Works

There's a race, or a part of a race, if you will,
Of renown prehistoric, and vigorous still,
Who back from their fastnesses scornfully hurl'd
The redoubtable legions that trampled the world;...

(From the prose of Parkman.)

The lodges of the Montagnais were there,
Who reaped the harvest of the woods and rocks -
Skins of the moose and cariboo and bear,
Fur of the beaver, marten, otter, fox....

Hard by an ancient mansion stood an oak;
For centuries, 'twas said, it had been there:
The old towers crumbled 'neath decay's slow stroke,
While, hall by hall, upgrew a palace fair;...

A tremor, a quiver,
Through her ran
As over the river
The dawn began.
She drew her veil
Over her eyes,
And her face grew pale,
As she watched the sun rise.
She faded, turned...

A woman on an empire's throne
Has sat in queenly pride,
And swayed the sceptre of her power
O'er land and ocean wide:
A crown of gold adorned the head
That held a nation's fate,...

I swear by the holy Virgin,
I swear by her Son divine,
I swear by the throne of the Mighty,
I swear by the hope that is mine;
I swear by the youth and innocence,
By the beauty that has been,...

Scorn not the Old; 'twas sacred in its day,
A truth overpowering error with its might,
A light dispelling darkness with its ray,
A victory won, an intermediate height,...

A man he was of Scottish race,
And ancient Scottish name;
Of common mould, but lofty mien,
That dignified his frame.
And he lived a humble, quiet life,
Obscure, unknown to fame;...

The old year is dying,
Its last hour is hieing
Over the verge;
The night winds are plying,
And are mournfully sighing
Its funeral dirge.

And now, in its even,
While its spirit is riven...

NOTE: - The tale is told a few years after the massacre of Glencoe, by a wandering bard, who had formerly been piper to MacDonald of Glencoe, but had escaped the fate of his kinsmen.

I tell a tale of woful tragedy,...

It's very disagreeable to sit here in the cold,
And a sinful waste of time - ah, well, it's too late now to scold;
I'll think about my sermon and my prayers for Sunday next,...

Our hearts are set on pleasure and on gain.
Fine clothes, fair houses, more and daintier bread;
We have no strivings, and no hunger-pain
For spiritual food; our souls are dead....

Lord, I am weak and worthless, better fit
To grovel in the dust, a worm of earth,
Than wear Thy holy image, which I do
But daily with defilement desecrate.
Long-suffering God! in mercy infinite!...

In a notable college the story is told
'Twill bear repetition, although somewhat old
That, at some unauthenticate date in the past
(I think 'twas the month or the year before last),...

Why should we leave the soil our fathers cleared,
And lifelong tilled with patient, loving hands?
Why should we leave the homes our fathers reared,
And seek strange dwellings in unhallowed lands?...

From Lapland to the land of Tamerlane,
Kamchatka to the confines of the Turk,
The spirit tyrants never can restrain
When once awake is mightily at work.
Liberty, frantic with a fearful hope,...

The roarin' game, the roarin' game,
From Scotland's bonnie land it came,
The land of loch and firth and ben,
And comely dames and stalwart men;
It crossed the broad Atlantic tide...

Who, careless, would behold a goodly tree
Or noble palace stricken to decay?
Who would drop precious jewels in the sea
Or cast rare heirlooms on the trodden way?
Who, but a prodigal in wantonness,...

Sad is the wane of beauty to the fair,
Sad is the flux of fortune to the proud,
Sad is the look dejected lovers wear,
And sad is worth beneath detraction's cloud.
Sad is our youth's inexorable end,...

That no Scotsman is perfect, we freely confess,
Nor has been since the time of the fall;
Yet we think, notwithstanding and nevertheless,
He is "nae sheep-shank bane," after all....