Blair Collection > Celtic magazine > Volume 5

246 THE CELTIC MAGAZINE.
BIDE A WEE, AND OTHER POEMS. By Maky J. MacColl.
Buffalo : Peter Paul & Brother. 1880.
This unpretentious, beautifully printed little book will find a hearty i ^
welcome in many a houseliold on both sides of the Atlantic. Miss 1 1
MacColl has evidently inherited no small share of the divine afflatus from ' >'
her father, the well known bard of Loch Fyne. From him she may j s.
have got the lively fancy, the graceful flow of language, the slight dash of 1 ;
satire at the passing follies of the day ; but the true womanly feeling, the
tender maternal instinct, the essentially feminine sweetness, evinced in,
this book are all her own.
" One Less To-Night " is a pathetic picture of a bereaved mother's
chastened sorrow for the loved little one so early lost. " Fallen Stars " is
a sweet poem, fuU of large-hearted charity and tender sympathy for the
human " wandering stars," and has the true ring in its piety. In " ]\Iy \'{
Love," with its smoothly flowing measure, musical cadence, and glowing 1 1
imagery, we recognise the work of a true poet ; but in " Good-By " ' i
there is poetry and more — there we have depicted human nature in one
of its best aspects, a woman's love, trusting, dependant, clinging to the
hero of her heart like the ivy round the sturdj'- oak. Strong-minded
ladies full of " woman's rights " will sneer at the picture here given ;
ambitious, cold-hearted beauties will not understand it; but aD leal-
hearted wom^n will both understand and admire it. We would fain give
it in full, but the first and three last verses will give an idea of the whole :
Good-by ! I cannot speak it, love, to thee,
That saddest of all words ; my quick tears flow
At thought of parting ; life would sunless be
Without thee ; nay I cannot bid thee go.
I could not climb life's rugged mountain side
Without thy strong right aim to lean upon ;
I could not stem the waves of sorrow's tide
Without thy voice and smile to cheer me on.
O, what is gold, or rank, or power to rae ?
They will not satisfy an aching heart :
And wanting love huw cold the world would be,
How desolate— with all its show and art.
I love thee, darling, more than I can tell,
All else I could yield up j but thee, ah, no,
Not e'en when dying shall I say farewell,
Sweetheart, sweetheart, I cannot bid theo go.
There are six or seven lighter pieces, written in quite a different key to
the rest ; some of these strike at the foibles of the hour, and are not
destitute of humour. " Johnny's Letter " is charming in its simplicity and
drollness.
The book is very neat)y got up, and we trust it will meet with the
success it so well deserves, so that Miss MacCoU may be encouraged to
the still greater eftbrts of which this volume, described even by Longfellow
as " fiUl of poetic beauty and deep feeling," can only be the harbinger.