This Document was transcribed from the original which is held at the BC Archives by D. Blakey-Smith.
Rustic Rhymes
By-A Rural Rhymster
(James Deans)
These Rustic Rhymes are a culling of my best poems, from a larger collection in manuscript and a few in print. They were composed various times throughout my life. A number of them being composed in Auld Scotia, before I left, and a number afterward in British Columbia.
The pieces composed in Scotland I shall give first, and the others afterwards, in the order of their composition. Having been appointed Bard of the United St. Andrew's and Caledonian Society I was expected to give a new piece at their annual Social reunion on each 30th November St Andrew's day.
I have also given the best of them as such. I can make no pretensions as a good writer or even poet, because I had but little or no schooling. The extant of it being a little of the three R's Reading, Writing and Arithmetic. Always having a liking for poetry, I early began to try my hand at rhyming I may indeed say with Burns.
As soon as I could read or Spell
Right to the Crumbo Clink I fell -
But rhyming to ones Self.
Does weel enough.
While yet a wee laddie all had charms for me, the singing of the birds, the murmuring of the burnies, and the bonnie blooming flowers, all, all had charms, for me.
And again, I used to spend hours in the long summer evenings, wandering about the ruins of Auld Castles, often I would linger in their Howlet haunted halls, until the shades of evening left me in darkness, and weird shadows were formed all around.
Often I climbed up their ruined towers and had a hard job to get down again. Often, while gazing up the stairs I would notice how all the steps were worn down in the middle by ages of use. Then in fancy I saw the old knights and warriors going up and down these same stairs in long past ages, and often would I wonder if their spirits still lingered about their ancient but now ruined halls and towers. As an outcome of some of the above conditions, arose my love for poetry and Archaeology. With these introductory remarks, gentle reader I shall now give my Rustic Rhymes.
James Deans.
T e Wee Scotch Burnie.
Composed when a lit le boy, at work on the fields at Newlands on the Yester estate near Gifford. This was the first piece I ever wrote.
I sing the wee burnie, sweet playmate of childhooa,
As it ran by my cot mang the heather clad braes,
Which stood by the waterfall, deep in the wild wood, -
Near where the burnie, wild tummelin, plays.
Deep in the murky dell, where the wild hazel grows,
It sees nae the sun, through the long simmer days,
Wild as the winter wunds, foamin the burnie rows,
Rest it has nane, frae the hielands it strays.
Down through the flowery vale, softly meanderin,
Weetin wi dew each wild flowerit it strays,
Lambs on its grassy banks, sportively wanderin,
Birds in the gloamin mild pour their sweet lays.
Onward bound, oceanward, slowly descendin,
Embracin wild streans from the muirlands afar,
Burnies and streanlets majesticly blendin,
A broad noble river, Wee burnie nae mair.
Ships from fair ocean isles, Afric and India glide,
Ships frae Columbia, bespeck its wide stream,
Rivers o' Auld Scotia, our Forth and our bonnie Clyde
Glasgow and Ednia, stand fair on each stream,
Old Father Curious
These verses I compos d and wrote in my copy book at night school in 1845. About the time of the making of the North British Railway.
Old Father Curious, came he in great haist, -
Like one in a hurry, having no time to waste,
Saying you will have some thing, thats new for to taste,
Before that youd leave this world.
He up wi his big neive, and swore loud by his shoon
They're makin a railway straught up to thee moon
To be driven by air, for the coals wad be done, -
If nane e'er the end o the warld.
They are making it up wi balloons an wi Cars
An a centeral junction ane branched to the stars,
He cursed an he Caud by the holes in his drawers,
The deil's in the world.
The sharebrokers frae Venue hae just noo come doun
Mars, Jupiter and Saturn they will follow soon,
If they fa on their feet, they'll no fa on their Croun,
They live a lang way frae our world.
Address To The Tyne
The scene of the poem is on the banks of the Tyne at the Abbey mill of Haddington. During the summer of 1847 a great flood or spait came down and nearly destroyed the pretty little islets, blow the weir
Tyne thy streams are inconstant, and changing,
Wild when the seasons of storm come on,
Thy banks and thy braes, thou art constant deranging,
Islands once green are devested and gone.
Changed to me is the landscape around thee;
Since I in infancy played on they shore,
The fields and the gardens, the green braes, which bound thee
Scenes once so lovely, are lovely no more.
And changed am I since a child on thy margin,
I sought for bird nests on the lang simmer day
And had they but eggs, so muvh better the bargin,
A sigh, for those years, they have all passed away.
Yes it is true, that a change has come o'er me
Years have passed on, since I last trod thy shore
This world is wide and lifes journey before me,
Soon the home of my youth, I shall see it no more
The Things I Love
I love the small birds Singing,
Upon the leaveless timmer,
I love the Snawdrops Springing,
They tell of comeing Simmer.
I love to hear a maiden,
Sing with her milking pail,
The trees with blossoms laden,
Which scents the evening gale.
I 1ove, to hear a pleasing story
Which sets our hearts atune
They banish grief and sorrow,
Like showers in sultry June.
I love a helping hand
Reached o me when in need,
For then I understand
I have a friend indeed.
The Auld Kirk Yard
In 1848 Mr Bridie ? tennant farmer Abbey Mains East Lothian, made a new mill lead for the Abbey mill in order to replace the old one which he had filled up. In order to save land, he had the new one which was much shorter, arched over.
In order to get material for building up the dam and filling up the old one, he had a large two story house, which with a garden full of fruit trees, was enclosed by a high stone wall, joined to the mill. The house which stood on the north side of the garden was built on a gentle slope toward the old dam.
In this old house and garden in 1832 Mrs Frank and her daughter Magdalan was murdered by her brother in law Edmunds.
While digging up the garden walls they discovered the foundation of the Au d Kirk.
While digging it up they exposed a large quantity of human remains, Coffins, and many other things.
Evry evening after the labours of the day, I ussd to go and see what progress, the excavators had made during the day. Hence the origin of the following verses, on the Auld Kirk Yard.
The Auld Kirk Yard
The Auld Kirk yard, on the bank of Tyne rivet,
Like the scenes of my childhood is dear to me ever,
And oft to my mind, as I wander alone,
Comes the days o my childhood again and again.
For weel do I mind when a bairn at the Shule, -Schule
A us bits o bairnies aye made it our rule,
Wile playin bymune licht in the field caed the waird
To look out for the ghaists at The Auld Kirk Yard.
When weary wi playin, we wad a stand an crack,
Until some unco thing, ane was see at oor back
Then aff like wild deers we wad rin through the waird
Anthe supplest was the farest frae the auld Kirk Yard.
As soon as at al hoose, we wad a stay an look,
Till the bauldest amang us was slip to some neuk,
Wi ilk hair like a stake, he wud creep through the waird
To see gin a was richt at the auld Kirk Yard.
He wadna keek lang till a white ghaist he sees, -
T'was but the mune licht, as it shone throu the trees,
Fast hame we wad rin, while ilk ane declared, -
They had seen a white ghaist on the auld Kirk yard.
An mony is the time, when oor domnie, daid, play
To the auld Kirk yard we wad haisten away
And try for to mak out the mosscovered strain, -
Engraven we faound on he auld head stane.
And mony is the time I he wandered alane, -
Till I laid myself doun, on the lang flott stane,
Where I hae wandered in fancy mid sceans long ago
In the days of my faithers, around me, below.
When at length I grew big poortith forced me away,
Throu mony unco touns, for wark I did stray,
Where far frae my hame an far frae the waird,
I neither saw nor heard of the auld kirk yaird
When five years cam a round an amaist had gane
By chance I cam back, to my auld cot agane,
When the first thing I did was to gang throu the waird
An then pay a visit to the auld Kirk Yaird.
You will hardly believe it, when I tell what I found
Nae houses, jor gardens, nor high dikes around
They had taen them to fill the milldam near the waird
An even made a hole in the Auld Kirk Yaird.
Were I but to tell o the sticks and the stanes, -
The praens (?) , an the clouts, an the broken auld banes
How they lay scattered round on the field caed the waird
Your heart wad be wea for the auld kirk yaird.
An auld wifie came to see their wark, and sair she grat an cried
"My puir auld granfaither, there he was laid when he died."
The neebers took the matter up, an went to tellt the laird,
Wha gard them stop their howkin in the auld kirk yaird.
Noo nae thing is seen by the yaird but the mill;
They have geein it repairs, an let it stand still,
A fence around it built, painted black through regaird,
An trees set within it on the auld kirk yaird.
Maggie McPhe
Maggie MacPhee or Dhu Phi was a native of the Isle of Skye, and at that ime 1847 lived at Rentonhall, at that time owned by the by the late Kenneth MacKenzie. The author athat time lived at the same and worked at the Tile wark.
Maggie MacFee is a nice sort of a lass, -
And in her sweet company hours often pass,
As we sit by the fire, she speaks Gealic to me,
Such is her mother tongue Maggie MacFee.
Maggie Mac a Fhee thou art gentle and kind,
Pleasing, enticing, a lass to my mind
A lass to my mind, aye, in fact, I tell thee,
Gaol an a mo cridhe co thu Maggie MacFhe
Meekness and kindness is fitting for all,
And the lassie without them is no lassie at all
Now these two sweet virtues are centered in thee
The why not a lannan for Ma gie MacFhee?
0 Maggie Mac Fhee, there is love in thy looks, -
Which takes my young fancy, away from my books,
Away from my books, and often leads me
To choose thy sweet company, Maggie Mac Fhee.
Now Maggie Mac Fhee. gin my siller was rife, -
An frae the braw lasses, I wailed me a wife,
I wad take you as mine, tho poor you may be
I love you nae less for that Maggie
Now
Now Maggie Mac Phi where ever you roam
Ower the hills and and the glens o your ain hieland home
Do spare but one moment, to think upon me
I shall never forget thee dear, Maggie M ac Fhee.
On the second verses the last line is Gealic, And it means,
There is love in my heart for you Maggie Mac Fhee.
The Song of the Highland Maid
The.subject of this song was a girl named Mc Loed who was leaving for Dunvegan her home in tbe Isle of Sky.
I am bound for the highland, my home in the north,
"The land of brave heroes, the birthplace of worth,"
I am bound for old Sky, with its rock breaking sea
I am bound for Dunbhogan, Loch Sneesort (?) to see.
My heart now grown weary with Albion. The Low
"I long for the mountains high, covered with snow,"
I long for the land of the Guidhe l an the free, -
That Loch of my fzthers, Loch Snesort to see.
The dark hills of Cuchullan, seam gloomy afar
And the mists heavy shrouds Ard vazar
Tho gloomy those scenes, they are lightsome to me
Who is bound for Dunbhegan, Loch Snesort to see.
Mt Cuchullans dark hills, nor by rains Ardvazar
Can make me feel sad, let the elements war
But one thing, there is lying heavy on me
Though at home in Dunbhegan Loch Snesort I see.
The dark clouds of Lutum (?), in rains often lower
On the homes of our fathers, in lofty Bhin Storr,
Tho heavy their fall, that is nothing to me
When at home in Dunbhegan's old castle I be.
Ah gloomy disasters now threatening the while, -
To sweep o'er the glens of our hesth covered isle,
And the graves of the Gaidhael as they rise on the lea,
Cast a gloom on Dunbhegan, and sorrow a me.
Our chieftans are poor, and our people also, -
Trustees hold our hills and green vallies below",
And the sons of the Gaidheal poor wanderers like me
They long for Dunbhegan Loch Snesort to see.
I hope all those troubles may quickly pass o'er
That the homes of the Gaidheal may happy, once more
And their wandering sons still welcome shall be
Who is bound for Dunbhegan, Loch Snesort to see.
* Owing to the failer of the potatoes in 1845 and 1846 when there was so much destitution in the highlands and islands of Scotland.
To Miss Jean Robertson Whittingham
With the Authors Complimants
Come to Jesus, Dearest maiden, -
Now or never, - come away.
Sin sick, sorrowing, heavy laden,
Ask for help, make no delay.
Look by faith, see Jesus dieing, -
Nailed upon the acursed tree,
Look in the grave, and see him lying,
Who could lie as low as he.
He who left a throne in heaven, -
While on this earth he came to dwell
All that we might be forgiven,
Lost and ruined, when Adam fell.
Come to Jesus, life is fleeting
Fear tomorrow, come today
Soon shall all with death be meeting,
Jesus calls thee, come away.
Lay thee not up earthly treasures, -
Theives may take them all away
Can our cherished wealth or pleasure,
Help us at the judgmen t day.
Jesus is our hope and savour, -
We of all to him, is dear.
Living, strive to gain his favour,
Dieing in him, never fear.
This Jean Robertson was an old sweetheart of mine I wrote for here to come out to Vancouver Island. Her father said she could come if I could come home for her when my time was up. Before the five years was up she took sick and died.
A Song. Tune Kelven Grove
Farewell to Rentonhall.
While employed at Rentonhall tile works a fellow workman, named George Russell, left for Ireland, in order to fill a situation in the County of Cork under Thomas Ronaldson, son of Peter Ronaldson farmer Morham mains. East Lothian. In the story he is represented as taking a last walk with his sweetheart, who afterward became his wife. Her name was Margret Black. she belonged to Gifford
Rentonhall A Song
Let us walk by Renronhall Bonnie Lassie o
While the summer sunbeams fall Bonnie Lassie o
Let us view the weel kent ground
Where the wild flowers abound
By the burnies murmuring round Bonnie Lassie o
Shall we wander through the meads Bonnie Lassie o
Where the wimplin burnie speeds Bonnie Lassie o
Where the laverock sweetly sings
Ower the little mossey springs
Where the wild wood notes rings Bonnie Lassie o
Come let us to the hall Bonnie Lassie o
Where the peacocks loudly bawl Bonnie Lassie o
Where vazes deck the green
Where Summer flowers convene
Where we hae often been Bonnie Lassie o
Now faresell to you and all Bonnie Lassie o
We dwell at Rentonhall Bonnie Lassie o
I shall say farewell awhile
Bound for Erin's lovely isle,
I shall leave my native soil Bonnie Lassie o
My bonnie Lass milking Her Kye
When on Erin's verdant strand Bonnie Lassie o
Far from my native land Bonnie Lassie o
What e'er my lot may be
Do you love and think of me
I shall still remember thee Bonnie Lassie o
Song
My bonnie Lass milking Her Kye
Composed At Whittingham
The shadows o gloamin, grow lang ower the hill, -
An cast their dark mantle around ower the mill,
Then milking time brings thekye hame frae the dale,
An Jeanie comes skelpin alang wi her pail.
Sae licht is her foot steps, lang the saft lea, -
Where the dew laiden gowans, are shutin their e'e
Frae a tree in a bean field, sweet blooming near by,
A mavis sings to my Jeanie, amilkin her kye.
I site down beside her, an tell her loves tale, -
An when she is done milkin, I carry her pail,
To her cot o' glen, where the burnie sings free,
An its sang is tean up by the homeward bound bee.
Her cot it stands lound on a south slopin brae
Where roaes an daises, aye bloom the lang day
Mignonette, Carnations, and lillies bloom fair,
They bloom for my lassie, she tends them wi care.
I love the dear lassie, my love she repays, -
She wellcomes me aye to her hame mang thy braes,
A king or a prince is nae better than I
Wi' my lass i' the gloamin a milkin her kye.
The Emigrant's Farewell.
Having in 1850 made arrangements to go to New South Wales, I composed the first six verses. Afterward I withdrew my application and remained at home. Afterward in 1852 I joineed the Hudson Bay Company, and went with my brother George Deans to Vancouver Island, where we landedn in 1853 Jany 18. On the way out I completed the other four verses.
The hour draws nigh that must us sever, -
Friends I love and fatherland,
Exiled from thee, perhaps I'll never,
Scotia, see they rugged strand.
Tread thy strand, nor climp thy mountains, -
Gather blae berries on thy braes,
Pull the primrose, by thy fountains,
Spend with thee the summer days.
Nae mair o hear the mavis singing,
Shall I wander forth at e'en,
Nor join their merry voices ringing;
Sportive youngkers on the green.
Happy scenes, ye scenes of childhood, -
Bonnie glens, and heathery braes,
Foam in streams, and scroggie wild wood
Play mates of my youthful days.
Dearest friends at various stations, -
Friends of yuth, for ever dear,
Mindful of old associations,
Claim from me a parting tear.
Can I cross the briny ocean,-?
Must I part with friends so kind,?
Yes, I must but with emotion,
I shall leave them all behind.
Soon from tyem the white sails swellin, -
Wafts the wanderer far away,
While lingering looks, alone and telling,
How the wanderer fain would stay.
While o'er the wave our ship is gliding
Lonely on its deck I stand,
Viewing the distant hills receding,
Last of thee, Dear Father land.
Lost to view, Dear Caledonia
Shall I never see thee more,?
Still I'll love thee best of any,
Thou art the land which I adore;.
Farewell, farewell, dear Caledonia
Heath clad hills and birkinshaw,
Farewell, East Lothian's braes sae bonnie,
Thy bards farewell, when far awa.
This ends the peices composed in Scotland, all the forth coming peices were composed in America chiefly on Vancouver Island,.,
Summer 1853
After landing at Fort Victoria Vancouver Island, we young and old were huddled into an empty storehouse, where we had to make our beds on a dirty floor, until we made beds for ourselves, with boards lying around. Our destination being a new settlement upon Victoria arm, which after ward got the name of Craigflower. No houses being ready for us we had to live at The Fort, until they were so.
In order to help along the work all us single Chaps, had to go to Craigflower, where we lived in a half finished frame house. The change from the Cottage homes and fertile fields of East Lothian to the dense and dreary primeval forests of Vancouver Island, was so great that we felt it terribly bad, more especially on the Saturday afternoon when we had a half holiday. So much did I feel the change, and so home sick, I became that I used to wander out in the bush and sit down, give vent to my grief in a flood of tears. In order to lighten my troubles I used put my thoughts in rhyme. The following is one of my pieces, composed in May 1853 and is named Summer
Summer
T'is summer now an d flowers abound, -
Varied, Lovely, spread around,
Some are red, while some are blue,
All laden with the pearly dew.
Now the snow has left the plain, -
Ceased, to fall the chilly rain,
Now the humming birds appear,
Happy in the vernal year.
Little birds on Wamton wing,
Throu the wilds their voices ring,
Now their songs are sweet and clear,
Summer time to them is dear.
Cheer up, sad heart and while I stray, -
Sadly o'er Craigflower woody brae
Come fancy paint each glade and glen,
With waving corn and homes of men.
Then lay aside, your hopes and fears,
A change shall come with passing years
A time will come when you will say,
This is my home, here I will stay.
Song
New Years Eve December 31 1857 As Held On That Night
At Victoria Vancouver Island.
The Author Being one of The Party.
T'is a lovely night, the moon shines bright, -
And naturs face is gay,
Come wander out, and sport about,
Tomorrow's New Years day.
Some of this band, take in your hand,
A horn, fife and drum,
Then Haist on shore, and rant and roar,
Until the daylight comes.
With one consent on shore, they went, -
To Rollins1 house they stray,
To all they meet, on road or street,
A happy New Years day.
From Rollins shop at Tam's2 they stop
En mass, they enter in
Tam treats them weel each drouthy cheil,
On brandy, rum or gin.
Next out they go, and in a row,
They Cheer him three times three,
Till every mose, within the house,
Might laugh to hear the glee.
The drumer leads, for Yeats3 and Reids4
To wish them New Years day,
By feigning sleep, those worthies keep
The noisy Coons away.
With yells and moans angry groans,
And language far from civil,
The with a shout, all round about,
They wish them to the devil.
They pick their roads, for Captain Dodd's5
For miry was the wayt,
Untill a strife, through John Graham's6 wife
Led all the Chiels astray.
Her husband Graham, that night came hame,
From where he had been strollin
While looking round, his wife he found,
Lying snug in bed with Rollin.
The way they tore, and cursed and swore, -
Showed they were both apt Scholers,
To end the strife, Rollin got Graham's wife
And Graham eight hundred dollars.
Notes on the Above
1. Rollin. Mathias Rollin, he then kept bar for Mr. James Yeats.
2. Tam. Thomas Newman Innes. An old settler who kept bar on Yeats Street.
3. Yeats. James Yeats, after whom Yeats Street us named, he being a large property holder thereon.
4. Reids. Captain James Murry Reid. was captain of one of the companies ships.
5. Dodd's. Captain Dodd, was captain of the old steamer Beaver, for the Company.
6. Graham. John Graham and wife came out for the H B. Co on board of the H B. Co barque Norman Morrison in January 1853. The event recorded in the piece actually took place. Graham for the above sum give up all claim to her and returned to England.
A Few Words In Behalf of Mr. Langford.
An Election Farce.
In the old H.B.Coy days, if a member elected by the property holders did not suit them, the H.B.Coy, they would not allow him to take his seat in the council, but would put one of their officers instead. In the following case Mr Langford was duly elected by the votes of the property holders. he not pleasing the Company, Mr Douglass, would not allow him to sit, and put the late Dr Kennedy in his place without being elected
Darkest and sadest of days for our Colony, -
Strongly the storms of adversity Claw,
Darkest of sable Clouds pregnant with villiney
Hangs ower our parlement, Langford's awa.
Honest true harted chiel, emblem of purity,
Noblest of councilors, men ever saw,
God help the example, you have set to futurity,
Deil tak the rascals who sent him awa.
Take thee, thy sable weeds haistly shroud thee, -
Signs of thy bosom's grief, fast let them faa, -
Insence of tyranny densely encloud thee,
Doomed to obscurity, Langford's awa.
Warriors of Waterloo, Heroes of Alma, -
Bravest Brition's sons, ficht till ye faa,
Do not your laurels stain, wipe of the calumny,
Direst of calumny sent Langford awa.
Devotees of beaver skins down with monopoly,
Must rats, and salt salmon, down with them aa
Ture sic hearted, God fearing, on with you panoply,
Bring back the laddie the knaves sent awa.
Sair shall we miss him, at ilka down sitting, -
His auld farrant pow was the guid o us a -
Sae as we adore him, until they restore him,
We'll hate the black Clique, who has sent him awa.
The excuse or reason given, for not allowing Mr Langford to take his seat, was that he was not qualified, while at the same time several with no better qualification that Mr Langford were allowed to keep their seats, in the Council because they worked for the interests of the Company.
Dr Kenedy was a good man, but the idea of him being put into the Councile, without election was the means of causing a great amount of discontent in the Colony.
The Wail of the Weatherbound
Discription of our situation on baord of the Schooner Amelia, from Stickeen river to Victoria October 1863.
Driven o'er the stormy main,
Sad and lonely, we complain;
Ceaseless storms of wind and rain,
Heartless, dull and weary o.
In vain we climb the rocky shore,
Dig up clams and seek for more,
Prospict round for golden ore,
Nothing now is cheerie o.
Caged in lonely bayes we pine,
Nought we do but sleep and dine,
Send thy sunbeams, power Divine
Light up our home so drearie o.
Gloomy through the misty shade,
Our hearts envy the Indian made,
Befire the breeze with faery tread,
The tiny bark glides Cheerie o
Lofty mountains crowned with snow, -
Cedars deck theri vales below,
Currants strong. Wild tempests blow,
Nights long dark and drearie o.
Blow ye gentle winds, I pray,
Speed our frail bark on its way
Why the long sought hour delay.?
That wellcomes home the wearie o.
Song Ellen Lang
Miss Ellen Lang was the youngest daughter of Robert Lang ship wright Victoria British Columbia. She afterwards became Mrs Harry Glide
I will sing noo a Sang, for my sweet Ellen Lang.
Ye birkies around her, come heare me
She is my darling sae sweet, sae braw, and sae neat,
If ye dinnia believe me, don't hear me.
Like the rose on its tree, it is pleasing to see,
If you pue it take care o' its thorns,
Frae Nell my sweet dear, there is nothing to fear
But take care if she gets out her horns!
Just mind no her tongue, she is thochtles and young,
Her fauts are eclipsed by her charms
Like you mountains o snaw, where the sunbeams aye fae
Are cauld where his rays never warms.
Believe me her wark, on a gown or a sark, -
Taks the shine fre some hizzes wha are aulder,
I tell you nae lies, whan I say she'd a prize,
For the lad wha in wedlock enfaulds her.
There is a Bonnie Land
Having been elected Bard of the St Andrews and Caledonian Societies of Victoria, I expected to prepare a poem for each annual dinner. The following verses were read at the Celebration November 30th 1881
There is a bonnie land,
Far, far ower the sea,
Fairer than oney land
Dearer, aye dearer to me.
Rough is that Bonnie land;
Wild and stormy its sea,
Braver than ony land,
Iys children are free.
Heath clad that bonnie land,
Of Mountain and glen,
Nobler than any land
Nobler its men.
Scotland, thou bonnie land,
East Lothians rough shore,
A wanderer through mony a land,
May I see thee, once more.
Address To A Frog
On hearing it croaking, on a bright sunny day, after a long snow storm in the month of January 1881.
Little stranger, all alome, -
Dost thou tell me winters gone,
That early flowers, will soon appear.
Our skies again be bright and clear.
Or has this sunshine brought thee out,
And like me glad to be about,
Shall yet thy song though coarse, yet nice.?
Be hushed beneath a sheet of ice.
Or who has sent thee, little thing,?
Thou harbinger, of early spring,
Tis God who loves me, sends me here, -
To usher in the vernal year.
This blink of sun shine, gives me heart, -
It bids the winter storms depart,
My looks uncouth. In manners rude,
I sing my song of gratitude.
Gardners Canal
Written on board of the steamer Danube, while sailing through this Channel, going to Bella Coolia.
Hail land of high mountains, -
And steep granite hills
Of flowing hot fountains,
And wild rushing hills.
Where the misty clouds rest, -
On their caverns of snow, -
On the mountains proud crest, -
O'er the vallies below.
Where the high water falls, -
Echo long on the breeze,
Where thy ocean bird calls -
As it sweeps o'er thy seas.
Where the mountain winds vary, -
The waves on thy shore, -
Where the snaws longest tairy?
Shall I see thee, mo more.?
A Tale of Better Times, Composed for the toast, The Land We Live In. Read At The St Andrews dinner Novr 30 1880
Long has been our days of sorrow,
And dark the lonesome night,
Now is told a better story,
The morn shall bring us light.
When times of toil and sadness, -
Like mists shall pass away,
Then scenes of joy and gladness
Shall mark the better day.
While Fraser's deeper fountains,
Its golden tore shall yield,
When flocks shall range our mountains -
And grain wave o'er each field.
Our fields of wealth, now sleeping
"In subterranous might,"
What our mountains have in keeping
Will soon be brought to light.
Those tunnels now amaking,
Beyond the town of Yale,
The light through them just breaking
Proclaims the better tale.
Soon o'er the Rocky mountains
The fiery charger flies
By Saskatchewan's flowery fountains,
Ehere Manitobia lies.
To Us Sons of The Heather
Thus joining lake and river,
In one continuous line, -
Where trade shall flow for ever,
And wealth and beauty shine.
Nanaimo's vast coal measures,
Shall yield their sable store,
Our rail their noble treasures, -
Shall land on many a shore
Although this is my oppinion
It is not m ne alone,
That this our grand dominion,
Shall second be to none.
Here's to us Sons of the Heather, -
Here banded together,
To help ane an ither,
What e'er may befa.
For to sooth ilka sorrow, -
To day, or tomorrow,
Alik Whigg or tory
Or nae thing and
To help poor an needy, -
Wi coat thin an seedy, -
To cheer the lone widow
Whan winter wuards (?) blaw
To, tell her o danger,
If wranged to avange her,
Wi' bairnes a Stranger
Baith needy an sna (?)
If hungry to feed them, -
To Schule, and to cleed them,
In strought ways to lead them,
Without any flaw.
Sae noo ilka brither
May we aye pu thogether,
An help ane an ither
What e'er may befa.
A Poem
Co mposed for the Victoria At Andrew's and Caledonian Societies November 30th 1887
Scotland, our father land,
Dear to this little band,
Our love still untrameled, fondly turns to thee.
Met round this festive board,
Loud be they fame encored,
Long be thy valleys, the home of the free.
Land of the hill and dale,
Land of the dewy vale,
Land of the mountains, where wild tempests wave,
Land where the flowery braes,
Bloom sweet in Summer days,
Home of our childhood, dear island afar.
Land of the mountain glen,
Land of the boggy fen,
Land where old castles stand hoary and grey.
Scotia, thy annals tell,
How thy sons fought and fell.
Brave on the battle field, first in the fray.
Address o Scotland
Lovely are thy maidens fair,
Pure as thy mountain air,
Sweet as the wild flowers which bloom on the lea.
Sons of the mountain glen,
Brave, gallant and noble men;
Thy sons, mother Scotland, are a credit to thee.
Thy fame it is world wide,
Ships from thy river Clyde, -
Are found through the world, on river and sea,
Although that our Thistle lost
Let not Columbia boast,
The thorns of our Thistle may bring tears to her e'e.
The Thorns of our Thistle may bring tears to her e'e.
Song Let us help the poor miner
Wrote in 1862, During the month of November, that year Victoria was full of broken miners from Caraboro, in search of work.
Each day as it passes, proclaims it is true.
There are hundreds among us, having no thing to do, -
Of Stout brawny Sons, of industry and toil
Who have come from afar, seeking homes on our isle.
Chorus
Let us help the poor miner and find him employ, -
Around his hard lot Shade a lustur of joy,
While the snows of bleak (?), forbids him to toil,
He is wealth in our land. Let us help him awhile.
We have roads to be made. We have timber to hew,
And many broad acres, still awaiting the plow,
We have towns to be built, still lumber is dear,
The wealth of our island lays idle I fear.
Chorus Let us &c
There is gold in our mountains, and wealth in the ground
By the strong hand of labour, soon all shall be found.
There are pines in our forests, there is fish in our sea,
Thou brave sons of toil, all are waiting for thee.
Chorus Let us &c
Come then sad stranger, we will find thee employ,
Thy labour is wealth, raise a sweet song of joy,
Fear naught though bleak winter, Cleads (?) our mountains with snow
And shakes his cold flakes o'er the vallies below.
Chorus Let us &c
We will help thee along till the calm summer hours,
Brings back to our homes, our lost friends, the sweet flowers
Should a voice from the mines, call thee forth to thy toil,
The reward of thy labours, be a rich golden pile.
Note for my neice Jeanie Deans, who afterward became Mrs George Prusky (?)
Bonnie Jeanie young and free,
Sportive ower the flowery lea,
Blithsome spends the suny hours,
Gathe ing early summer flowers.
Bright blue bells, and lillies fair, -
Weaving garlands for her hair,
See hir now shes making, what ?
A flowery circle, for her hat.
Soon the lassie's off to play, -
Skipping ower the flowery brae,
Listen now and hear her sing,
Gathering woodbine by the spring.
Gie the lassie time to play, -
Watch her in the gloamin grey,
Ower Mount Tolmies woody knows,
Driving hame, the lambs and ewes.
Rural Musings or Stray Thoughts On British Columbia.
Fair is the land we now dwell on.
A land remote yet widely known;
Where nature o'er a rugged Strand
Has shared her bounties, with a liberal hand.
Wide are its vales, where willing hands may find,
A thousand acres, suited to their mind, -
Where lowing herds, may greet the early morn,
And fields resplendant wave with yellow corn.
High are its mountains whose untrodden snow,
Send down a thousand rills, to swell the streams bellow,
Hills whose incessant crumbling yeilds an endless store,
Which fills its shallow bays and far extends its shore.
Their downward rush is natures kindly plan,
To place each mountains wealth within the reach of man,
Rich are its lodes by human eyes unseen,
Deep hod beneath the moss, and wast of forests green.
These lodes, no doubt, have boundless wealth concealed,
Albernia yet its hidden wealth shall yeild,
Our Klondike hills and vales, shall yeild their golden store,
And Yukon's icy streams shall yield their thousands more,
Still richer fields, shall yet, some day be found,
When roads are made, and men can get around,
And thus thy well paid labour, sons of rustic toil,
Shall make with songs, thy lingering hours beguild.
Stately they stand, the lofty spreading trees,
Whose varied foliage rustled in the breeze
A day shall come when men these trees shall fell,
And many a lumber mill, our country's wealth shall swell.
Queen Charlotte's isles shall yet give forth their store, -
When men and wealth, shall seek their distant shore.
Heaest thou, these cheerful sounds by Naiden's rill (?)
By Massett's streams, their echoes linger still.
In ocean's depths, by Fraser's winding shore,
Where Naas and Skeena's waters onward pour.
In lakes and streams, which evry where abound,
An ample store, for willing hands is found.
Whose are these ships which court the gentle gale, -
And Nustoo's breezes fill their swelling sail,
These ships have come from other parts abroad,
For Tussoo's fur clad seals and Kissoon's wealth of cod.
Although the last, yet not the least, let me awhile extoll,
The products of this favored isle Vancouver's wealth of coal,
And may our island's diamonds black, a market long command
And long be wellcomed to the hearths of near and distant lands.
And be our country's onward march, extended year by year, -
And may its vast resources be the talk of far and near, -
And may that brighter better morn soon usher in the day,
To cheer our lot, while better times, shall never pass away.
Thirty Years Ago
Composed on The Thirtieth Anniversary Of Our Leaving
Our Native Scotland 1852
When first we left Auld Scotia's shores
And bade our friends farewell
If we should meet, or see thee more
What power on earth could tell.
Thus passing down the stream of time
I've marked its silent flow,
What seems to be but yesterday
Passed thirty years ago.
When from the Norman's high gunwale,
We watched the stormy seas,
Or spread oue loosely hanging sail
To catch the failing breeze.
And since we watched Old England's cliffs
Till distance sunk them low,
Indeed it seems but yesterday, -
Though thirty years ago.
When last in Amisfield's shady bowers, -
My home when but a child,
I went to spend a few short hours,
That summer's evening mild
And wandered sadly down the vale,
Where Tyne's still waters flow, -
I think it only yesterday -
Though thirty years ago.
Before me passes childhhod's home, -
Midst kith and kindred dear, -
While now in other lands some roam,
We two are wanderers here,
Each happy scene before my face
Doth flit and ome and go,
These times which seem as but of yesterday,
Passed thirty years ago.
I see the school beside the Tyne, -
Its banks whereon we played,
Or lingered while the days were fine
And sought its flowery glade,
Or went afishing in the pools
And where the streams would flow,
Can I believe those happ days, -
Passed thirty years ago.
My childhood scenes. - The friends I knew,
Each farm and field I name, -
As fancy calls them to my mind;
She paints them still the same. -
Though thus she brings them to my mind -
I scarce could find them so, -
I might; were it but yesterday,
It is thirty years ago.
The birds may sing as sweet, it is true,
The flowers may bloom as fair, -
Each happy face which childhood knew,
May smile no longer there.
Some I knew are dead and gone, -
Some wander to and fro,
Should I return I'd be unknown
Since thrity years ago
An Address To Auld Scotland
This nicht I sing, in guid braid phrase,
Auld Scotland's glens, auld Scotlands braes,
Her music sweet, her simple lays,
To Scotsmen dear.
The storms which gather on her hills,
The rains which swell her mountain rills,
Her simmer burns, whas music thrills,
Fond lovers ears.
The flocks which range her muirland braes,
Whare heather blooms in simmer days,
Whare laverockz pur their sweetest lays,
And hail the morn –
Frae dewy mead, frae flowery maze,
Whare gentle streamlets onward strays,
Whare youthful lammeis sports and plays,
And brairdin (?) corn.
Soft faas the long drawn gloamin hours,
Ower fertile vales, and shady bowers,
While gentle dews the drooping flowers,
Mak fresh an fair,
By hill and dale, the mavis sings,
Sweet echoes frae the woodland springs;
While saft and low sweet warblin rings,
Auld Scotia's airs.
O! Scotia, may thy simple lays,
Lang be thy glory, pride an praise,
They bring, to mind, the happy days, -
O lifes gay morn.
They bring to mind each blithesome scene,
By hill, or dale, or mountain green
Each weel kent spot again is seen,
Where we ware born.
They lead us ower our native hill,
Up through the glen whare, - stood the mill,
Like Autumn's flowers, they linger still,
In memory's page.
And fancy paints them as of yore,
We see them now as seen before,
We little 'reck' the change brought o'er,
All things by age.
My mother took me on her knee,
Whan saut tears dimmed my youthful e'e
To dry those tears she sang to me
In hamely phrase,
Though mither dear has lang since gone, -
Those sangs they were not sumg i n vain
I love to hear them sung again
Those simple lays.
These simple lays are ne'er forgot,
They licht we joy lifes Chequered lot,
Are dear to mony a wanderin Scot
Far, far away.
Thy music, too, has charms I find,
It cheers alike the troubled mind
It drives our weary cares behind
And bleak dismay.
Thy songs are sacred to thy hills,
Thy music's murmured by thy rills,
Till cauld death comes I'll love them still,
Thy rustic lays.
Thy songs they tell, by hill and glen,
Of noble deeds, by noble men,
Divinely given, and Scots men ken,
Each hamely phrase.
Stray Thoughts
While wandering through the beautiful grounds of the Worlds Columbian Exposition Chicago 1890.
Let us haste to that land, where the streams ever flow,
And the fairest of flowers, in rich verdancy grow, -
While bright summer sums shine on fountains and streams
Where art in its powers. everlastingly gleams.
Excelling fair nature, o'er all this bright land, -
Where fancy leads onward, its beauties expand.
Where the grandist of lamps ever changing and bright, -
Turns into bright day, the grim darkness of night.
Let us go by yon bridge. Let us linger awhile,
In the cool shady bowers, on the famed wooded isle,
While taking our rest, try and number the throng,
Of youth, age and beauty ever gliding along.
If a student of nature, of mankinds advance,
Let us turn in our way, take The Midway Pleasance,
And there to our liking, will be subjects galore,
From Africa, Java and far Labrador.
Or if we wish more, while our study us man, -
Go by the South Pond, and while there closely scan,
All the subjects, for study, so grand and sublime
Gathered in from each age, evry land, evry clime.
Let us pass o'er yon stream, Let us join in the throng
Where strains of sweet music, float ever along,
Where fountains keep time to the musics sweet lays
And vast crowds enraptured join in anthems of praise.
Let us go to yon dome. Let us rest in its bowers, -
Inhale for a while the sweet breath of the flowers.
Come and view the nice fruits, admire the display,
And bear their rich fragrance, along on our way.
Pass not the mines building, there is much to delight.
In its stores of vast wealth, drawn from darkness of night
Neglect not all while admiring you stray,
The splendid machinery, just over the way.
Go to the Art Gallery, slowly walk through its halls;
You'll admire the grand paintings, all around, on its walls
Calmly, study them well where ever you go, -
There is much to admire, about and below.
Tell your friends to come here, from each land and each clime,
And spend a few weeks, mongst those wonders sublime,
Let tales in their praise, be the theme of your song,
While the echoes afar its sweet measures prolong.
When all these fine buildings have shed their last gleam, -
And the dark rolling waves of the lake their requiem,
You can tell to your children, you saw the great fair,
And the beauticul, wonderful things you saw there.
Song The Girl Who Sells The Water
While at Chicago Worlds Fair, close to the house in which we lived was a booth for the sale of water from the Waukesha (?) Springs. This booth was kept by a friend of mine a Miss May Willard of Chicago. Who was the Maid who sells the Water.
In Jackson Park are lovely flowers;
Which evry where abound,
And many in the sunny hours,
Diffuse sweet fragrance round.
In Jackson's Park are maidens rare,
Who smiles like sunbeams scatter,
Yet none of them, are half so fair;
As the maid who sells the water.
I have wandered o'er The Wooded Isle, -
Amongst its cool and shady bowers,
Have oft time sat to rest awhile, -
In summers sultry hours,
If tired, or faint, a glass or two
Would settle all the matter
If clear sweet sparkling Waukesha, -
From the maid who sells the water.
Her voice falls quiet, as evening dew
On summers drooping flowers,
Her smile can cheer my heart it's true
In Sorrow's lonely houts, -
I say now what I have often said
With no desire to flatter -
I never met a nicer maid,
Than the maid who sells the water.
I loved her dearly at the fair,
Now absent, ten times better
And should I never see her mair
I never can forget her.
Chicago and those friends sincere -
Though far and wide we scatter,
Are sacred still to memory dear
And Waukesha's nice water.
Sent To The Above With A sprig Of Mayflower
Besides a road which bounds our fields
A lovely flour its blossims yeilds,
The gentle breezes as they play,
Tufts (?) it sweet fragrance on its way -
The name of that sweet flower is may.
This is the may Flower, sweet its name
A girl I know, hers is the same,
Although in distant lands we stray,
And long and rugged is the way,
I think of her and wear this may.
This blossom fair I break in two, -
One part I keep, one goes to you,
The part for you goes far away,
The other part shall with me stay -
So think of me and keep the may.
A Song
Composed on a friend, taking farewell of his best girl While about to leave the Klondike.
Let us walk, by Beacon Hill, Bonnie Lassie o
While the wild flowers, linger still Bonnie Lassie o
Let us view each well known scene,
By field and forest green,
Where we have often been Bonnie Lassie o
I soon must bid adieu Bonnie Lassie o
To Victoria friends and you Bonnie Lassie o
For the boat is on the tide
And its sails are spreading wide
Now no longer can I bide Bonnie Lassie o
Soon I must haist away Bonnie Lassie o
O'er the Youkon wild th stray Bonnie Lassie o
Where I hear that gold is found
In the hills and streams around,
To the Klondike I am bound Bonnie Lassie o
If by Youkons icy strand Bonnie Lassie o
Or on Klondikes mountain land Bonnie Lassie o
What e'er my lot may be
Do you love and think of me
I will still remember thee Bonnie Lassie o
Should fortune on me smile Bonnie Lassie o
And reward me for my toil Bonnie Lassie o
Be my fortune, great or small,
I will gladly give you all
And feel bad, if none at all Bonnie Lassie o.
Come dry your gathering tears Bonnie Lassie o
And for me have no fears Bonnie Lassie o
On a Queen Charlotte Island Mountain Current
Ye in the mountains high
Springs a small river,
Down through the forests nigh
Rushing for ever.
Winding through vallies wide,
Laden with sand,
Lost in the changing tide
Forming new land.
Part of the mountains high, -
Crumbling for ever,
Waste fo the forsts nigh, -
Borne down by the river.
Filling up shallow bays
Stealing from the seas
Grass flats, for many days
Yielding to trees.
This is a natural process, always going on throughout these Q. C. Iles. The mountain torrents bear in their head long rush, immense quantities of sand and shale, which is deposited in the shallow bays slowly but surely filling them up.
Hail to the Heather.
Suggested by seeing a boxful of Scottish heather sent to the Sir William Wallace Society Victoria British Columbia by the Edunburgh Scitsman Newspaper November 30, 1878.
All hail, lovely heather, frae Dear Caledonia;
Far hae ye borne, frae thy birth place sae bonnie,
Guid ware the Chiels, who in kindness hae sent thee,
Thanks frae the leal hearts, to whom they present thee.
The heath on our mountains, grows widely an bonnie,
There is nane like this heather frae Auld Caledonia,
Heaven for their kindness grant health an prosperity
An lang gae their honoured names down to posteriy.
I hae a bonnie wee tufty I got for the keeping,
I hae placed it on high in the room where I'm sleeping,
That same little tufty will always remind me
O the days of my youth I hae lang ledt behind me.
It brings to my mind how I ran ower the braes,
Ae bare legget laddie, through the lang simmer days,
Or swam in the pools that ware bradest an deepest.
How we climfred (?) up the Craigs which ware highest an steepest.
Mony a time hae I fished in the brown mossy rills,
As they murmur alang down the Lammermuir hills
Or carried our bees to the place that was needed,
On the braw sunny hills, whare the heather blooms sweetest
How blithesom we stayed, in the auld stoney bigging,
Qeel thackit wi straw made a guid cozie niggin (?)
Whan the leaves on the aik tree hung withered and seered
An the snaw driving wunds, blew their cauldest an drearest.
Amisfiled (?) I still love thee, thou birth place of mine, -
Near the auld Abbey mill, on the banks of the Tyne, -
Nor can I forget thee, dear land of my childhood,
East Lothian's green hills, of the heather and wildwood
For weel do I mind the long gloamin hours
Spent in Whittingham's gardens among the sweet flowers,
Nor can I forget how with heart felt emotion
I gazed frae Dunpender ower mountain an ocean.
Ye sons of the heather, thy fame's wide and far, -
Thou art formost in peace, and bravest in war
When matched with a foe all they movements are telling
He will fly like the leaves on the winter winds swelling.
Unnamed
Wrote at anchor, weather bound, on board of the little steamer Skidegate, returning from Queen Charlottes Islands, While lying in a bay on Lasqueti Island, April 14, 1881
Thou mists on the mountains
Haist, hie thee away,
Those waves on the fountains,
Come cease thy wild play.
And thou gentle breeze
Awake from thy slumbers,
And blow o'er our seas,
With thy soft swelling numbers.
Our hearts sad with sorrow,
Near Lasqueti's rough shore
Thou sun, in thy glory,
Come and cheer us once more,
Black Clouds hang o'er Texada's hills
And heavy falls the rain
While swollen brown, Lasqueti's rills
Rush downward to the plain.
Fast rushin down the mountain sides
The fitful breezes blow,
Amd angry swells the rising tides
Of Sabean's (?) streams below.
Uneasy rides our gallant ship,
Fast by Lasqueti's shore,
And seems as if afraid to slipe (?)
,idst Nature's wild uproar.
Come then thou favoring breezes come, -
And usher in that day,
That brings us to our distant home
Far from this rocky bay.
The Sabean Channel lies between the two islands of Texada, and Lasqueti.
The Auld Scotish Parrish.
Sacred to sang is our mountian and glen, -
Our leal hearted lasses, and bauld goughty men,
Yet nane ever sings. as far as I ken,
A lilt to our Auld Scotish parritch;
Our guid halesome parritch.
To the Memory of Yethel Clane.
For three or four years Donald MacAulay, who farmed for the Puget Sound Agricultural Coy., a branch of the Hudson Bay Co., a farm on the point named after him, had a Haida youth named Yethel Clane Ye Big Raven. He used to work about the farm house, and when MacAulay sheep were out on their summer pasturage used to carry messages and provisions for the shepherds. During the shearing-season he was generally out on the stations helping the shepherds.
During the month of May 1855, Mr. MacKenzie,who farmed Craigflower, and Mr. Thos Skinner, who farmed what is now known as Skinner's farm, for the same P. S. Coy., myself and two other men, James Stewart and James Porter. Myself and Stewart representing MacKenzie and Porter, Mr. Skinner, to Nisqually on the Sound for several 100 sheep, to be brought down on the steamer "Otter". As soon as we reached Victoria, or the Fort, as it was called in those days, the flock was divided between the two parties. I took Mr. McKenzie's share to the Pastures around Christmas Hill, Lake Hill near Swan Lake.
During the summer all the sheep held by.Mr. MacAulay were sent out. And also their shepherd, David Morwick. During the month of May 1856, Yethel Clane was sent over to assist during the washing and shearing time. On washing day Yethel Clane was sent onto the pasture to look after the sheep as they came from the washing, while an Indian from Wrangle, who had been with us a month or two before, was to bring the remainder at the close of the washing. As for myself, I had to go home and make a new fold for the sheep to stay in over night. Hardly had I finished the new fold, when the Stickeen Indian came running over the hill, shouting with all his might in the Stickeen language, (he knew nothing else) for me to come over quick for Yethel Clane was dead. I quickly saddled our horse and rode around the hill, where he showed me the body; on examination I found he had been shot, then his throat cut. He had evidently been asleep, and his murdrer, which I was afterward told was a very bad Cowitchan Indian, named Shitwham, had slipt up and shot him, and then cut his throat. I took the body in front of me and rode back. Next day we made a coffin as described in the poem, and buried him on the hill side, not far from Swan Lake, near an oak tree. He was very fond of his mother. He had unfortunately for himself, a habit when the sheep rested to lay down and sleep. We used always to tell him to be careful, because if the Indians found him they would be sure to kill him. To this he always replied. There was no danger, because his mother was a Shom-in and would protect him, wherever he went.
We made him a coffin, stout and strong
And wrapt him in blankets, broad and long,
We made him a grave, by the clear cold spring
By the old oak tree, where the wee birds sing.
Where the wee lammies rest as they feed on the hill,
Or drink from the stream of the murmuring rill,
Where the native wild flowers, late and early bloom,
And send their rich fragrance around his tomb.
We laid him to rest where the evening Sun,
Unfolds his last rays, when the day is done,
And shines on his grave, as if bidding adieu,
To the poor Hidery youth, so good, and so true.
No mother was near for to weep o'er his grave, -
No requiem was said, bu the rippling wave, -
Of the deep Swan Lake, as it rose and fell,
Was the soft gentle toll of his funeral knell.
The Wedding of Mary MacAulay
In the month of May 1853 William Son of Captain MacNeill was united in marrage by the Rev Mr Stanes, within the fort of Victoria to Mary eldest daughter of Mr Donald MacAulay of Mac Aulay's Point. The wedding procession led by? Mr MacIntyre of the man-o-war Brisk, then lying in Esquimalt Harbour, who dressed in full constume, with bagpipes playing, left the Point in boats and canoes, bound for The Fort where they were married by Mr Stanes. The piper playing before and after the ceremony. Afterwards headed by the piper, they marched to and from their boat. In the evening he invited guests to assemble, when with dancing and singing, piping and fiddling a regular Scottish wedding was kept up until day break next morning.
On a point, in the sea, in the year fifty-three,
Lived a lassie baith tidy and brawly,
Wha was lo'ed unco weel, by young Wullie Mac Neill,
This bonnie lassie was Mary MacAulay.
After courtin some years, baith in sunshine an tears,
Young Wullie his courage did rally
And on that same day, without furthe delay,
He proposed to youhg Mary MacAualy.
When she knew his intent, she gave her consent
And her audl folks they wyickly did rally
Withou further delay, they appointed the day
For the weddin of Mary MacAulay.
Their frineds far an near, to partake o their cheirk
Were invited frae hillside and vally,
Wuth us chiels frae Craigflower, came the Bottoms aoutour
To the weddin O Mary MacAulay.
In their best Sunday coats, by canoes and by boats,
All hands at The Fort soon did rally,
While there Mr Stanes, took the trouble and pains
To make MrsMacNeill, Bonnie Mary MacAulay.
Then the piper did play, then a march to the bay,
The young couple looked couthie an brawly,
Yes indeed she look weel, the young bride of MacNeill,
Wha nae langer was Mary MacAulay.
Then homeward once mair, to the point they repair,
Where the guests were invited to rally,
Soon they all wished her weel, the young bride of MacNeill,
The fair daughter of Donald MacAulay.
There was singing and dancing and hoochin an prancing.
While some with guid whusky grew squally,
There was Gaelic galoer, and of good things a store,
At the wedding of Mary MacAulay.
When the sun's early ray, cast its tinits on the brae
And the mist still hung low ower the vally
Each started for hame, by the way that he came
Frae the weddin of Mary MacAulay.