Her pigmy stature scarce attained the seat -She dragged it where she would, and with her feet Surmounted; thence, a Phaeton launched, she crowned The vast plateau of the piano, found And culled a pair of fans; wherewith equipped, Our mountaineer back to the level slipped;And being landed, with considerate eyes, Betwixt her elders dealt her double prize;The small to me, the greater to her sire.
As painters now advance and now retire Before the growing canvas, and anon Once more approach and put the climax on:
So she awhile withdrew, her piece she viewed -For half a moment half supposed it good -Spied her mistake, nor sooner spied than ran To remedy; and with the greater fan, In gracious better thought, equipped the guest.
From ill to well, from better on to best, Arts move; the homely, like the plastic kind;And high ideals fired that infant mind.
Once more she backed, once more a space apart Considered and reviewed her work of art:
Doubtful at first, and gravely yet awhile;Till all her features blossomed in a smile.
And the child, waking at the call of bliss, To each she ran, and took and gave a kiss.
NOW BARE TO THE BEHOLDER'S EYE
NOW bare to the beholder's eye Your late denuded bindings lie, Subsiding slowly where they fell, A disinvested citadel;The obdurate corset, Cupid's foe, The Dutchman's breeches frilled below.
Those that the lover notes to note, And white and crackling petticoat.
From these, that on the ground repose, Their lady lately re-arose;And laying by the lady's name, A living woman re-became.
Of her, that from the public eye They do enclose and fortify, Now, lying scattered as they fell, An indiscreeter tale they tell:
Of that more soft and secret her Whose daylong fortresses they were, By fading warmth, by lingering print, These now discarded scabbards hint.
A twofold change the ladies know:
First, in the morn the bugles blow, And they, with floral hues and scents, Man their beribboned battlements.
But let the stars appear, and they Shed inhumanities away;And from the changeling fashion see, Through comic and through sweet degree, In nature's toilet unsurpassed, Forth leaps the laughing girl at last.
THE BOUR-TREE DEN
CLINKUM-CLANK in the rain they ride, Down by the braes and the grey sea-side;Clinkum-clank by stane and cairn, Weary fa' their horse-shoe-airn!
Loud on the causey, saft on the sand, Round they rade by the tail of the land;Round and up by the Bour-Tree Den, Weary fa' the red-coat men!
Aft hae I gane where they hae rade And straigled in the gowden brooms -Aft hae I gane, a saikless maid, And O! sae bonny as the bour-tree blooms!
Wi' swords and guns they wanton there, Wi' red, red coats and braw, braw plumes.
But I gaed wi' my gowden hair, And O! sae bonny as the bour-tree blooms!
I ran, a little hempie lass, In the sand and the bent grass, Or took and kilted my small coats To play in the beached fisher-boats.
I waded deep and I ran fast, I was as lean as a lugger's mast, I was as brown as a fisher's creel, And I liked my life unco weel.
They blew a trumpet at the cross, Some forty men, both foot and horse.
A'body cam to hear and see, And wha, among the rest, but me.
My lips were saut wi' the saut air, My face was brown, my feet were bare The wind had ravelled my tautit hair, And I thought shame to be standing there.
Ae man there in the thick of the throng Sat in his saddle, straight and strong.
I looked at him and he at me, And he was a master-man to see.
. . . And who is this yin? and who is yon That has the bonny lendings on?
That sits and looks sae braw and crouse?
. . . Mister Frank o' the Big House!
I gaed my lane beside the sea;
The wind it blew in bush and tree, The wind blew in bush and bent:
Muckle I saw, and muckle kent!
Between the beach and the sea-hill I sat my lane and grat my fill -I was sae clarty and hard and dark, And like the kye in the cow park!
There fell a battle far in the north;
The evil news gaed back and forth, And back and forth by brae and bent Hider and hunter cam and went:
The hunter clattered horse-shoe-airn By causey-crest and hill-top cairn;The hider, in by shag and shench, Crept on his wame and little lench.
The eastland wind blew shrill and snell, The stars arose, the gloaming fell, The firelight shone in window and door When Mr. Frank cam here to shore.
He hirpled up by the links and the lane, And chappit laigh in the back-door-stane.
My faither gaed, and up wi' his han'!
. . . Is this Mr. Frank, or a beggarman?
I have mistrysted sair, he said, But let me into fire and bed;Let me in, for auld lang syne, And give me a dram of the brandy wine.
They hid him in the Bour-Tree Den, And I thought it strange to gang my lane;I thought it strange, I thought it sweet, To gang there on my naked feet.
In the mirk night, when the boats were at sea, I passed the burn abune the knee;In the mirk night, when the folks were asleep, I had a tryst in the den to keep.
Late and air', when the folks were asleep, I had a tryst, a tryst to keep, I had a lad that lippened to me, And bour-tree blossom is fair to see!
O' the bour-tree leaves I busked his bed, The mune was siller, the dawn was red:
Was nae man there but him and me -
And bour-tree blossom is fair to see!
Unco weather hae we been through:
The mune glowered, and the wind blew, And the rain it rained on him and me, And bour-tree blossom is fair to see!
Dwelling his lane but house or hauld, Aft he was wet and aft was cauld;I warmed him wi' my briest and knee -
And bour-tree blossom is fair to see!
There was nae voice of beast ae man, But the tree soughed and the burn ran, And we heard the ae voice of the sea:
Bour-tree blossom is fair to see!
SONNETS
I.
NOR judge me light, tho' light at times I seem, And lightly in the stress of fortune bear The innumerable flaws of changeful care -Nor judge me light for this, nor rashly deem (Office forbid to mortals, kept supreme And separate the prerogative of God!)That seaman idle who is borne abroad To the far haven by the favouring stream.