared that
Loch Awe was the most picturesque lake he had ever seen. It was in
a narrow pass in the vicinity of this lake that King Robert Bruce
defeated the Macdougals of Lorn, in 1308. In Loch Awe are found
salmon, trout, eels, and other fresh water fish. The lake discharges
itself by the river Awe into Loch Etive at Bunawe Ferry.

Note 4, Page 87.

The Wolf.

Wolves were once the scourge of England, and are still numerous
in many parts of France. The Poem is founded on an incident which
occurred some years ago in Picardy—the details of which were
similar, with the exception that the peasant shot his mother instead
of his sweetheart, in mistake for the wolf of which he was in pursuit.
The last of these ferocious animals seen in the neighbourhood of
Guisne was shot by a woman named Louise Vernette, nearly fifty
years ago. During a severe winter, when the whole country was
covered with snow, a she-wolf, urged to desperation by hunger, had
entered her cottage at an early hour of the morning, and carried off
her infant, as it lay in the cradle. The mother, on returning from the
labours of the field, with frantic lamentations searched the
neighbourhood for her child. During her wanderings she
encountered a peasant, breathless from a long and unavailing
pursuit of the savage beast, which he had seen entering a wood
about three leagues distant with the child in its jaws. The whole
village immediately renewed the chase; the mother, arming herself
with a gun, was, as might have been expected, the most
indefatigable, and, penetrating into the recesses of the forest,
encountered the monster, which she shot dead. No traces of the
miserable infant were ever discovered.

Note 5, Page 105.

Mount Horeb.
 Mount Sinai stands about 120 miles south from Jerusalem, and
nearly 260 eastward from Grand Cairo in Egypt. The mountain is of
no great extent, but extremely high, and has two tops; the western
of which is called Horeb, and the eastern, which is about a third
higher, Sinai. There are several springs and fruit-trees on Horeb, but
nothing except rainwater on the top of Sinai. The ascent of both is
very steep, and can only be effected by steps, now much effaced,
which the Empress Helena, mother of Constantine the Great, caused
to be cut in the marble rock. At the foot of Mount Sinai, on the
north, and near to the ascent of Mount Horeb, there was a
monastery dedicated to Saint Catherine, but now in ruins, not far
distant from which there stands a fountain of very clear water,
formed like a bow or arch. A little above which is to be seen the
Cave where Elijah rested when God spoke unto him, 1 Kings xix.
From the top of Sinai, God proclaimed his law to the Hebrews amid
devouring flames of fire, Exod. xxiv. The Rock Rephidim, which
seems to have been a clift fallen off from the side of Sinai, and lies
like a large loose stone in the midst of the valley, gives name to that
part of the desert nearest the mountain. There are twelve openings
in it, whence, on being struck by Moses, the waters gushed out for
the supply of the Israelites, during the forty years they tarried in the
desert, Exod. xvii.

Note 6, Page 116.

Dryburgh Abbey.

The ruins of Dryburgh Abbey are surpassingly interesting, from

their antiquity, history, picturesque appearance, and more than all,
from the Great Minstrel being buried there. The grave of Sir Walter
Scott is in St. Mary's Aisle of the Abbey Church of Dryburgh, which is
in the form of a cross, and the Poet lies in the left transept of the
Cross, part of which is still standing, and close to where the high
altar formerly stood. This transept is divided into three burial-places;
that of Sir Walter Scott, Baronet, in right of his grandmother, Lady
Haliburton's family; that of James Erskine, Esq. of Shieldhall and
Melrose; and that of James G. Haig, Esq. of the ancient family of
Bemersyde. These, with the tomb-house of the Earl of Buchan, in St.
Moden's Chapel, and that of James Anderson, Esq. of Gledswood,
form, I believe, the only cemeteries in Dryburgh. These venerable
ruins stand on a romantic peninsula, formed by one of the great
windings of the Tweed, commonly called the crescent of that river, in
the south-west nook of Berwickshire, where the river divides that
county from Roxburghshire. The land rises in a sloping bank from
the margin of the Tweed to the top of Dryburgh Hill, about 800 feet
high, on which stands the colossal statue of Wallace, erected by the
late revered Earl of Buchan. The trees in the neighbourhood of
Dryburgh have a very luxuriant appearance, and some of them are
rather remarkable. There are many vestiges of old oaks to be found,
and the ash and the yew have grown to a surprising height and
circumference; and there is still, in the cemetery of the Abbey, a
yew-tree of uncommon beauty, which is upwards of ten feet in
circumference, at six feet from the ground. In the grounds opposite
the mansion house of Dryburgh, there are also some fine trees,
particularly a noble cedar, which has been much admired. Many
interesting remains of antiquity have been dug up in Dryburgh
Abbey and places adjacent.

Note 7, Page 140.

Sonnets on Danby's Picture.

Mr Danby could scarcely have chosen a better subject for the

display of his great powers than that of the Deluge. In this highly
effective and beautiful work of art, an Angel of light is introduced,
weeping over the lifeless bodies of a giant and a female, who,
floating above the swelling waters on a hastily constructed raft, were
crushed to death by a fallen tree. This part of the scene is evidently
illustrative of that passage in Scripture which refers to the "Sons of
God," who "saw that the daughters of men were fair, and they took
them wives of all whom they chose." The "Sons of God," according
to the best commentators, were a race of men favoured by God, but
who generally incurred his displeasure, and perished with mankind in
general.

Note 8, Page 157.

"Calmly the martyr Guthrie met his fate."

Mr James Guthrie, minister of Stirling, was executed at Edinburgh,

on the 1st of June 1661, for his adherence to the Covenant. In his
dying speech, he solemnly declared,—"I take God to record upon my
soul, I would not exchange this scaffold with the palace or the mitre
of the greatest prelate in Britain."

Note 9, Page 167.

The Eagle's Nest.

The incident here versified is founded on fact, although I have

taken the liberty slightly to alter the details,—to change the scene,
as it were, of the heroine's birth-place,—and to give her a name of
my own choosing. The case is thus narrated by Dr Rush of
Philadelphia, in his "Lectures on the Utility of a Knowledge of the
Mind to a Physician," lect. xi.:—
"During the time I passed at a country school, at Cecil county, in
Maryland," says that eminent medical philosopher, "I often went, on
a holiday, with my schoolmates, to see an eagle's nest, upon the
summit of a dead tree in the neighbourhood of the school, during
the time of the incubation of that bird. The daughter of the farmer in
whose field the tree stood, and with whom I became acquainted,
married, and settled in this place about forty years ago. In our
occasional interviews, we now and then spoke of the innocent
pursuits and rural pleasures of our youth, and, among other things,
of the eagle's nest in her father's field. A few years ago I was called
to visit this woman, when she was in the lowest stage of a typhus
fever. Upon entering her room, I caught her eye, and, with a
cheerful tone of voice, said only—'The eagle's nest!' She seized my
hand, without being able to speak, and discovered strong emotions
of pleasure in her countenance, probably from a sudden association
of all her early domestic connexions and enjoyments with the words
I had uttered. From that time she began to recover. She is now
living, and seldom fails, when we meet, to salute me with the echo
of—'The eagle's nest!'"

Note 10, Page 193.

"Our history records, 'with sorrow and with shame.'"

Marshal Ney was shot in violation of a solemn capitulation—the

Convention of Paris;—by the twelfth article of which an amnesty was
granted to all persons in the capital, whatever might be their
opinions, their offices, or their conduct. Marshal Davoust, who had
concluded the Convention, explained it in favour of Ney,—and so will
impartial history. The Duke of Wellington, however, on being
appealed to by the unfortunate Ney, during the trial returned the
cold and lawyer-like answer,—"That the Convention was merely a
military convention, and did not, and could not, promise pardon for
political offences, on the part of the French government." And so
Ney, the most heroic of all the marshals of the French Revolution,
was most foully murdered in the garden of the Luxembourg, to
satisfy a point of mere military etiquette! Like the Dacian captive of
old,—

"Butchered to make a Roman holiday."

That the Duke of Wellington did not at once strongly remonstrate

against the illegality of the act was unfortunate for his own fame. It
required but the saving of Ney's life to have made him the greatest
man of his time. That the act was illegal is acknowledged by the
ablest jurisconsults of Europe. Well might Ney himself exclaim, when
he found that his death was resolved upon:—"I am accused against
the faith of treaties, and they will not let me justify myself. I appeal
to Europe and to posterity!"

Note 11, Page 241.

"He was a sage old man who said."

A sophist, wishing to perplex Thales, who was one of the seven

wise men of Greece, asked him many difficult questions; to all of
which the sage replied without the least hesitation. To one of those
questions,—which was the following,—"What is the best of all
things?" Thales gave this response: "Virtue; because without it there
is nothing good." Such is the conviction of mere unassisted and
stumbling reason, the voice of nature, and the unequivocal and
direct assertion of a heathen philosopher.—Preface to Piety and
Intellect Relatively Estimated, by Dr Henry Edwards.—An excellent
work.
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