Poems (Douglas)/Life's Reverses

by Sarah Parker Douglas

LIFE'S REVERSES.

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Part First.

'Twas a cauld winter's e'en, wild an' bitter the blast
Which howled through the chinks o' the door as it passed,
Till the snaw flakes whirled ben, an' the licht ashes raised
Frae the comfortless hearth, whar the embers had blazed:
Sad, sad was the picture o' wretchedness there,
O' beauty an' guilelessness, sufferin', an' care.
A mither still young, but pale, haggard, an' weak,
Looked as cauld as if death's han' had frozen her cheek,
As a wee shiv'rin' lassie crouched close to her side,
Seekin' heat frae a share o' an auld tartan plaid;
Whilst Jessie, the elder, wi' garments fu' scant,
Wha's face bore the impress o' sorrow an' want,
Bent silent an' sad, gi'en the embers a steer,
Aye stiflin' the deep sigh, an' dichtin' the tear.
Is't the gusty wind flings back the door wi' a daud?
Na, it's Tam, wi' a burden o' sticks frae the wood.
Puir wee callen, ye shake frae the head to the feet,
Your thin claes repel na the blast an' the sleet,
An' your een's a' begratten, sae chillin' the storm—
Fling on some boughs, Jessie, your brither to warm.
Laith the frost-laden sprays seem to kindle ava,
Lang an' dreich noucht was heard but the fizzin' o SNaw;
At last, wi' a crackin', up louped the glad lowe,
Till gleams played like sunlicht on ilka wan brow.
"I'nt that fine!" said wee Tam, as he crouched to the heat,
"How nice it would ready a morsel o' meat!"
The dark een o' Jess were raised thouchtfu' an' sad
To the face o' her mither, an' that o' the lad,
When she risin' exclaimed, wi' attempt at a smile,
"Weel, Tam, we'll hae something to eat in a while.
I'll awa' to the leddy wha lives at the ha',
Axn' be hame again, mither, before the nicht fa'.
She was pleased wi' the wark I did for her, ye ken,
But had na' sma'siller to pay me a' then;
A balance remains, just a trifle, 'tis true,
But surely 'tis needed, an' honestly due;
She'll aiblins think seekin' it noo is na rieht,
But she kens na the mis'ry that craves it this nicht."
Wi' a shudder the mither gazed out at the storm,
At her puir hungry bairns, at her dauchter's slight form:
"I canna think, Jessie, o' lettin' ye gang,
The snaw fa's sae thick, an' the journey's sae lang."
"But I can gang wi' her," said Tam, "for I ken
A' the short cuts that bring ye fu' soon through the glen;
Sae dinna be frichted, but keep the fire bricht,
An' ye'll see the gude supper we'll a' hae the nicht."
A big tear rose up frae the widow's fond heart
As she saw in the tempest her twa bairns depart,
Jessie's face looked sae white 'neath her thick raven hair—
Puir thing! spite o' hardships, sae peerlessly fair.
A prayer trembled forth frae her heart's deep recess,
For strength to bear up 'neath ilk eroundin' distress.
"Qh, Michty!" she cried, "but Thy dealings are strange,
Wha e'er would hae dreamed o' this pitifu' change—
Fae comfort an' plenty clashed down to the dust,
Nor a frien' in the wide world to gie us a crust!"
Through her thin tremblin' fingers tears trickled like rain,
As she bowed down her pale face an' grat like a wean;
But that gush through wae's flood-gates her fu' heart relieved,
An' broucht a sad calm to the sairly bereaved.
Tears trickled nae mair, but she raised na her een,
Life's hale panorama passed scene after scene:—
Noo, slowly an' brichtly, a hame meets her sicht,
Nae cloud o' adversity darkens its licht;
He is there wha ne'er saw a frien' poverty sad,
But he slipped him the wherewith to mak' his heart glad—
Her ain darlin' Jamie, sae blythe an' sae braw,
Is there as he was, ere death bore him awa'.
They are in the aunld hamestead, a's joy 'neath the roof,
Nae want's there familiar, nae frien' stan's aloof:
'Tis a beautiful picture, that glimpse o' the past,
But Maggie dispels a' the sunshine at last.
The bairn sat selectin' ilk tiny bit bough,
Gazin' noo at her mither, noo feedin' the lowe,
When quo she, as a thocht filled her ponderin' head,
"When the ravens cry, mither, wha gies them their bread?"
'Tis He, my wee Maggie, wha cares for us a',
Without wha's permission a sparrow can't fa'."
"Weel, He'll pity us tue, gin He looks down to see
Puir Jessie an' Tam, an' puir mither an' me."
"Frae babes an' frae sucklin's what wisdom we learn!
Your words hae consoled my puir bosom, my bairn;
Your een's unco heavy, lean down ye'r wee head,
An' I'll wak ye, my pet, gin they come wi' the bread."
The bairn in sweet slumber forgets a' her care,
But how dolefu' an' weary the mither sits there!
******
Down the glen stan's a biggin', a gran' stately ha',
Wi' porches o' marble, an' steps like the snaw,
Wha's inmates ken nocht o' the hunger an' care
That fa's to the lot o' the freenless an' puir;
Nae nippin' blast blaws through their costly array,
An' their boardis spread sumptuously every day.
Thitherward our twa trav'llers direc'ed their feet,
Noo sinkin' in snaw-drift, noo blin' wi' the sleet,
Wi' limbs amaist frozen, scarce able to stan';
At the door o' the area, the front seems too gran',
They timidly chappit, but cook didna hear,
For the snaw-laden blast whistled loudly an' drear.
Then they knocked loud and louder, an' shiver'd an' stood,
Till she half ope'd the door, in nae mitherly mood.
"Gang awa, clatty things," she roared out, "gang awa,
Ye canna be ser'd—comin' here i' the snaw,
Garrin' folks ope the door till it drifts in their face;"
And she dauded it tae wi' a tarmigent grace.
Dumfounder'd they stood, wi' her words in their ear,
No a tongue could they move, no a fit could they steer,
Till Tam faltered out, wi' his teeth chatt'rin' sair,
"Ah, Jessie, but puir folks hae muckle to bear,—
She tak's us for beggars come seekin' our bread."
"Whist, Tam; dinna say that; it gars my heart bleeds
Come roun' to the front an' we'll ring the ha' bell,
And say that our errand's to the leddy hersel'."
Embaulden'd by feelin' they saucht but their due,
The orphans stood ringin' with courage anew.
A lacquay tripped licht ower the carpeted flair,
Wi' gowd lace on his doublet an' oil on his hair;
Like Cookie, far ben in the shelter he stood,
But speered what they wanted in accent no rude.
"Please to see the young leddy a journey we've ta'en."
"Well, I'm sorry," said he, "that your journey is vain,"
"Sir," said Jess, growing faint, "she's frae hame, then, I ween?"
"No, she's here, but our leddies are not to be seen."
"But she saw me ae day, when I brocht hame her dress:"
"She'll no be seen noo, lassie, nevertheless."
"No be seen!" she exclaimed, wi' a look o' despair,
Then aiblins ye'll tak' the bit message up stair."
The valet seem touched, for he said with a sigh,
"Ah! that's no allowed, yet come ben an' I'll try."
Fu' gratefu' the pair to the mat stepped ben,
An' the cause o' their journey few words let him ken;
In hope an' suspense there we lea' them to stan',
And up to his leddy we follow the man.
On a carpeted landin', wi' doors on ilk side,
He paused, chappit saftly, then opened ane wide;
The splendour within would maist dazzle your een,
Sic ease and sic comfort on a' sides were seen.
Nae winter was there, nae cheeks blenched wi' the cauld;
Nae wame gnawed by hunger neath garbs thin and auld;
Ilk group looked as warm as 'twas summers saft prime,
A' thrang at amusements to try an' kill time;
A gran' Turkey carpet, sae bossy an' bricht,
Looked as though it would sink to feet never so licht,
Wi' its rich gleamin' scarlet spread warm ower the flair,
A saft velvet covered ilk sofa and chair;
The very wa' paper seemed fu' 0' sun-rays,
As the big fire flung roun' it the licht o' its blaze.
On this sofa twa matrons wi' head to head bent,
Had a crack tae themsels o' a likely event;
The ane was the hostess, the ither a frien',
Wha protested she felt muckle pleasure yestreen
Tae see their rich guest, the young artist an' squire,
Sae ta'en ap wi' Clara, wham a' maun admire—
He would be sic a gran' an' desirable match
Whom sae many mamma's trigged their dauchters to catch.
Round that table a party sat silent, yet thrang
At the cards they were pushin' the moment's alang;
Whilst halflins reclined on a saft crimson seat,
Wi' a footstool supportin' her silk slippered feet,
Leaned Miss Clara, as absent as ane in a trance,
Sae engrossed ower the page o' a thrilling romance.
How the tokens o' sympathy maist dimmed her sight
As the ideal heroine's waes cam to licht;
But when John stood respectfu', and waited a wee,
Till up frae the novel she lifted her e'e,
An' delivered the true child o' suff'rin's request,
Naucht but sense o' annoyance awoke in her breast,
As wi' indolent movement an' look a' displeased,
Quo she, "You know, John, we are not to be teased;
Tell the girl she must just step out some other day
When ma's more at leisure, and guests gone away;"
An' liftin' the buik, she continued, "What fash
Those poor people give for a trifle of cash!"
But wha caucht her last words she wasna aware;
She fancied the valet aye sauntering there,
An' looked up wi' a frown, which the same moment iled,
An' a smile bricht as mornin' appeared in its stead;
But the answerin' beam in the een didna shine
O' the squire, wha's grave glances she couldna define.
A true son o genius in talent and heart
Was he, his saul's poetry a' in his airt.
A scene a' but leevin' on canvass he'd spread—
The Mount, the sad Cross, and immaculate dead;
There grouped the disciples the Saviour around,
There stood the three Mary's in anguish profound.
A sad upturned visage he saught to invest
Wi' a sorrow mair holy, mair deep than the rest:
"To my virgin mair angelic sadness maun fa,"
Mutter'd he as he carelessly passed through the ha',
When the young face o' Jessie, wha's features sae pure,
Bore the impress o' a' she was doomed to endure,
Caught his e'e, an' rivetted his feet to the flair.
The mournfu' Madona a' perfect was there,
The hair shading' saftly the sorrowfu' broo,
The een raised sae anxious, the sma' chisel'd mou'—
Aye could he hae glowered, but rememb'rin' 'twas rude,
His way up the stair he fu' thoughtfu' pursued.
There the crack o' Miss Clara, which ser'd to explain
The puir lassie's errand, his heart filled wi' pain;
Weel she kenn'd wi' kind feeling it gushed to the brim,
Sae she played aff the amiable aye afore him;
She had gi'en, wi' his knowledge, much siller awa,
But if he o'erheard her just now 'twould spoil a'.
"What a storm!" she exclaimed, as a fierce rattlin' shower
O' hail struck the window wi' fury an' power.
"How thankfu' should those be," returned the young squire,
"Wha's hame's fu' o' comforts, wha's seat's by the fire."
"True," sighed out Miss Clara wi' sanctified air,
"I'm glad my donation is gane to the puir."
"I pity," quo he, "in that tempest an' snaw,
The pair things that waited sae lang in the ha';
Necessity must, in a desperate form,
Hae driven them here in that pitiless storm."
She then stammered out, wi' a hem an' a ha,
At sewing the girl was employed by -mamma.
The squire noo resolved, soon as morn had returned,
To mak' the hame glad where the needy ones mourned.
But that nicht's awfu' suff'rin', an' nameless distress,
Tae the wand'rin' an' weary, what words wad express,
As in silence, wi' bosoms pitch-black wi' despair,
They dolefully faced the wild tempest ance mair—
Nae strength to resist the fierce breath o' the gale,
Nae happin' to shield frae ilk volley o' hail;
Mair like ghaists than aucht leevin', when nicht was far gane,
They reached their ain dwellin', but comfort broucht nane.
Oh'! the age o' distress to the hungry an' cauld
That lay in that ae nicht, nae words could unfauld—
Nae escape frae starvation, save ane—oh! the grief!—
To-morrow the workhouse micht yield them relief.
They saucht their hard pallet to think an' to weep,
But ilk e'e was saft closed by the angel o sleep,
Wha 'twixt them an' misery spread out his braid wings,
An' hid frae their vision a' sorrowfu' things.
Licht an' lang be your slumbers, ye weary and worn,
For the dark hour aboon ye 's the ane nighest morn.
 

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Part Second.

Through the snaw-darkened window the cauld lich o day:
Keekit ben, whare ilk face met its glance wi' dismay.
They had 'rose frae the slumber the famishin' ken
Tae anither new day, but what joy could it len'?
It broucht the dark hour o' their wish an' their dread,
When as paupers they'd crave workhouse shelter and bread;
Yet tears e'en on Maggie's wee cheek were na seen,
A passive despair filled their languishin' e'en,
As in silence they bided the hour drawin' nigh
When the starvin' to guardians must humbly apply;
They wished the ordeal o' entrin' was past,
That e'en there they were hid wi' their misery at last.
A hasty rat tat at the door gars them start,
For oh! unco feeble an' nervous each heart.
Jess, white as a sheet, scarce can gang ower the flair,
The door she unsnecks—tis the postman is there.
The back o' a great muckle letter he scans,
As he mutters, "This comes through a wheen o' posts' hands;
It's maist covered ower wi' 'no here,' and 'no there,'
But aiblins frae this it will travel nae mair:
Does there bide here ane Margaret Thamson, or Lee?"
"Yes," answered the widow, a' tremblin', "that' me."
"A's richt," quo the post, an' turned quick on his heel,
As Jess took the letter, and glower'd at the seal.
"No to me," quo the mither, "don't gie it to me,
My head's turned that licht no a blink could I see,
What on airth is't about, or wha can it be frae,
It's surely no bringing mair grief than we hae?"
Jess broke ope the seal, the contents she outspread,
First unfauldin' a stamp'd sheet a' prented wi' red.
"Is it for us ava?" quo she, raisin' her e'en,
"It's a bank draught for hunthers—see, what can it mean?"
"First the letter that's wi' it, Jess, woman, read through,"
Quo the mither, noo dichtin' the sweet frae her broo'.
Wi' deep agitation, and mony a pause,
Jessie read out the letter, ilk line, and ilk clause.
"Read again," quo the mither, "I'm no worth a preen,"
An' the wee lass an' callen glower'd a' mouth an' e'en..
Frae a lawyer the widow was made understan'
That her uncle had died in a far foreign lan'.
Many years he had been a rich settler there,
Was rowin' in gowd, but no blest wi' an heir;
Had been married to ane wha a queen micht be styled.
Wha had left him abundance o" gear, but nae child.
Though lang he'd forgotten baith kintry an' kin,
When nature gi'ed warnin' o' death's comin' in,
Hame feelin's, long dormant, revived in his breast,
Sae he willed tae his brither's bairns a' he possessed.
The Deeds to a popular lawyer were sent,
Wha to find out the parties was deeply intent.
Frae their hame o' lang syne tae his letter arrived
A reply, that but ane o' the Thamson's survived;
A dauchter, named Maggie, tae ane Lee was wed,
Wha gi'ed back in the warld ere he dee'd, it was said,
An' left her in some ither part, 'twould appear,
Wi' a wheen o' sma' bairnies, on naithin' to rear.
To fin' oot this widow a' airts were employed,
The virtue o paragraphs often was tried;
At length wi' success his exertions were crowned,
And his letter in safety the Widow Lee found.
"I've had boldness," he added, "this small sum to send,
In hopes it will, meantime, serve some little end;
At your early appointment a journey I'll take,
Explanations to give, and arrangements to make;
Meantime, my dear madam, I'd have you aware,
You are whole and sole heiress to a millionaire."

What wonder sic news made them dizzy a wee,
An' wag liken to put their puir senses agee.
"Rin ower to the huxter wife, Tam, my wee man,
An' say she's to come and speak quick as she can."
Wi' vague sense o' guid fortune Tam ran a' his micht,
Wond'rin' where was the siller, for nane met his sicht.
"Please, mistress, my mither says come ower and speak;"
"Na, na," said the huxter wife, ¢ trust she would seek—
Gang hame again, laddie, and tell her I said
No a plack's worth she'll get till the last laif is paid."
"Did ye e'er ken the like 0't," said she, "a' yer life?"
Addressing her words to a customer wife.
"The callen looks hunger'd," the woman replied.
"I'se warrant he's that, or the neighbours hae lied;
That his mither has unco bad health tae they've learn'd,
Bat I canna for ilka sick wife feel concerned."
The customer thoughtfully counted her gear,
Paid her groceries, exclaiming, "A shilling's yet here;
Guid kens I hae plenty o' sin on my head
Without haen it to spare, an' folks starvin' for bread;
Gae's some things to mak' the puir bodies some tea,
Baith sickness and poortith is sair, sair to dree."
The victuals were boucht, an' the wife let her ken
Where they lived, and the kindhearted woman went ben,
Wi' many excuses for makin' sae bauld,
Her errand she gently began to unfold.
"Noo dinna be angry, guid people," said she,
No ane kens this heartless world better than me;
I hae had muckle trial, and may meet wi' mair,
Yet at times I hae thought I had double my share."
The guid woman's kindness was gratefully ta'en,
She'd come as a frien', an' a frien' should remain;
Her clean checket brat was raised aft to her een,
As they spak' o' the hardships an' misery they'd seen;
But when they related the change o' affairs,
Her joy and surprise seemed as boundless as theirs.
She noticed the weak'ning effects o' their fast,
An' nimbly she readied the cheering repast.
"Noo I'm longin', quo she, "to rin ower the way,
And tell the auld huxter wife all that's adae;
Oh! woman, her heart is sae flinty an" proud,
Disdainin' the puir an' just worshippin' gowd;
'Twill vex her I ken—sae good bye, folks, good bye,
An' I'm sure I gang hame wi' a heart fu' o' joy."
The huxter's first impulse on hearin' the fac'
Was a heap o' shop guids in a napkin to pack;
But her blythesome informant to that put a stop,
Sayin', "Guidwife, they could noo buy yoursel an' your shop,"
As she stepped out enjoying the huxter's chagrin,
Wha on her ain sel' loudly vented her spleen."
"Oh! ye luckless auld vixen, ye'r aye far ahin'
When aucht o' guid fortune is blawn i' the win';
Could ye no hae gane ower wi' the lad when he speer'd?
But for losin' a bawbee ye're aye unco fear'd.
Stupid body! wi' spite I could ding aff my head,
Tae think what I've lost, a' for ae laif o' bread.
Had I gane to the wife in a civil like way
There's no kennin' what micht hae happened the day.
Worth thoosands! she says—I could wager my life
The shillin's the makin' o' that neighbour wife;
But wha would hae thoucht it was comin' to that,
To hae seen the half-naked, half-starved lookin' brat—
Indeed, had I kent what was comin' to pass,
Uncivil I would na hae been to the lass."
Then she tried frae the thocht consolation to draw,
That aiblins the news was a' clash after a'.
Meantime the Ha' carriage pu'd up at the Lees',
Miss Clara a' nicht had felt puirly at ease—
No that pangs o' remorse in her bosom had share,
For the waes o' the needy she'd ne'er learnt to care—
To dismiss a pair boddie wi' "ca' back again,"
Was a thing too familiar to awake aucht o' pain,—
Yet she felt that the action, like some luckless spell,
Garr'd the squire wi' reserve-quite envelope himsel';
And,' tho' boilin' wi' spleen at the course she maun tak
To keep in his graces, an' favour win back—
For the game's sudden motion her confidence shook,
Tho' sae close to her angle, 'twas no on the hook,—
Sae wi' voice o' compassion, as breakfast had closed,
A drive to the village wi' haste she proposed;
"The business is urgent and needful," she sighed,
"The poor sewing girl must with work be supplied."
Mamma kent ower much to oppose her desire,
Sae she went on her mission—her escort the squire.
Sic visitors gi'ed the Lees rather a start,
Jess had just to the Banker prepared to depart;
Nae change in her claithin' as yet had ta'en place,
But the artist observed unco change in her face.
Though pensive an' sweet, 'neath her glossy black hair
The anguish that marked it yestreen was na there;
There was dignity, too, in the pale mither's e'e,
"That the noble Miss Clara had nae thocht to see.
Wi' great condescension her name she reveals,
'Whilst the flunkey the bundle brings ben at her heels.
"At desire of mamma, I have given this call,
And brought you some sewing and change from the Hall;
And when it is finished just step out for more,
For I see," added she, "you are wretchedly poor.
I am one of a party, united to serve
The indigent class, if they really deserve;
So should you be found, when inquiry is made,
Of benefit worthy, depend on my aid.
But paupers of late have so grossly imposed
That we almost decided our fund should be closed;
On our charity list, then, I'll enter your name,
When by proper credentials you prove you have claim."
The leddie here ended her lang rigmarole,
Whilst ilk ane its finishin' hardly could thole.
Wi downricht displeasure the squire could na speak,
An' a het spot o crimson ting'd Jessie's fair cheek;
But the mither, though sair by sic graceless words stung,
Had mair the command o' her feelin's an' tongue:—
"Young leddie," quo she, "if your motive be guid,
Your way o' befriendin's baith heartless and rude,
An' has ower much the tinkle o' cymbal an' brass,
To gar it for genuine charity pass.
You say we are wretchedly puir an' forlorn,
—An' sae we were, leddie, in a' ways this morn—
Yet, think ye, because folks are puir an' distress'd,
'T must follow nae sensate pulse throbs in their breast.
It needed nae visit to tell ye our tale—
Yestreen it was yours with the snaw-laden gale,
In the cauld breath o' which my bairns travelled to crave
The penny weel earned, frae starvation to save.
Had you troubled yoursel' wi' but ae kindly care,
You'd at once hae jaloused fell distress broucht them there.
Dinna frown, my young lady, I kenna yer heart,
But I ken ye don't act 'Leddie Bountifu's' part;
Ower much ostentation in givin' o' alms
Aye inflicts on the humbled heart stabs wi' its balms.
Sirs the day, I feel thankfu' nae help I require,
As you'll ken frae this letter," quo she to the squire,
Wha stood inly enjoyin' the weel-timed rebuke—
O' the guid woman's feelin's he fully partook,
An' managed to hide a bit smile when he saw
The young leddie's rage, wha looked daggers at a'.
Truth was, the puir lassie's good looks roused her ire,
When she saw they attracted ilk glance o' the squire;
Besides, in her presence, the mither's calm air,
What business had beauty an' grace wi' the puir?
Sae she used ostentation, an' that wi' a zeal,
Tae gie vent to her anger, an' gar boddies feel;
An' which, at the widow's reply, reached that stage
O' passion pent up ca'd concentrated rage.
But her wrath cooled fu' soon, though explosion was near,
When she came the contents o' the letter to hear;
Whatever her ain private feelin's micht be,
She turned affable noo to the highest degree—
Quite free an' respectfu' like, joinin' the chat,
An' gi'en the dark head o' wee Meg a bit pat:
For the squire, wi' the interest a frien' micht display,
Speered a' about what they intended to dae,
An' said they his services freely micht claim,
Till he saw them installed in a mair fittin' hame;
Sae the visitors bade them a smiling adieu,
Wi' promise tae aften their visits renew.

 
Part Third.
Nae winter reigns noo, wi' its cauld an' its gloom;
Fair simmer a' round us spreads verdure an' bloom—
There the sward's a' bespangled wi' flowers o' ilk hue,
And here's a green archway invitin' ane through.
How fragrant an' caller it's sweet breezy shade,
Fu' o' saft dreamy sounds frae a distant cascade;
Here's a part where the leaves are sae twinin' aboon,
Ane would fancy they stray'd neath the licht o' the moon;
An' there the sun dances twixt boughs mair apart,
Whilst the wee birds in song tell the joy o' their heart.
Noo the lang leafy alley is trod, an' we meet
Wi sudden surprise a delighfu' retreat,—
A cottage, whase wa's verdant runners creep o'er,
Festoonin' wi' bloom ilka lattice an' door;
Before the braw dwellin' a braid lawn is seen,
Wi gowans a' glitterin', like pearls on its green,
An' bordered wi' flower tufts o' ilka sweet dye,
A' gseemin' in brilliance wi' ither tae vie.
Sae lovely the scene, 't would maist gar ane believe
'Twas a miniature o' the lost Eden o' Eve.
As a casement richt ower a sweet flower bed opes wide,
Frae which the lythe woodbine's pushed gentiy aside,
An' a face o' rare beauty, sae happy an' bricht,
Surveys the glad scene wi' a flush o' delicht.
The rich raven hair, an' the dark speakin' e'e,
Reminds us fu' weel o' our frien' Jessie Lee;
But the saft rounded visage an' cheek like the rose,
An' figure sae plump, seem that thoucht to oppose.
Yet, 'tis she, our ain Jessy, wi' heart aye the same,
The pride an' delight o' her noo happy hame.
A youth tall an' strappin', with soul-lichted broo,
Frae a tree-shaded side walk advances to view;
Sae wondrous the change in his features an' form,
We scarce can believe him wee Tam o' the storm.
Wi' a bound the white steps at the ha' door he clears,
An' lanchin' wi' Jess at the window appears;
But o' mither an' Maggie we're anxious to ken,
Sae, wi' leave, Maister Tammie, we'll follow ye ben.
'Tis a snug sittin' parlour, whase furnishin' chaste
Displays the perfection o' neatness an' taste;
Noucht is wantin' to mak' it baith cozie and braw,
Nae untidy arrangement, nae valgar geegaw;
The licht leaves like net work the window half-screen,
An' lichts the neat chamber wi' soft sunny green,
Whilst a vase o' rich workmanship, loaded wi' bloom,
Fresh culled frae the garden, spreads richest perfume.
Attired in a plain suit o' rich sober grey,
The mither appears an' looks bloomin' as May;
A' traces o' want produced sickness have fled,
Whilst health and contentment are there in their stead.
Ben comes a braw missie, wi' braid gipsey hat,
Half shadin' a countenance ruddy and fat;
'Tis Maggie—how changed since we gazed on her last,
Though seasons but few hae sin syne flitted past!
They haud hallowdays noo, the vacation has cam',
An' weel they enjoy the hame visit o' Tam.
In their wonderfu' rescue frae poverty's fangs,
Hae they banished frae min' a' its horrible pangs;
An' rowin' in gowd, settled down on their lees,
Makin' up for the past wi' self-comfort an' ease?
Na, na, for miles roun' them they're blessed an' theyre roosed,
Their bounty's sae muckle, an' kindly diffused;
Disdainin' the thouchts o' display afore men—
What the richt han' performeth the left doesna ken.
"My bairns," quo the wife, *"in our mind we maun bear
This gowd is a talent gi'en up to our care;
We are stewards o' it noo, an' maun gie an' account
O' its use or abuse, to the nicest amount.
We would peril our soul then if hoard it we dare,
When the owner commands that the needy get share;
Its rust a swift witness against us would be,
Besides there's nae mockin' His all seein' ee.
Many trusted wi' muckle, near fash at want's wail,
But when ca'd to account fondly think 'twill avail
To atone for the duties through life left undone
To gie what they can't haud to ilk charity fund.
O' that system, my bairns, no' a trial we'll mak',
Lest we meet in the end wi' an unco mistak';
For supposin' a king o' our ain had decreed
That a company should on a journey proceed,
A' frae his abundance gied plenty for a'
Tae stewards appointed, wi' written down law,
That they tak' o' the treasures o' which they hae tent,
An' furnish the lave wi' supplies as they went;
Fuw an' free they micht use it themsel's day by day,
But their fellows they maanna let faint by the way.
Noo, supposin' these stewards, when on a bit gane,
Began to claim a' in their charge as their ain,
Let the lave bear the burden an' heat o' the day,
Ne'er fashin' their head wi' their weal or their wae;
Allowin' them oft times wi' hunger to dee,
Whilst they pampered ilk lust o' their ain heart an' ee;
E'en tryin' their mission a' ways to disclaim,
Till the summons that ca'd them to reckonin' came.
They maun gang—an' oh! fearfw', that hoarded up gear,
Whilst the king's subjects perish—but striken' wi' fear
They snatch up the buke (done themselves wi' the gowd),
On its last page a wheen o' donations they croud;
I doubt if an earth king tae sic would exclaim,
'Weel done guid an' faithfu', you've served without blame.'
Our office, my bairns, we maun truly fulfil,
We rejoice in the means an' are blest wi' the will;
An' hae felt what the gentry ne'er ken'd a' their days,
Nor half can imagine o' poverty's waes."
Sae they made it a rule aye to gang to their bed
W7' the thocht that joy rays through some heart they had shed;
Into puir bodies houses they didna intrude,
Speerin' after affairs wi' a sympathy rude.
Yet their favours they did not confine to that class
O' stout, sturdy beggars whose visage is brass;
Nor yet on ilk list wi' a flourish put down
The guid they dispensed till the press it went roun';
But they took aye the kindly an' delicate way
Ilka gift, no' 'neath charity's name, to convey;
Their bounty fell plenteous, as dews o' the e'en',
Refreshin' a' round, yet descendin' no seen.
Philanthropists truly in heart an' in fame,
Frae the mither to Maggie, were a' in that hame.
Unco bonnie an' braw this bricht morn lookit Jess,
Sae neatly busked up in a licht snawy dress,
An' mid the dark hair saftly shadin' her broo',
Glowed a moss rose still glittrin' wi' morn's pearly dew;
Some pleasant excitement mak's brichter her een,
Whilst the blush on her cheek is aye varyin' seen.
At length comes the sound that her flushin' explains,
A carriage rows swift ower the wee pebble stanes,
An' presently steppet familiarly ben
The squire, wha aye gies them a day noo an' then;
O' a son an' a brither he acts aye the part,
But a feelin' mair deep has ta'en captive his heart.
In Jessie he sees a' that beauty o' mind—
Chaste, womanly, tender—a' graces combined:
That their hearts had companionship each only knew,
For virtue to virtue instinctively drew,
Till love, honest, ardent as e'er was confessed,
Based on highest esteem, rose brimfu' in ilk breast.
Sae the eve 0' the mornin' on which they noo meet
Saw the squire tell his love-tale, tho' no at her feet,
But wi' een sparklin' tenderness, earnest and bland,
As he held in his ain her saft, willin' wee hand;
He asked her to brighten his heart an' his ha',
To let him say wifie—name dearest o' a';
On life's journey to draw her close, close to his side,
To be her companion, protector, an' guide.
An' when wi' a blush that the rose micht weel shame,
She modestly owned to an equal love flame,
Aw candidly said, wi' her een fu' o' tears,
Unscruplin' she'd trust him the lave o' life's years,
He pressed on her honest an' love-lighted brow
A kiss, fervent seal o" her bliss-givin' vow.
******
Words canna reveal a' the joys o' the day
That beheld Jessie Lee in her bridal array;
Throughout a' the district, in cot far an' near,
The inmates partook o' a liberal cheer;
An' wi' bosoms warm swellin' wi' thanks, an' wi' pride,
Roosed and toasted the squire an' his beautifu' bride.
An' how high in her husband's mind rose the fair Jess,
Clad in simple, an' snaw white, but jewelless dress,
For only her lord's weddin' gift did she wear—
A string o' pure pearls on a bosom as fair.
"My heart wouldna' gie me," she smilingly said,
"On baubles to spend what would gie bodies bread;
Kind nature supplies me wi' a' I desire,
This dewy fresh bouquet, an' fragrant rose tiar."
An' truly the flowers wreathed amid her dark hair
Looked mair sweet on her broo' than would gems hae done there.
The guests were a worthy an' weel chosen band,
True genteels, though boastin' nae bluid o' the grand;
To virtue and nobleness closely allied,
Esteemin' ilk ither, an' lovin' the bride.
Round that breakfast board glistened little brocade,
Nor was there a store o' bricht jewels displayed,
But diamond e'en glinted pure rays from the heart,
An' simple robes faulded o'er breasts void o' art,
Aw a' went as merry as merry could be,
Wi' wishin', an' toastin', an' jokin', an' glee,
Until the squire's carriage, wi' proud, prancin' steeds,
Impatiently tossin' their gay tasselled heads
At the ha' door appearin', put mirth to a stan',
An' told the young couple the hour was at han'.
Then was fond embracin', smiles, weepin' an' a',
An' the squire an' his bonnie bride galloped awa;
The fond mother dryin' affection's proud tear,
Resumed the glad hostess, wha's wish was to cheer.
******
Muckle music an' mirth there is noo in the glen,
That mansion's a scene far too bricht for our pen,
Ilk room's filled wi' leddies a' busked wi' lace,
On their feet satin slippers, gay smiles on their face,
Sae fanned an' sae feathered, you'd think if wind stirred
Their plumes an' their gauzes, they'd flee like a bird.
But Miss Clara outrivals them a' in array,
She's spangles an' clouds frae the head to the tae,
She's a bride, an' her lord boasts o' bluid in his veins
As heich as the mountains, an' auld as the stanes;
Though braggart an' sporter were stamped on his name,
A rakish repute was mair glory than shame.
Sae thoucht the young leddy wha's nuptials tak' place,
Wha had lang thrown the hypocrite's mask frae her face,
Sae soon as had vanished a' chance o' the squire,
An' the gay rake her charms had professed to admire,
The kirk for the opera quick she forsook,
Was marked "donor" nae mair in ilk charity book;
But in ba' route an' race-course displayed ilka grace,
Till the scion was caught o' short purse, but lang race.
We needna gang hame wi' the wedded, I ween,
The squire's bonnie leddy's by nature a queen;
O' her weel-deserved happiness easy, we guess,
Still see in her gran' ha's our ain simple Jess.
An' enough o' Miss Clara, the heartless an' proud,
We ken, not to feel that her future's a cloud.
Sae wi' Tam at the college pursuing his lear,
And Maggie at hame free, guid-natured, an' fair,
Mrs Lee, in her feelin' an' mitherly way,
Pourin' balm on some wounded heart day after day,—
We lea' them, an' let some lang years intervene,
Before we again meet ilk face and ilk scene.
******
The grun' wears a snaw shroud, and sae does the trees,
Snaw darkens an' loadens the cauld piercin' breeze,
Tis a nicht for a roof 'twixt ane's head an' the sky,
For the gale to a tempest is risin' fu' high;
'Tis just sic a nicht as when Tammy and Jess
Returned frae the ha' in sic nameless distress,
An', havin' outbraved the rude pitiless storm,
At hame found nae ingle nook cozie an' warm.
Sae fresh in ilk bosom that nicht aye appears,
At sicht o' anither's misfortune or tears;
Yet poverty then gave its last kick an' blow,
For the morn broucht them sunshine and plenty, we trow.
We left them contented, an' wealthy, an' weel,
Yet time's kenned sae aften strange changes to deal,
That wild as the nicht is we'll gie them a ca',
Ar', as our way's past it, peep first at the ha/,
Though the proud Lady Clara's scarce worthy the toil
O' wadin' through snaw to her gran' domicile.
Hech! this is a gala night, ane might declare,
The great muckle windows throw out sic a glare,
An' the sounds, that aboon the hail's pelting we hear,
Like the laughter o' bairnies come glad to our ear.
'Tis Christmas they haud: in this room what a din!
Wi' your leave, little bodies, we'll take a peep in;—
Why, here's a half-dozen o' bairnies an' mair,
Wi' nurses wha feign in their mirth to tak share.
Hae ye emptied the toy shops, ye favour'd wee band?
Sic tiny toy wonders fill carpet an' hand;
Noucht ye ken o' the sorrows this season imparts,
In their fuelless hames, to wee shivering hearts,
Nor aught o' their pangs, little anes, may ye ken;—
But the drawing-room opes, sae we'll noo venture ben.
Sirs the day! here's a room would maist dazzle your een,
Sae rich in its fittin's, yet hamely an' bien,
In which a braw party enjoys richt guid cheer,
But the gay Lady Clara does nowhere appear.
Is't a dream? or is't here a' our auld friends we see?—
There's the squire an' his leddie, an' kind Mrs Lee,
There's Maggie, an' Tam, an' a creature sae fair,
You'd think a sunray lit ilk curl o' her hair,
Wha seems the proud mansion's sweet sylph to preside,
An' sae but short syne she became Tammy's bride.
Let us glance at the faces familiar o' yore:—
Mrs Lee's ance dark locks are noo silvery and hoar,
An' her meek forehead wrinkled, but beauty benign
Pervades ilka feature and time furrow'd line;
A fine woman Jess seems, in life's richest prime,
Ilk charm but developed an' ripen'd by time;
An' the squire looks fu' handsome, an' portly, an' bland,
No a siller hair markin' a touch o' Time's hand;
An' wee hopefu' Maggie's a braw leddie noo,
Wi a world o' saft feelin', like light on her broo,
A glad, gentle creature, weel polish'd in mind,
To puir, as to rich, ever courteous an' kind;
Av', sirs, what a change has time made on our Tam?
Like his mither's, his face is still mild as a lamb,
But manhood has now superseded glad youth,
An' its stamp on ilk feature is sparklin' wi' truth;
The wife o' his bosom fit helpmeet would seem,
For her een gie's a warm an' soul-answerin' beam
To his glance, an' the bright ones she meets on ilk side,
Which regard her fair face wi' affectionate pride.
A happy an' cheerfu' assembly are they,
Yet at times they grow thouchtfu' an' almaist look wae,
For as dashes the hail, an' strong boughs writhe an' crack,
The nicht o' their misery comes vividly back,
An' aye as the tempest's loud shriek rushes past,
A shudderin' gaze to the window is cast;
Then hopin' that none were exposed to that snaw,
Their seats nigh the glowin' hearth thankfu' they draw,
An' recounted their poortith in seasons lang gane,
An' the wearisome tramp to Miss Clara then ta'en.
"Ah! Tammy," said Jess, her dark een brimmin' o'er,
"How little we kenn'd o' the blessings in store?
Or that you would yet own and dwell in the ha'
Frae whase doors we turn'd shivrin' and weepin' awa?"
Tam's bonnie wee wifie's face crimson'd became,
An' she 'maist poured invectives on proud Clara's name:
"I'll no ca' her strumpet or tyrant," said she,
"But I hope sic a heartless ane never to see."
"My children," exclaimed Mrs Lee wi' a sigh,
"That nicht was allotted to purge an' to try;
To gie us experience in hunger an' grief,
That our means micht be used to yield others relief;
An' as to the leddie, I grieve to hear tell,
Sin' the death o' her mither, she suffers hersel'.
Sae whisper'd the agent when roupin' the ha',
Wi' its furnishin's, braid lands, an' chattels an' a';
An' hoo my heart loup'd when Tam owner became!
No wi' pride that his ain's this magnificent hame,
But that it micht oft to his memory restore
The mis'ry in which he ance stood at its door."
"An' were I," said Tam, "to see hundreds o' years,
No ane I'll let leave its gates sad or in tears."
"That nicht," said the squire, "came wi' blessin's to me—
It broucht to my ravish'd een sweet Jessie Lee,
An' aye since our weddin' we set it apart
For gi'en o' alms, an' rejoicin' in heart."
"Please leddies an' sirs," said a page steppin' ben,
"Wi' your leave I hae entered, to let you a' ken
That a wee sin' a puir shivrin' wife sought the ha'
Wi' a bairn, baith as frozen an' white as the snaw;
Her teeth chattered sae no a word could she speak,
But aye the big tears trickled down her cauld cheek;
Sae powerless her fingers, my hands took awa'
Frae their shouthers the garments a' laden wi' snaw,
To the waiting-room fire; then the tremblers I led,
An' hastened below for hot coffee an' bread,
With which I returned to the chamber fu' soon,
When I found the puir wifie had sunk in a swoon,
Whilst the cries o' the lassie ane's bluid micht hae chill'd,
An' soon wi' domestics the chamber was filled,
Wha restoratives tried wi' success in the end,
An' noo the puir weak anes wi' kindness they tend."
"We maun tend them oursel's," said the squire's leddy bright;
"Come, Tam, we best ken o' being out sic a night."
An' the kin'-hearted pair hastened down to the ha',
Wi' the squire, Tam's wee leddy, an' Maggie an' a.
Saftly enterin' the chamber, they silently stood;
The stranger's dull garb spoke of lone widowhood,
An' the look of compassion in Jessie's dark eyes
Was quickly succeeded by that of sarprise;
In the pale sickly face of the stranger they met
A visage that time couldna mak' them forget.
A glance o' astonishment passed frae ilk een,
Then the servants were kindly dismissed frae the scepe.
"'Tis really hersel'," to the squire whispered Jess,
"Lady Clara, reduced to this piteous distress,
An' the bounie wee miss, Maggie, tak' her upstair,
Whilst I o' the puir sufferin' leddy tak' care."
Then she let the bowed head on her saft arm recline,
An' held to the pale lips the juice o' the vine,
Which soon to the cauld frame imparted a glow,
Whilst the tear-bedimmed eyes opened languid an' slow.
A pale glow suffused for a moment her cheek,
As her thanks an' surprise she endeavour'd to speak;
Perchance, too, she felt a wee tingin' o shame
When she saw wha noo owned her ance prided-in hame,
An' was ready to sink 'neath the grun' at their feet,
As she thocht for her measure sic luve was na meet;
But the kin' anes around her soon garred her feel ease,
Using every affectionate effort to please.
As a guest they addressed her, expressin' delight
That her visit should be on that holiday night.
The leddy still weak, but recovered an' cheered,
Mid her friends in the drawing-room shortly appear'd.
From Mrs Lees' wardrobe her person arrayed,
Whilst her countenance meekness and pleasure dis- played;
Her wee lassie, tae, wi' braw robes was supplied,
An' wi' childish delight her warm silken dress eyed,
Joined the bairns in their sports, but would aye noo an' then,
To peep at mamma, to the gran' room ran ben.
No questions were asked; but the leddy hersel'
Proposed to the kind anes her sorrows to tell:—
"My husband," she said, "was addicted to sports,
Turf an' gamin' saloons were his constant resorts;
To be brief,—it so happ'd, in a fortuneless hour,
Ill luck on his doomed head fell shower after shower,
When, driven to phrenzy, means, reason, a' fled,
Wi' a desperate courage his ain bluid he shed.
Lane, friendless, an' destitute then was my state,
Wi a heart rent wi' anguish I bowed to my fate;
Forsaken by a' wha ance friendship avowed,
How subdued grew my spirit sae haughty an' proud!
For my innocent babe how I wept an' I foucht,
Vi hardships on which I had ance little thoucht,
Till Heaven at length did my bosom inspire
To see my old home with a yearnin' desire.
I canna account for the purpose sae strong,
Which, despite o' my trembling limbs, bore me along,
Wi my wee tender lammie maist dead wi' the cauld—
Noo I see merey drove us pair sheep to the fauld."
"An' a fauld an' a hame you shall still hae wi' me,
Puir child o' affliction," exclaimed Mrs Lee.
"Oh! bless that affliction," the sheltered ane cried,
"That broke up this stubborn heart's hardness an' pride;
Yet, at wealth's want o' feelin' I wonder not noo,
The warm sun aye beamin', nor raindrops nor dew
O' adversity fallin' to saften the earth,
Or ca' o' compassion ae leaf into birth:
Oh! bless that affliction, again and again,"
She added, the saut tears fast drappin' like rain,
To the far altered Clara ilk heart fondly drew,
Affliction's hot furnace refined she'd come through.
A' noo loved the leddy in widow weeds clad,
Wi' broo ever placid, an' smile soft an' sad,
Wha would pause in her walk ilka puir ane to greet,
An' kindness impart wi' humility sweet.
Wi' her bairn she was welcomed to Mrs Lee's hearth,
To be to that kind ane a dochter henceforth;
An' thankfu' she turned frae the wild stormy past,
Avw' in shade o' life's vale gained true quiet at last,
Enjoy'd virtue, won peace ne'er experienced o' yore
When wi' pride an' ambition her hard heart ran oer.
An' aye when she heard o' adversity's cloud
Gath'rin' threat'nin' an' dark o'er the wealthy an' proud,
"'Tis mercy's cool shower," she would fervently sigh,
"The heart's soil was aiblins too sun-parch'd an' dry
To foster the germs 'neath the baked surface bound,
Which may sweetly spring up from the grief-moistened ground;
Tor as well may we look for the fresh bloomin' flower
When the heavens withhold both the dew and the shower,
And pour on the panting earth Sol's fiercest rays,
As seek for heart buds where prosperity's blaze,
Perpetu'lly shining, permits no cool breath,
No raindrops to snatch the embryo from death.
In our Tale we've seen much o' life's ups an' life's downs,
The changes o' Fortune, her smiles an' her frowns,
An' learn that true virtue can triumph o'er a',
As the Lees stood, pure diamonds, sans taint-spot or flaw.
In the changed Lady Clara we also behold
How adversity's fire melts the dross from the gold,
Rends the stubborn and windowless temple o' pride,
Till its sanctified rays light the darksome inside.
What royalty's lips once so thankful confess'd,
Still issues from many a deep chastened breast:
"That I was afflicted is blessing to me,"
Oft floats 'neath the roof of our kind Mrs Lee.