Czytaj książkę: «Ban and Arriere Ban: A Rally of Fugitive Rhymes»

TO
ELEANOR CHARLOTTE SELLAR

 
‘Ban and Arrière Ban!’ a host
   Broken, beaten, all unled,
They return as doth a ghost
   From the dead.
 
 
Sad or glad my rallied rhymes,
   Sought our dusty papers through,
For the sake of other times
   Come to you.
 
 
Times and places new we know,
   Faces fresh and seasons strange
But the friends of long ago
   Do not change.
 

Many of the verses in this collection have appeared in Magazines: ‘How they held the Bass’ was in ‘Blackwood’s Magazine’; the ‘Ballad of the Philanthropist’ in ‘Punch’; ‘Calais Sands’ in ‘The Magazine of Art’ (Messrs. Cassell and Co.); and others are recaptured from ‘Longman’s Magazine,’ ‘Scribner’s,’ ‘The Illustrated London News,’ ‘The English Illustrated Magazine,’ ‘Wit and Wisdom’ (lines from Omar Khayyam), ‘The St. James’s Gazette,’ and possibly other serials. Some pieces are from commendatory verses for books, as for Mr. Jacobs’s ‘Æsop’; some are from Mr. Rider Haggard’s ‘World’s Desire,’ and ‘Cleopatra,’ two are from Kirk’s ‘Secret Commonwealth’ (Nutt, 1893), and ‘Neiges d’Antan,’ are from the author’s ‘Ballads and Lyrics of Old France,’ now long out of print.

ERRATUM

Reader, a blot hath escaped the watchfulness of the setter forth: if thou wilt thou mayst amend it. The sonnet on the forty-fourth page, against all right Italianate laws, hath but thirteen lines withal: add another to thy liking, if thou art a Maker; or, if thou art none, even be content with what is set before thee. If it be scant measure, be sure it is choicely good.

A SCOT TO JEANNE D’ARC

 
      Dark Lily without blame,
      Not upon us the shame,
Whose sires were to the Auld Alliance true,
      They, by the Maiden’s side,
      Victorious fought and died,
One stood by thee that fiery torment through,
   Till the White Dove from thy pure lips had passed,
And thou wert with thine own St. Catherine at the last.
 
 
      Once only didst thou see
      In artist’s imagery,
Thine own face painted, and that precious thing
      Was in an Archer’s hand
      From the leal Northern land.
Alas, what price would not thy people bring
   To win that portrait of the ruinous
Gulf of devouring years that hide the Maid from us!
 
 
      Born of a lowly line,
      Noteless as once was thine,
One of that name I would were kin to me,
      Who, in the Scottish Guard
      Won this for his reward,
To fight for France, and memory of thee:
   Not upon us, dark Lily without blame,
Not on the North may fall the shadow of that shame.
 
 
      On France and England both
      The shame of broken troth,
Of coward hate and treason black must be;
      If England slew thee, France
      Sent not one word, one lance,
One coin to rescue or to ransom thee.
   And still thy Church unto the Maid denies
The halo and the palms, the Beatific prize.
 
 
      But yet thy people calls
      Within the rescued walls
Of Orleans; and makes its prayer to thee;
      What though the Church have chidden
      These orisons forbidden,
Yet art thou with this earth’s immortal Three,
   With him in Athens that of hemlock died,
And with thy Master dear whom the world crucified.
 

HOW THEY HELD THE BASS FOR KING JAMES – 1691–1693

Time of Narrating – 1743

 
Ye hae heard Whigs crack o’ the Saints in the Bass, my faith, a gruesome tale;
How the Remnant paid at a tippeny rate, for a quart o’ ha’penny ale!
But I’ll tell ye anither tale o’ the Bass, that’ll hearten ye up to hear,
Sae I pledge ye to Middleton first in a glass, and a health to the Young Chevalier!
 
 
The Bass stands frae North Berwick Law a league or less to sea,
About its feet the breakers beat, abune the sea-maws flee,
There’s castle stark and dungeon dark, wherein the godly lay,
That made their rant for the Covenant through mony a weary day.
For twal’ years lang the caverns rang wi’ preaching, prayer, and psalm,
Ye’d think the winds were soughing wild, when a’ the winds were calm,
There wad they preach, each Saint to each, and glower as the soldiers pass,
And Peden wared his malison on a bonny leaguer lass,
As she stood and daffed, while the warders laughed, and wha sae blithe as she,
But a wind o’ ill worked his warlock will, and flang her out to sea.
Then wha sae bright as the Saints that night, and an angel came, say they,
And sang in the cell where the Righteous dwell, but he took na a Saint away.
There yet might they be, for nane could flee, and nane daur’d break the jail,
And still the sobbing o’ the sea might mix wi’ their warlock wail,
But then came in black echty-echt, and bluidy echty-nine,
Wi’ Cess, and Press, and Presbytery, and a’ the dule sin’ syne,
The Saints won free wi’ the power o’ the key, and cavaliers maun pine!
It was Halyburton, Middleton, and Roy and young Dunbar,
That Livingstone took on Cromdale haughs, in the last fight of the war:
And they were warded in the Bass, till the time they should be slain,
Where bluidy Mitchell, and Blackader, and Earlston lang had lain;
Four lads alone, ’gainst a garrison, but Glory crowns their names,
For they brought it to pass that they took the Bass, and they held it for King James!
 
 
It isna by preaching half the night, ye’ll burst a dungeon door,
It wasna by dint o’ psalmody they broke the hold, they four,
For lang years three that rock in the sea bade Wullie Wanbeard gae swing,
And England and Scotland fause may be, but the Bass Rock stands for the King!
 
 
There’s but ae pass gangs up the Bass, it’s guarded wi’ strong gates four,
And still as the soldiers went to the sea, they steikit them, door by door,
And this did they do when they helped a crew that brought their coals on shore.
Thither all had gone, save three men alone: then Middleton gripped his man,
Halyburton felled the sergeant lad, Dunbar seized the gunner, Swan;
Roy bound their hands, in hempen bands, and the Cavaliers were free.
And they trained the guns on the soldier loons that were down wi’ the boat by the sea!
Then Middleton cried frae the high cliff-side, and his voice garr’d the auld rocks ring,
‘Will ye stand or flee by the land or sea, for I hold the Bass for the King?’
 
 
They had nae desire to face the fire; it was mair than men might do,
So they e’en sailed back in the auld coal-smack, a sorry and shame-faced crew,
And they hirpled doun to Edinburgh toun, wi’ the story of their shames,
How the prisoners bold had broken hold, and kept the Bass for King James.
 
 
King James he has sent them guns and men, and the Whigs they guard the Bass,
But they never could catch the Cavaliers, who took toll of ships that pass,
They fared wild and free as the birds o’ the sea, and at night they went on the wing,
And they lifted the kye o’ Whigs far and nigh, and they revelled and drank to the King.
 
 
Then Wullie Wanbeard sends his ships to siege the Bass in form,
And first shall they break the fortress down, and syne the Rock they’ll storm.
After twa days’ fight they fled in the night, and glad eneuch to go,
With their rigging rent, and their powder spent, and many a man laid low.
 
 
So for lang years three did they sweep the sea, but a closer watch was set,
Till nae food had they, but twa ounce a day o’ meal was the maist they’d get.
And men fight but tame on an empty wame, so they sent a flag o’ truce,
And blithe were the Privy Council then, when the Whigs had heard that news.
Twa Lords they sent wi’ a strang intent to be dour on each Cavalier,
But wi’ French cakes fine, and his last drap o’ wine, did Middleton make them cheer,
On the muzzles o’ guns he put coats and caps, and he set them aboot the wa’s,
And the Whigs thocht then he had food and men to stand for the Rightfu’ Cause.
So he got a’ he craved, and his men were saved, and nane might say them nay,
Wi’ sword by side, and flag o’ pride, free men might they gang their way,
They might fare to France, they might bide at hame, and the better their grace to buy,
Wullie Wanbeard’s purse maun pay the keep o’ the men that did him defy!
 
 
Men never hae gotten sic terms o’ peace since first men went to war,
As got Halyburton, and Middleton, and Roy, and the young Dunbar.
Sae I drink to ye here, To the Young Chevalier!  I hae said ye an auld man’s say,
And there may hae been mightier deeds of arms, but there never was nane sae gay!