Classic Poem

Mair than a hundred years sinsyne,
(I'm nae exact just to the time);
But ae thing o' I'm verra sure:
Some short time after Shirramuir,
Wast in Argyleshire, then there stood
An ancient Castle in a wood:
The name o' it the fouk did ca'
The Manor House o' Garron Ha'.
'Twas very strong, but nae that big.
The laird o't'was a true-blue Whig,
An' Ranald Campbell was his name,
An' at Fifteen he was frae hame,
Out wi' the Duke at Shirramuir,
An' there did fight, baith fierce and dour.
For Solemn League he firmly stood,
Yea, swore he'd freely shed his blood,
Gin that wad set his country free
Frae abjur'd Stuarts an' Prelacy.
There in his hip he gat a wound,
Whilk never after that was sound,
But pain'd him sadly mony a day;
Yet aft exulting, he would say,
He got it in a glorious cause,
Fighting for Covenanted laws;
An' thought that he might fairly claim
The glorious crown o' martyrdom.
He'd crack o' Peden an' Cargill,
An' Richard Cameron, wi' good will,
An' a' wha fell on Bothwell plain,
Or at the Pentland Hills were slain —
He rank'd them a' o' saints the chief;
But for that fause loon, traitor, thief,
Archbishop Sharp, he said, 'twas true,
He got nae mair but jnst his due;
An' the brave lads wha had sic zeal
For truth, an' for the Church's weal,
As rid the warld o' sic a knave,
He rank'd them far aboon the lave.
Sic themes as thae were just his hobby,
An' aft he'd sit into the lobby,
Wi' his twa sons, for sev'ral hours,
An' there hold forth wi' a' his powers;
An' aft he'd twinge an' twist his lip,
Aye whan the pains gae him a grip.
His auldest son, whase name was Ranal',
His thoughts just ran i' the same channel;
He swallow'd a' his father's lore,
Was idoliz'd by him therefor;
An' as he was to be the heir,
His brother Malcolm had sma' share
Either o's father's love or gear;
Sae he to Embro' gaed to lear
The law, wi' a relation there,
Where he did stay three years an' mair;
Sair'd out his time, an' gat a place,
An' fill'd it wi' a decent grace;
Was sober, meek, and verra steady,
An' for his business aye was ready;
But yet o' cash he was but bare,
Clerks hadna then gryte deal to spare;
Fu' little did his father gi'e him;
An seldom ever gade to see him.
He'd now been sev'ral years awa.
An' been but ance at Garron Ha',
Sin' at the first that he gade south,
An' that was in his early youth.
But now his father took a blast,
Whilk soon did bring him to his last;
A few days only he was spar'd,
An' now young Ranald was the laird.
Malcolm was now sent for wi' speed,
An' hame he came right wae indeed,
'Cause he'd nae seen his father livin',
Nor his last blessing to him given.
The funeral it now took place,
An' Malcolm, after some short space
Of stopping wi' his brother there,
Was now about streight to repair
Back to his place, when Ranald said,
" Malcolm, I would be verra glad,
Gin you wade bide a day or twa
Langer, afore ye gang awa;
An' ae day's hunting let us tak',
Case it be lang ere ye win back.
I at the chase am now right clever,
I'll show ye feats that ye saw never
The like, in a' the Lothians three —
Come, mount your horse, and gang wi' me. "
Malcolm directly ga'e consent,
Sae aff the hunting party went,
An' mony a hart did Ranald slay —
The chase did last the live-long day;
An' mony a ditch an' dyke he lap,
At five-barr'd gates he wadna stap,
Till he was in a soom o' sweat,
Wi' his exertions, an' the heat.
When he came hame he sair complain'd,
An' o' his inside sadly maned.
They boot to put him till his bed,
Whilst for a Doctor aff they rade:
The Doctor made what haste he could,
To see gin he could do him good;
But, feggs, he was a wee o'er late:
Sae was the sov'reign will o' fate,
Ranald had yielded up his breath,
A prey to all-devouring death;
An hour ere ever he got there,
The man was gone — sae what needs mair?
He only ae bare month was laird,
An' was for death nae sair prepar'd.
This made an alteration now
Wi' a' at Garron Ha', I trow:
Malcolm, of course, was now the heir,
An' nane ava to get a share,
But just ae lass, about the house.
'Tis time that now we introduce
This heroine into our tale,
Because hereafter she'll na fail
To act a chief part in our story,
An' sae the reader won't be sorry
To ken some little thing about her,
Our tale would hardly tell without her: —
Miss Baby Campbell then, 'twas clear,
Had pass'd her seven-an'-twentieth year;
An orphan brought up by the laird,
An' high in his affections shar'd.
Forby she was a near relation,
An' had a sort o' upper station,
Like housekeeper at Garron Ha,
Nae faut in her the auld man saw;
She was a hypocrite profound,
By whilk means still she kept her ground;
Auld Ranald thought her quite a saunt,
An' o' her talents alt wou'd vaunt —
He thought nane wi' her could compare,
Au' wish'd to match her wi' his heir;
An' he himsel' had nae objection,
He followed ay his sire's direction.
Though she was aulder far than he,
He thought they brawlie wad agree;
But Bab for him cared nae a spittle,
His understanding was sae brittle;
But, as it fired up her ambition,
She wadna cared a single snishin'
Whae'er she married — sae that she
The lady o' the land might be;
This was the point at whilk she ettl'd.
Sae that affair seemed to be settl'd.
But when young Malcolm now she saw
Come back again to Garron Ha'.
Far mair accomplish'd than his brither,
That chang'd her notions a' thegether;
Her mind was now right ill at ease,
Tho' Malcolm did her fancy please,
She ken'd fu' weel he had nae siller,
Tho' he paid gryte attention till her;
Love an' ambition rack'd her heart,
She ken'dna how to act her part:
Nor could she bear the thoughts ava,
O' nae bein' lady o' the Ha'
Yet whiles she thought wi' a' she'd part,
Cou'd she but touch young Malcolm's heart.
Sae in condition far frae easy,
She little better was than crazy.
But now when Ranald was awa',
An' Malcolm was possessed o' a',
She thought that now a' was her ain,
For o' her talents she was vain;
Tho' she'd to beauty sma' pretension,
She had a verra keen invention.
Sae when the funeral was over,
She set her cap to catch her lover;
But soon she fand that a' her art
Made nae impression on his heart;
The reason o't was very plain,
He had a sweetheart o' his ain —
A merchant's daughter in Auld Reekie;
An' soon he set aff for that city,
To settle his concerns there,
An' see again his favourite fair.
He meant there but short time to bide,
Then fetch to Garron Ha' his bride;
Now cousin Bab wi' rage was fill'd,
For a' her hopes were fairly kill'd —
She saw she'd fairly lost the man,
An' whilk was warse — she'd lost the lan';
Wad be flung out upon the warl',
For weel she ken'd that the auld carl,
Expecting that she'd get it a',
Left her nae legacy at a'.
Her love did now to hatred turn,
With fiend-like fires her breast did burn —
Since she'd been slighted by the boy,
She him determined to destroy.
So now devised within her mind
A plot of a most hellish kind;
Whilk, had it fairly ta'en effect,
'Twould hung young Malcolm by the neck;
But Providence did interlere,
By whilk means Malcolm did get clear;
An' threw the guilt on their ain heads,
Wha did contrive sic shamefu' deeds.
Bab ken'd if Malcolm was awa'
She'd heiress be hersel' at law.
Sae she a project did invent
Of diabolical intent: —
Gif she could but some way consider
To lay the murder o' his brither
On Malcolm's back, and him impeach.
She thought that syne her aim she'd reach;
She'd fa' on means his guilt to prove,
An' sae revenge her slighted love.
Amang the servants was a fallow,
Wha (though his judgment was but shallow)
Had o' low cunning some sma' share.
His figure it was thin and spare,
Just much the same o' Ranald's mak';
His nose was shaped like his exact,
'Twas nearly what some fouk ca' Roman,
Or hawk-nib'd noses termed in common.
This man they ca'd him Duncan Graham.
To him Miss Bab now thought nae shame
To mak' her court, and tell her tale.
Her scheme was this: that, without fail,
Duncan young Ranald's ghaist should act,
Because she ken'd he had a knack
At sic odd jobs — and was right fit
Baith by his mimicry and wit,
To gar poor country fowk believe
Whate'er he liked, and sae deceive
The simple superstitious crew
Wha' at the castle lived now.
The parish priest, she ken'd fu' weel,
Was just a simple doited chiel,
As superstitious as the lave,
Gif Duncan wad but right behave;
They'd gar him come an' speak the ghaist,
Or try to lay him at the least;
Syne he wad tell a dismal tale,
Whilk if right manag'd cou'dna fail
Of doing what they twa intended,
To get young Malcolm apprehended
For giein' Ranald poison strang,
Whilk cut him aff ere it was lang.
An' gin the plot should right succeed,
An' Malcolm number'd wi' the dead,
Bab did a solemn promise mak'
She'd Duncan for a husband tak',
An' mak' him Laird o' Garron Ha';
This setl'd was atween them twa;
For Duncan took the job in hand,
An' Bab gae' him to understand,
That night the job he boot begin,
When it was night, to mak' a din,
In different parts thro' a' the house,
She ken'd the servants werna crouse,
To come o'er near to find him out,
An' thus there wark they set about; —
A suit o' Ranald's claise they got
To help them forward i' their plot;
But, as that Duncan's hair was black,
To mak' the likeness mair exact,
That afternoon, 'twas Baby's care
To mak' a wig o' lang red hair,
As Ranald's locks were o' that hue,
An' that wad make the figure true.
Sae when the fowk were to their bed,
Duncan that night began his trade.
They soon fand that their plot did tak',
For, i' the morning a' the crack
Was the strange noises on the night,
Whilk did the inmates sadly fright;
An' ilka night this din did last,
Till a' the family aghast,
Declar'd to Baby ane an' a',
They'd frae the Castle gang awa',
'Cause they were sure it was the devil
(Or something that was full o' evil)
Had got possession o' the Ha',
For ae chiel sware he plainly saw
A gruesome spectre, wan as death,
An' he was free to gi'e his aith
That it had fect just like a cow,
An' round its head were flames o' blue;
It graned and shook its bloody pow,
An' a' the house seemed in a lowe;
It stalked slowly thro' the Ha',
The lave heard din but naething saw.
Baby heard this wi' seeming wonder;
An' Duncan silently did ponder.
At length he says, " I muckle fear
Some murder's been committed here;
We maun get fowk mair skill'd than we
Ere we o' this grim ghaist get free. "
Just then the gard'ner came inby,
For i' the house he didna lie,
But in a bothie i' the yard,
An' tauld how he yestreen was scar'd
Wi' din, an' forc'd to leave his bed;
An' whan he looked forth, he said,
He saw Young Ranald on the green
As plain as ere in life he'd seen;
Just in his usual hunting dress,
His lang red hair, an' thin pale face;
He walked slowly o'er the loan,
Wi' mony a dismal heavy groan;
Sign'd to the gard'ner to come near,
But that he cudna do for fear;
The spectre vanish'd syne awa;
A' this the gard'ner sware he saw.
Baby at this did sain hersel'.
Said, " What to do I scarce can tell:
This apparition does portend
That Ranald's got a violent end,
Or else he never wad come back,
An' sic a strange disturbance mak';
I had some doubts of this ere now,
But what could a weak woman do.
'Tis my advice — we tell Mess John,
And fetch him to this house anon;
What do we ken, but Ranald may
Hae something that he'd wish to say.
The Minister's the fittest man
To put us on the wisest plan,
To ken what is the spectre's will,
For he's a man o' real skill;
Forby, his office as a priest
Qualifies him to speak a ghaist. "
To this advice they a' agreed,
The gard'ner syne set aff wi' speed
To fetch Mess John — wha didna fail
To come — and hear the unco tale;
He fairlied sair at what he heard,
An' ay he mus'd, an' ay he speir'd
About the strange and fearfu' sicht
That fleg'd them sae the bypast night.
Whan he had chew'd his cud awee:
" This is an awfu' job, " quoth he,
" I'm nae that fond o' it ava;
But yet, I winna gang awa.
This night at ony rate I'll stay,
You'll a' attend, whilst I do pray
That we may be endow'd wi' grace
An' strength, this visitant to face.
The priest syne gae a solemn prayer,
Whilk being o'er, they did prepare
Ranald's ain room for him that night,
An' put in it baith fire and light;
Back frae that room there was anither,
A thin wa' sep'rate them frae ither,
Thro' whilk there was a private door;
They plac'd a claiths screen it before;
Dunnan at that door could come in,
An' nae mak' verra muckle din;
An' out again, as he thought fit,
Whene'er he judged it time to flit.
When a' their suppers now were o'er.
An' chapters read — ay, three or four,
The priest bade them a' gae to sleep,
For he alane the watch wad keep;
Though he was quakin' ilka lith,
And scarcely had sae mickle pith
As stagger canny up the stair,
Unto the room he did repair.
The Bible up wi' him he took,
An' down he sat intil the neuk,
An' trembled like a quakin ash,
Thinking that now he'd been o'er rash
To meddle wi' sic pranks him lane;
An' twenty guineas wad he gi'en
That he'd been thirty miles awa,
Although as yet he naething saw.
When Duncan thought the lave asleep
Up to his room he syne did creep,
An' dressed himsel' to act his part.
A dram he took to cheer his heart.
Which spite o's neck now fell a beating,
But now for him was nae retreating —
He boot gae through some way or ither
To personate young Malcolm's brither.
He saw the priest was vera eery,
An' that made him a deal mair cheery,
Sae, as soon's twal o'clock did chap,
Duncan gae a gentle tap.
The parson, wha was near asleep,
Hearing the rap, he did up peep,
Wi' a' his limbs sae sadly shakin',
Duncan could hardly keep frae laughin'.
He gae a groan baith loud and lang,
The parson up till's feet did bang,
An' stood twa-fauld up i' the neuk,
An' firm he grasped the haly beuk.
Duncan made his appearance now,
An' stood close i' the parson's view,
Wi' his pale face an' lang red hair,
Ne'er moved an eye, but firm did stare
The frightened parson i' the face,
Wha never jeed out o' his place.
At last, he says — " I you conjure
To speak: In name o' that great Power
Wha made us baith, come tell to me
Baith what you want, and what you be. "
Duncan gae a heavy groan,
An' said — " Alas! ohon! ohon!
That ever I should come to this;
But I'm shut out frae heavenly bliss
Till I mak' known this murder fell,
An' yet I'm verra laith to tell;
But I maun do't an' mak a' plain
Afore that I my rest can gain: —
You see fu' weel I'm Ranald's spirit,
An' Malcolm, wha does now inherit
The land I lately did possess,
Put arsenic in my breakfast mess;
Impeach him, an' revenge my death,
Or else I'll hunt you while you've breath. "
The parson now fell o'er wi' fright;
An' Duncan syne slipt out o' sight,
Stripp'd aff his claise, an' fause red hair,
An' to his chamber did repair —
Right glad he'd play'd his part sae weel,
An' nae a bit remorse did feel.
The priest a while lay like one dead;
At length he lifted up his head,
An' wildly round him he did stare,
To see gin still the ghaist was there;
But whan he look'd an naething saw,
He was right blyth it was awa;
Whan he'd a wee come till himsel',
He pou'd the tow, an rang the bell;
Baby hersel' was soon asteer,
An' Duncan too, ye needna speer;
An' ilka ane within the biggin',
To rise they needit little priggin',
They a' thrang'd to the servant's ha',
To hear what 'twas the parson saw;
An' a' appeared extremely sorry,
To hear this mighty dismal story.
They said 'twou'd ne'er come i' their head
That Malcolm wad done sic a deed.
Baby held up her hands wi' wonder,
Turn'd up her een like duck's in thunder;
As nat'rel's ever play was acted,
Until the strings o' them maist cracked; —
An' a' the lave themsel's did bless,
Crying, " O! wha wad ever thought o' this?
Poison his brither! gude keep's a'!
The like o' this we never saw —
Nor scarcely heard o' sic a crime,
Na, nae sin' ever Cain's time. "
Bab says, " I kenna what to say,
I wiss I'd never seen this day;
Is there nae way to hush this matter;
Speak, reverend sir, for you ken better
What sud be done than sic as me;
Cou'd we na' get poor Malcolm free
O' comin' till a shamefu' end?
Ye ken, he's now my nearest friend;
But I'll be ruled, sir, by you —
Sae ye maun tell me what to do. "
Then says the priest: " As soon's 'tis day
I to a justice straught maun gae,
An' there mak aith o' what I saw,
Syne let it tak the course o' law —
This I must do, or Ranald's ghaist
Will never let me be at rest;
Likewise, the servants at the Ha',
Maun gang an' tell a' that they saw!
I'll do his bidden ilka hair.
I never wiss to see him mair,
Yon was a fearfu' sight indeed!
Sae I maun till mysel' tak' heed. "
Weel! whan 'twas day the parson now,
An' a' the simple cozen'd crew,
Unto his worship aff did set,
An' him at hame by chance did get;
The justice, it maun be conless'd,
Was just as senseless as the rest;
For whan the parson tauld this tale,
He took his aith — syne, without fail,
Examin'd a' came frae the Ha',
An' straught to Embro' sent awa.
An' Malcolm now was laid in prison
Afore that he did ken the reason;
But his surprise ye weel may guess,
When he acquainted was wi' this;
It struck the poor youth perfect dumb,
An' did his senses sae benumb
He cudna speak, but hung his head,
An' look'd-like's gin he had been dead,
An' they wha saw him in that case,
Said, guilt was printed on his face.
The day o' trial now was set,
An' a' concern'd did summons get;
An' mony ane, baith far an' near,
Set aff this unco case to hear.
Bab and the priest, frae Garron Ha',
Did in a post chaise ride awa;
The lave on horseback aff did ride;
But mark ye now, what did betide
These guilty wretches at the last,
When they thought Malcolm grippit fast: —
Whan Duncan near Linlithgow got,
His horse took fleg at a raised stot,
Wha frae some butchers gat awa',
An' ran an' puttit a' he saw.
The fowk out o' his road did rin,
An' screich'd an' made sae muckle din,
That Duncan's horse awa' did gallop,
An' on the road gar'd him play wallop,
An' smashed him a', by this same token,
His legs an' three o's ribs were broken,
Forby a clink upo the head,
An' there he lay 's gin he'd been dead,
To the neist house they trail'd him in,
An' for a doctor aff did rin.
When he'd a wee come to himsel'
His state nae mortal man could tell,
Nor half describe his awfu' case,
When death did stare him i' th' face.
A priest he quickly did require,
An' ane they brought at his desire.
There he confess'd upo' the spot
His share in a' the hellish plot.
The priest did for the provost send,
As Duncan seem'd near to his end,
Wha came, an' his confession took,
An' Duncan sware till't on the book,
Near three hours langer did he live,
Prayin' his Maker to forgive
His foul misdeeds, wi' his last breath,
Syne sunk into the arms o' death.
The provost now for Embro' set,
For by this time the Court was met;
An' when the judges took their station,
He shaw'd them Duncan's declaration,
This fill'd the Court wi' gryte surprise,
That any human could devise,
A scheme sae horrid an' sae evil.
Then quick laid hand on that she-devil,
Baby, an' sent her to the prison,
To try her at convenient season.
This turn'd the chance wi' her, I trow,
For Malcolm was acquitted now,
An' she hersel' put in his place,
To her confusion and disgrace,
Now deep despair did fill her mind,
An' ere she was an hour confin'd
She wi' a razor nick't her throat,
An' down she fell upo' the spot;
An' to the last did curse and swear,
An' a' within the jail did fear.
This story made nae little noise,
But a' gude people did rejoice
That Malcolm's innocence was clear,
An' wi' loud shouts they did him cheer.
A few month after, Malcolm now
Unto Auld Reekie bade adieu,
Took hame his bride to Garron Ha',
An' never after gade awa';
But settled there wi' his dear wife,
They liv'd a lang an' happy life,
An' were respected mony a year,
For a' the neipers lov'd them dear.

Our tale we've now brought to an end;
We see that Heaven does aye defend
The upright, who, in God do trust;
But lays the guilty in the dust,
An' sic as vilely spurn his law,
Witness " The Ghaist o' Garron Ha'. "