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Read Ebook: New Collected Rhymes by Lang Andrew
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DEDICATORY PAGE IN AUGUSTINUM DOBSON 3 LOYAL LYRICS HOW THE MAID MARCHED FROM BLOIS 7 LONE PLACES OF THE DEER 9 AN OLD SONG 10 JACOBITE "AULD LANG SYNE" 12 THE PRINCE'S BIRTHDAY 14 THE TENTH OF JUNE, 1715 15 WHITE ROSE DAY 17 RED AND WHITE ROSES 18 THE BONNIE BANKS O' LOCH LOMOND 19 KENMURE 21 CULLODEN 23 THE LAST OF THE LEAL 25 JEANNE D'ARC 27 CRICKET RHYMES TO HELEN 31 BALLADE OF DEAD CRICKETERS 32 BRAHMA 34 CRITICAL OF LIFE, ART, AND LITERATURE GAINSBOROUGH GHOSTS 37 A REMONSTRANCE WITH THE FAIR 39 RHYME OF RHYMES 42 RHYME OF OXFORD COCKNEY RHYMES 44 ROCOCO 47 THE NEW ORPHEUS TO HIS EURYDICE 47 THE FOOD OF FICTION 59 "A HIGHLY VALUABLE CHAIN OF THOUGHTS" 51 MATRIMONY 53 PISCATORI PISCATOR 55 THE CONTENTED ANGLER 56 OFF MY GAME 58 THE PROPERTY OF A GENTLEMAN WHO HAS GIVEN UP COLLECTING 60 THE BALLADE OF THE SUBCONSCIOUS SELF 62 BALLADE OF THE OPTIMIST 64 ZIMBABWE 66 LOVE'S CRYPTOGRAM 68 TUSITALA 70 DISDAINFUL DIAPHENIA 72 TALL SALMACIS 73 JUBILEE POEMS WHAT FRANCESCO SAID OF THE JUBILEE 72 THE POET AND THE JUBILEE 79 ON ANY BEACH 81 ODE OF JUBILEE 82 JUBILEE BEFORE REVOLUTION 84 FOLK SONGS FRENCH PEASANT SONGS 89 BALLADS THE YOUNG RUTHVEN 93 THE QUEEN O' SPAIN AND THE BAULD MCLEAN 97 KEITH OF CRAIGENTOLLY 101
DEDICATORY
JAM RUDE DONATUM.
Back to the golden prime of Anne! When you ambassador had been, And brought o'er sea the King again, Beatrix Esmond in his train, Ah, happy bard to hold her fan, And happy land with such a Queen!
We live too early, or too late, You should have shared the pint of Pope, And taught, well pleased, the shining shell To murmur of the fair Lepel, And changed the stars of St. John's fate To some more happy horoscope.
Bring back these years in verse or prose, As on some Twenty-Ninth of May Restore the splendour and the sway, Forget the sins, the wars, the woes-- The joys alone must you rehearse.
Forget the dunces ; So may your years with pen and book Run pleasant as an English brook Through meadows floral in the sun, And shadows fragrant of the dew.
And thus at ending of your span-- As all must end--the world shall say, "His best he gave: he left us not A line that saints could wish to blot, For he was blameless, though a man, And though the poet, he was gay!"
LOYAL LYRICS
THE Maiden called for her great destrier, But he lashed like a fiend when the Maid drew near: "Lead him forth to the Cross!" she cried, and he stood Like a steed of bronze by the Holy Rood!
Her banner was borne by a page of grace, With hair of gold, and a lady's face; And behind it the ranks of her men were dressed-- Never a man but was clean confessed, Jackman and archer, lord and knight, Their souls were clean and their hearts were light: There was never an oath, there was never a laugh, And La Hire swore soft by his leading staff! Had we died in that hour we had won the skies, And the Maiden had marched us through Paradise!
LONE places of the deer, Corrie, and Loch, and Ben, Fount that wells in the cave, Voice of the burn and the wave, Softly you sing and clear Of Charlie and his men!
Here has he lurked, and here The heather has been his bed, The wastes of the islands knew And the Highland hearts were true To the bonny, the brave, the dear, The royal, the hunted head.
OH, it's hame, hame, hame, And it's hame I wadna be, Till the Lord calls King James To his ain countrie, Bids the wind blaw frae France, Till the Firth keps the faem, And Loch Garry and Lochiel Bring Prince Charlie hame.
May the lads Prince Charlie led That were hard on Willie's track, When frae Laffen field he fled, Wi' the claymore at his back, May they stand on Scottish soil When the White Rose bears the gree, And the Lord calls the King To his ain countrie!
Bid the seas arise and stand Like walls on ilka side, Till our Highland lad pass through With Jehovah for his guide. Dry up the River Forth, As Thou didst the Red Sea, When Israel cam hame To his ain countrie.
LOCHIEL'S REGIMENT, 1747.
THOUGH now we take King Lewie's fee And drink King Lewie's wine, We'll bring the King frae ower the sea, As in auld lang syne.
For, he that did proud Pharaoh crush, And save auld Jacob's line, Will speak to Charlie in the Bush, Like Moses, lang syne.
For oft we've garred the red coats run, Frae Garry to the Rhine, Frae Baug? brig to Falkirk moor, No that lang syne.
The Duke may with the Devil drink, And wi' the deil may dine, But Charlie's dine in Holyrood, As in auld lang syne.
For he who did proud Pharaoh crush, To save auld Jacob's line, Shall speak to Charlie in the Bush, Like Moses, lang syne.
ROME, 31ST DECEMBER, 1721.
A WONDERFUL star shone forth From the frozen skies of the North Upon Rome, for an Old Year's night: And a flower on the dear white Rose Broke, in the season of snows, To bloom for a day's delight.
Lost is the star in the night, And the Rose of a day's delight Fled "where the roses go": But the fragrance and light from afar, Born of the Rose and the Star, Breathe o'er the years and the snow.
DAY of the King and the flower! And the girl of my heart's delight, The blackbird sings in the bower, And the nightingale sings in the night A song to the roses white.
Day of the flower and the King! When shall the sails of white Shine on the seas and bring In the day, in the dawn, in the night, The King to his land and his right?
Day of my love and my may, After the long years' flight, Born on the King's birthday, Born for my heart's delight, With the dawn of the roses white!
Black as the blackbird's wing Is her hair, and her brow as white As the white rose blossoming, And her eyes as the falcon's bright And her heart is leal to the right.
When shall the joy bells ring? When shall the hours unite The right with the might of my King, And my heart with my heart's delight; In the dawn, in the day, in the night?
JUNE 10, 1688.
White roses over the heather, And down by the Lowland lea, And far in the faint blue weather, A white sail guessed on the sea! But the deep night gathers and closes, Shall ever a morning bring The lord of the leal white roses, The face of the rightful King?
RED roses under the sun For the King who is lord of land; But he dies when his day is done, For his memory careth none When the glass runs empty of sand.
White roses under the moon For the King without lands to give; But he reigns with the reign of June, With the rose and the Blackbird's tune, And he lives while Faith shall live.
Red roses for beef and beer; Red roses for wine and gold; But they drank of the water clear, In exile and sorry cheer, To the kings of our sires of old.
Red roses for wealth and might; White roses for hopes that flee; And the dreams of the day and the night, For the Lord of our heart's delight-- For the King that is o'er the sea.
THERE'S an ending o' the dance, and fair Morag's safe in France, And the Clans they hae paid the lawing, And the wuddy has her ain, and we twa are left alane, Free o' Carlisle gaol in the dawing.
For my love's heart brake in twa, when she kenned the Cause's fa', And she sleeps where there's never nane shall waken, Where the glen lies a' in wrack, wi' the houses toom and black, And her father's ha's forsaken.
While there's heather on the hill shall my vengeance ne'er be still, While a bush hides the glint o' a gun, lad; Wi' the men o' Sergeant M?r shall I work to pay the score, Till I wither on the wuddy in the sun, lad!
"THE heather's in a blaze, Willie, The White Rose decks the tree, The Fiery Cross is on the braes, And the King is on the sea!
"Remember great Montrose, Willie, Remember fair Dundee, And strike one stroke at the foreign foes Of the King that's on the sea.
"There's Gordons in the North, Willie, Are rising frank and free, Shall a Kenmure Gordon not go forth For the King that's on the sea?
"A trusty sword to draw, Willie, A comely weird to dree, For the Royal Rose that's like the snaw, And the King that's on the sea!"
He cast ae look across his lands, Looked over loch and lea, He took his fortune in his hands, For the King was on the sea.
Kenmures have fought in Galloway 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.
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.
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."
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