For He Was Scotch, And So Was She
THEY were a couple well content
With what they earned and what they spent,
Cared not a whit for style's decree–
For he was Scotch, and so was she.
And oh, they loved to talk of Burns–
Dear blithesome, tender Bobby Burns!
They never wearied of his song,
He never sang a note too strong.
One little fault could neither see–
For he was Scotch, and so was she.
They loved to read of men who stood
And gave for country life and blood,
Who held their faith so grand a thing
They scorned to yield it to a king.
Ah, proud of such they well might be–
For he was Scotch, and so was she.
From neighbours' broils they kept away;
No liking for such things had they,
And oh, each had a canny mind,
And could be deaf, and dumb, and blind.
With words or pence was neither free–
For he was Scotch, and so was she.
I would not have you think this pair
Went on in weather always fair,
For well you know in married life
Will come, sometimes, the jar and strife;
They couldn't always just agree–
For he was Scotch, and so was she.
But near of heart they ever kept,
Until at close of life they slept;
Just this to say when all was past,
They loved each other to the last.
They're loving yet, in heaven, maybe–
For he was Scotch, and so was she.
Her Portrait
A little child, she stood that far-off day,
When Love, the master-painter, took the brush
And on the wall of mem'ry dull and grey
Traced tender eyes, wide brow, and changing blush,
The gladness and the youth, the bending head
All covered over with its curls of gold,
The dimpled arms, the two hands filled with bread
To feed the little sparrows brown and bold
That flutter to her feet. It hangs there still,
Just as 'twas painted on that far-off day,
Nor faded is the blush upon the cheek,
The sweet lips hold their smiling and can thrill,
And still the eyes-so tender, and so meek-
Light up the walls of mem'ry dull and grey.
Margaret
Her eyes-upon a summer's day
God's skies are not more blue than they.
Her hair-you've seen a sunbeam bold
Made up of just such threads of gold.
Her cheek-the leaf which nearest grows
The dewy heart of June's red rose.
Her mouth-full lipped, and subtly sweet
As brier drowned in summer heat.
Her heart-December's chill and snow;
Heaven pity me, who love her so!
O SOUL on God's high seas! the way is strange and long,
Yet fling your pennons out, and spread your canvas strong;
For though to mortal eyes so small a craft you seem,
The highest star in heaven doth lend you guiding gleam.
O soul on God's high seas! look to your course with care,
Fear most when winds are kind and skies are blue and fair.
Your helm must sway at touch of no hand save your own–
The soul that sails on God's high seas must sail alone.
O soul on God's high seas! sail on with steady aim,
Unmoved by wind of praise, untouched by seas of blame.
Beyond the lonely ways, beyond the guiding star,
There stretches out the strand and golden harbour bar.
The Usurer
FATE says, and flaunts her stores of gold,
'I'll loan you happiness untold.
What is it you desire of me?'
A perfect hour in which to be
In love with life, and glad, and good,
The bliss of being understood,
Amid life's cares a little space
To feast your eyes upon a face,
The whispered word, the love-filled tone,
The warmth of lips that meet your own,
To-day of Fate you borrow;
In hunger of the heart, and pain,
In loneliness, and longing vain,
You pay the debt to-morrow!
Prince, let grim Fate take what she will
Of treasures rare, of joys that thrill,
Enact the cruel usurer's part,
Leave empty arms and hungry heart,
Take what she can of love and trust,
Take all life's gladness, if she must,
Take meeting smile and parting kiss–
The benediction and the bliss.
What then? The fairest thing of all
Is ours, O Prince, beyond recall–
Not even Fate would dare to seize
Our store of golden memories.
What Time The Morning Stars Arise
ABOVE him spreads the purple sky,
Beneath him spreads the ether sea,
And everywhere about him lie
Dim ports of space, and mystery.
Ho, lonely Admiral of the Fleet!
What of the night? What of the night?
'Methinks I hear,' he says, 'the beat
Of great wings rising for the flight.'
Ho, Admiral neighbouring with the stars
Above the old world's stress and din!
With Jupiter and lordly Mars–
'Ah, yonder sweeps a Zeppelin!
'A bird with menace in its breath,
A thing of peril, spoil and strife,
The little children done to death,
The helpless old bereft of life.
'The moan of stricken motherhood,
The cowardice beyond our ken,
The cruelty that fires the blood,
And shocks the souls of honest men.
'These call for vengeance–mine the chase.'
He guides his craft–elate and strong.
Up, up, through purple seas of space,
While in his heart there grows a song.
'Ho, little ship of mine that soars
Twixt earth and sky, be ours to-day
To free our harassed seas and shores
Of yonder evil bird of prey!'
The gallant venture is his own,
No friend to caution, pray, or aid,
But strong is he who fights alone,
Of loss and failure unafraid.
He rises higher, higher still,
Till poised above the startled foe–
It is a fight to stir and thrill
And set the dullest breast aglow.
Old Britain hath her battles won
On fields that are a nation's pride,
And oh the deeds of daring done
Upon her waters deep and wide!
But warfare waged on solid land,
Or on the sea, can scarce compare
With this engagement, fierce, yet grand,
This duel to the death in air.
He wins! he wins in sea of space!
Why prate we now of other wars
Since he has won his name and place
By deathless valour 'mong the stars?
No more that Zeppelin will mock,
No more will sound her song of hate;
With bursting bomb, and fire, and shock,
She hurtles downward to her fate.
A touch of rose in eastern skies,
A little breeze that calls and sings,
Look yonder where our hero flies,
Like homing bird on eager wings.
He sees the white mists softly curl,
He sees the moon drift pale and wan,
Sees Venus climb the stairs of pearl
To hold her court of Love at dawn.
Jean Blewett
