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diff --git a/19385.txt b/19385.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bd72861 --- /dev/null +++ b/19385.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10249 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Modern Scottish Minstrel, Volume III, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Modern Scottish Minstrel, Volume III + The Songs of Scotland of the Past Half Century + +Author: Various + +Release Date: September 26, 2006 [EBook #19385] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MODERN SCOTTISH MINSTREL *** + + + + +Produced by Susan Skinner, Ted Garvin and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: + +THE + +MODERN SCOTTISH MINSTREL; + +BY + +CHARLES ROGERS, LL.D. +F.S.A. SCOT. + +VOL. III. + + +ABBOTSFORD + + +EDINBURGH: +ADAM & CHARLES BLACK, NORTH BRIDGE, +BOOKSELLERS AND PUBLISHERS TO THE QUEEN.] + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: + +Allan Cunningham. + +Lithographed for the Modern Scottish Minstrel, by Schenck & McFarlane.] + + * * * * * + + + + +THE + +MODERN SCOTTISH MINSTREL; + +OR, + +THE SONGS OF SCOTLAND OF THE +PAST HALF CENTURY. + +WITH + +Memoirs of the Poets, + +AND + +SKETCHES AND SPECIMENS +IN ENGLISH VERSE OF THE MOST CELEBRATED +MODERN GAELIC BARDS. + +BY + +CHARLES ROGERS, LL.D., +F.S.A. SCOT. + +IN SIX VOLUMES. + +VOL. III + + +EDINBURGH: + +ADAM & CHARLES BLACK, NORTH BRIDGE, +BOOKSELLERS AND PUBLISHERS TO HER MAJESTY. +M.DCCC.LVI. + + +EDINBURGH: +PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY, +PAUL'S WORK. + + + + +TO + +LIEUTENANT-COLONEL +SIR JAMES EDWARD ALEXANDER, +K.L.S., AND K.ST.J., + +A DISTINGUISHED TRAVELLER, A GALLANT OFFICER, AND +A PATRIOTIC SCOTSMAN, + +THIS THIRD VOLUME + +OF + +The Modern Scottish Minstrel + +IS DEDICATED, + +WITH SENTIMENTS OF RESPECT AND GRATITUDE, + +BY + +HIS VERY OBEDIENT, FAITHFUL SERVANT, + +CHARLES ROGERS. + + + + +SCOTTISH AND HELLENIC MINSTRELSY: + +An Essay. + +BY JAMES DONALDSON, A.M. + + +Men who compare themselves with their nearest neighbours are almost +invariably conceited, speak boastingly of themselves, and +disrespectfully of others. But if a man extend his survey, if he mingle +largely with people whose feelings and opinions have been modified by +quite different circumstances, the result is generally beneficial. The +very act of accommodating his mind to foreign modes of thought expands +his nature; and he becomes more liberal in his sentiments, more +charitable in his construction of deeds, and more capable of perceiving +real goodness under whatever shape it may present itself. So when a +Scotsman criticises Scotch poetry viewed by itself alone, he is apt to +be carried away by his patriotism,--he sees only the delightful side of +the subject, and he ventures on assertions which flatter himself and his +country at the expense of all other nations. If, however, we place the +productions of our own country side by side with those of another, the +excellences and the deficiencies of both are seen in stronger relief; +the contrasts strike the mind, and the heart is widened by sympathising +with goodness and beauty diversely conceived and diversely portrayed. +For this reason, we shall attempt a brief comparison of Hellenic and +Scottish songs. + +Before we enter on our characterisation of these, we must glance at the +materials which we have to survey. Greek lyric poetry arose about the +beginning of the eighth century before the Christian era, and continued +in full bloom down to the time when it passed into drama on the Athenian +stage. The names of the poets are universally known, and have become, +indeed, almost part of our poetic language. Every one speaks of an +Anacreon, a Sappho, and a Pindar; and the names of Archilochus, Alcman, +Alcaeus, Stesichorus, Simonides, Ibycus, and Bacchylides, if not so often +used, are yet familiar to most. Few of these lyrists belonged to Greece +proper. They belonged to Greece only in the sense in which the Greeks +themselves used the word, as including all the colonies which had gone +forth from the motherland. Most of the early Greek song-writers dwelt in +Asia Minor--some were born in the islands of the Cyclades, and some in +Southern Italy; but all of them were proud of their Greek origin, all of +them were thorough Greeks in their hearts. It is only the later bards +who were born and brought up on the Greek mainland, and most of these +lived to see the day when almost all the lyric poets took their grandest +flights in the choral odes of their dramas. These odes, however, do not +fall within the province of our comparison. The lyrical efforts both of +AEschylus and Sophocles were inwoven with the structure of their plays, +the chorus in AEschylus being generally one of the actors; and they have +their modern representatives, not in the songs of the people, but in the +arias of operas. Setting these aside, we have few genuine efforts of +the Greek lyric muse belonging to the dramatic period--the most +important being several songs sung by the Greeks at their banquets, +which have fortunately been preserved. After this era, we have no lyric +poems of the Greeks worth mentioning. The verse-writers took henceforth +to epigrams--epigrams on everything on the face of the earth. These have +been collected into the "Greek Anthology;" but the greater part of them +are contemptible in a poetic point of view. They are interesting as +throwing light on the times; but they are weak and vapid as expressions +of the beatings of the human heart, and they are full of conceits. +Besides these, there are the Anacreontic odes, known to all Greek +scholars and to a great number of English, since they have been +frequently translated. With one or two exceptions, they were all written +between the third and twelfth centuries of the Christian era, though +some scholars have boldly asserted that they were forgeries even of a +later date. Most of them seem to be expansions of lines of Anacreon. +They are in general neat, pretty, and gaysome, but tame and insincere. +There is nothing like earnestness in them, nothing like genuine deep +feeling; but thus they are all the more suited for a certain class of +lovers and drinkers, who do not wish to be greatly moved by anything +under the sun. + +Scotch lyric poetry may be said to commence with the lyrics attributed +to James I., or with those of Henryson. There is clear proof, indeed, +that long before this time the Scotch were much given to song-making and +song-singing; but of these early popular lilts, almost nothing remains. +Henryson's lyrics, however, belonged more to the class that were +intended to be read than to be sung, and this is true of a considerable +number of his successors, such as Dunbar, and Maitland of Lethington, +who were learned men, and wrote with a learned air, even when writing +for the people. The Reformation, as surely as it threw down every carved +stone, shut up the mouth of every profane songster. Wedderburne's "Haly +Ballats" may have been spared for a time by the iconoclasts, because +they had helped to build up their own temple; but they could not survive +long,--they were cast in a profane mould, they were sung to profane +tunes, and away they must go into oblivion. Our song-writers, for a long +time after, are unknown minstrels, who had no character to lose by +making or singing profane songs,--they were of the people, and sang for +them. So matters continued, until, at the commencement of the eighteenth +century, Scottish songs began to be the rage both in England and +Scotland, and an eager desire arose to gather up old snatches and +preserve them. Henceforth Scotch poetry held up its head, and a few +remarkable poets won their way into the hearts of large masses of the +people. At last appeared the emancipator of Scottish song in the form of +a ploughman, stirring the deepest feelings of all classes with songs +that may be justly styled the best of all national popular songs, and +for ever settling the claims of a song-writer to one of the highest +niches in the temple of Fame. + +The first thing that strikes us, on dipping into a book of Greek songs, +and then a book of Scotch, is the different position of the poets. The +Greek poet was regarded as a kind of superior being--an interpreter +between gods and men; and, supposed to be under the special protection +of Divinity, he was highly honoured and reverenced wherever he went. The +Scotch bard, on the other hand, is a poor wanderer, whose name is +unknown, who received little respect, and whose knowledge of God and +the higher purposes of life cannot be reckoned in any way great. There +may be a few exceptions. We find nobles sometimes writing popular songs, +and occasionally a learned man may have contributed strains; but these +are generally not superior either in wit, pathos, or morality, to the +verses of the unknown and hard-toiling. This striking contrast arises +from a change that had taken place in the history of song. In Greece, +all the teeming ideas of the fertile-minded people found expression in +harmonious measures, and their songs touched every chord of their varied +existence. This was partly owing to their innate love of melody, and +partly to the public life which they led. From the earliest ages, they +were fond of sweet sounds; and their continual public gatherings gave +innumerable opportunities for using their vocal powers unitedly, and +turning music to all its best and noblest purposes. They sang sacred +songs as they marched in procession to their temples; and on entering, +they hymned the praises of the gods. When they rushed on to battle, they +shouted their inspiring war-songs; and if victory crowned the fight, the +battle-field rang with their joyous paeans, and their poets tuned their +lyres in honour of the brave that had fallen. A victor in the Olympic +games would have lost one of his greatest rewards, if no poet had sung +his fame. Then, in their banquets, the Greeks amused themselves in +stringing together pretty verses, and joined in merry and jovial +drinking-songs. If there happened to be a marriage, the young people +assembled round the house, and late in the evening and early in the +morning sang the praises of bride and bridegroom, prayed for blessings +on the couple, and sometimes discussed the comparative blessedness of +single and married life. Or if a notable person happened to die, his +dirge was sung, and the poet composed an encomium on him, full of wise +reflections on destiny, and the fate that awaits all. There was, in +fact, no public occasion which the Greeks did not beautify with song. + +It is entirely different with us. Our minister now performs the function +of the Greek poet at marriages and funerals. Our funeral sermons and +newspaper paragraphs have taken the place of the Greek encomiums. Our +fiddles or piano do duty instead of the Greek dithyrambs, hyporchems, +and other dancing songs. Our warriors are either left unsung, or +celebrated in verse that reads much better than it sings. The members of +the "Benevolent Pugilistic Association" do not stand so high in the +British opinion as the wrestlers of old stood in the Greek; and our +jockeys have fallen frightfully from the grand position which the Greek +racers occupied in the plains of Olympia. Very few in these days would +think the champion of England, or the winner of the Derby, worth a noble +ode full of old traditions and exalted religious aspirations. Through +various causes, song has thus come to be very circumscribed in its +limits, and to perform duty within a comparatively small sphere in +modern life. + +Indeed, song in these days does exactly what the Greeks rarely +attempted: it concerns itself with private life, and especially with +that most characteristic feature of modern private life--love. Love is, +consequently, the main topic of Scottish song. It is a theme of which +neither the song-writer nor the song-singer ever wearies. It is the one +great passion with which the universal modern mind sympathises, and from +the expressions of which it quaffs inexhaustible delight. This holds +true even of the cynical people who profess a distaste for love and +lovers. For love has for them its comic side,--it appears to them +exquisitely humorous in the human weakness it causes and brings to +light; and if they do not enjoy the song in its praise, they seldom fail +to laugh heartily at the description of the plights into which it leads +its devotees. + +Perhaps no country contains a richer collection of love-songs than +Scotland. We have a song for every phase of the motley-faced +passion,--from its ludicrous aspect to its highest and most rapturous +form. Every pulsation of the heart, as moved by love, has had its poetic +expression; and we have lovers pouring out the depths of their souls to +all kinds of maids, and in all kinds of situations. And maids are +represented as bodying forth their feelings, also, under the sway of +love. Many of these feminine lyrics are written by women themselves. +Some of them exult in the full return which their love meets; but for +the most part, it is a keen sorrow that forces women to poetic +composition. They thus contribute our most pathetic songs--wails +sometimes over blasted hopes and blighted love, as in "Waly, Waly;" or +over the death of a deeply-loved one, as in Miss Blamire's "Waefu' +Heart;" or over the loss of the brave who have fallen in battle, as in +Miss Jane Elliot's "Flowers of the Forest." + +Peculiarly characteristic of Scotland are the songs that describe the +development of love, after the lovers have been married. Here the +comical phase is most predominant. For the most part, the Scottish +songster delights in describing the quarrels between the goodman and the +goodwife--the goodwife in the early poems invariably succeeding in +making John yield to her. Sometimes, however, there is a deeper and +purer current of feeling, to which Burns especially has given +expression. How intensely beautiful is the affection in "John Anderson, +my Jo!" And we have in "Are ye sure the news is true?" the whole +character of a very loving wife brought out by a simple incident in her +life,--the expected return of her husband. Some of these songs also have +been written by poetesses, such as Lady Nairn's exquisite "Land of the +Leal;" and really there is such delicacy, such minute accuracy in the +portrayal of a woman's feelings in "Are ye sure the news is true?" that +one cannot help thinking it must have been written by Jean Adams, or +some woman, rather than by Mickle:-- + + "His very foot has music in 't, + As he comes up the stair." + +What man has an ear so delicate as to hear such music? + +The contrast between Greek poetry and Scotch is very marked in this +point. There is not one Greek lyric devoted to what we should designate +love, with perhaps something like an exception in Alcman. In fact, while +moderns rarely make a tragedy or comedy, a poem or novel, without some +love-concern which is the pivot of the whole, all the great poems and +dramas of the ancients revolve on entirely different passions. Love, +such as we speak of, was of rather rare occurrence. Women were in such a +low position, that it was a condescension to notice them,--there was no +chivalrous feeling in regard to them; they were made to feel the +dominion of their absolute lords and masters. Besides this, the greater +number of them were confined to their private chambers, and seldom saw +any man who was not nearly related. Those who were on free terms of +intercourse with men, were for the most part strangers, whose morals +were low, and who could not be expected to win the respectful esteem of +true lovers. The men enjoyed the society of these--their tumbling, +dancing, singing, and lively chat; but the distance was too great to +permit that deep devotion which characterises modern love. Moreover, +when a Greek speaks of love, we have to remember that he fell in love as +often with a male companion as with a woman--he admired the beauty of a +fair youth, and he felt in his presence very much as a modern lover +feels in the presence of his sweetheart. We have, therefore, to examine +expressions of love cautiously. Anacreon says, for instance, that love +clave him with an axe, like a smith; but it seems far more likely that +the reference is to the affection excited by some charming youth.[1] We +have a specimen remaining of the nonchalant style in which he addressed +a woman, in the ode commencing "O Thracian mare!"--Schneidewin, Poet. +Lyr. Anac. fr. 47. + +The great poet of Love was not Anacreon, but Sappho, whose heart and +mind were both of the finest. Her life is involved in obscurity, but it +is probable that she was a strong advocate of woman's rights in her own +land; and as she found men falling in love with other men, so she took +special pains to win the affections of the young AEolian ladies, to train +them in all the accomplishments suited to woman's nature, and to +initiate them into the art of poetry,--that art without which, she says, +a woman's memory would be for ever forgotten, and she would go to the +house of Hades, to dwell with the shadowy dead, uncared for and unknown. +We have two poems of hers which have come down to us tolerably complete, +both, we think, addressed to some of her female friends, and both +remarkably sweet, touching, and beautiful. + +The Scottish songs devoted to other subjects than love are few, and +almost exclusively descriptive. Our sense of the humorous gives us a +delight in queer and odd characters, in which the Greeks probably would +not have participated. Though they had an abundance of wit, and a keen +perception of the ridiculous, no songs have reached us which are +intended to please by their pure absurdity and good-natured foolishness. +Archilochus and Hipponax wrote many a jocular song; but the fun of the +thing would have been lost, had the sting which they contained been +extracted. + +Nor do the Greeks seem to have cared much for descriptive songs. They +frequently introduced their heroes into their odes, but these were ever +living, ever present to their minds; and several of the songs written on +particular occasions were probably sung when the singer had no connexion +with the events. But they lived, like boys, too much in the present, to +throw themselves back into the past. They wished to give utterance to +the feelings of the moment in their own persons, and directly; while we +are content to be mere listeners, and are often as much pleased by the +occurrences of another's life as by the sentiments of our own hearts. + +We are remarkably deficient in what are called class-songs. The Greeks +had none of these, for there scarcely existed any classes but free and +slave. The people were all one--had the same interests and the same +emotions. There was far less of individuality with them than with us, +and there was still less of that feeling which divides society into +exclusive circles. A Greek turned his hand to anything that came in his +way, while division of labour has reached its utmost limit among us. We +can find, therefore, no contrast here between Greek and Scotch songs; +but we find a very marked one between Scotch and German. We have no +student-songs, very few expressive of the feelings of soldiers +(Lockhart's are almost the only), sailors, or of any other class. + +Indeed, we are deficient not only in class-songs, but in social-songs. +The Scotch propensity to indulge in drink is, unfortunately, notorious; +and yet our drinking-songs of a really social nature would be comprised +in a few pages. One sings of his coggie, as if he were in the custom of +gulping his whisky all alone; many describe the boisterous carousals in +which they made fools of themselves; not a few extol the power and +properties of whisky, and incite to Bacchanalian pleasures; and we have +several good songs suitable for singing at the close of an evening +pleasantly spent, but almost none which express the feelings that +naturally well-up when one sees his friends around him, becomes +exhilarated through pleasant social intercourse, and finds the path of +life smoothed and sweetened by the aid of his brothers. + +The reason of this peculiar circumstance is not far to seek. It lies in +the distinctive character of the two great classes into which the Scotch +have been divided since the Reformation, called, at the early period of +Scottish song, the Covenanters and the Cavaliers. The one party bowed +before religion, most scrupulously abstained from all worldly pleasures, +and regarded and denounced as sin, or something akin to it, every +approach to levity or frivolity. The other party was a wild rebound from +this. Sanctimoniousness was hateful in their eye; and not being able to +find a medium, they abjured religion, and rushed into the pleasures of +this life with headlong zest. The poets, in accordance with their +joy-loving natures, allied themselves to the latter class. There was +thus in Scotland a deep, dark gulf between the religious and the +poetical or beautiful, which has not yet been completely bridged over. +The consequence is, that the elder Scottish songs, of all songs, contain +the fewest references to the Divine Being. The name of God is never +mentioned unless in the caricatures of the Covenanters; and a foreigner, +taking up a book of Scottish songs written since the Reformation, and +judging of the religion of the Scotch from them alone, would be prone to +suppose that, if Scotland had any religion at all, it consisted in using +the name of the devil occasionally with respect or with dread. The +Cavaliers, in their most energetic moods, swore by him and by no other; +while the Covenanters had no songs at all, scarcely any poetry of any +kind, and doubtless would have regarded as impious the tracing of any +but the most spiritual pleasures to God. The words, for instance, which +Allan Cunningham puts into the mouth of a Covenanter, "I hae sworn by my +God, my Jeanie" (p. 17 of this volume), would still be regarded by many +people as profane. + +The case was the very opposite with the Greeks. Every joy, every sorrow, +was traced to the gods. They almost never opened their lips without an +allusion to their divinities. They sang their praises in their +processions and in all their public ceremonials. Wine was a gift from a +kind and beneficent god, to cheer their hearts and soothe the sorrows of +life. And they delighted in invoking his presence, in celebrating his +adventures, and in using moderately and piously the blessings which he +bestowed on them. Then, again, when love seized them, it was a god that +had taken possession of their minds. They at once recognised a superior +power, and they worshipped him in song with heart and soul. In fact, +whatever be the subject of song, the gods are recognised as the rulers +of the destinies of men, and the causes of all their joys and sorrows. +We cannot expect such a strong infusion of the supernatural in modern +lays, but still we have enough of it in German songs to form a +remarkable contrast to Scotch. Take any German song-book, and you will +immediately come upon a recognition of a higher power as the spring of +our joys, and upon an expressed desire to use them, so as to bring us +nearer one another, and to make us more honest, upright, happy, and +contented men. Let this one verse, taken from a song of Schiller's, in +singing which a German's heart is sure to glow, suffice:-- + + "Joy sparkles to us from the bowl! + Behold the juice, whose golden colour + To meekness melts the savage soul, + And gives despair a hero's valour! + + "Up, brothers! Lo, we crown the cup! + Lo, the wine flashes to the brim! + Let the bright foam spring heavenward! 'Up!' + TO THE GOOD SPIRIT--this glass to HIM! + +_Chorus._ + + "Praised by the ever-whirling ring + Of stars and tuneful seraphim-- + TO THE GOOD SPIRIT--the Father-king + In heaven!--this glass to Him!"[2] + +We meet with the contrast in the Reformers of the respective +nations--Knox and Luther. Knox, ever stern, frowning on all the +amusements of the palace and the people, and indifferent to every +species of poetry; Luther, often drinking his mug of ale in a tavern, +making and singing his tunes and songs, and though frequently enough +tormented by devils, yet still ready to throw aside the cares of life +for a while, and enjoy himself in hearty intercourse with the various +classes of the people. Who would have expected the German Reformer to be +the author of the couplet-- + + "He who loves not women, wine, and song, + Will be a fool his whole life long." + +And yet he was. And his songs, sacred though most of them be, have a +place in German song-books to this day. + +Though Scottish songs seldom refer to a Divine Being, yet they are very +far from being without their noble sentiments and inspirations. On the +contrary, they have frequently sustained the moral life of a man. "Who +dare measure in doubt," says William Thom in his "Recollections," "the +restraining influences of these very songs? To us, they were all instead +of sermons.... Poets were indeed our priests. But for those, the last +relict of our moral existence would have surely passed away!" + +Yet there is a marked contrast between the very aims of Scottish and +Greek song-writers. The Scottish wish merely to please, and consequently +never concern themselves with any of the deeper subjects of this life or +the life to come. There is seldom an allusion to death, or to any of the +great realities that sternly meet the gaze of a contemplative man. There +may be a few exceptions in the case of pious song-writers, like Lady +Nairn; but even such poets are shy of making songs the vehicle of what +is serious or profound. The Greeks, on the other hand, regarding their +poets as inspired, expected from them the deepest wisdom, and in fact +delighted in any verse which threw light on the great mysteries of life +and death. Thus it happens that the remains of the Greek lyric poets, +especially the later, such as Simonides and Bacchylides, are principally +of a deeply moral cast. The Greeks do not seem to have had the +extravagant rage which now prevails for merely figurative language. They +sought for truth itself, and the man became a poet who clothed living +truths in the most appropriate and expressive words. + +There is a remarkable contrast between the Scotch and Greeks in their +historical songs. The lyric muse sings at great epochs, because then the +deepest emotions of the human heart are roused. But since, in Greece, +the states were small, and every emotion thrilled through all the free +citizens, there was more of determined and unanimous feeling than with +us, and consequently a greater desire to see the heroic deeds of +themselves or their fellows wedded to verse. And then, too, the poet did +not live apart; he was one of the people, a soldier and a citizen as +well as others, and animated by exactly the same feelings, though with +greater rapture. This is the reason why the Greeks abounded in songs in +honour of their brave. At the time of the resistance to the Persian +invasion, there was no end to the encomiums and paeans. Almost every +individual hero was celebrated, and these songs were made by the +acknowledged masters of the lyre, such as AEschylus and Simonides. With +us, great deeds have to wait their poets. Distance of time must first +throw around them a poetic hue; and after the hero has sunk unnoticed +into a nameless grave, the bard showers his praises on him, and his +worth is universally recognised. Or if his merits are discerned before +his death, song is not one of the appointed organs through which our +people demand that he should be praised. If a heroic action gets its +poet, the people will listen; but if it pass unsung, none will regret +it. Besides, we do not discern the poetry of the present so strongly as +the Greeks did. Everything with them seems to have been capable of +finding its way into verse. Alcman delights in speaking of his porridge, +and Alcaeus of the various implements of war which adorned his hall. The +real world in which the Greeks moved had the most powerful attraction +for them. This is also, in a great measure, true of the unknown poets, +who have contributed so much to Scottish minstrelsy in the days of the +later Stuarts. There is no squeamishness about the introduction of +realities, whatever they be; and the people took delight in a mere +series of names skilfully strung together, or even in an enumeration of +household articles or dishes.[3] + +This pleasure in the contemplation of the actual things around us, is +not nearly so great in modern cultivated minds. We are continually +trying to get out of ourselves, to transport ourselves to other times, +and to throw ourselves into bygone scenes and characters. Hence it is +that almost all our best historical songs, written in these days, have +their basis in the past; and the one which moves us most powerfully, +"Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled," actually carries us back to the times +of Robert the Bruce. + +It is rather singular that most of the Scottish songs which refer to our +history, are essentially aristocratic, and favourable to the divine +right of kings. The Covenanters--our true freemen--disdained the use of +the poet's pen. They uttered none of their aspirations for freedom in +song, and thus the Royalists had the whole field of song-writing to +themselves. Such was the state of matters until Burns rose from amidst +the people, and sang in his own grand way of the inherent dignity of man +as man, and of the rights of labour. It is one of the frequent +contradictions which we see in human nature, that the very same people +who sing "A Man's a Man for a' that," and "Scots wha hae," mourn over +the unfortunate fate of Bonnie Prince Charlie, and lament his disasters, +as if his succession to the throne of Scotland would have been a +blessing. Notwithstanding, however, what Burns has done, Scotland is +still deficient in songs embodying her ardent love of freedom. Liberty +and her blessings are still unsung. It was not so in Greece, especially +in Athens. The whole city echoed with hymns in its praise, and the +people wiled away their leisure in making little chants on the men who +they fancied had given the death-blow to tyranny. The scolia of +Callistratus, beginning, "I'll wreathe my sword in myrtle bow," are well +known. + +Few of the patriotic songs of the Greeks are extant, and it is probable +that they were not so numerous as ours. Institutions had a more powerful +hold on them than localities. They were proud of themselves as Greeks, +and of their traditions; but wherever they wandered, they carried Greece +with them, for they were part of Greece themselves. Thus we may account +for the absence of Greek songs expressive of longing for their native +land, and of attachment to their native soil. We, on the other hand, +have very many patriotic songs, full of that warm enthusiasm which every +Scotsman justly feels for his country, and containing frequently a much +higher estimate of ourselves and our position than other nations would +reckon true or fair. In these songs, we are exceedingly confined in our +sympathies. The nationality is stronger than the humanity. We have no +such songs as the German, "Was ist des Deutschen Vaterland?" + +Perhaps there is no point in which the Greeks contrast with the Scotch +and all moderns more strikingly than in their mode of describing nature. +This contrast holds good only between the cultivated Greek and the +cultivated modern; for the cultivated Greek and the uncultivated +Scotsman are one in this respect. Perhaps we should state it most +correctly, if we say that the Greek never pictures natural scenery with +words--the modern often makes the attempt. There is no song like Burns's +"Birks o' Aberfeldy," or even like the "Welcome to May"[4] of early +Scottish poetry, in the Greek lyric poets. The Greek poet seizes one or +two characteristic traits in which he himself finds pleasure; but his +descriptions are not nicely shaded, minute, or calculated to bring the +landscape before the mind's eye. No doubt, the Greek was led to this +course by an instinct. For, first, his interest in inanimate nature was +nothing as compared to his strong sympathies with man. He had not +discovered that "God made the country, and man made the town." The gods, +according to his notion, ruled the destinies of man, and every thought +and device of man were inspirations from above. He saw infinitely more +of deity in his fellow-men--in his and their pleasures, pursuits, and +hopes--than in all the insentient things on the face of the earth; and +consequently he clung to men. He delighted in representations of them; +and in embodying his conceptions of the gods, he gave them the human +form as the noblest and most beautiful of all forms. Nature was merely a +background exquisitely beautiful, but not to be enjoyed without the +presence of man. And, secondly, though the Greeks may not have +enunciated the principle, that poetry is not the art suited for +picturing nature, still they probably had an instinctive feeling of its +truth. Poetry, as Lessing pointed out in his Laocoon, has the element of +time in it, and is therefore inapplicable in the description of those +things which, while composed of various parts, must be comprehended at +one glance before the right impression is produced. Look how our modern +poet goes to work! He has a fair scene before his fancy. He paints every +part of it, with no reason why one part should be placed before +another,--and as you read it, you have to piece each part together, as +in a child's dissected map; and after you have constructed the whole out +of the fragments, you have to imagine the effect. The Greek told you the +effect at once,--he gave up the attempt to picture the scene in words. +But when he had to deal with any part of nature that had life or motion +in it--in fact, any element of time--then he was as minute as the most +thorough Wordsworthian could wish. How admirably, for instance, does +Homer describe the advance of a foam-crested wave, or the rush of a +lion, the swoop of an eagle, or the trail of a serpent! + +The Greeks were as much gladdened by the sight of flowers as moderns. +Did they not use them continually on all festive occasions, public and +private? But minuteness of detail was out of the question in poetry. The +poet was not to play the painter or the naturalist. And it had not yet +become the fashion to profess a mysterious inexpressible joy in the +observation of natural scenery. Nor had men as yet retired from human +society in disgust, or in search of freedom from sin, and betaken +themselves to the love of pure inanimate objects instead of the love of +sin-stained man. It had not yet become unlawful, as it did with the +Arabs afterwards, to represent the human form in sculpture. Human nature +was not looked on as so contemptible, that it would be appropriate to +represent human bodies writhing under gargoyles, as in Gothic churches, +or beneath pillars, as in Stirling Palace. The human form was then +considered diviner than the forms of lions or flowers. + +In bold personification of natural objects, the Greeks could not be +easily surpassed. In reality, it was not personification with them,--it +was simply the result of the ideas they had formed regarding causation. +If a river flowed down, fringed with flowery banks, they imagined there +must be some cause for this, and so they summoned up before their fancy +a beautiful river-god crowned with a garland. Even in the more common +process of making nature pour back on us the sentiments we unconsciously +lend her, the Greeks were very far from deficient. The passage in which +Alcman describes the hills, and all the tribes of living things as +asleep,[5] and the celebrated fragment of Simonides on Danae, where she +says, "Let the deep sleep, let immeasurable evil sleep," are only two +out of very many instances that might be quoted. + +Perhaps the most marked instance of the poetic instinct of the Greeks, +is their avoiding descriptions of personal beauty. Though they were +permeated by the idea, and thrillingly sensitive to it, it is easier to +tell what a Scotch poet regards as elements of beauty than what a Greek +did. A beautiful person with the Greek is a beautiful person; and that +is all he says about the matter. This is not true of the Anacreontics, +or of the Latin poets. Now, in Scotland, again, there is little feeling +of beauty of any kind. A Scottish boy wantonly mars a beautiful object +for mere fun. There is not a monument set up, not a fine building or +ornament, but will soon have a chip struck off it, if a Scotch boy can +get near it. And the Scotsman, as a general matter, sees beauty nowhere +except in a "bonnie lassie." Even then, when he comes to define what he +thinks beautiful features, he is at fault, and there are songs in praise +of the narrow waist, and other enormities-- + + "She 's backet like a peacock; + She 's breasted like a swan; + She 's jimp about the middle, + Her waist you weel may span-- + Her waist you weel may span; + And she has a rolling e'e, + And for bonnie Annie Laurie + I 'd lay down my head and die." + +It is needless to say that we are very far from having exhausted our +subject. Few contrasts could be greater than that which exists between +Greek and Scotch songs, and perhaps mainly for this reason, that +Scotland has felt so very little of the influence of Greek literature. +German poetry had its origin in a revived study of the great Greek +classics; and such a study is the very thing required to give breadth to +our character, and to supplement its most striking deficiencies. + + +[1] Later writers attributed to Anacreon immoralities in Paiderastia of +which they themselves were guilty, but of which there is not the +slightest trace in him, or indeed in any of the early bards. Welcker +(Sappho von einem herrschenden Vorurtheile befreit) has successfully +defended the character of Sappho from the accusations of a later age, +and it would be easy to do the same both for Alcaeus and Anacreon. + +[2] Schiller's Poems and Ballads, by Bulwer, vol. ii., p. 122. The whole +song should be read. Bulwer calls it a "Hymn to Joy," Schiller himself, +simply, "To Joy." + +[3] There is a curious instance of this in the song, "The Blithesome +Bridal."--Chambers's "Scottish Songs," p. 71. + +[4] Sibbald's "Chronicle of Scottish Poetry," vol. iii., p. 193. + +[5] Campbell has translated this fragment, but he has not retained the +simplicity of the original. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + PAGE + +ALLAN CUNNINGHAM, 1 + She 's gane to dwall in heaven, 9 + The lovely lass of Preston mill, 10 + Gane were but the winter cauld, 12 + It's hame, and it's hame, 13 + The lovely lass of Inverness, 14 + A wet sheet and a flowing sea, 15 + The bonnie bark, 16 + Thou hast sworn by thy God, my Jeanie, 17 + Young Eliza, 19 + Lovely woman, 20 + +EBENEZER PICKEN, 22 + Peggie wi' the glancin' e'e, 24 + Woo me again, 25 + +STUART LEWIS, 27 + Lanark mills, 30 + O'er the muir, 31 + +DAVID DRUMMOND, 34 + The bonnie lass o' Levenside, 36 + +JAMES AFFLECK, 38 + How blest were the days, 39 + +JAMES STIRRAT, 40 + Henry, 41 + Mary, 42 + +JOHN GRIEVE, 43 + Culloden; or, Lochiel's Farewell, 46 + Lovely Mary, 48 + Her blue rollin' e'e, 48 + +CHARLES GRAY, 50 + Maggie Lauder, 52 + Charlie is my darling, 53 + The black-e'ed lassie, 54 + Grim winter was howlin', 55 + +JOHN FINLAY, 57 + O! come with me, 59 + 'Tis not the rose upon the cheek, 60 + I heard the evening linnet's voice, 61 + Oh! dear were the joys, 62 + +WILLIAM NICHOLSON, 63 + The braes of Galloway, 65 + The hills of the Highlands, 66 + The banks of Tarf, 67 + O! will ye go to yon burn-side? 68 + +ALEXANDER RODGER, 71 + Sweet Bet of Aberdeen, 73 + Behave yoursel' before folk, 74 + Lovely maiden, 76 + The peasant's fireside, 78 + Ah, no! I cannot say "Farewell," 79 + +JOHN WILSON, 81 + Mary Gray's song, 86 + The three seasons of love, 88 + Prayer to Sleep, 90 + +DAVID WEBSTER, 91 + Tak it, man; tak it, 92 + Oh, sweet were the hours, 94 + Pate Birnie, 95 + +WILLIAM PARK, 97 + The patriot's song, 99 + +THOMAS PRINGLE, 102 + Farewell to bonnie Teviotdale, 106 + The exile's lament, 107 + Love and solitude, 108 + Come awa', come awa', 109 + Dearest love, believe me, 110 + +WILLIAM KNOX, 112 + The dear Land o' Cakes, 114 + The lament, 116 + To Mary, 116 + +WILLIAM THOM, 118 + Jeanie's grave, 121 + They speak o' wiles, 122 + The mitherless bairn, 123 + The lass o' Kintore, 124 + My hameless ha', 125 + +WILLIAM GLEN, 126 + Waes me for Prince Charlie! 128 + Mary of sweet Aberfoyle, 129 + The battle-song, 131 + The maid of Oronsey, 134 + Jess M'Lean, 136 + How eerily, how drearily, 137 + The battle of Vittoria, 139 + Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, 140 + Fareweel to Aberfoyle, 141 + +DAVID VEDDER, 143 + Jeanie's welcome hame, 146 + I neither got promise of siller, 147 + There is a pang for every heart, 148 + The first of May, 149 + Song of the Scottish exile, 150 + The tempest is raging, 151 + The temple of nature, 152 + +JOHN M'DIARMID, 155 + Nithside, 158 + Evening, 159 + +PETER BUCHAN, 162 + Thou gloomy Feberwar, 164 + +WILLIAM FINLAY, 166 + The breaking heart, 167 + The auld emigrant's fareweel to Scotland, 167 + O'er mountain and valley, 169 + +JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART, 171 + Broadswords of Scotland, 177 + Captain Paton's lament, 178 + Canadian boat-song, 183 + +THOMAS MATHERS, 184 + Early love, 185 + +JAMES BROWN, 186 + My Peggy's far away, 187 + Love brought me a bough, 188 + How 's a' wi' ye, 189 + Oh! sair I feel the witching power, 192 + +DANIEL WEIR, 194 + See the moon, 196 + Love is timid, 196 + Raven's stream, 197 + Oh! our childhood's once delightful hours, 198 + Could we but look beyond our sphere, 199 + In the morning of life, 200 + On the death of a promising child, 201 + The dying hour, 202 + The midnight wind, 203 + +ROBERT DAVIDSON, 206 + Farewell to Caledonia, 207 + On visiting the scenes of early days, 208 + To wander lang in foreign lands, 210 + +PETER ROGER, 212 + Lovely Jean, 214 + +JOHN MALCOLM, 215 + The music of the night, 217 + The sea, 218 + +ERSKINE CONOLLY, 220 + Mary Macneil, 221 + There 's a thrill of emotion, 222 + +GEORGE MENZIES, 223 + The braes of Auchinblae, 224 + Fare thee weel, 225 + +JOHN SIM, 226 + Nae mair we 'll meet, 227 + Bonnie Peggy, 227 + Now, Mary, now the struggle 's o'er, 229 + +WILLIAM MOTHERWELL, 230 + Jeanie Morrison, 233 + Wearie's Well, 236 + Wae be to the orders, 238 + The midnight wind, 239 + He is gone! he is gone! 240 + +DAVID MACBETH MOIR, 242 + Casa Wappy, 245 + Farewell, our fathers' land, 249 + Heigh ho, 250 + +ROBERT FRASER, 252 + Oh, I lo'ed my lassie weel, 253 + +JAMES HISLOP, 254 + The Cameronian's dream, 257 + How sweet the dewy bell is spread, 259 + +ROBERT GILFILLAN, 261 + Manor braes, 262 + Fare thee well, 263 + The first rose of summer, 264 + The exile's song, 264 + The happy days o' youth, 266 + 'Tis sair to dream, 267 + + +METRICAL TRANSLATIONS FROM THE MODERN GAELIC MINSTRELSY. + +WILLIAM ROSS, 271 + The Highland May, 272 + The Celt and the stranger, 274 + Cormac's cure, 274 + The last lay of love, 276 + +LACHLAN MACVURICH, 279 + The exile of Cluny, 280 + +JAMES M'LAGGAN, 282 + Song of the royal Highland regiment, 284 + + * * * * * + +GLOSSARY, 287 + + + + +THE + +MODERN SCOTTISH MINSTREL. + + + + +ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. + + +Allan Cunningham was born at Blackwood, in Nithside, Dumfriesshire, on +the 7th December 1784. Of his ancestry, some account has been given in +the memoir of his elder brother Thomas.[6] He was the fourth son of his +parents, and from both of them inherited shrewdness and strong +talent.[7] Receiving an ordinary elementary education at a school, +taught by an enthusiastic Cameronian, he was apprenticed in his eleventh +year to his eldest brother James as a stone-mason. His hours of leisure +were applied to mental improvement; he read diligently the considerable +collection of books possessed by his father, and listened to the +numerous legendary tales which his mother took delight in narrating at +the family hearth. A native love for verse-making, which he possessed in +common with his brother Thomas, was fostered and strengthened by his +being early brought into personal contact with the poet Burns. In 1790, +his father removed to Dalswinton, in the capacity of land-steward to Mr +Miller, the proprietor, and Burns' farm of Ellisland lay on the opposite +side of the Nith. The two families in consequence met very frequently; +and Allan, though a mere boy, was sufficiently sagacious to appreciate +the merits of the great bard. Though, at the period of Burns' death, in +1796, he was only twelve years old, the appearance and habits of the +poet had left an indelible impression on his mind. + +In his fifteenth year, Allan had the misfortune to lose his father, who +had sunk to the grave under the pressure of poverty and misfortune; he +thus became necessitated to assist in the general support of the family. +At the age of eighteen he obtained the acquaintance of the Ettrick +Shepherd; Hogg was then tending the flocks of Mr Harkness of +Mitchelslack, in Nithsdale, and Cunningham, who had read some of his +stray ballads, formed a high estimate of his genius. Along with his +elder brother James, he paid a visit to the Shepherd one autumn +afternoon on the great hill of Queensberry; and the circumstances of the +meeting, Hogg has been at pains minutely to record. James Cunningham +came forward and frankly addressed the Shepherd, asking if his name was +Hogg, and at the same time supplying his own; he then introduced his +brother Allan, who diffidently lagged behind, and proceeded to assure +the Shepherd that he had brought to see him "the greatest admirer he had +on earth, and himself a young aspiring poet of some promise." Hogg +warmly saluted his brother bard, and, taking both the strangers to his +booth on the hill-side, the three spent the afternoon happily together, +rejoicing over the viands of a small bag of provisions, and a bottle of +milk, and another of whisky. Hogg often afterwards visited the +Cunninghams at Dalswinton, and was forcibly struck with Allan's +luxuriant though unpruned fancy. He had already written some ingenious +imitations of Ossian, and of the elder Scottish bards. + +On the publication of the "Lay of the Last Minstrel," in 1805, +Cunningham contrived to save twenty-four shillings of his wages to +purchase it, and forthwith committed the poem to memory. On perusing the +poem of "Marmion," his enthusiasm was boundless; he undertook a journey +to Edinburgh that he might look upon the person of the illustrious +author. In a manner sufficiently singular, his wish was realised. +Passing and repassing in front of Scott's house in North Castle Street, +he was noticed by a lady from the window of the adjoining house, who +addressed him by name, and caused her servant to admit him. The lady was +a person of some consideration from his native district, who had fixed +her residence in the capital. He had just explained to her the object of +his Edinburgh visit, when Scott made his appearance in the street. +Passing his own door, he knocked at that of the house from the window of +which his young admirer was anxiously gazing on his stalwart figure. As +the lady of the house had not made Scott's acquaintance, she gently laid +hold on Allan's arm, inducing him to be silent, to notice the result of +the proceeding. Scott, in a reverie of thought, had passed his own +door; observing a number of children's bonnets in the lobby, he suddenly +perceived his mistake, and, apologising to the servant, hastily +withdrew. + +Cunningham's elder brother Thomas, and his friend Hogg, were already +contributors to the _Scots' Magazine_. Allan made offer of some poetical +pieces to that periodical which were accepted. He first appears in the +magazine in 1807, under the signature of _Hidallan_. In 1809, Mr Cromek, +the London engraver, visited Dumfries, in the course of collecting +materials for his "Reliques of Robert Burns;" he was directed to Allan +Cunningham, as one who, having known Burns personally, and being himself +a poet, was likely to be useful in his researches. On forming his +acquaintance, Cromek at once perceived his important acquisition with +respect to his immediate object, but expressed a desire first to examine +some of his own compositions. Allan acceded to the request, but received +only a moderate share of praise from the pedantic antiquary. Cromek +urged him to collect the elder minstrelsy of Nithsdale and Galloway as +an exercise more profitable than the composition of verses. On returning +to London, Cromek received from his young friend packets of "old songs," +which called forth his warmest encomiums. He entreated him to come to +London to push his fortune,--an invitation which was readily accepted. +For some time Cunningham was an inmate of Cromek's house, when he was +entrusted with passing through the press the materials which he had +transmitted, with others collected from different sources; and which, +formed into a volume, under the title of "Remains of Nithsdale and +Galloway Song," were published in 1810 by Messrs Cadell and Davies. The +work excited no inconsiderable attention, though most of the readers +perceived, what Cromek had not even suspected, that the greater part of +the ballads were of modern origin. Cromek did not survive to be made +cognizant of the amusing imposition which had been practised on his +credulity. + +Fortune did not smile on Cunningham's first entrance into business in +London. He was compelled to resume his former occupation as a mason, and +is said to have laid pavement in Newgate Street. From this humble +position he rose to a situation in the studio of Bubb, the sculptor; and +through the counsel of Eugenius Roche, the former editor of the +"Literary Recreations," and then the conductor of _The Day_ newspaper, +he was induced to lay aside the trowel and undertake the duties of +reporter to that journal. _The Day_ soon falling into the hands of other +proprietors, Cunningham felt his situation uncomfortable, and returned +to his original vocation, attaching himself to Francis Chantrey, then a +young sculptor just commencing business. Chantrey soon rose, and +ultimately attained the summit of professional reputation; Cunningham +continued by him as the superintendent of his establishment till the +period of his death, long afterwards. + +Devoted to business, and not unfrequently occupied in the studio from +eight o'clock morning till six o'clock evening, Cunningham perseveringly +followed the career of a poet and man of letters. In 1813, he published +a volume of lyrics, entitled "Songs, chiefly in the Rural Language of +Scotland." After an interval of nine years, sedulously improved by an +ample course of reading, he produced in 1822 "Sir Marmaduke Maxwell, a +Dramatic Poem." In this work, which is much commended by Sir Walter +Scott in the preface to the "Fortunes of Nigel," he depicts the manners +and traditions he had seen and heard on the banks of the Nith. In 1819, +he began to contribute to _Blackwood's Magazine_, and from 1822 to 1824 +wrote largely for the _London Magazine_. Two collected volumes of his +contributions to these periodicals were afterwards published, under the +title of "Traditional Tales." In 1825, he gave to the world "The Songs +of Scotland, Ancient and Modern, with an Introduction and Notes," in +four volumes 8vo. This work abounds in much valuable and curious +criticism. "Paul Jones," a romance in three volumes, was the product of +1826; it was eminently successful. A second romance from his pen, "Sir +Michael Scott," published in 1828, in three volumes, did not succeed. +"The Anniversary," a miscellany which appeared in the winter of that +year, under his editorial superintendence, obtained an excellent +reception. From 1829 to 1833, he produced for "Murray's Family Library" +his most esteemed prose work, "The Lives of the Most Eminent British +Painters, Sculptors, and Architects," in six volumes. "The Maid of +Elvar," an epic poem in the Spenserian stanza, connected with the +chivalrous enterprise displayed in the warfare between Scotland and +England, during the reign of Henry VIII., was published in 1832. His +admirable edition of the works of Robert Burns appeared in 1834, and +5000 copies were speedily sold.[8] In 1836, he published "Lord Roldan," +a romance. From 1830 to 1834, he was a constant writer in _The +Athenaeum_, to which, among many interesting articles, he contributed his +sentiments regarding the literary characters of the times, in a series +of papers entitled "Literature of the Last Fifty Years." He wrote a +series of prose descriptions for "Major's Cabinet Gallery," a "History +of the Rise and Progress of the Fine Arts," for the "Popular +Encyclopaedia;" an introduction, and a few additional lives, for +"Pilkington's Painters," and a life of Thomson for Tilt's illustrated +edition of "The Seasons." He contemplated a great work, to be entitled +"Lives of the British Poets," and this design, which he did not live to +accomplish, is likely to be realised by his son, Mr Peter Cunningham. +His last publication was the "Life of Sir David Wilkie," which he +completed just two days before his death. He was suddenly seized with an +apoplectic attack, and died after a brief illness on the 29th October +1842. His remains were interred in Kensal-green Cemetery. He had +married, in July 1811, Miss Jane Walker of Preston Mill, near Dumfries, +who still survives. Of a family of four sons and one daughter, three of +the sons held military appointments in India, and the fourth, who fills +a post in Somerset House, is well known for his contributions to +literature. + +Allan Cunningham ranks next to Hogg as a writer of Scottish song. He +sung of the influences of beauty, and of the hills and vales of his own +dear Scotland. His songs abound in warmth of expression, simplicity of +sentiment, and luxuriousness of fancy. Of his skill as a Scottish poet, +Hogg has thus testified his appreciation in the "Queen's Wake":-- + + "Of the old elm his harp was made, + That bent o'er Cluden's loneliest shade; + No gilded sculpture round her flamed, + For his own hand that harp had framed, + In stolen hours, when, labour done, + He stray'd to view the parting sun. + + * * * * * + + That harp could make the matron stare, + Bristle the peasant's hoary hair, + Make patriot breasts with ardour glow, + And warrior pant to meet the foe; + And long by Nith the maidens young + Shall chant the strains their minstrel sung. + At ewe-bught, or at evening fold, + When resting on the daisied wold, + Combing their locks of waving gold, + Oft the fair group, enrapt, shall name + Their lost, their darling Cunninghame; + His was a song beloved in youth, + A tale of weir, a tale of truth." + +As a prose writer, Cunningham was believed by Southey to have the best +style ever attained by any one born north of the Tweed, Hume only +excepted. His moral qualities were well appreciated by Sir Walter Scott, +who commonly spoke of him as "Honest Allan." His person was broad and +powerful, and his countenance wore a fine intelligence. + + +[6] See vol. ii., p. 223. + +[7] Besides Thomas and Allan, the other members of the family afforded +evidence of talent. James, the eldest son, with a limited education, was +intimately familiar with general literature, and occasionally +contributed to the periodicals. He began his career as a stone-mason, +and by his ability and perseverance rose to the respectable position of +a master builder. He died at Dalswinton, near Dumfries, on the 27th July +1832. John, the third brother, who died in early life, evinced a turn +for mechanism, and wrote respectable verses. Peter, the fifth son, +studied medicine, and became a surgeon in the navy; he still survives, +resident at Greenwich, and is known as the author of two respectable +works, bearing the titles, "Two Years in New South Wales," and "Hints to +Australian Emigrants." Of the five daughters, one of whom only survives, +all gave evidence of intellectual ability. + +[8] Writing to Mr Gabriel Neil of Glasgow, in January 1834, along with a +copy of the first volume, Cunningham remarks, "I hope you will like the +Life; a third of it is new, so are many of the anecdotes, and I am +willing to stand or fall as an author by it." Mr Neil, it may be added, +contributed to Cunningham a great deal of original information as to the +life of the poet, and also some of his unpublished poems. + + + + +SHE 'S GANE TO DWALL IN HEAVEN. + + + She 's gane to dwall in heaven, my lassie, + She 's gane to dwall in heaven: + "Ye 're owre pure," quo' the voice o' God, + "For dwalling out o' heaven!" + + Oh, what 'll she do in heaven, my lassie? + Oh, what 'll she do in heaven? + She 'll mix her ain thoughts wi' angels' sangs, + And make them mair meet for heaven. + + She was beloved by a', my lassie, + She was beloved by a'; + But an angel fell in love wi' her, + An' took her frae us a'. + + Lowly there thou lies, my lassie, + Lowly there thou lies; + A bonnier form ne'er went to the yird, + Nor frae it will arise! + + Fu' soon I 'll follow thee, my lassie, + Fu' soon I 'll follow thee; + Thou left me naught to covet ahin', + But took gudeness sel' wi' thee. + + I look'd on thy death-cold face, my lassie, + I look'd on thy death-cold face; + Thou seem'd a lily new cut i' the bud, + An' fading in its place. + + I look'd on thy death-shut eye, my lassie, + I look'd on thy death-shut eye; + An' a lovelier light in the brow of Heaven + Fell Time shall ne'er destroy. + + Thy lips were ruddy and calm, my lassie, + Thy lips were ruddy and calm; + But gane was the holy breath o' Heaven, + That sang the evening psalm. + + There 's naught but dust now mine, lassie, + There 's naught but dust now mine; + My soul 's wi' thee i' the cauld grave, + An' why should I stay behin'? + + + + +THE LOVELY LASS OF PRESTON MILL. + + + The lark had left the evening cloud, + The dew was soft, the wind was lowne, + The gentle breath amang the flowers + Scarce stirr'd the thistle's tap o' down; + The dappled swallow left the pool, + The stars were blinking owre the hill, + As I met amang the hawthorns green + The lovely lass of Preston Mill. + + Her naked feet, amang the grass, + Seem'd like twa dew-gemm'd lilies fair; + Her brow shone comely 'mang her locks, + Dark curling owre her shoulders bare; + Her cheeks were rich wi' bloomy youth; + Her lips had words and wit at will, + And heaven seem'd looking through her een, + The lovely lass of Preston Mill. + + Quo' I, "Sweet lass, will ye gang wi' me, + Where blackcocks crow, and plovers cry? + Six hills are woolly wi' my sheep, + Six vales are lowing wi' my kye: + I have look'd lang for a weel-favour'd lass, + By Nithsdale's holmes an' mony a hill;" + She hung her head like a dew-bent rose, + The lovely lass of Preston Mill. + + Quo' I, "Sweet maiden, look nae down, + But gie 's a kiss, and gang wi' me:" + A lovelier face, oh! never look'd up, + And the tears were drapping frae her e'e: + "I hae a lad, wha 's far awa', + That weel could win a woman's will; + My heart 's already fu' o' love," + Quo' the lovely lass of Preston Mill. + + "Now wha is he wha could leave sic a lass, + To seek for love in a far countrie?" + Her tears drapp'd down like simmer dew: + I fain wad kiss'd them frae her e'e. + I took but ane o' her comely cheek; + "For pity's sake, kind sir, be still! + My heart is fu' o' ither love," + Quo' the lovely lass of Preston Mill. + + She stretch'd to heaven her twa white hands, + And lifted up her watery e'e-- + "Sae lang 's my heart kens aught o' God, + Or light is gladsome to my e'e; + While woods grow green, and burns rin clear, + Till my last drap o' blood be still, + My heart shall haud nae other love," + Quo' the lovely lass of Preston Mill. + + There 's comely maids on Dee's wild banks, + And Nith's romantic vale is fu'; + By lanely Cluden's hermit stream + Dwells mony a gentle dame, I trow. + Oh, they are lights of a gladsome kind, + As ever shone on vale or hill; + But there 's a light puts them a' out, + The lovely lass of Preston Mill. + + + + +GANE WERE BUT THE WINTER CAULD. + + + Gane were but the winter cauld, + And gane were but the snaw, + I could sleep in the wild woods, + Where primroses blaw. + + Cauld 's the snaw at my head, + And cauld at my feet, + And the finger o' death 's at my een, + Closing them to sleep. + + Let nane tell my father, + Or my mither dear: + I 'll meet them baith in heaven, + At the spring o' the year. + + + + +IT 'S HAME, AND IT 'S HAME. + + + It 's hame, and it 's hame, hame fain wad I be, + An' it 's hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! + When the flower is i' the bud, and the leaf is on the tree, + The lark shall sing me hame in my ain countrie; + It 's hame, and it 's hame, hame fain wad I be, + An' it 's hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! + + The green leaf o' loyalty 's beginning for to fa', + The bonnie white rose it is withering an' a': + But I 'll water 't wi' the blude of usurping tyrannie, + An' green it will grow in my ain countrie. + It 's hame, and it 's hame, hame fain wad I be, + An' it 's hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! + + There 's naught now frae ruin my country to save, + But the keys o' kind Heaven to open the grave, + That a' the noble martyrs who died for loyaltie, + May rise again and fight for their ain countrie. + It 's hame, and it 's hame, hame fain wad I be, + And it 's hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! + + The great now are gane, a' who ventured to save, + The new grass is springing on the tap o' their grave; + But the sun through the mirk blinks blithe in my e'e: + "I 'll shine on ye yet in your ain countrie." + It 's hame, an' it 's hame, hame fain wad I be, + An' it 's hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! + + + + +THE LOVELY LASS OF INVERNESS. + + + There lived a lass in Inverness, + She was the pride of a' the town; + Blithe as the lark on gowan-tap, + When frae the nest but newly flown. + At kirk she won the auld folks' love, + At dance she was the young men's een; + She was the blithest aye o' the blithe, + At wooster-trystes or Hallowe'en. + + As I came in by Inverness, + The simmer-sun was sinking down; + Oh, there I saw the weel-faur'd lass, + And she was greeting through the town: + The gray-hair'd men were a' i' the streets, + And auld dames crying, (sad to see!) + "The flower o' the lads of Inverness + Lie dead upon Culloden-lee!" + + She tore her haffet-links of gowd, + And dighted aye her comely e'e; + "My father's head 's on Carlisle wall, + At Preston sleep my brethren three! + I thought my heart could haud nae mair, + Mae tears could ever blin' my e'e; + But the fa' o' ane has burst my heart, + A dearer ane there couldna be! + + "He trysted me o' love yestreen, + Of love-tokens he gave me three; + But he 's faulded i' the arms o' weir, + Oh, ne'er again to think o' me! + The forest flowers shall be my bed, + My food shall be the wild berrie, + The fa' o' the leaf shall co'er me cauld, + And wauken'd again I winna be." + + Oh weep, oh weep, ye Scottish dames, + Weep till ye blin' a mither's e'e; + Nae reeking ha' in fifty miles, + But naked corses, sad to see. + Oh spring is blithesome to the year, + Trees sprout, flowers spring, and birds sing hie; + But oh! what spring can raise them up, + That lie on dread Culloden-lee? + + The hand o' God hung heavy here, + And lightly touch'd foul tyrannie; + It struck the righteous to the ground, + And lifted the destroyer hie. + "But there 's a day," quo' my God in prayer, + "When righteousness shall bear the gree; + I 'll rake the wicked low i' the dust, + And wauken, in bliss, the gude man's e'e!" + + + + +A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA. + + + A wet sheet and a flowing sea, + A wind that follows fast, + And fills the white and rustling sail, + And bends the gallant mast; + And bends the gallant mast, my boys, + While, like the eagle free, + Away the good ship flies, and leaves + Old England on the lee. + + Oh for a soft and gentle wind! + I hear a fair one cry; + But give to me the snoring breeze, + And white waves heaving high; + And white waves heaving high, my boys, + The good ship tight and free-- + The world of waters is our home, + And merry men are we. + + There 's tempest in yon horned moon, + And lightning in yon cloud; + And hark the music, mariners! + The wind is piping loud; + The wind is piping loud, my boys, + The lightning flashing free-- + While the hollow oak our palace is, + Our heritage the sea. + + + + +THE BONNIE BARK. + + + O come, my bonnie bark! + O'er the waves let us go, + With thy neck like the swan, + And thy wings like the snow. + Spread thy plumes to the wind, + For a gentle one soon + Must welcome us home, + Ere the wane of the moon. + + The proud oak that built thee + Was nursed in the dew, + Where my gentle one dwells, + And stately it grew. + I hew'd its beauty down; + Now it swims on the sea, + And wafts spice and perfume, + My fair one, to thee. + + Oh, sweet, sweet 's her voice, + As a low warbled tune; + And sweet, sweet her lips, + Like the rose-bud of June. + She looks to sea, and sighs, + As the foamy wave flows, + And treads on men's strength, + As in glory she goes. + + Oh haste, my bonnie bark, + O'er the waves let us bound, + As the deer from the horn, + Or the hare from the hound. + Pluck down thy white plumes, + Sink thy keel in the sand, + Whene'er ye see my love, + And the wave of her hand. + + + + + +THOU HAST SWORN BY THY GOD, MY JEANIE. + + + Thou hast sworn by thy God, my Jeanie, + By that pretty white hand o' thine, + And by a' the lowing stars in heaven, + That thou would aye be mine; + And I hae sworn by my God, my Jeanie, + And by that kind heart o' thine, + By a' the stars sown thick owre heaven, + That thou would aye be mine. + + Then foul fa' the hands that loose sic bands, + And the heart that would part sic love; + But there 's nae hand can loose my band + But the finger o' God above. + Though the wee, wee cot maun be my bield, + And my claithing e'er sae mean, + I wad lap me up rich i' the faulds o' luve, + Heaven's armfu' o' my Jean. + + Her white arm wad be a pillow for me, + Fu' safter than the down; + And luve wad winnow owre us his kind, kind wings, + And sweetly I 'll sleep, an' soun'. + Come here to me, thou lass o' my love, + Come here and kneel wi' me; + The morn is fu' o' the presence o' God, + And I canna pray without thee. + + The morn-wind is sweet 'mang the beds o' new flowers, + The wee birds sing kindlie an' hie; + Our gudeman leans owre his kale-yard dyke, + And a blithe auld bodie is he. + The Beuk maun be ta'en when the carle comes hame, + Wi' the holie psalmodie, + And thou maun speak o' me to thy God, + And I will speak o' thee. + + + + +YOUNG ELIZA.[9] + + + Come, maid, upon yon mountain brow, + This day of rest I 'll give to you, + And clasp thy waist with many a vow, + My loved, my young Eliza. + + 'Tis not that cheek, that bosom bare, + That high arch'd eye, that long brown hair, + That fair form'd foot, thine angel air,-- + But 'tis thy mind, Eliza. + + Think not to charm me with thine eye, + Those smiling lips, that heaving sigh, + My heart 's charm'd with a nobler tie,-- + It is thy mind, Eliza. + + This heart, which every love could warm, + Which every pretty face could charm, + No more will beat the sweet alarm, + But to my young Eliza. + + The peasant lad unyokes his car, + The star of even shines bright and far, + And lights me to the flood-torn scaur, + To meet my young Eliza. + + There is the smile to please, where truth + And soft persuasion fills her mouth, + While warm with all the fire of youth, + She clasps me, young Eliza. + + My heart's blood warms in stronger flow, + My cheeks are tinged with redder glow, + When sober matron, Evening slow, + Bids me to meet Eliza. + + The bard can kindle his soul to flame, + The patriot hunts a deathless name; + Give me the peasant's humble fame, + And give me young Eliza. + + The warlock glen has tint its gloom, + The fairie burn the witching broom, + All wear a lovelier, sweeter bloom, + For there I meet Eliza. + + Then come that mind, so finely form'd, + By native truth and virtue warm'd, + With love's soft simplest lay is charm'd, + Come to my breast, Eliza. + + +[9] This song, which is a juvenile production of the poet, has been +communicated by his niece, Miss Pagan of Dumfries. The heroine of the +song, Eliza Neilson, eldest daughter of the Reverend Mr Neilson of +Kirkbean, still lives, and is resident in Dumfries. + + + + +LOVELY WOMAN.[10] + + + I 've rock'd me on the giddy mast, + Through seas tempestuous foamin', + I 've braved the toil of mountain storm, + From dawning to the gloamin'; + Round the green bosom'd earth, sea-swept, + In search of pleasure roamin', + And found the world a wilderness, + Without thee, lovely woman! + + The farmer reaps his golden fields, + The merchant sweeps the ocean; + The soldier's steed, gore-fetlock'd, snorts + Through war-field's wild commotion; + All combat in eternal toil, + Mirk midnight, day, and gloamin', + To pleasure Heaven's divinest gift, + Thee, lovely, conquering woman! + + The savage in the desert dark, + The monster's den exploring; + The sceptre-swaying prince, who rules + The nations round adoring; + Nay, even the laurell'd-templed bard + Dew-footed at the gloamin', + Melodious wooes the world's ear, + To please thee, lovely woman! + + +[10] This song appeared in the _London Magazine_, new edit., No. xxx. It +was addressed to Mrs Pagan of Curriestanes, the poet's sister, who, it +may be remarked, possessed a large share of the family talent. She died +on the 5th February 1854, and her remains rest in the Pagan family's +burying-ground, in Terregles' churchyard. + + + + +EBENEZER PICKEN. + + +Ebenezer Picken was the only son of a silk-weaver in Paisley, who bore +the same Christian name. He was born at the _Well-meadow_ of that town, +about the year 1769. Intending to follow the profession of a clergyman, +he proceeded to the University of Glasgow, which he attended during five +or six sessions. With talents of a high order, he permitted an +enthusiastic attachment to verse-making to interfere with his severer +studies and retard his progress in learning. Contrary to the counsel of +his father and other friends, he published, in 1788, while only in his +nineteenth year, a thin octavo volume of poems; and afterwards gave to +the gay intercourse of lovers of the muse, many precious hours which +ought to have been applied to mental improvement. Early in 1791 he +became teacher of a school at Falkirk; and on the 14th of April of the +same year appeared at the Pantheon, Edinburgh, where he delivered an +oration in blank verse on the comparative merits of Ramsay and +Fergusson, assigning the pre-eminence to the former poet. In this debate +his fellow-townsman and friend, Alexander Wilson, the future +ornithologist, advocated in verse the merits of Fergusson; and the +productions of both the youthful adventurers were printed in a pamphlet +entitled the "Laurel Disputed." In occupying the position of +schoolmaster at Falkirk, Picken proposed to raise funds to aid him in +the prosecution of his theological studies; but the circumstance of his +having formed a matrimonial union with a young lady, a daughter of Mr +Beveridge of the Burgher congregation in Falkirk, by involving him in +the expenses of a family, proved fatal to his clerical aspirations. He +accepted the situation of teacher of an endowed school at Carron, where +he remained till 1796, when he removed to Edinburgh. In the capital he +found employment as manager of a mercantile establishment, and +afterwards on his own account commenced business as a draper. +Unsuccessful in this branch of business, he subsequently sought a +livelihood as a music-seller and a teacher of languages. In 1813, with +the view of bettering his circumstances, he published, by subscription, +two duodecimo volumes of "Poems and Songs," in which are included the +pieces contained in his first published volume. His death took place in +1816. + +Picken is remembered as a person of gentlemanly appearance, endeavouring +to confront the pressure of unmitigated poverty. His dispositions were +eminently social, and his love of poetry amounted to a passion. He is +commemorated in the poetical works of his early friend, Wilson, who has +addressed to him a lengthened poetical epistle. In 1818, a dictionary of +Scottish words, which he had occupied some years in preparing, was +published at Edinburgh by "James Sawers, Calton Street," and this +publication was found of essential service by Dr Jamieson in the +preparation of his "Supplement" to his "Dictionary of the Scottish +Language." Among Picken's poetical compositions are a few pieces bearing +the impress of genius.[11] + + +[11] Andrew Picken, the only son of Ebenezer, a person of somewhat +unprepossessing appearance, contrived to derive a tolerable livelihood +by following the conjunct occupation of an itinerant player and +portrait-painter. He was the writer of some good poetry, and about 1827 +published a respectable volume of verses, entitled, "The Bedouin, and +other Poems." He soon afterwards proceeded to America. + + + + +PEGGIE WI' THE GLANCIN' E'E. + + + Walkin' out ae mornin' early, + Ken ye wha I chanced to see? + But my lassie, gay and frisky, + Peggie wi' the glancin' e'e. + Phoebus, left the lap o' Thetis, + Fast was lickin' up the dew, + Whan, ayont a risin' hilloc, + First my Peggie came in view. + + Hark ye, I gaed up to meet her; + But whane'er my face she saw, + Up her plaidin' coat she kiltit, + And in daffin' scour'd awa'. + Weel kent I that though my Peggie + Ran sae fast out owre the mead, + She was wantin' me to follow-- + Yes, ye swains, an' sae I did. + + At yon burnie I o'ertook her, + Whare the shinin' pebbles lie; + Whare the flowers, that fringe the border, + Soup the stream, that wimples by. + While wi' her I sat reclinin', + Frae her lips I staw a kiss; + While she blush'd, I took anither,-- + Shepherds, was there ill in this? + + Could a lass, sae sweet an' comely, + Ever bless a lover's arms? + Could the bonnie wife o' Vulcan + Ever boast o' hauf the charms? + While the zephyrs fan the meadows, + While the flow'rets crown the lea, + While they paint the gowden simmer, + Wha sae blest as her an' me? + + + + +WOO ME AGAIN. + +TUNE--_"On a Primrosy Bank."_ + + + Whan Jamie first woo'd me, he was but a youth: + Frae his lips flow'd the strains o' persuasion and truth; + His suit I rejected wi' pride an' disdain, + But, oh! wad he offer to woo me again! + + He aft wad hae tauld me his love was sincere, + And e'en wad hae ventured to ca' me his dear: + My heart to his tale was as hard as a stane; + But, oh! wad he offer to woo me again! + + He said that he hoped I would yield an' be kind, + But I counted his proffers as light as the wind; + I laugh'd at his grief, whan I heard him complain; + But, oh! wad he offer to woo me again! + + He flatter'd my locks, that war black as a slae, + And praised my fine shape, frae the tap to the tae; + I flate, an' desired he wad let me alane; + But, oh! wad he offer to woo me again! + + Repulsed, he forsook me, an' left me to grieve, + An' mourn the sad hour that my swain took his leave; + Now, since I despised, an' was deaf to his maen, + I fear he 'll ne'er offer to woo me again! + + Oh! wad he but now to his Jean be inclined, + My heart in a moment wad yield to his mind; + But I fear wi' some ither my laddie is taen, + An' sae he 'll ne'er offer to woo me again. + + Ye bonnie young lasses, be warn'd by my fate, + Despise not the heart you may value too late; + Improve the sweet sunshine that now gilds the plain; + With you it may never be sunshine again. + + The simmer o' life, ah! it soon flits awa', + An' the bloom on your cheek will soon dow in the snaw; + Oh! think, ere you treat a fond youth wi' disdain, + That, in age, the sweet flower never blossoms again. + + + + +STUART LEWIS. + + +Stuart Lewis, the mendicant bard, was the eldest son of an innkeeper at +Ecclefechan in Annandale, where he was born about the year 1756. A +zealous Jacobite, his father gave him the name of Stuart, in honour of +Prince Charles Edward. At the parish school, taught by one Irving, an +ingenious and learned person of eccentric habits, he received a +respectable ground-work of education; but the early deprivation of his +father, who died bankrupt, compelled him to relinquish the pursuit of +learning. At the age of fifteen, with the view of aiding in the support +of his widowed mother, with her destitute family of other five children, +he accepted manual employment from a relation in the vicinity of +Chester. Subsequently, along with a partner, he established himself as a +merchant-tailor in the town of Chester, where he remained some years, +when his partner absconded to America with a considerable amount, +leaving him to meet the demands of the firm. Surrendering his effects to +his creditors, he returned to his native place, almost penniless, and +suffering mental depression from his misfortunes, which he recklessly +sought to remove by the delusive remedy of the bottle. The habit of +intemperance thus produced, became his scourge through life. At +Ecclefechan he commenced business as a tailor, and married a young +country girl, for whom he had formed a devoted attachment. He +established a village library, and debating club, became a diligent +reader, a leader in every literary movement in the district, and a +writer of poetry of some merit. A poem on the melancholy story of "Fair +Helen of Kirkconnel," which he composed at this period, obtained a +somewhat extensive popularity. To aid his finances, he became an +itinerant seller of cloth,--a mode of life which gave him an opportunity +of studying character, and visiting interesting scenery. The pressure of +poverty afterwards induced him to enlist, as a recruit, in the Hopetoun +Fencibles; and, in this humble position, he contrived to augment his +scanty pay by composing acrostics and madrigals for the officers, who +rewarded him with small gratuities. On the regiment being disbanded in +1799, he was entrusted by a merchant with the sale of goods, as a +pedlar, in the west of England; but this employment ceased on his being +robbed, while in a state of inebriety. Still descending in the social +scale, he became an umbrella-maker in Manchester, while his wife was +employed in some of the manufactories. Some other odd and irregular +occupations were severally attempted without success, till at length, +about his fiftieth year, he finally settled into the humble condition of +a wandering poet. He composed verses on every variety of theme, and +readily parted with his compositions for food or whisky. His field of +wandering included the entire Lowlands, and he occasionally penetrated +into Highland districts. In his wanderings he was accompanied by his +wife, who, though a severe sufferer on his account, along with her +family of five or six children, continued most devoted in her attachment +to him. On her death, which took place in the Cowgate, Edinburgh, early +in 1817, he became almost distracted, and never recovered his former +composure. He now roamed wildly through the country, seldom remaining +more than one night in the same place. He finally returned to +Dumfriesshire, his native county; and accidentally falling into the +Nith, caught an inflammatory fever, of which he died, in the village of +Ruthwell, on the 22d September 1818. Lewis was slender, and of low +stature. His countenance was sharp, and his eye intelligent, though +frenzied with excitement. He always expressed himself in the language of +enthusiasm, despised prudence and common sense, and commended the +impulsive and fanciful. He published, in 1816, a small volume, entitled +"The African Slave; with other Poems and Songs." Some of his lyrics are +not unworthy of a place in the national minstrelsy. + + + + +LANARK MILLS. + +AIR--_"Miss Forbes' Farewell to Banff."_ + + + Adieu! romantic banks of Clyde, + Where oft I 've spent the joyful day; + Now, weary wand'ring on thy side, + I pour the plaintive, joyless lay. + To other lands I 'm doom'd to rove, + The thought with grief my bosom fills; + Why am I forced to leave my love, + And wander far from Lanark Mills? + + Can I forget th' ecstatic hours, + When ('scaped the village evening din) + I met my lass 'midst Braxfield bowers, + Or near the falls of Corhouse Linn! + While close I clasp'd her to my breast, + (Th' idea still with rapture thrills!) + I thought myself completely blest, + By all the lads of Lanark Mills. + + Deceitful, dear, delusive dream, + Thou 'rt fled--alas! I know not where, + And vanish'd is each blissful gleam, + And left behind a load of care. + Adieu! dear winding banks of Clyde, + A long farewell, ye rising hills; + No more I 'll wander on your side, + Though still my heart 's at Lanark Mills. + + While Tintock stands the pride of hills, + While Clyde's dark stream rolls to the sea, + So long, my dear-loved Lanark Mills, + May Heaven's best blessings smile on thee. + A last adieu! my Mary dear, + The briny tear my eye distils; + While reason's powers continue clear, + I 'll think of thee, and Lanark Mills. + + + + +O'ER THE MUIR.[12] + + + Ae morn of May, when fields were gay, + Serene and charming was the weather, + I chanced to roam some miles frae home, + Far o'er yon muir, amang the heather. + O'er the muir amang the heather, + O'er the muir amang the heather, + How healthsome 'tis to range the muirs, + And brush the dew from vernal heather. + + I walk'd along, and humm'd a song, + My heart was light as ony feather, + And soon did pass a lovely lass, + Was wading barefoot through the heather. + O'er the muir amang the heather, + O'er the muir amang the heather; + The bonniest lass that e'er I saw + I met ae morn amang the heather. + + Her eyes divine, mair bright did shine, + Than the most clear unclouded ether; + A fairer form did ne'er adorn + A brighter scene than blooming heather. + O'er the muir amang the heather, + O'er the muir amang the heather; + There 's ne'er a lass in Scotia's isle, + Can vie with her amang the heather. + + I said, "Dear maid, be not afraid; + Pray sit you down, let 's talk together; + For, oh! my fair, I vow and swear, + You 've stole my heart amang the heather." + O'er the muir amang the heather, + O'er the muir amang the heather; + Ye swains, beware of yonder muir, + You 'll lose your hearts amang the heather. + + She answer'd me, right modestly, + "I go, kind sir, to seek my father, + Whose fleecy charge he tends at large, + On yon green hills beyond the heather." + O'er the muir amang the heather, + O'er the muir amang the heather; + Were I a king, thou shou'dst be mine, + Dear blooming maid, amang the heather. + + Away she flew out of my view, + Her home or name I ne'er could gather, + But aye sin' syne I sigh and pine + For that sweet lass amang the heather. + O'er the muir amang the heather, + O'er the muir amang the heather, + While vital heat glows in my heart, + I 'll love the lass amang the heather. + + +[12] The more popular words to the same tune and chorus, beginning, +"Comin' through the Craigs o' Kyle," are believed, on the authority of +Burns, to have been the composition of Jean Glover, a girl of +respectable parentage, born at Kilmarnock in 1758, who became attached +to a company of strolling players. Lewis is said to have claimed +priority for his verses, and the point is not likely ever to be decided. +This much may be said in favour of Lewis's claims, that he had long been +the writer of respectable lyrics; while Jean Glover, though well skilled +as a musician, is not otherwise known to have composed verses. One of +the songs is evidently an echo of the other. + + + + +DAVID DRUMMOND. + + +David Drummond, author of "The Bonnie Lass o' Levenside," a song +formerly of no inconsiderable popularity, was a native of Crieff, +Perthshire. Along with his four brothers, he settled in Fifeshire, about +the beginning of the century, having obtained the situation of clerk in +the Kirkland works, near Leven. In 1812, he proceeded to India, and +afterwards attained considerable wealth as the conductor of an academy +and boarding establishment at Calcutta. A man of vigorous mind and +respectable scholarship, he had early cultivated a taste for literature +and poetry, and latterly became an extensive contributor to the public +journals and periodical publications of Calcutta. The song with which +his name has been chiefly associated, was composed during the period of +his employment at the Kirkland works,--the heroine being Miss Wilson, +daughter of the proprietor of Pirnie, near Leven, a young lady of great +personal attractions, to whom he was devotedly attached. The sequel of +his history, in connexion with this lady, forms the subject of a +romance, in which he has been made to figure much to the injury of his +fame. The correct version of this story, in which Drummond has been +represented as faithless to the object of his former affections, we have +received from a gentleman to whom the circumstances were intimately +known. In consequence of a proposal to become his wife, Miss Wilson +sailed for Calcutta in 1816. On her arrival, she was kindly received by +her affianced lover, who conducted her to the house of a respectable +female friend, till arrangements might be completed for the nuptial +ceremony. In the interval, she became desirous of withdrawing from her +engagement; and Drummond, observing her coldness, offered to pay the +expense of her passage back to Scotland. Meanwhile, she was seized with +fever, of which she died. Report erroneously alleged that she had died +of a broken heart on account of her lover being unfaithful, and hence +the memory of poor Drummond has been most unjustly aspersed. Drummond +died, at Calcutta, in 1845, about the age of seventy. He was much +respected among a wide circle of friends and admirers. His personal +appearance was unprepossessing, almost approaching to deformity,--a +circumstance which may explain the ultimate hesitation of Miss Wilson to +accept his hand. "The Bonnie Lass o' Levenside" was first printed, with +the author's consent, though without acknowledgment, in a small volume +of poems, by William Rankin, Leven, published in 1812. The authorship of +the song was afterwards claimed by William Glass,[13] an obscure +rhymster of the capital. + + +[13] Glass was a house-painter in Edinburgh; he ultimately became very +dissipated, and died in circumstances of penury about 1840. He +published, in 1811, "The Album, a Collection of Poems and Songs," 12mo; +in 1814, "Scenes of Gloamin'," 12mo; and in 1816, a third volume, +entitled "Songs of Edina." The last is dedicated, by permission, to the +Duke of Gordon. In the "Scenes of Gloamin'," Glass has included the +"Bonnie Lass o' Levenside," as a song of his own composition. + + + + +THE BONNIE LASS O' LEVENSIDE. + +AIR--_"Up amang the Cliffy Rocks."_ + + + How sweet are Leven's silver streams, + Around her banks the wild flowers blooming; + On every bush the warblers vie, + In strains of bosom-soothing joy. + But Leven's banks that bloom sae bra, + And Leven's streams that glide sae saucy, + Sic joy an' beauty couldna shaw, + An 't were not for my darling lassie; + Her presence fills them a' wi' pride, + The bonnie lass o' Levenside. + + When sober eve begins her reign, + The little birds to cease their singing, + The flowers their beauty to renew, + Their bosoms bathe in diamond dew; + When far behind the Lomonds high, + The wheels of day are downwards rowing, + And a' the western closing sky + Wi' varied tints of glory lowing, + 'Tis then my eager steps I guide, + To meet the lass o' Levenside. + + The solemn sweetness nature spreads, + The kindly hour to bliss inviting, + Within our happy bosoms move, + The softest sigh o' purest love; + Reclined upon the velvet grass, + Beneath the balmy, birken blossom, + What words could a' my joy express, + When clasped to her beating bosom; + How swells my heart with rapture's tide, + When wi' the lass o' Levenside. + + She never saw the splendid ball, + She never blazed in courtly grandeur, + But like her native lily's bloom, + She cheerfu' gilds her humble home; + The pert reply, the modish air, + To soothe the soul were never granted, + When modest sense and love are there, + The guise o' art may well be wanted; + O Fate! gi'e me to be my bride + The bonnie lass o' Levenside. + + + + +JAMES AFFLECK. + + +The "Posthumous Poetical Works" of James Affleck, tailor in Biggar, with +a memoir of his life by his son, were published at Edinburgh in 1836. +Affleck was born in the village of Drummelzier, in Peeblesshire, on the +8th September 1776. His education was scanty; and after some years' +occupation as a cowherd, he was apprenticed to a tailor in his native +village. He afterwards prosecuted his trade in the parish of +Crawfordjohn, and in the town of Ayr. In 1793, he established himself as +master tailor in Biggar. Fond of society, he joined the district lodge +of freemasons, and became a leading member of that fraternity. He +composed verses for the entertainment of his friends, which he was +induced to give to the world in two separate publications. He possessed +considerable poetical talent, but his compositions are generally marked +by the absence of refinement. The song selected for the present work is +the most happy effort in his posthumous volume. His death took place at +Biggar, on the 8th September 1835. + + + + +HOW BLEST WERE THE DAYS! + + + How blest were the days o' langsyne when a laddie! + Alane by a bush wi' my dog and my plaidie; + Nae fop was sae happy, though dress'd e'er sae gaudy, + Sae sweet were the days o' langsyne when a laddie. + + Whiles croonin' my sonnet amang the whin bushes, + Whiles whistling wi' glee as I pou'd the green rashes; + The whim o' the moment kept me aye frae sorrow, + What I wanted at night was in prospect to-morrow. + + The nest o' a lintie I fondly explored, + And plundering bykes was the game I adored; + My pleasures did vary, as I was unsteady, + Yet I always found something that pleased when a laddie. + + The boy with great pleasure the butterfly chases; + When manhood approaches, the maid he embraces; + But view him at once baith the husband and daddie, + He fondly looks back to the joys o' a laddie. + + When childhood was over my prospects were greater, + I tried to be happy, but, alas, foolish creature! + The sports of my youth were my sweetest employment-- + Much sweetness in prospect embitters enjoyment. + + But now I 'm grown auld, and wi' cares I 'm perplex'd, + How numerous the woes are by which I am vex'd! + I 'm tentin' the kye wi' my dog, staff, and plaidie; + How changed are the days since langsyne when a laddie! + + + + +JAMES STIRRAT. + + +James Stirrat was born in the village of Dalry, Ayrshire, on the 28th +March 1781. His father was owner of several houses in the place, and was +employed in business as a haberdasher. Young Stirrat was educated at the +village school; in his 17th year, he composed verses which afforded some +indication of power. Of a delicate constitution, he accepted the easy +appointment of village postmaster. He died in March 1843, in his +sixty-second year. Stirrat wrote much poetry, but never ventured on a +publication. Several of his songs appeared at intervals in the public +journals, the "Book of Scottish Song," and the "Contemporaries of +Burns." The latter work contains a brief sketch of his life. He left a +considerable number of MSS., which are now in the possession of a +relative in Ayr. Possessed of a knowledge of music, he excelled in +playing many of the national airs on the guitar. His dispositions were +social, yet in society he seldom talked; among his associates, he +frequently expressed his hope of posthumous fame. He was enthusiastic in +his admiration of female beauty, but died unmarried. + + + + +HENRY.[14] + +AIR--_"Roy's Wife of Aldivalloch."_ + + + Can my dearest Henry leave me? + Why, ah! why would he deceive me? + Whence this cold and cruel change, + That bids him thus forsake and grieve me? + + Can he the hours of love forget, + The stolen hours I 'll mind for ever, + When down the burn we fondly met, + And aften vow'd we ne'er should sever? + Will my Henry then deceive me, + Faithless laddie, can he leave me? + Ne'er till now did fancy dream, + My dearest laddie sae would grieve me. + + And will he then me aye forsake? + Must I for ever, ever lose him? + And can he leave this heart to break, + That swells and bursts within my bosom? + Never, Henry, could I leave thee, + Never could this heart deceive thee, + Why then, laddie, me forsake, + And sae wi' cruel absence grieve me? + + +[14] This song and that following are printed from the original MSS. + + + + +MARY.[15] + + + "In life's gay morn," when hopes beat high, + And youthfu' love's endearing tie + Gave rapture to the mutual sigh, + Within the arms of Mary, + My ain dear Mary; + Nae joys beneath the vaulted sky, + Could equal mine wi' Mary. + + The sacred hours like moments flew, + Soft transports thrill'd my bosom through, + The warl' evanish'd frae my view + Within the arms of Mary, + My ain dear Mary; + Nae gloomy cares my soul e'er knew + Within the arms of Mary. + + Young fancy spread her visions gay, + Love fondly view'd the fair display, + Hope shew'd the blissfu' nuptial day, + And I was rapt with Mary, + My ain dear Mary; + The flowers of Eden strew'd the way + That led me to my Mary. + + But life is now a dreary waste, + I lanely wander sair depress'd, + For cold and lifeless is that breast + Where throbb'd the heart of Mary, + My ain dear Mary; + She 's gane to seats o' blissfu' rest, + And I hae lost my Mary. + + +[15] This song was set to music by R. A. Smith. + + + + +JOHN GRIEVE. + + +John Grieve, whose name is especially worthy of commemoration as the +generous friend of men of genius, was born at Dunfermline on the 12th +September 1781. He was the eldest son of the Rev. Walter Grieve, +minister of the Cameronian or Reformed Presbyterian church in that +place; his mother, Jane Ballantyne, was the daughter of Mr George +Ballantyne, tenant at Craig, in the vale of Yarrow. While he was very +young, his father retired from the ministerial office, and fixed his +residence at the villa of Cacrabank, in Ettrick. After an ordinary +education at school, young Grieve became clerk to Mr Virtue, shipowner +and wood-merchant in Alloa: and, early in 1801, obtained a situation in +a bank at Greenock. He soon returned to Alloa, as the partner of his +friend Mr Francis Bald, who had succeeded Mr Virtue in his business as a +wood-merchant. On the death of Mr Bald, in 1804, he proceeded to +Edinburgh to enter into copartnership with Mr Chalmers Izzet, +hat-manufacturer on the North Bridge. The firm subsequently assumed, as +a third partner, Mr Henry Scott, a native of Ettrick. + +Eminently successful in business, Mr Grieve found considerable leisure +for the cultivation of strong literary tastes. Though without pretension +as a man of letters, he became reputed as a contributor to some of the +more respectable periodicals.[16] In his youth he had been a votary of +the Muse, and some of his early lyrics he was prevailed on to publish +anonymously in Hogg's "Forest Minstrel." The songs marked C., in the +contents of that work, are from his pen. In the encouragement of men of +genius he evinced a deep interest, affording them entertainment at his +table, and privately contributing to the support of those whose +circumstances were less fortunate. Towards the Ettrick Shepherd his +beneficence was munificent. Along with his partner, Mr Scott, a man of +kindred tastes and of ample generosity, he enabled Hogg to surmount the +numerous difficulties which impeded his entrance into the world of +letters. In different portions of his works, the Shepherd has gracefully +recorded his gratitude to his benefactors. In his "Autobiography," after +expressing the steadfast friendship he had experienced from Mr Grieve, +he adds, "During the first six months that I resided in Edinburgh, I +lived with him and his partner Mr Scott, who, on a longer acquaintance, +became as firmly attached to me as Mr Grieve; and I believe as much so +as to any other man alive.... In short, they would not suffer me to be +obliged to any one but themselves for the value of a farthing; and +without this sure support, I could never have fought my way in +Edinburgh. I was fairly starved into it, and if it had not been for +Messrs Grieve and Scott, would, in a very short time, have been starved +out of it again." To Mr Grieve, Hogg afterwards dedicated his poem +"Mador of the Moor;" and in the character of one of the competing bards +in the "Queen's Wake," he has thus depicted him:-- + + "The bard that night who foremost came + Was not enroll'd, nor known his name; + A youth he was of manly mould, + Gentle as lamb, as lion bold; + But his fair face, and forehead high, + Glow'd with intrusive modesty. + 'Twas said by bank of southland stream + Glided his youth in soothing dream; + The harp he loved, and wont to stray + Far to the wilds and woods away, + And sing to brooks that gurgled by + Of maiden's form and maiden's eye; + That when this dream of youth was past, + Deep in the shade his harp he cast; + In busy life his cares beguiled, + His heart was true, and fortune smiled." + +Affected with a disorder in the spine, Mr Grieve became incapacitated +for business in his thirty-seventh year. In this condition he found an +appropriate solace in literature; he made himself familiar with the +modern languages, that he might form an acquaintance with the more +esteemed continental authors. Retaining his usual cheerfulness, he still +experienced satisfaction in intercourse with his friends; and to the +close of his life, his pleasant cottage at Newington was the daily +resort of the _savans_ of the capital. Mr Grieve died unmarried on the +4th April 1836, in the fifty-fifth year of his age. His remains were +interred in the sequestered cemetery of St Mary's, in Yarrow. The few +songs which he has written are composed in a vigorous style, and entitle +him to rank among those whom he delighted to honour.[17] + + +[16] In the "Key to the Chaldee MS.," he is described as the author of +"The White Cottage, a Tale;" this was not written by him, but was the +production of one More, a native of Berwickshire, whose literary +aspirations he had promoted. + +[17] For a number of particulars in this memoir, we are indebted to our +venerated friend Mr Alexander Bald, of Alloa. + + + + +CULLODEN; OR, LOCHIEL'S FAREWELL. + +AIR--_"Fingal's Lament."_ + + + Culloden, on thy swarthy brow + Spring no wild flowers nor verdure fair; + Thou feel'st not summer's genial glow, + More than the freezing wintry air. + For once thou drank'st the hero's blood, + And war's unhallow'd footsteps bore; + Thy deeds unholy, nature view'd, + Then fled, and cursed thee evermore. + + From Beauly's wild and woodland glens, + How proudly Lovat's banners soar! + How fierce the plaided Highland clans + Rush onward with the broad claymore! + Those hearts that high with honour heave, + The volleying thunder there laid low; + Or scatter'd like the forest leaves, + When wintry winds begin to blow! + + Where now thy honours, brave Lochiel? + The braided plumes torn from thy brow, + What must thy haughty spirit feel, + When skulking like the mountain roe! + While wild birds chant from Locky's bowers, + On April eve, their loves and joys, + The Lord of Locky's loftiest towers + To foreign lands an exile flies. + + To his blue hills that rose in view, + As o'er the deep his galley bore, + He often look'd and cried, "Adieu! + I 'll never see Lochaber more! + Though now thy wounds I cannot feel, + My dear, my injured native land, + In other climes thy foe shall feel + The weight of Cameron's deadly brand. + + "Land of proud hearts and mountains gray, + Where Fingal fought, and Ossian sung! + Mourn dark Culloden's fateful day, + That from thy chiefs the laurel wrung. + Where once they ruled and roam'd at will, + Free as their own dark mountain game, + Their sons are slaves, yet keenly feel + A longing for their father's fame. + + "Shades of the mighty and the brave, + Who, faithful to your Stuart, fell! + No trophies mark your common grave, + Nor dirges to your memory swell. + But generous hearts will weep your fate, + When far has roll'd the tide of time; + And bards unborn shall renovate + Your fading fame in loftiest rhyme." + + + + +LOVELY MARY.[18] + +AIR--_"Gowd in gowpens."_ + + + I 've seen the lily of the wold, + I 've seen the opening marigold, + Their fairest hues at morn unfold, + But fairer is my Mary. + How sweet the fringe of mountain burn, + With opening flowers at spring's return! + How sweet the scent of flowery thorn! + But sweeter is my Mary. + + Her heart is gentle, warm, and kind; + Her form 's not fairer than her mind; + Two sister beauties rarely join'd, + But join'd in lovely Mary. + As music from the distant steep, + As starlight on the silent deep, + So are my passions lull'd asleep + By love for bonnie Mary. + + +[18] This song was written during the author's first residence at Alloa. +The heroine was Miss Mary Douglas, a young lady of great personal +attractions, daughter of Captain Douglas, of the East India Company's +Marine Service, who resided in the village of Sauchie, in the vicinity. +She became the wife of a Mr Rhind, an Edinburgh gentleman, but died soon +after her marriage. Her remains were brought for interment to the +churchyard of Alloa. + + + + +HER BLUE ROLLIN' E'E. + +AIR--_"Banks of the Devon."_ + + + My lassie is lovely, as May day adorning + Wi' gowans an' primroses ilka green lee; + Though sweet is the violet, new blown i' the morning, + As tender an' sweet is her blue rollin' e'e. + O, say what is whiter than snaw on the mountain? + Or what wi' the red rose in beauty can vie? + Yes, whiter her bosom than snaw on the mountain, + An' bonnie her face as the red rose can be. + + See yon lowly cottage that stands by the wild-wood, + Hedged round wi' the sweetbriar and green willow-tree, + 'Twas yonder I spent the sweet hours of my childhood, + An' first felt the power of a love-rollin' e'e. + Though soon frae my hame an' my lassie I wander'd; + Though lang I 've been tossing on fortune's rough sea; + Aye dear was the valley where Ettrick meander'd; + Aye dear was the blink o' her blue-rollin' e'e. + + Oh! for the evening, and oh! for the hour, + When down by yon greenwood she promised to be; + When quick as the summer-dew dries on the flower, + A' earthly affections and wishes wad flee. + Let Art and let Nature display their proud treasures; + Let Paradise boast o' what ance it could gie; + As high is my bliss, an' as sweet are my pleasures, + In the heart-melting blink o' my lassie's blue e'e. + + + + +CHARLES GRAY. + + +Charles Gray was born at Anstruther-wester, on the 10th March 1782. He +was the schoolfellow and early associate of Dr Thomas Chalmers, and Dr +William Tennant, the author of "Anster Fair," who were both natives of +Anstruther. He engaged for some years in a handicraft occupation; but in +1805, through the influence of Major-General Burn,[19] his maternal +uncle, was fortunate in procuring a commission in the Woolwich division +of the Royal Marines. In 1811 he published an octavo volume of "Poems +and Songs," of which a second edition was called for at the end of three +years. In 1813 he joined Tennant and some other local poets in +establishing the "Musomanik Society of Anstruther,"--an association +which existed about four years, and gave to the world a collection of +respectable verses.[20] After thirty-six years' active service in the +Royal Marines, he was enabled to retire in 1841, on a Captain's full +pay. He now established his head-quarters in Edinburgh, where he +cultivated the society of lovers of Scottish song. In 1841, in +compliance with the wishes of numerous friends, expressed in the form +of a _Round Robin_, he published a second volume of verses, with the +title of "Lays and Lyrics." This work appeared in elegant duodecimo, +illustrated with engravings of the author's portrait and of his +birthplace. In the _Glasgow Citizen_ newspaper, he subsequently +published "Cursory Remarks on Scottish Song," which have been copiously +quoted by Mr Farquhar Graham, in his edition of the "Songs of Scotland." + +Of cheerful and amiable dispositions, Captain Gray was much cherished by +his friends. Intimately acquainted with the productions of the modern +Scottish poets, he took delight in discussing their merits; and he +enlivened the social circle by singing his favourite songs. Of his +lyrical compositions, those selected for this work have deservedly +attained popularity. An ardent admirer of Burns, he was led to imitate +the style of the great national bard. In person he was of low stature; +his gray weather-beaten countenance wore a constant smile. He died, +after a period of declining health, on the 13th April 1851. He married +early in life, and his only son is now a Captain of Marines. + + +[19] A memoir of this estimable individual, chiefly from materials found +in his Diary, has been published by the London Tract Society. + +[20] This volume of the merry Anstruther rhymers is entitled +"Bouts-Rimes, or Poetical Pastimes of a few Hobblers round the base of +Parnassus;" it is dedicated "To the Lovers of Rhyme, Fun, and +Good-Fellowship throughout the British Empire." + + + + +MAGGIE LAUDER.[21] + + + The cantie Spring scarce rear'd her head, + And Winter yet did blaud her, + When the Ranter came to Anster fair, + And speir'd for Maggie Lauder; + A snug wee house in the East Green,[22] + Its shelter kindly lent her; + Wi' canty ingle, clean hearth-stane, + Meg welcomed Rob the Ranter! + + Then Rob made bonnie Meg his bride, + And to the kirk they ranted; + He play'd the auld "East Nook o' Fife;" + And merry Maggie vaunted, + That Hab himsel' ne'er play'd a spring, + Nor blew sae weel his chanter, + For he made Anster town to ring-- + And wha 's like Rob the Ranter? + + For a' the talk and loud reports, + That ever gaed against her, + Meg proves a true and carefu' wife, + As ever was in Anster; + And since the marriage-knot was tied, + Rob swears he coudna want her; + For he loves Maggie as his life, + And Meg loves Rob the Ranter. + + +[21] These stanzas are an appropriate addition to the well-known song of +"Maggie Lauder," composed by Francis Semple, about 1660. + +[22] The _East Green_ of Anstruther is now a low street connecting the +town with the adjoining village of Cellardyke. The site of Maggie +Lauder's house,--which is said to have been a cot of one storey,--is +pointed out in a small garden opposite a tannery, and on the north side +of the street. Maggie Lauder is the heroine of Dr Tennant's poem of +"Anster Fair." + + + + +CHARLIE IS MY DARLING. + + + O Charlie is my darling, + My darling, my darling; + O Charlie is my darling, + The young Chevalier! + + When first his standard caught the eye, + His pibroch met the ear, + Our hearts were light, our hopes were high + For the young Chevalier. + O Charlie is my darling, &c. + + The plaided chiefs cam frae afar, + Nae doubts their bosoms steir; + They nobly drew the sword for war + And the young Chevalier! + O Charlie is my darling, &c. + + But he wha trusts to fortune's smile + Has meikle cause to fear; + She blinket blithe but to beguile + The young Chevalier! + O Charlie is my darling, &c. + + O dark Culloden--fatal field! + Fell source o' mony a tear; + There Albyn tint her sword and shield, + And the young Chevalier! + O Charlie is my darling, &c. + + Now Scotland's "flowers are wede away;" + Her forest trees are sere; + Her Royal Oak is gane for aye, + The young Chevalier! + O Charlie is my darling, + My darling, my darling; + O Charlie is my darling, + The young Chevalier. + + + + +THE BLACK-E'ED LASSIE.[23] + +AIR--_"My only Jo and Dearie O!"_ + + + Wi' heart sincere I love thee, Bell, + But dinna ye be saucy, O! + Or a' my love I winna tell + To thee, my black-e'ed lassie, O! + It 's no thy cheek o' rosy hue, + It 's no thy little cherrie mou'; + Its a' because thy heart 's sae true, + My bonnie black-e'ed lassie, O! + + It 's no the witch-glance o' thy e'e, + Though few for that surpass ye, O! + That maks ye aye sae dear to me, + My bonnie black-e'ed lassie, O! + It 's no the whiteness o' thy skin, + It 's no love's dimple on thy chin; + Its a' thy modest worth within, + My bonnie black-e'ed lassie, O! + + Ye smile sae sweet, ye look sae kind, + That a' wish to caress ye, O! + But O! how I admire thy mind, + My bonnie black-e'ed lassie, O! + I 've seen thine e'en like crystal clear, + Shine dimly through soft pity's tear; + These are the charms that mak thee dear, + To me, my black-e'ed lassie, O! + + +[23] The heroine of this song subsequently became the author's wife. + + + + +GRIM WINTER WAS HOWLIN'. + +AIR--_"Bonnie Dundee."_ + + + Grim winter was howlin' owre muir and owre mountain, + And bleak blew the wind on the wild stormy sea; + The cauld frost had lock'd up each riv'let and fountain, + As I took the dreich road that leads north to Dundee. + Though a' round was dreary, my heart was fu' cheerie, + And cantie I sung as the bird on the tree; + For when the heart 's light, the feet winna soon weary, + Though ane should gang further than bonnie Dundee! + + Arrived at the banks o' sweet Tay's flowin' river, + I look'd, as it rapidly row'd to the sea; + And fancy, whose fond dream still pleases me ever, + Beguiled the lone passage to bonnie Dundee. + There, glowrin' about, I saw in his station + Ilk bodie as eydent as midsummer bee; + When fair stood a mark, on the face o' creation, + The lovely young Peggy, the pride o' Dundee! + + O! aye since the time I first saw this sweet lassie, + I 'm listless, I 'm restless, wherever I be; + I 'm dowie, and donnart, and aften ca'd saucy; + They kenna its a' for the lass o' Dundee! + O! lang may her guardians be virtue and honour; + Though anither may wed her, yet well may she be; + And blessin's in plenty be shower'd down upon her-- + The lovely young Peggie, the pride o' Dundee! + + + + +JOHN FINLAY. + + +John Finlay, a short-lived poet of much promise, was born at Glasgow in +1782. His parents were in humble circumstances, but they contrived to +afford him the advantages of a good education. From the academy of Mr +Hall, an efficient teacher in the city, he was sent, in his fourteenth +year, to the University. There he distinguished himself both in the +literary and philosophical classes; he became intimately acquainted with +the Latin and Greek classics, and wrote elegant essays on the subjects +prescribed. His poetical talents first appeared in the composition of +odes on classical subjects, which were distinguished alike by power of +thought and smoothness of versification. In 1802, while still pursuing +his studies at college, he published a volume entitled "Wallace, or the +Vale of Ellerslie, with other Poems," of which a second edition[24] +appeared, with considerable additions. Soon after, he published an +edition of Blair's "Grave," with many excellent notes; produced a +learned life of Cervantes; and superintended the publication of a new +edition of Smith's "Wealth of Nations." In the hope of procuring a +situation in one of the public offices, he proceeded to London in 1807, +where he contributed many learned articles, particularly on antiquarian +subjects, to different periodicals. Disappointed in obtaining a +suitable post in the metropolis, he returned to Glasgow in 1808; and +the same year published, in two duodecimo volumes, a collection of +"Scottish Historical and Romantic Ballads." This work is chiefly +valuable from some interesting notes, and an ingenious preliminary +dissertation on early romantic composition in Scotland. About this +period, Professor Richardson, of Glasgow, himself an elegant poet, +offered him the advance of sufficient capital to enable him to obtain a +share in a printing establishment, and undertook to secure for the firm +the appointment of printers to the University; he declined, however, to +undergo the risk implied in this adventure. Again entertaining the hope +of procuring a situation in London, he left Glasgow towards the close of +1810, with the intention of visiting his college friend, Mr Wilson, at +Elleray, in Cumberland, to consult with him on the subject of his views. +He only reached the distance of Moffat; he was there struck with an +apoplectic seizure, which, after a brief illness, terminated his hopeful +career, in the 28th year of his age. His remains were interred in the +churchyard of Moffat. Possessed of a fine genius, extensive scholarship, +and an amiable heart, John Finlay, had he been spared, would have +adorned the literature of his country. He entertained worthy +aspirations, and was amply qualified for success; for his energies were +co-extensive with his intellectual gifts. At the period of his death, he +was meditating a continuation of Warton's History of Poetry. His best +production is the poem of "Wallace," written in his nineteenth year; +though not free from defects, it contains many admirable descriptions of +external nature, and displays much vigour of versification. His lyrics +are few, but these merit a place in the minstrelsy of his country. + + +[24] A third edition was published at Glasgow, by R. Chapman, in 1817. + + + + +O! COME WITH ME. + +TUNE--_"Roslin Castle."_ + + + O! come with me, for the queen of night + Is throned on high in her beauty bright: + 'Tis now the silent hour of even, + When all is still in earth an' heaven; + The cold flowers which the valleys strew + Are sparking bright wi' pearly dew, + And hush'd is e'en the bee's soft hum, + Then come with me, sweet Mary, come. + + The opening blue-bell--Scotland's pride-- + In heaven's pure azure deeply dyed; + The daisy meek frae the dewy dale, + The wild thyme, and the primrose pale, + Wi' the lily frae the glassy lake, + Of these a fragrant wreath I 'll make, + And bind them 'mid the locks that flow + In rich luxuriance from thy brow. + + O, love, without thee, what were life? + A bustling scene of care and strife; + A waste, where no green flowery glade + Is found for shelter or for shade. + But cheer'd by thee, the griefs we share + We can with calm composure bear; + For the darkest nicht o' care and toil. + Is bricht when blest by woman's smile. + + + + +'TIS NOT THE ROSE UPON THE CHEEK. + + + 'Tis not the rose upon the cheek, + Nor eyes in langour soft that roll, + That fix the lover's timid glance, + And fire his wilder'd soul. + + But 'tis the eye that swims in tears, + Diffusing soft a joy all holy; + So soothing to the heart of love, + And yet so melancholy. + + The note that falters on the tongue, + Sweet as the dying voice of eve, + That calms the throbbing breast of pain, + Yet makes it love to grieve! + + The hand, alternate fiery warm + And icy cold, the bursting sigh, + The look that hopes, yet seems to fear, + Pale cheek and burning eye. + + These, these the magic circle twine, + The lover's thoughts and feelings seize; + 'Till scarce a son of earth he seems, + But lives in what he sees. + + + + +I HEARD THE EVENING LINNET'S VOICE. + +AIR--_"Gramachree."_ + + + I heard the evening linnet's voice the woodland tufts among, + Yet sweeter were the tender woes of Isabella's song; + So soft into the ear they steal, so soft into the soul, + The deep'ning pain of love they soothe, and sorrow's pang control. + + I look'd upon the pure brook that murmur'd through the glade, + And mingled in the melody that Isabella made; + Yet purer was the residence of Isabella's heart, + Above the reach of pride and guile, above the reach of art. + + I look'd upon the azure of the deep unclouded sky, + Yet clearer was the blue serene of Isabella's eye; + Ne'er softer fell the rain-drop of the first relenting year, + Than falls from Isabella's eye the pity-melted tear. + + All this my fancy prompted, ere a sigh of sorrow proved, + How hopelessly, yet faithfully, and tenderly I loved! + Yet though bereft of hope I love, still will I love the more, + As distance binds the exile's heart to his dear native shore. + + + + +OH! DEAR WERE THE JOYS. + +AIR--_"Here 's a health to ane I love dear."_ + + + Oh! dear were the joys that are past! + Oh! dear were the joys that are past! + Inconstant thou art, as the dew of the morn, + Or a cloud of the night on the blast! + + How dear was the breath of the eve, + When bearing thy fond faithless sigh! + And the moonbeam how dear that betray'd + The love that illumined thine eye! + + Thou vow'dst in my arms to be mine, + Thou swar'st by the moon's sacred light; + But dark roll'd a cloud o'er the sky, + It hid the pale queen of the night. + + Thou hast broken thy plighted faith, + And broken a fond lover's heart; + Yes! in winter the moon's fleeting ray + I would trust more than thee and thy art! + + I am wretched to think on the past-- + Even hope now my peace cannot save; + Thou hast given to my rival thy hand, + But me thou hast doom'd to my grave. + + + + +WILLIAM NICHOLSON. + + +William Nicholson, known as the Galloway poet, was born at Tannymaus, in +the parish of Borgue, on the 15th August 1782. His father followed the +occupation of a carrier; he subsequently took a farm, and finally kept a +tavern. Of a family of eight children, William was the youngest; he +inherited a love of poetry from his mother, a woman of much +intelligence. Early sent to school, impaired eyesight interfered with +his progress in learning. Disqualified by his imperfect vision from +engaging in manual labour, he chose the business of pedlar or travelling +merchant. In the course of his wanderings he composed verses, which, +sung at the various homesteads he visited with his wares, became +popular. Having submitted some of his poetical compositions to Dr Duncan +of Ruthwell, and Dr Alexander Murray, the famous philologist, these +gentlemen commended his attempting a publication. In the course of a +personal canvass, he procured 1500 subscribers; and in 1814 appeared as +the author of "Tales in Verse, and Miscellaneous Poems descriptive of +Rural Life and Manners," Edinburgh, 12mo. By the publication he realised +L100, but this sum was diminished by certain imprudent excesses. With +the balance, he republished some tracts on the subject of Universal +Redemption, which exhausted the remainder of his profits. In 1826 he +proceeded to London, where he was kindly entertained by Allan Cunningham +and other distinguished countrymen. On his return to Galloway, he was +engaged for a short time as assistant to a cattle-driver. In 1828, he +published a second edition of his poems, which was dedicated to Henry, +now Lord Brougham, and to which was prefixed a humorous narrative of his +life by Mr Macdiarmid. Latterly, Nicholson assumed the character of a +gaberlunzie; he played at merrymakings on his bagpipes, for snuff and +whisky. For sometime his head-quarters were at Howford, in the parish of +Tongland; he ultimately was kept by the Poors' Board at Kirk-Andrews, in +his native parish. He died at Brigend of Borgue, on the 16th May 1849. +He was rather above the middle size, and well formed. His countenance +was peculiarly marked, and his eyes were concealed by his bushy +eye-brows and long brown hair. As a poet and song-writer he claims a +place in the national minstrelsy, which the irregular habits of his life +will not forfeit. The longest poem in his published volume, entitled +"The Country Lass," in the same measure as the "Queen's Wake," contains +much simple and graphic delineation of life; while the ballad of "The +Brownie of Blednoch," has passages of singular power. His songs are true +to nature. + + + + +THE BRAES OF GALLOWAY. + +TUNE--_"White Cockade."_ + + + O lassie, wilt thou gang wi' me, + And leave thy friens i' th' south countrie-- + Thy former friens and sweethearts a', + And gang wi' me to Gallowa'? + O Gallowa' braes they wave wi' broom, + And heather-bells in bonnie bloom; + There 's lordly seats, and livins braw, + Amang the braes o' Gallowa'! + + There 's stately woods on mony a brae, + Where burns and birds in concert play; + The waukrife echo answers a', + Amang the braes o' Gallowa'. + O Gallowa' braes, &c. + + The simmer shiel I 'll build for thee + Alang the bonnie banks o' Dee, + Half circlin' roun' my father's ha', + Amang the braes o' Gallowa'. + O Gallowa' braes, &c. + + When autumn waves her flowin' horn, + And fields o' gowden grain are shorn, + I 'll busk thee fine, in pearlins braw, + To join the dance in Gallowa'. + O Gallowa' braes, &c. + + At e'en, whan darkness shrouds the sight, + And lanely, langsome is the night, + Wi' tentie care my pipes I 'll thraw, + Play "A' the way to Gallowa'." + O Gallowa' braes, &c. + + Should fickle fortune on us frown, + Nae lack o' gear our love should drown; + Content should shield our haddin' sma', + Amang the braes o' Gallowa'. + Come while the blossom 's on the broom, + And heather bells sae bonnie bloom; + Come let us be the happiest twa + On a' the braes o' Gallowa'! + + + + +THE HILLS OF THE HIGHLANDS. + +TUNE--_"Ewe Bughts, Marion."_ + + + Will ye go to the Highlan's, my Mary, + And visit our haughs and our glens? + There 's beauty 'mang hills o' the Highlan's, + That lassie i' th' Lowlands ne'er kens. + + 'Tis true we 've few cowslips or roses, + Nae lilies grow wild on the lea; + But the heather its sweet scent discloses, + And the daisy 's as sweet to the e'e. + + See yon far heathy hills, whare they 're risin', + Whose summits are shaded wi' blue; + There the fleet mountain roes they are lyin', + Or feedin' their fawns, love, for you. + + Right sweet are our scenes i' the gloamin', + Whan shepherds return frae the hill, + Aroun' by the banks o' Loch Lomon', + While bagpipes are soundin' sae shrill. + + Right sweet is the low-setting sunbeams, + That points owre the quivering stream; + But sweeter the smiles o' my Mary, + And kinder the blinks o' her een. + + + + +THE BANKS OF TARF. + +TUNE--_"Sin' my Uncle 's dead."_ + + + Where windin' Tarf, by broomy knowes + Wi' siller waves to saut sea rows; + And mony a greenwood cluster grows, + And harebells bloomin' bonnie, O! + Below a spreadin' hazle lea, + Fu' snugly hid whare nane could see, + While blinkin' love beam'd frae her e'e, + I met my bonnie Annie, O! + + Her neck was o' the snaw-drap hue, + Her lips like roses wet wi' dew; + But O! her e'e, o' azure blue, + Was past expression bonnie, O! + Like threads o' gowd her flowin' hair, + That lightly wanton'd wi' the air; + But vain were a' my rhymin' ware + To tell the charms o' Annie, O! + + While smilin' in my arms she lay, + She whisperin' in my ear did say, + "Oh, how could I survive the day, + Should you prove fause, my Tammie, O?" + "While spangled fish glide to the main, + While Scotlan's braes shall wave wi' grain, + Till this fond heart shall break wi' pain, + I 'll aye be true to Annie, O!" + + The Beltan winds blew loud and lang, + And ripplin' raised the spray alang; + We cheerfu' sat, and cheerfu' sang, + The banks of Tarf are bonnie, O! + Though sweet is spring, whan young and gay, + And blithe the blinks o' summer day; + I fear nae winter cauld and blae, + If blest wi' love and Annie, O! + + + + +O! WILL YE GO TO YON BURN SIDE. + +TUNE--_"Will ye walk the woods with me?"_ + + + O! will ye go to yon burn side, + Amang the new-made hay; + And sport upon the flowery swaird, + My ain dear May? + + The sun blinks blithe on yon burn side, + Whar lambkins lightly play, + The wild bird whistles to his mate, + My ain dear May. + + The waving woods, wi' mantle green, + Shall shield us in the bower, + Whare I 'll pu' a posy for my May, + O' mony a bonnie flower. + My father maws ayont the burn, + My mammy spins at hame; + And should they see thee here wi' me, + I 'd better been my lane. + + The lightsome lammie little kens + What troubles it await-- + Whan ance the flush o' spring is o'er, + The fause bird lea'es its mate. + The flowers will fade, the woods decay, + And lose their bonnie green; + The sun wi' clouds may be o'ercast, + Before that it be e'en. + + Ilk thing is in its season sweet; + So love is in its noon: + But cankering time may soil the flower, + And spoil its bonnie bloom. + Oh, come then, while the summer shines, + And love is young and gay; + Ere age his withering, wintry blast + Blaws o'er me and my May. + + For thee I 'll tend the fleecy flocks, + Or haud the halesome plough; + And nightly clasp thee to my breast, + And prove aye leal and true. + The blush o'erspread her bonnie face, + She had nae mair to say, + But gae her hand and walk'd alang, + The youthfu', bloomin' May. + + + + +ALEXANDER RODGER. + + +Alexander Rodger was born on the 16th July 1784, at East Calder, +Midlothian. His father, originally a farmer, was lessee of the village +inn; he subsequently removed to Edinburgh, and latterly emigrated to +Hamburgh. Alexander was apprenticed in his twelfth year to a silversmith +in Edinburgh. On his father leaving the country, in 1797, he joined his +maternal relatives in Glasgow, who persuaded him to adopt the trade of a +weaver. He married in his twenty-second year; and contrived to add to +the family finances by cultivating a taste for music, and giving lessons +in the art. Extreme in his political opinions, he was led in 1819 to +afford his literary support to a journal originated with the design of +promoting disaffection and revolt. The connexion was attended with +serious consequences; he was convicted of revolutionary practices, and +sent to prison. On his release from confinement he was received into the +Barrowfield Works, as an inspector of cloths used for printing and +dyeing. He held this office during eleven years; he subsequently acted +as a pawnbroker, and a reporter of local intelligence to two different +newspapers. In 1836 he became assistant in the publishing office of the +_Reformers' Gazette_, a situation which he held till his death. This +event took place on the 26th September 1846. + +Rodger published two small collections of verses, and a volume of "Poems +and Songs." Many of his poems, though abounding in humour, are +disfigured by coarse political allusions. Several of his songs are of a +high order, and have deservedly become popular. He was less the poet of +external nature than of the domestic affections; and, himself possessed +of a lively sympathy with the humbler classes, he took delight in +celebrating the simple joys of the peasant's hearth. A master of the +pathetic, his muse sometimes assumed a sportive gaiety, when the laugh +is irresistible. Among a wide circle he was held in estimation; he was +fond of society, and took pleasure in humorous conversation. In 1836, +about two hundred of his fellow-citizens entertained him at a public +festival and handed him a small box of sovereigns; and some admiring +friends, to mark their respect for his memory, have erected a handsome +monument over his remains in the Necropolis of Glasgow. + + + + +SWEET BET OF ABERDEEN. + + + How brightly beams the bonnie moon, + Frae out the azure sky; + While ilka little star aboon + Seems sparkling bright wi' joy. + How calm the eve, how blest the hour! + How soft the silvan scene! + How fit to meet thee, lovely flower, + Sweet Bet of Aberdeen! + + Now let us wander through the broom, + And o'er the flowery lea; + While simmer wafts her rich perfume, + Frae yonder hawthorn tree: + There, on yon mossy bank we 'll rest, + Where we 've sae aften been; + Clasp'd to each other's throbbing breast-- + Sweet Bet of Aberdeen! + + How sweet to view that face so meek-- + That dark expressive eye-- + To kiss that lovely blushing cheek-- + Those lips of coral dye! + But O! to hear thy seraph strains, + Thy maiden sighs between, + Makes rapture thrill through all my veins-- + Sweet Bet of Aberdeen! + + O! what to us is wealth or rank? + Or what is pomp or power? + More dear this velvet mossy bank-- + This blest ecstatic hour! + I 'd covet not the monarch's throne, + Nor diamond-studded Queen, + While blest wi' thee, and thee alone, + Sweet Bet of Aberdeen! + + + + +BEHAVE YOURSEL' BEFORE FOLK. + +AIR--_"Good-morrow to your night-cap."_ + + + Behave yoursel' before folk, + Behave yoursel' before folk; + And dinna be sae rude to me, + As kiss me sae before folk. + + It wad na gie me meikle pain, + 'Gin we were seen and heard by nane + To tak' a kiss, or grant you ane, + But, guid sake! no before folk. + Behave yoursel' before folk, + Behave yoursel' before folk; + Whate'er you do when out o' view, + Be cautious aye before folk. + + Consider, lad, how folk will crack, + And what a great affair they 'll mak + O' naething but a simple smack + That 's gi'en or ta'en before folk. + Behave yoursel' before folk, + Behave yoursel' before folk, + Nor gie the tongue o' auld or young + Occasion to come o'er folk. + + It 's no through hatred o' a kiss + That I sae plainly tell you this; + But, losh! I tak it sair amiss + To be sae teased before folk. + Behave yoursel' before folk, + Behave yoursel' before folk; + When we 're our lane ye may tak ane, + But fient a ane before folk. + + I 'm sure wi' you I 've been as free + As ony modest lass should be; + But yet it doesna do to see + Sic freedom used before folk. + Behave yoursel' before folk, + Behave yoursel' before folk; + I 'll ne'er submit again to it-- + So mind you that--before folk. + + Ye tell me that my face is fair; + It may be sae--I dinna care-- + But ne'er again gar 't blush sae sair + As ye hae done before folk. + Behave yoursel' before folk, + Behave yoursel' before folk; + Nor heat my cheeks wi' your mad freaks, + But aye be douce before folk. + + Ye tell me that my lips are sweet, + Sic tales, I doubt, are a' deceit; + At ony rate, it 's hardly meet, + To pree their sweets before folk. + Behave yoursel' before folk, + Behave yoursel' before folk; + Gin that 's the case, there 's time and place, + But surely no before folk. + + But, gin you really do insist + That I should suffer to be kiss'd, + Gae get a licence frae the priest, + And mak me yours before folk. + Behave yoursel' before folk, + Behave yoursel' before folk, + And when were ane, bluid, flesh, and bane, + Ye may tak ten before folk.[25] + + +[25] "The Answer" is of inferior merit, and has therefore been omitted. + + + + +LOVELY MAIDEN. + + + Lovely maiden, art thou sleeping? + Wake, and fly with me, my love, + While the moon is proudly sweeping, + Through the ether fields above; + While her mellow'd light is streaming + Full on mountain, moon, and lake. + Dearest maiden, art thou dreaming? + 'Tis thy true-love calls awake. + + All is hush'd around thy dwelling, + Even the watch-dog 's lull'd asleep; + Hark! the clock the hour is knelling, + Wilt thou then thy promise keep? + Yes, I hear her softly coming, + Now her window 's gently raised; + There she stands, an angel blooming, + Come, my Mary, haste thee, haste! + + Fear not, love, thy rigid father + Soundly sleeps bedrench'd with wine; + 'Tis thy true-love holds the ladder, + To his care thyself resign! + Now my arms enfold a treasure, + Which for worlds I 'd not forego; + Now our bosoms feel that pleasure, + Faithful bosoms only know. + + Long have our true-loves been thwarted, + By the stern decrees of pride, + Which would doom us to be parted, + And make thee another's bride; + But behold, my steeds are ready, + Soon they 'll post us far away; + Thou wilt be Glen Alva's lady, + Long before the dawn of day. + + + + +THE PEASANT'S FIRESIDE. + +AIR--_"For lack o' gowd."_ + + + How happy lives the peasant, by his ain fireside, + Wha weel employs the present, by his ain fireside; + Wi' his wifie blithe and free, and his bairnie on his knee, + Smiling fu' o' sportive glee, by his ain fireside! + Nae cares o' state disturb him, by his ain fireside; + Nae foolish fashions curb him, by his ain fireside; + In his elbow-chair reclined, he can freely speak his mind, + To his bosom-mate sae kind, by his ain fireside. + + When his bonnie bairns increase, around his ain fireside, + What health, content, and peace surround his ain fireside, + A' day he gladly toils, and at night delighted smiles + At their harmless pranks and wiles, about his ain fireside; + And while they grow apace, about his ain fireside, + In beauty, strength, and grace, about his ain fireside, + Wi' virtuous precepts kind, by a sage example join'd, + He informs ilk youthfu' mind, about his ain fireside. + + When the shivering orphan poor draws near his ain fireside, + And seeks the friendly door, that guards his ain fireside, + She 's welcomed to a seat, bidden warm her little feet, + While she 's kindly made to eat, by his ain fireside. + When youthfu' vigour fails him, by his ain fireside, + And hoary age assails him, by his ain fireside, + With joy he back surveys all his scenes of bygone days, + As he trod in wisdom's ways, by his ain fireside. + + And when grim death draws near him, by his ain fireside, + What cause has he to fear him, by his ain fireside? + With a bosom-cheering hope, he takes heaven for his prop, + Then calmly down does drop, by his ain fireside. + Oh! may that lot be ours, by our ain fireside; + Then glad will fly the hours, by our ain fireside; + May virtue guard our path, till we draw our latest breath, + Then we 'll smile and welcome death, by our ain fireside. + + + + +AH, NO! I CANNOT SAY "FAREWELL." + + + Ah, no! I cannot say "Farewell," + 'T would pierce my bosom through; + And to this heart 't were death's dread knell, + To hear thee sigh "Adieu." + Though soul and body both must part, + Yet ne'er from thee I 'll sever, + For more to me than soul thou art, + And oh! I 'll quit thee never. + + Whate'er through life may be thy fate, + That fate with thee I 'll share, + If prosperous, be moderate; + If adverse, meekly bear; + This bosom shall thy pillow be, + In every change whatever, + And tear for tear I 'll shed with thee, + But oh! forsake thee, never. + + One home, one hearth, shall ours be still, + And one our daily fare; + One altar, too, where we may kneel, + And breathe our humble prayer; + And one our praise, that shall ascend, + To one all-bounteous Giver; + And one our will, our aim, our end, + For oh! we 'll sunder never. + + And when that solemn hour shall come, + That sees thee breathe thy last, + That hour shall also fix my doom, + And seal my eyelids fast. + One grave shall hold us, side by side, + One shroud our clay shall cover; + And one then may we mount and glide, + Through realms of love, for ever. + + + + +JOHN WILSON. + + +John Wilson, one of the most heart-stirring of Scottish prose writers, +and a narrative and dramatic poet, is also entitled to rank among the +minstrels of his country. The son of a prosperous manufacturer, he was +born in Paisley, on the 18th of May 1785. The house of his birth, an old +building, bore the name of _Prior's Croft_; it was taken down in 1787, +when the family removed to a residence at the Town-head of Paisley, +which, like the former, stood on ground belonging to the poet's father. +His elementary education was conducted at the schools of his native +town, and afterwards at the manse of Mearns, a rural parish in +Renfrewshire, under the superintendence of Dr Maclatchie, the parochial +clergyman. To his juvenile sports and exercises in the moor of Mearns, +and his trouting excursions by the stream of the Humbie, and the four +parish lochs, he has frequently referred in the pages of _Blackwood's +Magazine_. In his fifteenth year he became a student in the University +of Glasgow. Under the instructions of Professor Young, of the Greek +Chair, he made distinguished progress in classical learning; but it was +to the clear and masculine intellect of Jardine, the distinguished +Professor of Logic, that he was, in common with Jeffrey, chiefly +indebted for a decided impulse in the path of mental cultivation. In +1804 he proceeded to Oxford, where he entered in Magdalen College as a +gentleman-commoner. A leader in every species of recreation, foremost in +every sport and merry-making, and famous for his feats of agility and +strength, he assiduously continued the prosecution of his classical +studies. Of poetical genius he afforded the first public indication by +producing the best English poem of fifty lines, which was rewarded by +the Newdigate prize of forty guineas. On attaining his majority he +became master of a fortune of about L30,000, which accrued to him from +his father's estate; and, having concluded a course of four years at +Oxford, he purchased, in 1808, the small but beautiful property of +Elleray, on the banks of the lake Windermere, in Westmoreland. During +the intervals of college terms, he had become noted for his eccentric +adventures and humorous escapades; and his native enthusiasm remained +unsubdued on his early settlement at Elleray. He was the hero of +singular and stirring adventures: at one time he joined a party of +strolling-players, and on another occasion followed a band of gipsies; +he practised cock-fighting and bull-hunting, and loved to startle his +companions by his reckless daring. His juvenile excesses received a +wholesome check by his espousing, in 1811, Miss Jane Penny, the daughter +of a wealthy Liverpool merchant, and a lady of great personal beauty and +amiable dispositions, to whom he continued most devotedly attached. He +had already enjoyed the intimate society of Wordsworth, and now sought +more assiduously the intercourse of the other lake-poets. In the autumn +of 1811, on the death of his friend James Grahame, author of "The +Sabbath," he composed an elegy to his memory, which attracted the notice +of Sir Walter Scott; in the year following he produced "The Isle of +Palms," a poem in four cantos. + +Hitherto Wilson had followed the career of a man of fortune; and his +original patrimony had been handsomely augmented by his wife's dowry. +But his guardian (a maternal uncle) had proved culpably remiss in the +management of his property, he himself had been careless in pecuniary +matters, and these circumstances, along with others, convinced him of +the propriety of adopting a profession. His inclinations were originally +towards the Scottish Bar; and he now engaged in legal studies in the +capital. In 1815 he passed advocate, and, during the terms of the law +courts, established his residence in Edinburgh. He was early employed as +a counsel at the circuit courts; but his devotion to literature +prevented him from giving his heart to his profession, and he did not +succeed as a lawyer. In 1816 appeared his "City of the Plague," a +dramatic poem, which was followed by his prose tales and sketches, +entitled "Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life," "The Foresters," and +"The Trials of Margaret Lindsay." + +On the establishment of _Blackwood's Magazine_, in 1817, Wilson was one +of the staff of contributors, along with Hogg, Lockhart, and others; and +on a difference occurring between the publisher and Messrs Pringle and +Cleghorn, the original editors, a few months after the undertaking was +commenced, he exercised such a marked influence on the fortunes of that +periodical, that he was usually regarded as its editor, although the +editorial labour and responsibility really rested on Mr Blackwood +himself. In 1820 he was elected by the Town-Council of Edinburgh to the +Chair of Moral Philosophy in the University, which had become vacant by +the death of Dr Thomas Brown. In the twofold capacity of Professor of +Ethics and principal contributor to a popular periodical, he occupied a +position to which his genius and tastes admirably adapted him. He +possessed in a singular degree the power of stimulating the minds and +drawing forth the energies of youth; and wielding in periodical +literature the vigour of a master intellect, he riveted public +attention by the force of his declamation, the catholicity of his +criticism, and the splendour of his descriptions. _Blackwood's Magazine_ +attained a celebrity never before reached by any monthly periodical; the +essays and sketches of "Christopher North," his literary +_nom-de-guerre_, became a monthly treasure of interest and +entertainment. His celebrated "Noctes Ambrosianae," a series of dialogues +on the literature and manners of the times, appeared in _Blackwood_ from +1822 till 1835. In 1825 his entire poetical works were published in two +octavo volumes; and, on his ceasing his regular connexion with +_Blackwood's Magazine_, his prose contributions were, in 1842, collected +in three volumes, under the title of "Recreations of Christopher North." + +Illustrious as a man of letters, and esteemed as a poet, the private +life of Professor Wilson was for many years as destitute of particular +incident, as his youth had been remarkable for singular and stirring +adventure. Till within a few years of his death, he resided during the +summer months at Elleray, where he was in the habit of sumptuously +entertaining his literary friends. His splendid regattas on the lake +Windermere, from which he derived his title of "Admiral of the Lake," +have been celebrated in various periodical papers. He made frequent +pedestrian tours to the Highlands, in which Mrs Wilson, who was of +kindred tastes, sometimes accompanied him. On the death of this +excellent woman, which took place in March 1837, he suffered a severe +shock, from which he never recovered. In 1850 he was elected first +president of the Edinburgh Philosophical Institution; and in the +following year a civil-list pension of L300 was, on the recommendation +of the premier, Lord John Russell, conferred on him by the Queen. In +1852 he felt necessitated, from a continuance of impaired health, to +resign his professorship in the University. He died in his house in +Gloucester Place, Edinburgh, on the 3d of April 1854. His remains, at a +public funeral, were consigned to the Dean Cemetery, and upwards of a +thousand pounds have been raised to erect a suitable monument to his +memory. + +Besides the works already enumerated, Professor Wilson contributed an +admirable essay on the genius of Burns for Blackie's edition of his +works, and an elegant dissertation on Highland scenery, preliminary to +the "Caledonia Illustrata." Of his whole works, a complete edition is in +the course of publication, under the editorial care of his distinguished +son-in-law, Professor Ferrier, of St Andrews. Than Professor Wilson no +Scotsman, Scott and Jeffrey not excepted, has exercised a wider and +deeper influence upon the general intellect of his countrymen. With a +vast and comprehensive genius, he has gathered from every department of +nature the deep and genial suggestions of wisdom; he has found +philosophy in the wilds, and imbibed knowledge by the mountain stream. +Under canvas, in his sporting-jacket, or with the angler's rod, he is +still the eloquent "old Christopher;" his contemplations are always +lofty, and his descriptions gorgeous. As a poet, he is chiefly to be +remarked for meek serenity and gentle pathos. His tales somewhat lack +incident, and are deficient in plot; but his other writings, whether +critical or philosophical, are marked by correctness of taste, boldness +of imagery, and dignity of sentiment. Lion-hearted in the exposure of +absolute error, or vain pretext, he is gentle in judging human frailty; +and irresistible in humour, is overpowering in tenderness. As a +contributor to periodical literature, he will find admirers while the +English language is understood. + + + + +MARY GRAY'S SONG. + + + I walk'd by mysel' owre the sweet braes o' Yarrow, + When the earth wi' the gowans o' July was dress'd; + But the sang o' the bonnie burn sounded like sorrow, + Round ilka house cauld as a last-simmer's nest. + + I look'd through the lift o' the blue smiling morning, + But never a wee cloud o' mist could I see, + On its way up to heaven, the cottage adorning, + Hanging white owre the green o' its sheltering tree. + + By the outside I kenn'd that the inn was forsaken, + That nae tread o' footsteps was heard on the floor; + Oh, loud craw'd the cock whare was nane to awaken, + And the wild raven croak'd on the seat by the door! + + Sic silence--sic lonesomeness, oh, were bewildering! + I heard nae lass singing when herding her sheep; + I met nae bright garlands o' wee rosy children, + Dancing onto the school-house, just waken'd frae sleep. + + I pass'd by the school-house, when strangers were coming, + Whose windows with glad faces seem'd all alive; + Ae moment I hearken'd, but heard nae sweet humming, + For a night o' dark vapour can silence the hive. + + I pass'd by the pool where the lasses at daw'ing, + Used to bleach their white garments wi' daffin and din; + But the foam in the silence o' nature was fa'ing, + And nae laughing rose loud through the roar of the linn. + + I gaed into a small town, when sick o' my roaming, + Whare ance play'd the viol, the tabor, and flute; + 'Twas the hour loved by labour, the saft smiling gloaming, + Yet the green round the cross-stane was empty and mute. + + To the yellow-flower'd meadow, and scant rigs o' tillage, + The sheep a' neglected had come frae the glen; + The cushat-dow coo'd in the midst o' the village, + And the swallow had flown to the dwellings o' men! + + Sweet Denholm! not thus when I lived in thy bosom + Thy heart lay so still the last night o' the week; + Then nane was sae weary that love would nae rouse him, + And grief gaed to dance with a laugh on his cheek. + + Sic thoughts wet my een, as the moonshine was beaming + On the kirk-tower that rose up sae silent and white; + The wan ghastly light on the dial was streaming, + But the still finger tauld not the hour of the night. + + The mirk-time pass'd slowly in siching and weeping, + I waken'd, and nature lay silent in mirth; + Owre a' holy Scotland the Sabbath was sleeping, + And heaven in beauty came down on the earth. + + The morning smiled on--but nae kirk-bell was ringing, + Nae plaid or blue bonnet came down frae the hill; + The kirk-door was shut, but nae psalm tune was singing, + And I miss'd the wee voices sae sweet and sae shrill. + + I look'd owre the quiet o' death's empty dwelling, + The laverock walk'd mute 'mid the sorrowful scene, + And fifty brown hillocks wi' fresh mould were swelling + Owre the kirkyard o' Denholm, last simmer sae green. + + The infant had died at the breast o' its mither; + The cradle stood still at the mitherless bed; + At play the bairn sunk in the hand o' its brither; + At the fauld on the mountain the shepherd lay dead. + + Oh! in spring-time 'tis eerie, when winter is over, + And birds should be glinting owre forest and lea, + When the lint-white and mavis the yellow leaves cover, + And nae blackbird sings loud frae the tap o' his tree. + + But eerier far, when the spring-land rejoices, + And laughs back to heaven with gratitude bright, + To hearken, and naewhere hear sweet human voices + When man's soul is dark in the season o' light! + + + + +THE THREE SEASONS OF LOVE. + + + With laughter swimming in thine eye, + That told youth's heart-felt revelry; + And motion changeful as the wing + Of swallow waken'd by the spring; + With accents blithe as voice of May, + Chanting glad Nature's roundelay; + Circled by joy like planet bright + That smiles 'mid wreaths of dewy light, + Thy image such, in former time, + When thou, just entering on thy prime, + And woman's sense in thee combined + Gently with childhood's simplest mind, + First taught'st my sighing soul to move + With hope towards the heaven of love! + + Now years have given my Mary's face + A thoughtful and a quiet grace: + Though happy still, yet chance distress + Hath left a pensive loveliness; + Fancy hath tamed her fairy gleams, + And thy heart broods o'er home-born dreams! + Thy smiles, slow-kindling now and mild, + Shower blessings on a darling child; + Thy motion slow and soft thy tread, + As if round thy hush'd infant's bed! + And when thou speak'st, thy melting tone, + That tells thy heart is all my own, + Sounds sweeter from the lapse of years, + With the wife's love, the mother's fears! + + By thy glad youth and tranquil prime + Assured, I smile at hoary Time; + For thou art doom'd in age to know + The calm that wisdom steals from woe; + The holy pride of high intent, + The glory of a life well spent. + When, earth's affections nearly o'er, + With Peace behind and Faith before, + Thou render'st up again to God, + Untarnish'd by its frail abode, + Thy lustrous soul, then harp and hymn + From bands of sister seraphim, + Asleep will lay thee, till thine eye + Open in immortality. + + + + +PRAYER TO SLEEP. + + + O gentle Sleep! wilt thou lay thy head + For one little hour on thy lover's bed, + And none but the silent stars of night + Shall witness be to our delight? + + Alas! 'tis said that the couch must be + Of the eider-down that is spread for thee, + So I in my sorrow must lie alone, + For mine, sweet Sleep! is a couch of stone. + + Music to thee I know is dear; + Then the saddest of music is ever here, + For Grief sits with me in my cell, + And she is a syren who singeth well. + + But thou, glad Sleep! lov'st gladsome airs, + And wilt only come to thy lover's prayers, + When the bells of merriment are ringing, + And bliss with liquid voice is singing. + + Fair Sleep! so long in thy beauty woo'd, + No rival hast thou in my solitude, + Be mine, my love! and we two will lie + Embraced for ever, or awake to die! + + Dear Sleep, farewell! hour, hour, hour, hour, + Will slowly bring on the gleam of morrow; + But thou art Joy's faithful paramour, + And lie wilt thou not in the arms of Sorrow. + + + + +DAVID WEBSTER. + + +David Webster was born in Dunblane, on the 25th September 1787. He was +the second of a family of eight children born to his parents, who +occupied the humbler condition of life. By his father, he was destined +for the Church, but the early death of this parent put a check on his +juvenile aspirations. He was apprenticed to a weaver in Paisley, and +continued, with occasional intermissions, to prosecute the labours of +the loom. His life was much chequered by misfortune. Fond of society, he +was led to associate with some dissolute persons, who professed to be +admirers of his genius, and was enticed by their example to neglect the +concerns of business, and the duties of the family-hearth, for the +delusive pleasures of the tavern. From his youth he composed verses. In +1835, he published, in numbers, a volume of poems and songs, with the +title, "Original Scottish Rhymes." His style is flowing and graceful, +and many of his pieces are marked by keen satire and happy humour. The +songs inserted in the present work are favourable specimens of his +manner. He died on the 22d January 1837, in his fiftieth year.[26] + + +[26] The present memoir is condensed from a well written biographical +sketch of Webster, obligingly prepared for our use by Mr Charles +Fleming, of Paisley. + + + + +TAK IT, MAN, TAK IT. + +TUNE--_"Brose and Butter."_ + + + When I was a miller in Fife, + Losh! I thought that the sound o' the happer + Said, Tak hame a wee flow to your wife, + To help to be brose to your supper. + Then my conscience was narrow and pure, + But someway by random it racket; + For I lifted twa neivefu' or mair, + While the happer said, Tak it, man, tak it. + Hey for the mill and the kill, + The garland and gear for my cogie, + Hey for the whisky and yill, + That washes the dust frae my craigie. + + Although it 's been lang in repute + For rogues to mak rich by deceiving, + Yet I see that it does not weel suit + Honest men to begin to the thieving; + For my heart it gaed dunt upon dunt, + Oh! I thought ilka dunt it would crack it; + Sae I flang frae my neive what was in 't, + Still the happer said, Tak it, man, tak it. + Hey for the mill, &c. + + A man that 's been bred to the plough, + Might be deaved wi' its clamorous clapper; + Yet there 's few but would suffer the sough + After kenning what 's said by the happer. + I whiles thought it scoff'd me to scorn, + Saying, Shame, is your conscience no checkit? + But when I grew dry for a horn, + It changed aye to Tak it, man, tak it. + Hey for the mill, &c. + + The smugglers whiles cam wi' their pocks, + Cause they kent that I liked a bicker; + Sae I bartered whiles wi' the gowks, + Gaed them grain for a soup o' their liquor. + I had lang been accustom'd to drink, + And aye when I purposed to quat it, + That thing wi' its clappertie clink + Said aye to me, Tak it, man, tak it. + Hey for the mill, &c. + + But the warst thing I did in my life, + Nae doubt but ye 'll think I was wrang o 't, + Od! I tauld a bit bodie in Fife + A' my tale, and he made a bit sang o 't; + I have aye had a voice a' my days, + But for singing I ne'er got the knack o 't; + Yet I tried whiles, just thinking to please + The greedy wi' Tak it, man, tak it. + Hey the mill, &c. + + Now, miller and a' as I am, + This far I can see through the matter, + There 's men mair notorious to fame, + Mair greedy than me or the muter; + For 'twad seem that the hale race o' men, + Or wi' safety the half we may mak it, + Had some speaking happer within, + That said to them, Tak it, man, tak it. + Hey for the mill, &c. + + + + +OH, SWEET WERE THE HOURS. + +AIR--_"Gregor Arora."_ + + + Oh, sweet were the hours + That I spent wi' my Flora, + In yon gay shady bowers, + Roun' the linn o' the Cora! + + Her breath was the zephyrs + That waft frae the roses, + And skim o'er the heath + As the summer day closes. + + I told her my love-tale, + Which seem'd to her cheering; + Then she breathed on the soft gale + Her song so endearing. + + The rock echoes ringing + Seem'd charm'd wi' my story; + And the birds, sweetly singing, + Replied to my Flora. + + The sweet zephyr her breath + As it wafts frae the roses, + And skims o'er the heath + As the summer day closes. + + + + +PATE BIRNIE.[27] + + + Our minstrels a', frae south to north, + To Edin cam to try their worth, + And ane cam frae the banks o' Forth, + Whase name was Patie Birnie. + This Patie, wi' superior art, + Made notes to ring through head and heart, + Till citizens a' set apart + Their praise to Patie Birnie. + Tell auld Kinghorn, o' Picish birth, + Where, noddin', she looks o'er the Firth, + Aye when she would enhance her worth, + To sing o' Patie Birnie. + + His merits mak _Auld Reekie_[28] ring, + Mak rustic poets o' him sing; + For nane can touch the fiddle-string + Sae weel as Patie Birnie. + He cheers the sage, the sour, the sad, + Maks youngsters a rin louping mad, + Heads grow giddy, hearts grow glad, + Enchanted wi' Pate Birnie. + + The witching tones o' Patie's therm, + Mak farmer chiels forget their farm, + Sailors forget the howling storm, + When dancing to Pate Birnie. + Pate maks the fool forget his freaks, + Maks baxter bodies burn their bakes, + And gowkies gie their hame the glaiks, + And follow Patie Birnie. + + When Patie taks his strolling rounds, + To feasts or fairs in ither towns, + Wark bodies fling their trantlooms doun, + To hear the famous Birnie. + The crabbit carles forget to snarl, + The canker'd cuiffs forget to quarrel, + And gilphies forget the stock and horle, + And dance to Patie Birnie. + + +[27] Pate Birnie was a celebrated fiddler or violinist who resided in +Kinghorn, Fifeshire. + +[28] An old designation for the city of Edinburgh, often used by the +Scottish poets. + + + + +WILLIAM PARK. + + +William Park was not born in lawful wedlock. His grandfather, Andrew +Park, occupied for many years the farm of Efgill, in the parish of +Westerkirk, and county of Dumfries. He had two sons, William and James, +who were both men of superior intelligence, and both of them writers of +verses. William, the poet's father, having for a brief period served as +a midshipman, emigrated to the island of Grenada, where he first acted +as the overseer of an estate, but was afterwards appointed to a +situation in the Customs at St George's, and became the proprietor and +editor of a newspaper, called the _St George's Chronicle_. In the year +1795, he was slain when bravely heading an encounter with a body of +French insurgents. His son, the subject of this memoir, was born at +Crooks, in the parish of Westerkirk, on the 22d of February 1788, and +was brought up under the care of his grandfather. He received an +ordinary training at the parochial school; and when his grandfather +relinquished his farm to a higher bidder, he was necessitated to seek +employment as a cow-herd. In 1805, he proceeded as a farm-servant to the +farm of Cassock, in the parish of Eskdalemuir. In 1809, he entered the +service of the Rev. Dr Brown,[29] minister of Eskdalemuir, and +continued to occupy the position of _minister's man_ till the death of +that clergyman, many years afterwards. + +From his early years, Park had cultivated a taste for literature. The +parishioners of Westerkirk have long been commended for their +inquisitive turn of mind; many years ago they established a subscription +library, to which Mr Telford, the celebrated engineer, who was a native +of the parish, bequeathed a legacy of a thousand pounds. The rustic poet +suddenly emerged from his obscurity, when he was encouraged to publish a +volume entitled "The Vale of Esk, and other Poems," Edin., 1833, 12mo. +About the same period he became a contributor of poetry to _Blackwood's +Magazine_, and a writer of prose articles in the provincial newspapers. +On the death of Dr Brown, in 1837, he took, in conjunction with a +son-in-law, a lease of the farm of Holmains, in the parish of Dalton, +and now enjoyed greater leisure for the prosecution of his literary +tastes. In May 1843, he undertook the editorship of the _Dumfries +Standard_ newspaper; but had just commenced his duties, when he was +seized with an illness which proved fatal. He died at Holmains on the +5th June 1843. His widow still lives in Eskdalemuir; and of their +numerous family, some have emigrated to America. + +Park's compositions were not strictly lyrical, but "The Patriot's Song," +which we have selected from his volume, seems worthy of a place in the +national minstrelsy. His style is smooth and flowing, and he evinces a +passionate admiration of the beautiful in nature. + + +[29] William Brown, D.D., author of "Antiquities of the Jews." Lond., +1825, 2 vols. 8vo. + + + + +THE PATRIOT'S SONG. + + + Shall I leave thee, thou land to my infancy dear, + Ere I know aught of toil or of woe, + For the clime of the stranger, the solitude drear, + And a thousand endearments forego? + + Shall I give my lone bosom a prey to its strife? + Must I friendship's just claims disallow? + No; her breathings can cool the hot fever of life, + As the breeze fans the sea-beaten brow. + + 'Tis said that the comforts of plenty abound + In the wide-spreading plains of the west; + That there an asylum of peace shall be found + Where the care-stricken wanderer may rest. + + That nature uncheck'd there displays all her pride + In the forest unfading and deep; + That the river rolls onward its ocean-like tide, + Encircling broad realms in its sweep. + + But is there a spot in that far distant land + Where fancy or feeling may dwell? + Or how shall the heart of the exile expand, + Untouch'd by Society's spell? + + Though thy children, old Albyn! adversity bear, + As forlorn o'er thy mountains they roam, + Yet I 've found, what in vain I should seek for elsewhere-- + I have found 'mong these mountains a home. + + How lovely the beam on thy moorland appears, + As it streams from the eye of the morn! + And how comely the garment that evening wears + When the day of its glories is shorn! + + Ah! strong are the ties that the patriot bind, + Fair isle of the sea! to thy shore; + The turf that he treads, by the best of their kind, + By the bravest, was trodden before. + + Nor is there a field--not a foot of thy soil, + In dale or in mountain-land dun, + Unmark'd in the annals of chivalrous toil, + Ere concord its conquest had won. + + The rill hath a voice from the rock as it pours, + It comes from the glen on the gale, + For the life-blood of martyrs hath hallow'd thy muirs, + And their names are revered in the vale. + + How sacred the stone that, remote on the heath, + O'er the bones of the righteous was laid, + Who triumph'd in death o'er the foes of their faith, + When the banner of truth was display'd! + + And sweet are the songs of the land of my love, + And soothing their tones to the soul, + Or lofty and loud, like the thunder above, + Or the storm-cloud of passion, they roll. + + While summer, beyond the Atlantic's wide waste, + A gaudier garb may assume, + My country! thou boastest the verdure of taste, + And thy glories immortally bloom. + + No! I will not forsake thee, thou land of my lay! + The scorn of the stranger to brave; + O'er thy lea I have revell'd in youth's sunny ray, + And thy wild-flowers shall spangle my grave. + + + + +THOMAS PRINGLE. + + +Thomas Pringle was born on the 5th of January 1789 at Blaiklaw, in +Teviotdale, a farm rented by his father, and of which his progenitors +had been tenants for a succession of generations. By an accident in +infancy, he suffered dislocation of one of his limbs, which rendered the +use of crutches necessary for life. Attending the grammar school of +Kelso for three years, he entered as a student the University of +Edinburgh. From his youth he had devoted himself to extensive reading, +and during his attendance at college he formed the resolution of +adopting literature as a profession. In 1808 he accepted the appointment +of copying-clerk in the General Register House, occupying his intervals +of leisure in composition. He published, in 1811--in connexion with his +ingenious friend, Robert Story, the present minister of Roseneath--a +poem entitled, "The Institute," which obtained a considerable share of +public favour. In 1816 he became a contributor to Campbell's "Albyn's +Anthology;" and produced an excellent imitation of the poetical style of +Sir Walter Scott for Hogg's "Poetic Mirror." Concurring with Hogg in a +proposal to establish a new monthly periodical, in order to supersede +the _Scots' Magazine_, which had much sunk in the literary scale, he +united with him in submitting the scheme to Mr Blackwood, who was then +becoming known as an enterprising publisher. By Mr Blackwood the +proposal was well received; a periodical was originated under the title +of the _Edinburgh Monthly Magazine_, and Pringle relinquished his post +in the Register House to undertake the editorship. In April 1817 the +first number of the magazine appeared, adorned with contributions from +Wilson, Lockhart, the Shepherd, and others of literary reputation. An +interesting article on "Gypsies" was Pringle's own contribution, the +materials being kindly supplied to him by Sir Walter Scott. The +occurrence of serious differences between the editor and publisher, +however, soon menaced the continuance of a periodical which had +commenced so prosperously; the result was, the withdrawal of Pringle +from the concern, and an announcement in the September number that the +magazine was discontinued. The discontinuance was merely nominal: a new +series, under the title of _Blackwood's Magazine_, appeared in October, +under the literary superintendence of Wilson; while, in the August +preceding, Pringle had originated, under the publishing auspices of Mr +Constable, _The Edinburgh Magazine and Literary Miscellany_, as a new +series of the _Scots' Magazine_. In the first number of Mr Blackwood's +new series appeared the celebrated "Chaldee MS.," a humorous pasquinade, +chiefly directed against Pringle and his literary friend Cleghorn, and +which, on account of its evident personalities, was afterwards +cancelled. + +Besides conducting Constable's magazine, Pringle undertook the +editorship of _The Star_, a bi-weekly newspaper; but he was led soon to +renounce both these literary appointments. He now published the +"Autumnal Excursion, and other Poems;" but finding, in spite of every +effort, that he was unable to support himself by literature, he resumed, +early in 1819, his humble situation in the Register House. + +When his literary affairs were prosperous, Pringle had entered into the +married state, but his present emoluments were wholly unequal to the +comfortable maintenance of his family. He formed the resolution of +emigrating to South Africa, then a favourite colony, and a number of his +wife's relatives and his own consented to accompany him. In February +1820 he embarked for the Cape, along with his father and other +relatives, in all numbering twenty-four persons. The emigrants landed on +the 5th of June, and forthwith took possession of the territory assigned +them by the home government, extending to 20,000 acres, situate in the +upper part of the valley of Baaviars river, a tributary of the Great +Fish river. In this place, which the colonists designated Glen-lynden, +Pringle remained about two years, till his friends were comfortably +settled. He thereafter proceeded to Cape Town, in quest of literary +employment. He was appointed keeper of the Government library, with a +salary of L75, and soon after found himself at the head of a flourishing +educational establishment. He now established a periodical, which he +designated the _South African Commercial Advertiser_, and became editor +of a weekly newspaper, originated by an enterprising printer. But +misfortune continued to attend his literary adventures: in consequence +of certain interferences of the local government, he was compelled to +abandon both his periodical and newspaper, while the opposition of the +administrative officials led to his seminary being deserted. Leaving the +colony for Britain, he arrived in London in July 1826; and failing to +obtain from the home government a reparation of his losses in the +colony, he was necessitated anew to seek a precarious subsistence from +literature. An article which he had written on slavery, in the _New +Monthly Magazine_, led to his appointment as secretary to the +Anti-slavery Society. This situation, so admirably suited to his talents +and predilections, he continued to hold till the office became +unnecessary, by the legislative abolition of slavery on the 27th of June +1834. He now became desirous of returning to the Cape, but was meanwhile +seized with a pulmonary affection, which proved fatal on the 5th +December 1834, in his forty-sixth year. His remains were interred in +Bunhill-field Cemetery, where a tombstone, with an inscription by his +poetical friend William Kennedy, has been erected to his memory. + +As a poet, Pringle is chiefly remarkable for elegance of versification, +perspicuity of sentiment, and deep and generous feeling. A thorough +patriot, some of his best songs on subjects connected with Scottish +scenery were written on the plains of Africa. Beneficent in disposition, +and conciliatory in private intercourse, he was especially +uncompromising in the maintenance of his political opinions; and to this +peculiarity may be traceable some of his earlier misfortunes. In person +he was under the middle height; his countenance was open and benignant, +with a well developed forehead. He was much influenced by sincere +religious convictions. His poetical works, with a memoir by Mr Leitch +Ritchie, have been published by Mr Moxon for the benefit of his widow. + + + + +FAREWELL TO BONNIE TEVIOTDALE. + + + Our native land--our native vale-- + A long, a last adieu; + Farewell to bonnie Teviotdale, + And Cheviot's mountains blue! + + Farewell, ye hills of glorious deeds, + Ye streams renown'd in song; + Farewell, ye braes and blossom'd meads, + Our hearts have loved so long! + + Farewell, the blithsome broomy knowes, + Where thyme and harebells grow; + Farewell, the hoary, haunted howes, + O'erhung with birk and sloe! + + The mossy cave and mouldering tower, + That skirt our native dells; + The martyr's grave and lover's bower, + We bid a sad farewell! + + Home of our love--our fathers' home-- + Land of the brave and free-- + The sail is flapping on the foam + That bears us far from thee! + + We seek a wild and distant shore, + Beyond the western main; + We leave thee to return no more, + Nor view thy cliffs again! + + Our native land--our native vale-- + A long, a last adieu! + Farewell to bonnie Teviotdale, + And Scotland's mountains blue! + + + + +THE EXILE'S LAMENT. + + + By the lone Mankayana's margin gray + A Scottish maiden sung; + And mournfully pour'd her melting lay + In Teviot's border-tongue: + O bonnie grows the broom on Blaiklaw knowes, + And the birk in Clifton dale; + And green are the hills o' the milk-white ewes, + By the briery banks o' Cayle! + + Here bright are the skies; and these valleys of bloom + May enchant the traveller's eye; + But all seems dress'd in death-like gloom, + To the exile who comes to die! + O bonnie grows the broom, &c. + + Far round and round spreads the howling waste, + Where the wild beast roams at will; + And yawning cleughs, by woods embraced, + Where the savage lurks to kill! + O bonnie grows the broom, &c. + + Full oft over Cheviot's uplands green + My dreaming fancy strays; + But I wake to weep 'mid the desolate scene + That scowls on my aching gaze! + O bonnie grows the broom, &c. + + Oh light, light is poverty's lowliest state, + On Scotland's peaceful strand, + Compared with the heart-sick exile's fate, + In this wild and weary land! + O bonnie grows the broom, &c. + + + + +LOVE AND SOLITUDE. + + + I love the free ridge of the mountain, + When dawn lifts her fresh dewy eye; + I love the old ash by the fountain, + When noon's summer fervours are high: + And dearly I love when the gray-mantled gloaming + Adown the dim valley glides slowly along, + And finds me afar by the pine-forest roaming, + A-list'ning the close of the gray linnet's song. + + When the moon from her fleecy cloud scatters + Over ocean her silvery light, + And the whisper of woodlands and waters + Comes soft through the silence of night-- + I love by the ruin'd tower lonely to linger, + A-dreaming to fancy's wild witchery given, + And hear, as if swept by some seraph's pure finger, + The harp of the winds breathing accents of heaven. + + Yet still, 'mid sweet fancies o'erflowing, + Oft bursts from my lone breast the sigh-- + I yearn for the sympathies glowing, + When hearts to each other reply! + Come, friend of my bosom! with kindred devotion, + To worship with me by wild mountain and grove; + O come, my Eliza, with dearer emotion, + With rapture to hallow the chaste home of love! + + + + +COME AWA', COME AWA'. + + + Come awa', come awa', + An' o'er the march wi' me, lassie; + Leave your southren wooers a', + My winsome bride to be, lassie! + Lands nor gear I proffer you, + Nor gauds to busk ye fine, lassie; + But I 've a heart that 's leal and true, + And a' that heart is thine, lassie! + + Come awa', come awa', + And see the kindly north, lassie, + Out o'er the peaks o' Lammerlair, + And by the Links o' Forth, lassie! + And when we tread the heather-bell, + Aboon Demayat lea, lassie, + You 'll view the land o' flood and fell, + The noble north countrie, lassie! + + Come awa', come awa', + And leave your southland hame, lassie; + The kirk is near, the ring is here, + And I 'm your Donald Graeme, lassie! + Rock and reel and spinning-wheel, + And English cottage trig, lassie; + Haste, leave them a', wi' me to speel + The braes 'yont Stirling brig, lassie! + + Come awa', come awa', + I ken your heart is mine, lassie, + And true love shall make up for a' + For whilk ye might repine, lassie! + Your father he has gi'en consent, + Your step-dame looks na kind, lassie; + O that our feet were on the bent, + An' the lowlands far behind, lassie! + + Come awa', come awa', + Ye 'll ne'er hae cause to rue, lassie; + My cot blinks blithe beneath the shaw, + By bonnie Avondhu, lassie! + There 's birk and slae on ilka brae, + And brackens waving fair, lassie, + And gleaming lochs and mountains gray-- + Can aught wi' them compare, lassie? + Come awa', come awa', &c. + + + + +DEAREST LOVE, BELIEVE ME! + + + Dearest love, believe me, + Though all else depart, + Nought shall e'er deceive thee + In this faithful heart. + Beauty may be blighted-- + Youth must pass away; + But the vows we plighted + Ne'er shall know decay. + + Tempests may assail us + From affliction's coast, + Fortune's breeze may fail us + When we need it most; + Fairest hopes may perish, + Firmest friends may change, + But the love we cherish + Nothing shall estrange. + + Dreams of fame and grandeur + End in bitter tears; + Love grows only fonder + With the lapse of years; + Time, and change, and trouble, + Weaker ties unbind, + But the bands redouble + True affection twined. + + + + +WILLIAM KNOX. + + +William Knox, a short-lived poet of considerable merit, was born at +Firth, in the parish of Lilliesleaf, Roxburghshire, on the 17th August +1789. His father, Thomas Knox, espoused Barbara Turnbull, the widow of a +country gentleman, Mr Pott of Todrig, in Selkirkshire; and of this +marriage, William was the eldest son. He was educated at the parish +school of Lilliesleaf, and, subsequently, at the grammar school of +Musselburgh. In 1812, he became lessee of the farm of Wrae, near +Langholm, Dumfriesshire; but his habits were not those of a thriving +farmer, and, at the expiry of five years, he was led to abandon his +lease. His parents had, meanwhile, removed to the farm of Todrig, and he +returned thither to the shelter of the parental roof. In 1820, the +family, who had fallen into straitened circumstances, proceeded to +Edinburgh, where they opened a lodging-house. William now devoted his +attention to literature, contributing extensively to the public +journals. From his youth he had composed verses. In 1818, he published +"The Lonely Hearth, and other Poems," 12mo; in 1824, "The Songs of +Israel," 12mo; and in April 1825, a third duodecimo volume of lyrics, +entitled "The Harp of Zion." His poetical merits attracted the notice of +Sir Walter Scott, who afforded him kindly countenance and occasional +pecuniary assistance. He likewise enjoyed the friendly encouragement of +Professor Wilson, and other men of letters. + +Of amiable and benevolent dispositions, Knox fell a victim to the undue +gratification of his social propensities; he was seized with paralysis, +and died at Edinburgh on the 12th of November 1825, at the early age of +thirty-six. His poetry, always smooth and harmonious, is largely +pervaded with pathetic and religious sentiment. Some of his Scriptural +paraphrases are exquisite specimens of sacred verse. A new edition of +his poetical works was published at London, in 1847. Besides his +poetical works, he published "A Visit to Dublin," and a Christmas tale +entitled "Marianne, or the Widower's Daughter." He left several +compositions in prose and verse, but these have not been published by +his executors. + +Knox was short in stature, but handsomely formed; his complexion was +fair, and his hair of a light colour. Subject to a variation of spirits +in private, he was generally cheerful in society. He sang or repeated +his own songs with much enthusiasm, and was keenly alive to his literary +reputation. Possessing a fund of humour, he excelled in relating curious +anecdotes. + + + + +THE DEAR LAND OF CAKES. + + + O brave Caledonians! my brothers, my friends, + Now sorrow is borne on the wings of the winds; + Care sleeps with the sun in the seas of the west, + And courage is lull'd in the warrior's breast. + Here social pleasure enlivens each heart, + And friendship is ready its warmth to impart; + The goblet is fill'd, and each worn one partakes, + To drink plenty and peace to the dear land of cakes. + + Though the Bourbon may boast of his vine-cover'd hills, + Through each bosom the tide of depravity thrills; + Though the Indian may sit in his green orange bowers, + There slavery's wail counts the wearisome hours. + Though our island is beat by the storms of the north, + There blaze the bright meteors of valour and worth; + There the loveliest rose-bud of beauty awakes + From that cradle of virtue, the dear land of cakes. + + O valour! thou guardian of freedom and truth, + Thou stay of old age, and thou guidance of youth! + Still, still thy enthusiast transports pervade + The breast that is wrapt in the green tartan plaid. + And ours are the shoulders that never shall bend + To the rod of a tyrant, that scourge of a land; + Ours the bosoms no terror of death ever shakes, + When call'd in defence of the dear land of cakes. + + Shall the ghosts of our fathers, aloft on each cloud, + When the rage of the battle is dreadful and loud, + See us shrink from our standard with fear and dismay, + And leave to our foemen the pride of the day? + No, by heavens we will stand to our honour and trust! + Till our heart's blood be shed on our ancestors' dust, + Till we sink to the slumber no war-trumpet breaks, + Beneath the brown heath of the dear land of cakes. + + O, peace to the ashes of those that have bled + For the land where the proud thistle raises its head! + O, peace to the ashes of those gave us birth, + In a land freedom renders the boast of the earth! + Though their lives are extinguish'd, their spirit remains, + And swells in their blood that still runs in our veins; + Still their deathless achievements our ardour awakes, + For the honour and weal of the dear land of cakes. + + Ye sons of old Scotia, ye friends of my heart, + From our word, from our trust, let us never depart; + Nor e'er from our foe till with victory crown'd, + And the balm of compassion is pour'd in his wound; + And still to our bosom be honesty dear, + And still to our loves and our friendships sincere; + And, till heaven's last thunder the firmament shakes, + May happiness beam on the dear land of cakes. + + + + +THE LAMENT. + + + She was mine when the leaves of the forest were green, + When the rose-blossoms hung on the tree; + And dear, dear to me were the joys that had been, + And I dreamt of enjoyments to be. + + But she faded more fast than the blossoms could fade, + No human attention could save; + And when the green leaves of the forest decay'd, + The winds strew'd them over her grave. + + + + +TO MARY. + + + Farewell! and though my steps depart + From scenes for ever dear, + O Mary! I must leave my heart + And all my pleasures here; + And I must cherish in my mind, + Where'er my lot shall be, + A thought of her I leave behind-- + A hopeless thought of thee. + + O Mary! I can ne'er forget + The charm thy presence brought; + No hour has pass'd since first we met, + But thou hast shared my thought. + At early morn, at sultry noon, + Beneath the spreading tree, + And, wandering by the evening moon, + Still, still I think of thee. + + Yea, thou hast come to cheer my dream, + And bid me grieve no more, + But at the morn's returning gleam, + I sorrow'd as before; + Yet thou shalt still partake my care, + And when I bend the knee, + And pour to Heaven a fervent prayer, + I will remember thee. + + Farewell! and when my steps depart, + Though many a grief be mine, + And though I may conceal my own, + I 'll weep to hear of thine. + Though from thy memory soon depart + Each little trace of me, + 'Tis only in the grave this heart + Can cease to think of thee. + + + + +WILLIAM THOM. + + +William Thom, commonly styled "The Inverury Poet," was born at Aberdeen +in 1789. His father, who was a shopkeeper, dying during his infancy, he +was placed by his mother at a school taught by a female, from whom he +received the greater amount of his juvenile education. At the age of +ten, he was put to a cotton-factory, where he served an apprenticeship +of four years. He was subsequently employed, during a period of nearly +twenty years, in the large weaving-factory of Gordon, Barron, & Co. In +1827, he removed to Dundee; and shortly after to the village of Newtyle, +in Strathmore, at both of these places working as a hand-loom weaver. +Thrown out of employment, in consequence of a stagnation in the +manufacturing world, he was subjected, in his person and family, to much +penury and suffering. At length, disposing of his articles of household +furniture, he purchased a few wares, and taking his wife and children +along with him, commenced the precarious life of a pedlar. In his +published "Recollections," he has supplied a heart-rending narrative of +the privations attendant on his career as a wanderer; his lodgings were +frequently in the farmer's barn, and, on one of these occasions, one of +his children perished from cold and starvation. The contents of his pack +becoming exhausted, he derived the means of subsistence by playing on +the flute, and disposing of copies of verses. After wandering over a +wide district as a pedlar, flute-player, and itinerant poet, he resumed +his original occupation of weaving in Kinross. He subsequently sought +employment as a weaver in Aberdeen, where he remained about a year. In +1840 he proceeded to Inverury; and it was while he was resident in this +place that his beautiful stanzas, entitled "The Blind Boy's Pranks," +appeared in the columns of the _Aberdeen Herald_ newspaper. These verses +were copied into many of the public journals: they particularly arrested +the attention of Mr Gordon of Knockespock, a landed proprietor in +Aberdeenshire, who, ascertaining the indigent circumstances of the +author, transmitted to him a handsome donation, and desired to form his +personal acquaintance. The poet afterwards accompanied Mr Gordon to +London, who introduced him as a man of genius to the fashionable and +literary circles of the metropolis. In 1844 he published a small volume +of poems and songs, with a brief autobiography, under the title of +"Rhymes and Recollections of a Hand-loom Weaver." This volume was well +received; and on a second visit to London, Thom was entertained at a +public dinner by many distinguished literary persons of the metropolis. +From admirers, both in India and America, he received pecuniary +acknowledgments of his genius. He now attempted to establish himself in +London in connexion with the press, but without success. Returning to +Scotland, he took up his abode in Dundee; where, after a period of +distress and penury, he breathed his last on the 29th February 1848, in +his 59th year. His remains were interred in the public cemetery of the +town; and it is pleasing to add, that an enthusiastic admirer of his +genius has planted flowers upon his grave. Though long in publishing, +Thom early wrote verses; in Gordon, Barron, & Co.'s factory in +Aberdeen, his fellow-workmen were astonished and interested by the power +and vigour of his poems. That he did not publish sooner, is probably +attributable to his lengthened career of poverty, and his carelessness +regarding intellectual honours. + +In respect of pure and simple pathos, some of his lyrics are unequalled +among the compositions of any of the national bards. Than "The +Mitherless Bairn," it may be questioned whether there is to be found in +the language any lyrical composition more delicately plaintive. It is +lamentable to think that one who could write so tenderly should, by a +dissolute life, have been the author of many of his own misfortunes, and +a constant barrier to every attempt for his permanent elevation in the +social circle. In person, he was rather below the middle stature; his +countenance was thoughtful, but marked with the effects of bodily +suffering. Owing to a club-foot, his gait was singularly awkward. He +excelled in conversation, and his manner was pleasing and conciliatory. + + + + +JEANIE'S GRAVE. + + + I saw my true-love first on the banks of queenly Tay, + Nor did I deem it yielding my trembling heart away; + I feasted on her deep, dark eye, and loved it more and more, + For, oh! I thought I ne'er had seen a look so kind before! + + I heard my true-love sing, and she taught me many a strain, + But a voice so sweet, oh! never shall my cold ear hear again. + In all our friendless wanderings--in homeless penury-- + Her gentle song and jetty eye were all unchanged to me. + + I saw my true-love fade--I heard her latest sigh; + I wept no friv'lous weeping when I closed her lightless eye: + Far from her native Tay she sleeps, and other waters lave + The markless spot where Ury creeps around my Jeanie's grave. + + Move noiseless, gentle Ury! around my Jeanie's bed, + And I 'll love thee, gentle Ury! where'er my footsteps tread; + For sooner shall thy fairy wave return from yonder sea, + Than I forget yon lowly grave, and all it hides from me. + + + + +THEY SPEAK O' WILES. + +AIR--_"Gin a bodie meet a bodie."_ + + + They speak o' wiles in woman's smiles, + An' ruin in her e'e; + I ken they bring a pang at whiles + That 's unco sair to dree; + But mind ye this, the half-ta'en kiss, + The first fond fa'in' tear, + Is, heaven kens, fu' sweet amends, + An' tints o' heaven here. + + When two leal hearts in fondness meet, + Life's tempests howl in vain; + The very tears o' love are sweet + When paid with tears again. + Shall hapless prudence shake its pow, + Shall cauldrife caution fear, + Oh, dinna, dinna droun the lowe, + That lichts a heaven here! + + What though we 're ca'd a wee before + The stale "three score an' ten," + When Joy keeks kindly at your door, + Aye bid her welcome ben. + About yon blissfu' bowers above + Let doubtfu' mortals speir; + Sae weel ken we that "heaven is love," + Since love makes heaven here. + + + + +THE MITHERLESS BAIRN.[30] + + + When a' ither bairnies are hush'd to their hame + By aunty, or cousin, or frecky grand-dame, + Wha stands last and lanely, an' naebody carin'? + 'Tis the puir doited loonie--the mitherless bairn! + + The mitherless bairn gangs to his lane bed, + Nane covers his cauld back, or haps his bare head; + His wee hackit heelies are hard as the airn, + An' litheless the lair o' the mitherless bairn. + + Aneath his cauld brow siccan dreams hover there, + O' hands that wont kindly to kame his dark hair; + But mornin' brings clutches, a' reckless an' stern, + That lo'e nae the locks o' the mitherless bairn! + + Yon sister that sang o'er his saftly-rock'd bed + Now rests in the mools whare her mammie is laid; + The father toils sair their wee bannock to earn, + An' kens na' the wrangs o' his mitherless bairn. + + Her spirit that pass'd in yon hour o' his birth, + Still watches his wearisome wanderings on earth; + Recording in heaven the blessings they earn, + Wha couthilie deal wi' the mitherless bairn! + + Oh! speak him na' harshly--he trembles the while, + He bends to your bidding, and blesses your smile; + In their dark hour o' anguish, the heartless shall learn + That God deals the blow for the mitherless bairn! + + +[30] An Inverury correspondent writes: "Thom gave me the following +narrative as to the origin of 'The Mitherless Bairn;' I quote his own +words--'When I was livin' in Aberdeen, I was limping roun' the house to +my garret, when I heard the greetin' o' a wean. A lassie was thumpin' a +bairn, when out cam a big dame, bellowin', "Ye hussie, will ye kick a +mitherless bairn!" I hobbled up the stair, and wrote the sang afore +sleepin'.'" + + + + +THE LASS O' KINTORE. + +AIR--_"Oh, as I was kiss'd yestreen."_ + + + At hame or afield I am cheerless an' lone, + I 'm dull on the Ury, an' droop by the Don; + Their murmur is noisy, and fashious to hear, + An' the lay o' the lintie fa's dead on my ear. + I hide frae the morn, and whaur naebody sees; + I greet to the burnie, an' sich to the breeze; + Though I sich till I 'm silly, an' greet till I dee, + Kintore is the spot in this world for me. + But the lass o' Kintore, oh! the lass o' Kintore, + Be warned awa' frae the lass o' Kintore; + There 's a love-luring look that I ne'er kent afore + Steals cannily hame to the heart at Kintore. + + They bid me forget her, oh! how can it be? + In kindness or scorn she 's ever wi' me; + I feel her fell frown in the lift's frosty blue, + An' I weel ken her smile in the lily's saft hue. + I try to forget her, but canna forget, + I 've liked her lang, an' I aye like her yet; + My poor heart may wither, may waste to its core, + But forget her, oh never! the lass o' Kintore! + Oh the wood o' Kintore, the holmes o' Kintore! + The love-lichtin' e'e that I ken at Kintore; + I 'll wander afar, an' I 'll never look more + On the gray glance o' Peggy, or bonnie Kintore! + + + + +MY HAMELESS HA'. + + + Oh! how can I be cheerie in this hameless ha'? + The very sun glints eerie on the gilded wa'; + An' aye the nicht sae drearie, + Ere the dowie morn daw, + Whan I canna win to see you, + My Jamie, ava'. + + Though mony miles between us, an' far, far frae me, + The bush that wont to screen us frae the cauld warl's e'e, + Its leaves may waste and wither, + But its branches winna fa'; + An' hearts may haud thegither, + Though frien's drap awa'. + + Ye promised to speak o' me to the lanesome moon, + An' weird kind wishes to me, in the lark's saft soun'; + I doat upon that moon + Till my very heart fills fu', + An' aye yon birdie's tune + Gars me greet for you. + + Then how can I be cheerie in the stranger's ha'? + A gowden prison drearie, my luckless fa'! + 'Tween leavin' o' you, Jamie, + An' ills that sorrow me, + I 'm wearie o' the warl', + An' carena though I dee. + + + + +WILLIAM GLEN.[31] + + +William Glen, whose name simply has hitherto been known to the lovers of +Scottish song, is entitled to an honourable place in the song-literature +of his country. His progenitors were persons of consideration in the +county of Renfrew.[32] His father, Alexander Glen, a Glasgow merchant in +the Russian trade, married Jane Burns, sister of the Rev. Dr Burns, +minister of Renfrew; and of a family of three sons, the poet was the +eldest. He was born in Queen Street, Glasgow, on the 14th of November +1789. In 1803, when the regiment of Glasgow Volunteer Sharp-shooters was +formed, he joined the corps as a lieutenant. He afterwards followed the +mercantile profession, and engaged in the West India trade. For some +time he resided in one of the West India islands. In 1814 he became one +of the managers of the "Merchants' House" of Glasgow, and also a +director of the "Chamber of Commerce and Manufactures." During the same +year, being unfortunate in merchandise, he was induced to abandon the +concerns of business. He afterwards derived the means of support from an +uncle who resided in Russia; but his circumstances were ultimately much +clouded by misfortune. During the last eight years of his career, his +summers were spent at Reinagour, in the parish of Aberfoyle, where he +resided with an uncle of his wife. After several years of delicate +health, he died in Edwin Place, Gorbals, Glasgow, in December 1826. His +widow and daughter continue to reside at Craigmuick, parish of +Aberfoyle. + +William Glen was about six feet in height; his person, which was +originally slender, afterwards became portly. He was of a fair +complexion, and his countenance generally wore a smile. His manners were +pleasing, and he cherished a keen relish for congenial society. In 1815 +he published a thin duodecimo volume of verses, entitled "Poems, chiefly +Lyrical;" but the majority of his metrical compositions seem to have +been confined to his repositories. A quarto volume of his MSS., numbered +"Volume Third," is now in the possession of Mr Gabriel Neil of Glasgow, +who has kindly made it available in the preparation of this work. +Interspersed with the poetry in the MS. volume, are pious reflections on +the trials and disappointments incident to human life; with some +spirited appeals to those fair ones who at different times had attracted +the poet's fancy. Of his songs inserted in the present work, seven have +been printed from the MS. volume, and the two last from the printed +volume. Four of the songs have not been previously published. The whole +are pervaded by simplicity and exquisite pathos. The song, "Waes me for +Prince Charlie," is one of the most touching and popular of modern +Jacobite ditties. + + +[31] To Mr James C. Roger, of Glasgow, we have to acknowledge our +obligations for much diligent inquiry on the subject of this memoir. + +[32] Allanus Glen, _armiger_, is witness to an instrument conveying the +fishing of Crockat-shot to the "Monks of Pasly," in 1452. James Glen, +the successor of this person, obtained from Robert, abbot of Paisley, +the lands of Bar, Bridge-end, and Lyntehels, within the Lordship of +Paisley. James Glen of Bar joined the troops of Queen Mary at the battle +of Langside, for which act he was forfeited by the Regent, but was +restored in 1573 by the treaty of Perth. Archibald Glen, a younger son +of the proprietor of Bar, was minister of Carmunnock, and died in +February 1614. Of two sons, Robert, the eldest, succeeded him in the +living of Carmunnock; the other, named Thomas, was a prosperous trader +in the Saltmarket of Glasgow; he died in 1735. His son Alexander was the +poet's father. + + + + +WAES ME FOR PRINCE CHARLIE.[33] + +TUNE--_"Johnnie Faa."_ + + + A wee bird cam to our ha' door, + He warbled sweet an' clearly, + An' aye the owercome o' his sang + Was, "Waes me for Prince Charlie." + Oh! whan I heard the bonnie soun', + The tears cam drappin' rarely; + I took my bannet aff my head, + For weel I lo'ed Prince Charlie. + + Quoth I, "My bird, my bonnie, bonnie bird, + Is that a sang ye borrow? + Are thae some words ye 've learnt by heart, + Or a lilt o' dule an' sorrow?" + "Oh, no, no, no!" the wee bird sang, + "I 've flown sin' mornin' early, + But sic' a day o' wind and rain!-- + Oh! waes me for Prince Charlie. + + "On hills that are by right his ain, + He roves a lanely stranger; + On every side he 's press'd by want, + On every side is danger. + Yestreen I saw him in a glen, + My heart maist burstit fairly, + For sadly changed indeed was he-- + Oh! waes me for Prince Charlie. + + "Dark night cam on, the tempest roar'd + Loud o'er the hills an' valleys; + An' whare wast that your Prince lay down, + Whase hame should been a palace? + He row'd him in a Highland plaid, + Which cover'd him but sparely, + An' slept beneath a bush o' broom-- + Oh! waes me for Prince Charlie." + + But now the bird saw some red-coats, + An' he shook his wings wi' anger: + "Oh! this is no a land for me, + I 'll tarry here nae langer." + He hover'd on the wing a while, + Ere he departed fairly; + But weel I mind the farewell strain + Was, "Waes me for Prince Charlie." + + +[33] This song is understood to be a favourite with her present Majesty. + + + + +MARY OF SWEET ABERFOYLE.[34] + + + The sun hadna peep'd frae behint the dark billow, + The slow sinking moon half illumined the scene; + As I lifted my head frae my care-haunted pillow, + An' wander'd to muse on the days that were gane. + Sweet hope seem'd to smile o'er ideas romantic, + An' gay were the dreams that my soul would beguile; + But my eyes fill'd wi' tears as I view'd the Atlantic, + An' thought on my Mary of sweet Aberfoyle. + + Though far frae my hame in a tropical wildwood, + Yet the fields o' my forefathers rose on my view; + An' I wept when I thought on the days of my childhood, + An' the vision was painful the brighter it grew. + Sweet days! when my bosom with rapture was swelling, + Though I knew it not then, it was love made me smile; + Oh! the snaw wreath is pure where the moonbeams are dwelling, + Yet as pure is my Mary of sweet Aberfoyle. + + Now far in the east the sun slowly rising, + Brightly gilded the top of the tall cabbage tree; + And sweet was the scene such wild beauties comprising, + As might have fill'd the sad mourner with rapture and glee. + But my heart felt nae rapture, nae pleasant emotion, + The saft springs o' pleasure had lang, lang been seal'd; + I thought on my home 'cross a wide stormy ocean, + And wept for my Mary of sweet Aberfoyle. + + The orange was bathed in the dews o' the morning, + An' the bright draps bespangled the clustering vine; + White were the blossoms the lime-tree adorning, + An' brown was the apple that grew on the pine. + Were I as free as an Indian chieftain, + Sic beautiful scenes might give pleasure the while; + But the joy o' a slave is aye waverin' an' shiftin', + An' a slave I 'm to Mary of sweet Aberfoyle. + + When the mirk cloud o' fortune aboon my head gathers, + An' the golden shower fa's whare it ne'er fell before; + Oh! then I 'll revisit the land of my fathers, + An' clasp to this bosom the lass I adore. + Hear me, ye angels, who watch o'er my maiden, + (Like ane o' yoursels she is free frae a' guile), + Pure as was love in the garden o' Eden, + Sae pure is my Mary of sweet Aberfoyle. + + +[34] This song was composed while the author resided in the West Indies. +It is here printed for the first time. + + + + +THE BATTLE-SONG.[35] + + + Raise high the battle-song + To the heroes of our land; + Strike the bold notes loud and long + To Great Britain's warlike band. + Burst away like a whirlwind of flame, + Wild as the lightning's wing; + Strike the boldest, sweetest string, + And deathless glory sing-- + To their fame. + + See Corunna's bloody bed! + 'Tis a sad, yet glorious scene; + There the imperial eagle fled, + And there our chief was slain. + Green be the turf upon the warrior's breast, + High honour seal'd his doom, + And eternal laurels bloom + Round the poor and lowly tomb + Of his rest. + + Strong was his arm of might, + When the war-flag was unfurl'd; + But his soul when peace shone bright, + Beam'd love to all the world. + And his name, through endless ages shall endure; + High deeds are written fair, + In that scroll, which time must spare, + And thy fame 's recorded there-- + Noble Moore. + + Yonder 's Barossa's height + Rising full upon my view, + Where was fought the bloodiest fight + That Iberia ever knew, + Where Albion's bold sons to victory were led. + With bay'nets levell'd low, + They rush'd upon the foe, + Like an avalanche of snow + From its bed. + + Sons of the "Lonely Isle," + Your native courage rose, + When surrounded for a while + By the thousands of your foes. + But dauntless was your chief, that meteor of war, + He resistless led ye on, + Till the bloody field was won, + And the dying battle-groan + Sunk afar. + + Our song Balgowan share, + Home of the chieftain's rest; + For thou art a lily fair + In Caledonia's breast. + Breathe, sweetly breathe, a soft love-soothing strain, + For beauty there doth dwell, + In the mountain, flood, or fell, + And throws her witching spell + O'er the scene. + + But not Balgowan's charms + Could hire the chief to stay; + For the foe were up in arms, + In a country far away. + He rush'd to battle, and he won his fame; + Ages may pass by, + Fleet as the summer's sigh, + But thy name shall never die-- + Gallant Graeme.[36] + + Strike again the boldest strings, + To our great commander's praise; + Who to our memory brings + "The deeds of other days." + Peal for a lofty spirit-stirring strain; + The blaze of hope illumes + Iberia's deepest glooms, + And the eagle shakes his plumes + There in vain. + + High is the foemen's pride, + For they are sons of war; + But our chieftain rolls the tide, + Of battle back afar. + A braver hero in the field ne'er shone; + Let bards with loud acclaim, + Heap laurels on his fame, + "Singing glory" to the name + Of Wellington. + + Could I with soul of fire + Guide my wild unsteady hand, + I would strike the quivering wire, + Till it rung throughout the land. + Of all its warlike heroes would I sing; + Were powers to soar thus given, + By the blast of genius driven, + I would sweep the highest heaven + With my wing. + + Yet still this trembling flight + May point a bolder way, + Ere the lonely beam of night + Steals on my setting day. + Till then, sweet harp, hang on the willow tree; + And when I come again, + Thou wilt not sound in vain, + For I 'll strike thy highest strain-- + Bold and free. + + +[35] Printed for the first time, from the author's MS. volume. + +[36] The "gallant Graeme," Lord Lynedoch, on hearing this song at a +Glasgow theatre, was so moved by the touching reference of the poet to +his achievements, and the circumstances of his joining the army, that he +openly burst into tears. + + + + +THE MAID OF ORONSEY.[37] + + + Oh! stopna, bonnie bird, that strain, + Frae hopeless love itsel' it flows; + Sweet bird, oh! warble it again, + Thou'st touch'd the string o' a' my woes; + Oh! lull me with it to repose, + I 'll dream of her who 's far away, + And fancy, as my eyelids close, + Will meet the maid of Oronsey. + + Couldst thou but learn frae me my grief, + Sweet bird, thou 'dst leave thy native grove, + And fly to bring my soul relief, + To where my warmest wishes rove; + Soft as the cooings of the dove, + Thou 'dst sing thy sweetest, saddest lay, + And melt to pity and to love + The bonnie maid of Oronsey. + + Well may I sigh and sairly weep, + The song sad recollections bring; + Oh! fly across the roaring deep, + And to my maiden sweetly sing; + 'Twill to her faithless bosom fling + Remembrance of a sacred day; + But feeble is thy wee bit wing, + And far 's the isle of Oronsey. + + Then, bonnie bird, wi' mony a tear, + I 'll mourn beside this hoary thorn, + And thou wilt find me sitting here, + Ere thou canst hail the dawn o' morn; + Then high on airy pinions borne, + Thou 'lt chant a sang o' love an' wae, + An' soothe me, weeping at the scorn, + Of the sweet maid of Oronsey. + + And when around my weary head, + Soft pillow'd where my fathers lie, + Death shall eternal poppies spread, + An' close for aye my tearfu' eye; + Perch'd on some bonnie branch on high, + Thou 'lt sing thy sweetest roundelay, + And soothe my "spirit, passing by" + To meet the maid of Oronsey. + + +[37] Printed for the first time. + + + + +JESS M'LEAN.[38] + + + Her eyes were red with weeping, + Her lover was no more, + Beneath the billows sleeping, + Near Ireland's rocky shore; + She oft pray'd for her Willy, + But it was all in vain, + And pale as any lily + Grew lovely Jess M'Lean. + + She sat beside some willows + That overhung the sea, + And as she view'd the billows, + She moan'd most piteously; + The storm in all its rigour + Swept the bosom of the main, + And shook the sylph-like figure + Of lovely Jess M'Lean. + + Her auburn hair was waving + In ringlets on the gale, + And the tempest join'd its raving, + To the hapless maiden's wail; + Wild was the storm's commotion, + Yet careless of the scene, + Like the spirit of the ocean + Sat lovely Jess M'Lean. + + She look'd upon her bosom + Where Willy's picture hung, + 'Twas like a rosy blossom + On a bed of lilies flung; + She kiss'd the red cheeks over, + And look'd, and kiss'd again; + Then told the winds her lover + Was true to Jess M'Lean. + + But a blast like bursting thunder + Bent down each willow tree, + Snapp'd the picture clasp asunder, + And flung it in the sea; + She started from the willows + The image to regain, + And low beneath the billows + Lies lovely Jess M'Lean. + + Her bones are changed to coral + Of the purest virgin white, + Her teeth are finest pearl, + And her eyes are diamonds bright; + The breeze oft sweeps the willows + In a sad and mournful strain, + And moaning o'er the billows + Sings the dirge of Jess M'Lean. + + +[38] Printed for the first time. + + + + +HOW EERILY, HOW DREARILY. + + + How eerily, how drearily, how wearily to pine, + When my love 's in a foreign land, far frae thae arms o' mine; + Three years hae come an' gane, sin' first he said to me, + That he wad stay at hame wi' Jean, wi' her to live an' dee; + The day comes in wi' sorrow now, the night is wild an' drear, + An' every hour that passes by I water wi' a tear. + + I kiss my bonnie baby, I clasp it to my breast, + Ah! aft wi' sic a warm embrace, it's father hath me press'd! + An' whan I gaze upon its face, as it lies on my knee, + The crystal draps upon its cheeks will fa' frae ilka ee; + Oh! mony a, mony a burning tear upon its cheeks will fa', + For oh! its like my bonnie love, and he is far awa'. + + Whan the spring time had gane by, an' the rose began to blaw, + An' the harebell an' the violet adorn'd ilk bonnie shaw; + 'Twas then my love cam courtin' me, and wan my youthfu' heart, + An' mony a tear it cost my love ere he could frae me part; + But though he 's in a foreign land far, far across the sea, + I ken my Jamie's guileless heart is faithfu' unto me. + + Ye wastlin win's upon the main blaw wi' a steady breeze, + And waft my Jamie hame again across the roaring seas; + Oh! whan he clasps me in his arms in a' his manly pride, + I 'll ne'er exchange that ae embrace for a' the warl' beside; + Then blaw a steady gale, ye win's, waft him across the sea, + And bring my Jamie hame again to his wee bairn an' me. + + + + +THE BATTLE OF VITTORIA.[39] + +AIR--_"Whistle o'er the lave o 't."_ + + + Sing a' ye bards, wi' loud acclaim, + High glory gie to gallant Graham, + Heap laurels on our marshal's fame + Wha conquer'd at Vittoria. + Triumphant freedom smiled on Spain, + An' raised her stately form again, + Whan the British lion shook his mane + On the mountains of Vittoria. + + Let blustering Suchet crousely crack, + Let Joseph rin the coward's track, + An' Jourdan wish his baton back + He left upon Vittoria. + If e'er they meet their worthy king, + Let them dance roun' him in a ring, + An' some Scots piper play the spring + He blew them at Vittoria. + + Gie truth and honour to the Dane, + Gie German's monarch heart and brain, + But aye in sic a cause as Spain + Gie Britain a Vittoria. + The English rose was ne'er sae red, + The shamrock waved whare glory led, + An' the Scottish thistle rear'd its head + In joy upon Vittoria. + + Loud was the battle's stormy swell, + Whare thousands fought an' many fell, + But the Glasgow heroes bore the bell + At the battle of Vittoria. + The Paris maids may ban them a', + Their lads are maistly wede awa', + An' cauld an' pale as wreathes o' snaw + They lie upon Vittoria. + + Peace to the souls, then, o' the brave, + Let all their trophies for them wave, + And green be our Cadogan's grave + Upon thy fields, Vittoria. + Shout on, my boys, your glasses drain, + And fill a bumper up again, + Pledge to the leading star o' Spain, + The hero of Vittoria. + + +[39] At the battle of Vittoria, the 71st, or Glasgow Regiment, bore a +distinguished part. On this song, celebrating their achievements, being +produced at the Glasgow theatre, it was received with rapturous +applause; it was nightly called for during the season. + + + + +BLINK OVER THE BURN, SWEET BETTY. + +AIR--_"Blink over the burn, sweet Betty."_ + + + Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, + Blink over the burn to me; + Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, + An' I 'll gang alang wi' thee; + Though father and mither forbade it, + Forbidden I wadna be; + Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, + An' I 'll gang alang wi' thee. + + The cheek o' my love 's like the rose-bud, + Blushing red wi' the mornin' dew, + Her hair 's o' the loveliest auburn, + Her ee 's o' the bonniest blue; + Her lips are like threads o' the scarlet, + Disclosing a pearly row; + Her high-swelling, love-heaving bosom + Is white as the mountain snow. + + But it isna her beauty that hauds me, + A glitterin' chain winna lang bind; + 'Tis her heavenly seraph-like sweetness, + An' the graces adornin' her mind; + She 's dear to my soul as the sunbeam + Is dear to the summer's morn, + An' she says, though her father forbade it, + She 'll ne'er break the vows she has sworn. + + Her father's a canker'd auld carle, + He swears he will ne'er gie consent; + Such carles should never get daughters, + Unless they can mak them content; + But she says, though her father forbade it, + Forbidden she winna be; + Blink over the burn, sweet Betty, + An' I 'll gang alang wi' thee. + + + + +FAREWEEL TO ABERFOYLE. + +AIR--_"Highland Plaid."_ + + + My tortured bosom long shall feel + The pangs o' this last sad fareweel; + Far, far to foreign lands I stray, + To spend my hours in deepest wae; + Fareweel, my dear, my native soil, + Fareweel, the braes o' Aberfoyle! + + An' fare-ye-weel, my winsome love, + Into whatever lands I rove, + Thou 'lt claim the deepest, dearest sigh, + The warmest tear ere wet my eye; + An' when I 'm wan'rin' mony a mile, + I 'll mourn for Kate o' Aberfoyle. + + When far upon the raging sea, + As thunders roar, and lightnings flee, + When sweepin' storms the ship assail, + I 'll bless the music o' the gale, + An' think, while listenin' a' the while, + I hear the storms o' Aberfoyle. + + Kitty, my only love, fareweel; + What pangs my faithfu' heart will feel, + While straying through the Indian groves, + Weepin' our woes or early loves; + I 'll ne'er mair see my native soil, + Fareweel, fareweel, sweet Aberfoyle! + + + + +DAVID VEDDER. + + +David Vedder was the son of a small landowner in the parish of Burness, +Orkney, where he was born in 1790. He had the misfortune to lose both +his parents ere he had completed his twelfth year, and was led to choose +the nautical profession. At the age of twenty-two, he obtained the rank +of captain of a vessel, in which he performed several voyages to +Greenland. In 1815, he entered the revenue service as first officer of +an armed cruiser, and in five years afterwards was raised to the post of +tide-surveyor. He first discharged the duties of this office at +Montrose, and subsequently at the ports of Kirkcaldy, Dundee, and Leith. + +A writer of verses from his boyhood, Vedder experienced agreeable +relaxation from his arduous duties as a seaman, in the invocation of the +muse. He sung of the grandeur and terrors of the ocean. His earlier +compositions were contributed to some of the northern newspapers; but +before he attained his majority, his productions found admission into +the periodicals. In 1826, he published "The Covenanter's Communion, and +other Poems," a work which was very favourably received. His reputation +as a poet was extended by the publication, in 1832, of a second volume, +under the title of "Orcadian Sketches." This work, a _melange_ of prose +and poetry, contains some of his best compositions in verse; and several +of the prose sketches are remarkable for fine and forcible description. +In 1839, he edited the "Poetical Remains of Robert Fraser," prefaced +with an interesting memoir. + +Immediately on the death of Sir Walter Scott, Vedder published a memoir +of that illustrious person, which commanded a ready and wide +circulation. In 1842, he gave to the world an edition of his collected +poems, in an elegant duodecimo volume. In 1848, he supplied the +letterpress for a splendid volume, entitled "Lays and Lithographs," +published by his son-in-law, Mr Frederick Schenck of Edinburgh, the +distinguished lithographer. His last work was a new English version of +the quaint old story of "Reynard the Fox," which was published with +elegant illustrations. To many of the more popular magazines and serials +he was in the habit of contributing; articles from his pen adorned the +pages of _Constable's Edinburgh Magazine_, the _Edinburgh Literary +Journal_, the _Edinburgh Literary Gazette_, the _Christian Herald_, +_Tait's Magazine_, and _Chambers's Journal_. He wrote the letterpress +for Geikie's volume of "Etchings," and furnished songs for George +Thomson's "Musical Miscellany," Blackie's "Book of Scottish Song," and +Robertson's "Whistlebinkie." At the time of his death, he was engaged in +the preparation of a ballad on the subject of the persecutions of the +Covenanters. In 1852, he was placed upon the retired list of revenue +officers, and thereafter established his residence in Edinburgh. He died +at Newington, in that city, on the 11th February 1854, in his 64th year. +His remains were interred in the Southern Cemetery. + +Considerably above the middle height, Vedder was otherwise of massive +proportions, while his full open countenance was much bronzed by +exposure to the weather. Of beneficent dispositions and social habits, +he enjoyed the friendship of many of his gifted contemporaries. +Thoroughly earnest, his writings partake of the bold and straightforward +nature of his character. Some of his prose productions are admirable +specimens of vigorous composition; and his poetry, if not characterised +by uniformity of power, never descends into weakness. Triumphant in +humour, he is eminently a master of the plaintive; his tender pieces +breathe a deep-toned cadence, and his sacred lyrics are replete with +devotional fervour. His Norse ballads are resonant with the echoes of +his birth-land, and his songs are to be remarked for their deep pathos +and genuine simplicity. + + + + +JEANIE'S WELCOME HAME. + + + Let wrapt musicians strike the lyre, + While plaudits shake the vaulted fane; + Let warriors rush through flood and fire, + A never-dying name to gain; + Let bards, on fancy's fervid wing, + Pursue some high or holy theme: + Be 't mine, in simple strains, to sing + My darling Jeanie 's welcome hame! + + Sweet is the morn of flowery May, + When incense breathes from heath and wold-- + When laverocks hymn the matin lay, + And mountain peaks are bathed in gold-- + And swallows, frae some foreign strand, + Are wheeling o'er the winding stream; + But sweeter to extend my hand, + And bid my Jeanie welcome hame! + + Poor collie, our auld-farrant dog, + Will bark wi' joy whene'er she comes; + And baudrons, on the ingle rug, + Will blithely churm at "auld gray-thrums." + The mavis, frae our apple-tree, + Shall warble forth a joyous strain; + The blackbird's mellow minstrelsy + Shall welcome Jeanie hame again! + + Like dew-drops on a fading rose, + Maternal tears shall start for thee, + And low-breathed blessings rise like those + Which soothed thy slumb'ring infancy. + Come to my arms, my timid dove! + I 'll kiss thy beauteous brow once more; + The fountain of thy father's love + Is welling all its banks out o'er! + + + + +I NEITHER GOT PROMISE OF SILLER. + +AIR--_"Todlin' hame."_ + + + I neither got promise of siller nor land + With the bonnie wee darling who gave me her hand; + But I got a kind heart with my sweet blushing bride, + And that 's proved the bliss of my ain fireside. + My ain fireside, my dear fireside, + There 's happiness aye at my ain fireside! + + Ambition once pointed my view towards rank, + To meadows and manors, and gold in the bank: + 'Twas but for an hour; and I cherish with pride + My sweet lovely flower at my ain fireside. + My ain fireside, my happy fireside, + My Jeanie 's the charm of my ain fireside! + + Her accents are music; there 's grace in her air; + And purity reigns in her bosom so fair; + She 's lovelier now than in maidenly pride, + Though she 's long been the joy of my ain fireside. + My ain fireside, my happy fireside, + There 's harmony still at my ain fireside! + + Let the minions of fortune and fashion go roam, + I 'm content with the sweet, simple pleasures of home; + Though their wine, wit, and humour flow like a spring-tide, + What are these to the bliss of my dear fireside? + My ain fireside, my cheerie fireside, + There are pleasures untold at my ain fireside! + + + + +THERE IS A PANG FOR EVERY HEART. + +AIR--_"Gramachree."_ + + + There is a pang for every heart, + A tear for every eye; + There is a knell for every ear, + For every breast a sigh. + There 's anguish in the happiest state, + Humanity can prove; + But oh! the torture of the soul + Is unrequited love! + + The reptile haunts the sweetest bower, + The rose blooms on the thorn; + There 's poison in the fairest flower + That greets the opening morn. + The hemlock and the night-shade spring + In garden and in grove; + But oh! the upas of the soul + Is unrequited love! + + Ah! lady, thine inconstancy + Hath made my peace depart; + The unwonted coldness of thine eye + Hath froze thy lover's heart. + Yet with the fibres of that heart + Thine image dear is wove; + Nor can they sever till I die + Of unrequited love! + + + + +THE FIRST OF MAY. + +AIR--_"The Braes of Balquhidder."_ + + + Now the beams of May morn + On the mountains are streaming, + And the dews on the corn + Are like diamond-drops gleaming; + And the birds from the bowers + Are in gladness ascending; + And the breath of sweet flowers + With the zephyrs is blending. + + And the rose-linnet's thrill, + Overflowing with gladness, + And the wood-pigeon's bill, + Though their notes seem of sadness; + And the jessamine rich + Its soft tendrils is shooting, + From pear and from peach + The bright blossoms are sprouting. + + And the lambs on the lea + Are in playfulness bounding, + And the voice of the sea + Is in harmony sounding; + And the streamlet on high + In the morning beam dances, + For all Nature is joy + As sweet summer advances. + + Then, my Mary, let 's stray + Where the wild-flowers are glowing, + By the banks of the Tay + In its melody flowing; + Thou shalt bathe in May-dew, + Like a sweet mountain blossom, + For 'tis bright like thy brow, + And 'tis pure as thy bosom! + + + + +SONG OF THE SCOTTISH EXILE. + + + Oh! the sunny peaches glow, + And the grapes in clusters blush; + And the cooling silver streams + From their sylvan fountains rush; + There is music in the grove, + And there 's fragrance on the gale; + But there 's nought so dear to me + As my own Highland vale. + + Oh! the queen-like virgin rose, + Of the dew and sunlight born, + And the azure violet, + Spread their beauties to the morn; + So does the hyacinth, + And the lily pure and pale; + But I love the daisy best + In my own Highland vale. + + Hark! hark! those thrilling notes! + 'Tis the nightingale complains; + Oh! the soul of music breathes + In those more than plaintive strains; + But they 're not so dear to me + As the murmur of the rill, + And the bleating of the lambs + On my own Highland hill. + + Oh! the flow'rets fair may glow, + And the juicy fruits may blush, + And the beauteous birds may sing, + And the crystal streamlets rush; + And the verdant meads may smile, + And the cloudless sun may beam, + But there 's nought beneath the skies + Like my own Highland home. + + + + +THE TEMPEST IS RAGING. + +AIR--_"He 's dear to me, though far frae me."_ + + + The tempest is raging + And rending the shrouds; + The ocean is waging + A war with the clouds; + The cordage is breaking, + The canvas is torn, + The timbers are creaking-- + The seamen forlorn. + + The water is gushing + Through hatches and seams; + 'Tis roaring and rushing + O'er keelson and beams; + And nought save the lightning + On mainmast or boom, + At intervals brightening + The palpable gloom. + + Though horrors beset me, + And hurricanes howl, + I may not forget thee, + Beloved of my soul! + Though soon I must perish + In ocean beneath, + Thine image I 'll cherish, + Adored one! in death. + + + + +THE TEMPLE OF NATURE.[40] + + + Talk not of temples--there is one + Built without hands, to mankind given; + Its lamps are the meridian sun, + And all the stars of heaven; + Its walls are the cerulean sky, + Its floor the earth so green and fair; + The dome is vast immensity-- + All nature worships there! + + The Alps array'd in stainless snow, + The Andean ranges yet untrod, + At sunrise and at sunset glow + Like altar-fires to God. + A thousand fierce volcanoes blaze, + As if with hallow'd victims rare; + And thunder lifts its voice in praise-- + All nature worships there! + + The ocean heaves resistlessly, + And pours his glittering treasure forth; + His waves--the priesthood of the sea-- + Kneel on the shell-gemm'd earth, + And there emit a hollow sound, + As if they murmur'd praise and prayer; + On every side 'tis holy ground-- + All nature worships there! + + The grateful earth her odours yield + In homage, Mighty One! to thee; + From herbs and flowers in every field, + From fruit on every tree, + The balmy dew at morn and even + Seems like the penitential tear, + Shed only in the sight of heaven-- + All nature worships there! + + The cedar and the mountain pine, + The willow on the fountain's brim, + The tulip and the eglantine, + In reverence bend to Him; + The song-birds pour their sweetest lays, + From tower, and tree, and middle air; + The rushing river murmurs praise-- + All nature worships there! + + Then talk not of a fane, save one + Built without hands, to mankind given; + Its lamps are the meridian sun, + And all the stars of heaven. + Its walls are the cerulean sky, + Its floor the earth so green and fair, + The dome is vast immensity-- + All nature worships there! + + +[40] This admirable composition was an especial favourite of Dr Thomas +Chalmers, who was in the habit of quoting it to his students in the +course of his theological prelections. + + + + +JOHN M'DIARMID. + + +The son of the Rev. Hugh M'Diarmid, minister of the Gaelic church, +Glasgow, John M'Diarmid was born in 1790. He received in Edinburgh a +respectable elementary education; but, deprived of his father at an +early age, he was left unaided to push his fortune in life. For some +time he acted as clerk in connexion with a bleachfield at Roslin, and +subsequently held a situation in the Commercial Bank in Edinburgh. He +now attended some classes in the University, while his other spare time +was devoted to reading and composition. During two years he was employed +in the evenings as amanuensis to Professor Playfair. At one of the +College debating societies he improved himself as a public speaker, and +subsequently took an active part in the discussions of the "Forum." Fond +of verse-making, he composed some spirited lines on the battle of +Waterloo, when the first tidings of the victory inspired a thrilling +interest in the public mind; the consequence was, the immediate +establishment of his reputation. His services were sought by several of +the leading publishers, and the accomplished editor of the _Edinburgh +Review_ offered to receive contributions from his pen. In 1816 he +compiled some works for the bookselling firm of Oliver and Boyd, and +towards the end of the same year, in concert with his friends Charles +Maclaren and William Ritchie, originated the _Scotsman_ newspaper. In +January 1817, he accepted the editorship of the _Dumfries and Galloway +Courier_--a journal which, established in 1809 by Dr Duncan of Ruthwell, +chiefly with the view of advocating his scheme of savings' banks, had +hitherto been conducted by that ingenious and philanthropic individual. + +As editor of a provincial newspaper, M'Diarmid was possessed of the +promptitude and business-habits which, in connexion with literary +ability, are essential for such an office. The _Dumfries Courier_, which +had formerly occupied a neutrality in politics, became, under his +management, a powerful organ of the liberal party. But the editor was +more than a politician; the columns of his journal were enriched with +illustrations of the natural history of the district, and sent forth +stirring appeals on subjects of social reformation and agricultural +improvement. Devoted to his duties as a journalist, he continued to +cherish his literary enthusiasm. In 1817 he published an edition of +Cowper, with an elegant memoir of the poet's life. "The Scrap-Book," a +work of selections and original contributions in prose and verse, +appeared in 1820, and was speedily followed by a second volume. In 1823 +he composed a memoir of Goldsmith for an edition of the "Vicar of +Wakefield," which was published in Edinburgh. The _Dumfries Magazine_ +was originated under his auspices in 1825, and during the three years of +its existence was adorned with contributions from his pen. In 1830 he +published "Sketches from Nature," a volume chiefly devoted to the +illustration of scenery and character in the districts of Dumfries and +Galloway. "The Picture of Dumfries," an illustrated work, appeared in +1832. A description of Moffat, and a life of Nicholson, the Galloway +poet, complete the catalogue of his publications. In 1820 he was offered +the editorship of the _Caledonian Mercury_, the first established of +the Scottish newspapers, but preferred to remain in Dumfries. He +ultimately became sole proprietor of the _Courier_, which, under his +superintendence, acquired a celebrity rarely attained by a provincial +newspaper. In 1847 he was entertained at a public dinner by his +fellow-townsmen. His death took place at Dumfries, on the 18th November +1852, in his sixty-third year. + +A man of social and generous dispositions, M'Diarmid was esteemed among +a wide circle of friends; he was in habits of intimacy with Sir Walter +Scott, Jeffrey, Wilson, Lockhart, the Ettrick Shepherd, Dr Thomas +Gillespie, and many others of his distinguished contemporaries. To his +kindly patronage, many young men of genius were indebted for positions +of honour and emolument. An elegant prose-writer, his compositions in +verse are pervaded by a graceful smoothness and lively fancy. + + + + +NITHSIDE. + +AIR--_"There 's a bonnie brier bush in our kail-yard."_ + + + When the lark is in the air, the leaf upon the tree, + The butterfly disporting beside the hummel bee; + The scented hedges white, the fragrant meadows pied, + How sweet it is to wander by bonnie Nithside! + + When the blackbird piping loud the mavis strives to drown, + And schoolboys seeking nests find each nursling fledged or flown, + To hop 'mong plots and borders, array'd in all their pride, + How sweet at dewy morn to roam by bonnie Nithside! + + When the flies are on the stream, 'neath a sky of azure hue, + And anglers take their stand by the waters bright and blue; + While the coble circles pools, where the monarch salmon glide, + Surpassing sweet on summer days is bonnie Nithside! + + When the corncraik's voice is mute, as her young begin to flee, + And seek with swifts and martins some home beyond the sea; + And reapers crowd the harvest-field, in man and maiden pride, + How exquisite the golden hours on bonnie Nithside! + + When stubbles yield to tilth, and woodlands brown and sear, + The falling leaf and crispy pool proclaim the waning year; + And sounds of sylvan pastime ring through our valley wide, + Vicissitude itself is sweet by bonnie Nithside! + + And when winter comes at last, capping every hill with snow, + And freezing into icy plains the struggling streams below, + You still may share the curler's joys, and find at even-tide, + Maids sweet and fair, in spence and ha', at bonnie Nithside! + + + + +EVENING. + + + Hush, ye songsters! day is done, + See how sweet the setting sun + Gilds the welkin's boundless breast, + Smiling as he sinks to rest; + Now the swallow down the dell, + Issuing from her noontide cell, + Mocks the deftest marksman's aim + Jumbling in fantastic game: + Sweet inhabitant of air, + Sure thy bosom holds no care; + Not the fowler full of wrath, + Skilful in the deeds of death-- + Not the darting hawk on high + (Ruthless tyrant of the sky!) + Owns one art of cruelty + Fit to fell or fetter thee, + Gayest, freest of the free! + + Ruling, whistling shrill on high, + Where yon turrets kiss the sky, + Teasing with thy idle din + Drowsy daws at rest within; + Long thou lov'st to sport and spring + On thy never-wearying wing. + Lower now 'midst foliage cool + Swift thou skimm'st the peaceful pool, + Where the speckled trout at play, + Rising, shares thy dancing prey, + While the treach'rous circles swell + Wide and wider where it fell, + Guiding sure the angler's arm + Where to find the puny swarm; + And with artificial fly, + Best to lure the victim's eye, + Till, emerging from the brook, + Brisk it bites the barbed hook; + Struggling in the unequal strife, + With its death, disguised as life, + Till it breathless beats the shore + Ne'er to cleave the current more! + + Peace! creation's gloomy queen, + Darkest Night, invests the scene! + Silence, Evening's handmaid mild, + Leaves her home amid the wild, + Tripping soft with dewy feet, + Summer's flowery carpet sweet, + Morpheus--drowsy power--to meet. + Ruler of the midnight hour, + In thy plenitude of power, + From this burthen'd bosom throw + Half its leaden load of woe. + Since thy envied art supplies + What reality denies, + Let thy cheerless suppliant see + Dreams of bliss inspired by thee-- + Let before his wond'ring eyes + Fancy's brightest visions rise-- + Long lost happiness restore, + None can need thy bounty more. + + + + +PETER BUCHAN. + + +The indefatigable collector of the elder national minstrelsy, Peter +Buchan, was born in Peterhead in the year 1790. Of a somewhat +distinguished descent, he was on the father's side remotely connected +with the noble house of Buchan, and his mother was a lineal descendant +of the Irvines of Drum, an old powerful family in Aberdeenshire. Though +he was disposed to follow a seafaring life, and had obtained a +commission in the Navy, he abandoned his early intentions at the urgent +solicitation of his parents, and thereafter employed himself as a +copperplate engraver, and was the inventor of an ingenious revolving +press for copperplate printing. At Edinburgh and Stirling, he afterwards +qualified himself for the business of a letterpress printer, and in 1816 +opened a printing-office in his native town. In 1819, he compiled the +"Annals of Peterhead," a duodecimo volume, which he printed at a press +of his own contrivance. His next publication appeared shortly after, +under the title, "An Historical Account of the Ancient and Noble Family +of Keith, Earls-Marischal of Scotland." + +After a period of residence in London, where he held for some time a +remunerative situation, Buchan returned to his native town. In the +metropolis, he had been painfully impressed by the harsh treatment +frequently inflicted on the inferior animals, and as a corrective for +the evil, he published at Peterhead, in 1824, a treatise, dedicated to +his son, in which he endeavoured to prove that brutes are possessed of +souls, and are immortal. His succeeding publication, which appeared in +1828, proved the most successful effort of his life; it was entitled, +"Ancient Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland, hitherto +Unpublished, with Explanatory Notes," Edinburgh, two vols. 8vo. This +work occupied upwards of ten years in preparation. Among his other +publications may be enumerated, a volume of "Poems and Songs," printed +in 1814; "The Peterhead Smugglers, an original Melodrama," published in +1834; "The Eglinton Tournament, &c.;" "Gleanings of Scarce Old Ballads;" +and the "Wanderings of Prince Charles Stuart and Miss Flora Macdonald," +the latter being published from an old MS. + +At different periods Buchan resided in Aberdeen, Edinburgh, and Glasgow. +For a short period he owned the small property of Buchanstone, near +Dennyloanhead, Stirlingshire, which being sold, he proceeded to Ireland +in 1852, where he resided for some time at Strandhill, county of +Leitrim. In the early part of 1854, he went to London, with the view of +effecting arrangements for the publication of another volume of "Ancient +Scottish Ballads;" he was there seized with illness, of which he died on +the 19th September of the same year. His remains were interred in the +beautiful cemetery of Norwood, near London. + +Mr Buchan was justly esteemed as a zealous and industrious collector of +the elder Scottish minstrelsy. His labours received the special +commendation of Sir Walter Scott, and he was a frequent guest at +Abbotsford. He was also honoured with diplomas of membership from some +of the leading literary societies of Scotland and England. Two +unpublished volumes of his "Ballad Collections" are now in the +possession of Dr Charles Mackay of London, and may at a future period be +submitted to the public. His son, the Rev. Dr Charles Forbes Buchan, +minister of Fordoun, is the author of several theological publications. + + + + +THOU GLOOMY FEBERWAR.[41] + + + Thou cauld gloomy Feberwar, + Oh! gin thou wert awa'! + I 'm wae to hear thy soughin' winds, + I 'm wae to see thy snaw; + For my bonnie, braw, young Hielandman, + The lad I lo'e sae dear, + Has vow'd to come and see me + In the spring o' the year. + + A silken ban' he gae me, + To bin' my gowden hair; + A siller brooch and tartan plaid, + A' for his sake to wear; + And oh! my heart was like to break, + (For partin' sorrow 's sair) + As he vow'd to come and see me + In the spring o' the year. + + Aft, aft as gloamin' dims the sky, + I wander out alane, + Whare bud the bonnie yellow whins, + Around the trystin' stane; + 'Twas there he press'd me to his heart, + And kiss'd awa' the tear, + As he vow'd to come and see me + In the spring o' the year. + + Ye gentle breezes, saftly blaw, + And cleed anew the wuds; + Ye laverocks lilt your cheerie sangs, + Amang the fleecy cluds; + Till Feberwar and a' his train, + Affrighted disappear, + I 'll hail wi' you the blithesome change, + The spring-time o' the year. + + +[41] The first stanza of this song is the composition of Robert +Tannahill. + + + + +WILLIAM FINLAY. + + +William Finlay was the son of an operative shawl manufacturer in +Paisley, where he was born in 1792. He received a classical education at +the Grammar-school, and was afterwards apprenticed to his father's +trade. For a period of twenty years he prosecuted the labours of the +loom; but finding the occupation injurious to his health, he accepted +employment in the cotton mills of Duntocher. He afterwards obtained a +situation in a printing-office in Paisley, where he remained during +eight years. Ultimately, he was employed at Nethercraigs' bleachfield, +at the base of Gleniffer braes, about two miles to the south of Paisley. +He died of fever on the 5th November 1847, leaving a family of five +children. + +Finlay was in the practice of contributing verses to the local prints. +In 1846, he published a duodecimo volume, entitled, "Poems, Humorous and +Sentimental." His poetical characteristics are simplicity and pathos, +combined with considerable power of satirical drollery. Delighting in +music, and fond of society, he was occasionally led to indulge in +excesses, of which, at other times, he was heartily ashamed, and which +he has feelingly lamented in some of his poems. Few Scottish poets have +more touchingly depicted the evils of intemperance. + + + + +THE BREAKING HEART. + + + I mark'd her look of agony, + I heard her broken sigh, + I saw the colour leave her cheek, + The lustre leave her eye; + I saw the radiant ray of hope + Her sadden'd soul forsaking; + And, by these tokens, well I knew + The maiden's heart was breaking. + + It is not from the hand of Heaven + Her bitter grief proceeds; + 'Tis not for sins that she hath done, + Her bosom inly bleeds; + 'Tis not death's terrors wrap her soul + In shades of dark despair, + But man--deceitful man--whose hand + A thorn hath planted there. + + + + +THE AULD EMIGRANT'S FAREWEEL TO SCOTLAND. + + + Land of my fathers! night's dark gloom + Now shades thee from my view-- + Land of my birth! my hearth, my home, + A long, a last adieu! + Thy sparkling streams, thy plantin's green, + That ring with melodie, + Thy flowery vales, thy hills and dales, + Again I 'll never see. + + How aft have I thy heathy hills + Climb'd in life's early day! + Or pierced the dark depths of thy woods + To pu' the nit or slae; + Or lain beneath the spreading thorn, + Hid frae the sun's bright beams, + While on my raptured ear was borne + The music of thy streams! + + And aft, when frae the schule set free, + I 've join'd a merry ban', + Whase hearts were loupin' licht wi' glee, + Fresh as the morning's dawn, + And waunert, Cruikston, by thy tower, + Or through thy leafy shaw, + The livelang day, nor thocht o' hame + Till nicht began to fa'. + + But now the buoyancy o' youth, + And a' its joys are gane-- + My children scatter'd far and wide, + And I am left alane; + For she who was my hope and stay, + And soothed me when distress'd, + Within the narrow house of death + Has lang been laid at rest. + + And puirtith's cloud doth me enshroud; + Sae, after a' my toil, + I 'm gaun to lay my puir auld clay + Within a foreign soil. + Fareweel, fareweel, auld Scotia dear! + A last fareweel to thee! + Thy tinkling rills, thy heath-clad hills, + Again I 'll never see! + + + + +O'ER MOUNTAIN AND VALLEY. + + + O'er mountain and valley + Morn gladly did gleam; + The streamlets danced gaily + Beneath its bright beam; + The daisies were springing + To life at my feet; + The woodlands were ringing + With melody sweet. + + But the sky became low'ring, + And clouds big with rain, + Their treasures outpouring, + Soon deluged the plain. + The late merry woodlands + Grew silent and lone; + And red from the muirlands + The river rush'd down. + + Thus life, too, is chequer'd + With sunshine and gloom; + Of change 'tis the record-- + Now blight and now bloom. + Oft morn rises brightly, + With promise to last, + But long, long ere noontide + The sky is o'ercast. + + Yet much of the trouble + 'Neath which mortals groan, + They contrive to make double + By whims of their own. + Oh! it makes the heart tingle + With anguish to think, + That our own hands oft mingle + The bitters we drink. + + + + +JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART. + + +John Gibson Lockhart, the distinguished editor of the _Quarterly +Review_, and biographer of Sir Walter Scott, was born in the Manse of +Cambusnethan, on the 14th of June 1794. From both his parents he +inherited an honourable descent. His father, John Lockhart, D.D., was +the second son of William Lockhart of Birkhill, the head of an old +family in Lanarkshire, lineally descended from Sir Stephen Lockhart of +Cleghorn, a member of the Privy Council, and armour-bearer to James III. +His mother was Elizabeth Gibson, daughter of the Rev. John Gibson, +senior minister of St Cuthbert's, Edinburgh; her maternal grandmother +was the Honourable Mary Erskine, second daughter of Henry, third Lord +Cardross, and sister of David, ninth Earl of Buchan. In 1796, Dr +Lockhart was translated from Cambusnethan to the College church, +Glasgow; and the early education of his son was consequently conducted +in that city. + +During the third year of his attendance at the Grammar-school, young +Lockhart, though naturally possessed of a sound constitution, was seized +with a severe illness, which, it was feared, might terminate in +pulmonary consumption. After a period of physical prostration, he +satisfactorily rallied, when it was found by his teacher that he had +attained such proficiency in classical learning, during his confinement, +as to be qualified for the University, without the usual attendance of +a fourth session at the Grammar-school. At the University of Glasgow, +his progress fully realised his excellent promise in the academy. The +youngest member of his various classes, he was uniformly a successful +competitor for honours. He gave indication of poetical ability in a +metrical translation of a part of Lucan's "Pharsalia," which was +rewarded with a prize, and received warm encomiums from the professors. +On one of the Snell Exhibitions to Baliol College, Oxford, becoming +vacant, during the session of 1808-9, it was unanimously conferred on +him by the faculty. Entering Baliol College in 1809, his classical +attainments were such, that Dr Jenkins, the master of the college, was +led to predict that he would reflect honour on that institution, and on +the University of Glasgow. At his graduation, on the completion of his +attendance at Baliol, he realised the expectations of his admiring +preceptor; the youngest of all who graduated on the occasion, being in +his eighteenth year, he was numbered in the _first class_,--an honour +rarely attained by the most accomplished Oxonians. In the choice of a +profession he evinced considerable hesitation; but was at length induced +by a relative, a member of the legal faculty, to qualify himself for +practice at the Scottish Bar. Besides affording a suitable scope for his +talents and acquirements, it was deemed that the Parliament House of +Edinburgh had certain hereditary claims on his services. Through his +paternal grandmother, he was descended from Sir James Lockhart of Lee, +Lord Justice-Clerk in the reign of Charles II., and father of the +celebrated Sir George Lockhart of Carnwath, Lord President of the Court +of Session; and of another judge, Sir John Lockhart, Lord Castlehill. + +Having completed a curriculum of classical and philosophical study at +Oxford, and made a tour on the Continent, Lockhart proceeded to +Edinburgh, to prosecute the study of Scottish law. In 1816 he passed +advocate. Well-skilled in the details of legal knowledge, and in the +preparation of written pleadings, he lacked a fluency of utterance, so +entirely essential to success as a pleader at the Bar. He felt his +deficiency, but did not strive to surmount it. Joining himself to a +literary circle, of which John Wilson and the Ettrick Shepherd were the +more conspicuous members, he resolved to follow the career of a man of +letters. In 1817, he became one of the original contributors to +_Blackwood's Magazine_; and by his learned and ingenious articles +essentially promoted the early reputation of that subsequently popular +periodical. In 1819 appeared his first separate publication, entitled, +"Peter's Letters to his Kinsfolk,"--a work of three octavo volumes, in +which an imaginary Doctor Morris humorously and pungently delineates the +manners and characteristics of the more distinguished literary Scotsmen +of the period; and which, by exciting some angry criticism, attracted +general attention to the real author.[42] In May of the previous year, +at the residence in Edinburgh of Mr Home Drummond of Blair-Drummond, he +was introduced to the personal acquaintance of Sir Walter Scott. Their +acquaintance ripened into a speedy intimacy; and on the 29th April 1820, +Lockhart became the son-in-law of his illustrious friend, by espousing +his eldest daughter, Sophia. Continuing to furnish sparkling +contributions to _Blackwood's Magazine_, Lockhart now began to exhibit +powers of prolific authorship. In the course of a few years he produced +"Valerius," a tale descriptive of ancient Rome; "Reginald Dalton," a +novel founded on his personal experiences at Oxford; the interesting +romance of "Matthew Wald," and "Adam Blair," a Scottish story. The last +of these works, it may be interesting to notice, took origin in the +following manner. During a visit to his parents at Glasgow, his father +had incidentally mentioned, after dinner, that Mr Adam, a former +minister of Cathcart, had been deprived for certain immoralities, and +afterwards reponed, at the entreaty of his parishioners, on the death of +the individual who had succeeded him after his deposition. On hearing +the narrative, Lockhart retired to his apartment and drew up the plan of +his tale, which was ready for the press within the short space of three +weeks. In 1823, he became known as an elegant versifier, by the +publication of his translations from the "Spanish Ballads." He +subsequently published a "Life of Napoleon Bonaparte," in "Murray's +Family Library;" and produced a "Life of Robert Burns," for "Constable's +Miscellany." At this period he chiefly resided in Edinburgh, spending +some of the summer months at Chiefswood, a cottage about two miles from +Abbotsford. But Lockhart's growing reputation ere long secured him a +more advantageous and lucrative position. In 1825, he was appointed to +the editorship of the _Quarterly Review_; and thus, at the age of +thirty-one, became the successor of Gifford, in conducting one of the +most powerful literary organs of the age. He now removed to London. On +the 15th of June 1834, the degree of Doctor of Civil Law was conferred +on him by the University of Oxford. + +During the last illness of Sir Walter Scott, Lockhart was eminently +dutiful in his attendance on the illustrious sufferer. As the literary +executor of the deceased, he was zealous even to indiscretion; his +"Life of Scott," notwithstanding its ill-judged personalities, is one of +the most interesting biographical works in the language. His own latter +history affords few materials for observation; he frequented the higher +literary circles of the metropolis, and well sustained the reputation of +the _Quarterly Review_. He retired from his editorial duties in 1853, +having suffered previously from impaired health. The progress of his +malady was accelerated by a succession of family trials and +bereavements, which preyed heavily on his mind. His eldest son, John +Hugh Lockhart (the Hugh Littlejohn of Scott's "Tales of a Grandfather,") +died in 1831; his amiable wife in 1837; and of his two remaining +children, a son and a daughter, the former, Walter Scott Lockhart Scott, +Lieutenant, 16th Lancers, who had succeeded to the estate of Abbotsford +on the death of his uncle, the second Sir Walter Scott, died in 1853. In +1847, his daughter and only surviving child was married to James Robert +Hope, Esquire, Q.C., son of General the Honourable Sir Alexander Hope, +and nephew of the late Earl of Hopetoun, of peninsular fame; and shortly +before her father's death, this lady, along with her husband, abjured +the Protestant faith. + +In the autumn of 1853, in accordance with the advice of his medical +advisers, Lockhart proceeded to Italy; but on his return the following +summer, he appeared rather to have lost than gained strength. Arranging +his affairs in London, he took up his abode with his elder brother, Mr +Lockhart, M.P., at Milton-Lockhart, on the banks of the Clyde, and in +the parish adjoining that of his birth. Here he suffered an attack of +cholera, which much debilitated his already wasted strength. In October +he was visited by Dr Ferguson of London, who conveyed him to Abbotsford +to be tended by his daughter; there he breathed his last on the 25th +November 1854, in his 61st year. His remains were interred in Dryburgh +Abbey, beside those of his illustrious father-in-law, with whom his name +will continue to be associated. The estate of Abbotsford is now in the +possession of his daughter and her husband, who, in terms of the +Abbotsford entail, have assumed the name of Scott. Their infant +daughter, Mary Monica, along with her mother, are the only surviving +lineal representatives of the Author of "Waverley." + +Possessed of a vigorous intellect, varied talents, and accurate +scholarship, Lockhart was impatient of contradiction, and was prone to +censure keenly those who had offended him. To strangers his manners were +somewhat uninviting, and in society he was liable to periods of +taciturnity. He loved the ironical and facetious; and did not scruple to +indulge in ridicule even at the expense of his intimate associates. With +many peculiarities of manner, and a temper somewhat fretful and +impulsive, we have good authority for recording, that many unfortunate +men of genius derived support from his bounty. Ardent in temperament, he +was severe in resenting a real or fancied wrong; but among those to whom +he gave his confidence, he was found to be possessed of affectionate and +generous dispositions. He has complained, in a testamentary document, +that his course of procedure was often misunderstood, and the complaint +is probably well-founded. He was personally of a handsome and agreeable +presence, and his countenance wore the aspect of intelligence. + + +[42] In his Life of Scott, Lockhart states that "Peter's Letters" "were +not wholly the work of one hand." + + + + +BROADSWORDS OF SCOTLAND.[43] + +TUNE--_"Oh, the roast beef of Old England."_ + + + Now there 's peace on the shore, now there 's calm on the sea, + Fill a glass to the heroes whose swords kept us free, + Right descendants of Wallace, Montrose, and Dundee. + Oh, the broadswords of old Scotland! + And oh! the old Scottish broadswords. + + Old Sir Ralph Abercromby, the good and the brave-- + Let him flee from our board, let him sleep with the slave, + Whose libation comes slow while we honour his grave. + Oh, the broadswords, &c. + + Though he died not like him amid victory's roar, + Though disaster and gloom wove his shroud on the shore; + Not the less we remember the spirit of Moore. + Oh, the broadswords, &c. + + Yea a place with the fallen, the living shall claim, + We 'll entwine in one wreath every glorious name, + The Gordon, the Ramsay, the Hope, and the Graham. + All the broadswords, &c. + + Count the rocks of the Spey, count the groves of the Forth-- + Count the stars in the clear cloudless heaven of the north; + Then go blazon their numbers, their names and their worth. + All the broadswords, &c. + + The highest in splendour, the humblest in place, + Stand united in glory, as kindred in race; + For the private is brother in blood to his Grace. + Oh, the broadswords, &c. + + Then sacred to each and to all let it be, + Fill a glass to the heroes whose swords kept us free, + Right descendants of Wallace, Montrose, and Dundee. + Oh, the broadswords of old Scotland! + And oh! the old Scottish broadswords. + + +[43] This song, with several others of ephemeral interest, was composed +by Lockhart, to be sung at the mess of the Mid-Lothian Yeomanry, of +which he was a member. Of the songs produced for these festive +occasions, a collection for private circulation was printed in 1825, at +the Ballantyne press, with the title, "Songs of the Edinburgh Troop," +pp. 28. In this collection, the "Broadswords" song bears date July 1821; +it was published with music in 1822, in the third volume of Thomson's +Collection. + + + + +CAPTAIN PATON'S LAMENT.[44] + + + Touch once more a sober measure, + And let punch and tears be shed, + For a prince of good old fellows, + That, alack-a-day! is dead; + For a prince of worthy fellows, + And a pretty man also, + That has left the Saltmarket, + In sorrow, grief, and woe. + Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e! + + His waistcoat, coat, and breeches + Were all cut off the same web, + Of a beautiful snuff-colour, + Of a modest genty drab; + The blue stripe in his stocking, + Round his neat slim leg did go, + And his ruffles of the cambric fine, + They were whiter than the snow. + Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e! + + His hair was curled in order, + At the rising of the sun, + In comely rows and buckles smart, + That about his ears did run; + And before there was a toupee, + That some inches up did grow, + And behind there was a long queue, + That did o'er his shoulders flow. + Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e! + + And whenever we forgather'd, + He took off his wee three-cockit; + And he proffer'd you his snuff-box, + Which he drew from his side-pocket; + And on Burdett or Bonaparte + He would make a remark or so, + And then along the plainstones + Like a provost he would go. + Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e! + + In dirty days he picked well + His footsteps with his rattan; + Oh! you ne'er could see the least speck + On the shoes of Captain Paton. + And on entering the coffee-room + About two, all men did know + They would see him with his _Courier_ + In the middle of the row. + Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e! + + Now and then, upon a Sunday, + He invited me to dine + On a herring and a mutton chop, + Which his maid dress'd very fine. + There was also a little Malmsay, + And a bottle of Bordeaux, + Which, between me and the captain, + Pass'd nimbly to and fro! + Oh! I ne'er shall take potluck with Captain Paton no mo'e! + + Or, if a bowl was mentioned, + The captain he would ring, + And bid Nelly run to the Westport, + And a stoup of water bring. + Then would he mix the genuine stuff, + As they made it long ago, + With limes that on his property + In Trinidad did grow! + Oh! we ne'er shall taste the like of Captain Paton's punch no mo'e! + + And then all the time he would discourse + So sensible and courteous, + Perhaps talking of last sermon + He had heard from Dr Porteous; + Of some little bit of scandal + About Mrs So-and-So, + Which he scarce could credit, having heard + The _con._ but not the _pro._! + Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e! + + Or when the candles were brought forth, + And the night was fairly setting in, + He would tell some fine old stories + About Minden-field or Dettingen; + How he fought with a French major, + And dispatch'd him at a blow, + While his blood ran out like water + On the soft grass below! + Oh! we ne'er shall hear the like from Captain Paton no mo'e! + + But at last the captain sickened, + And grew worse from day to day, + And all miss'd him in the coffee-room, + From which now he staid away; + On Sabbaths, too, the Wynd kirk + Made a melancholy show, + All for wanting of the presence + Of our venerable beau! + Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e! + + And in spite of all that Cleghorn + And Corkindale could do, + It was plain, from twenty symptoms, + That death was in his view; + So the captain made his test'ment, + And submitted to his foe, + And we laid him by the Ram's-horn kirk-- + 'Tis the way we all must go! + Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e! + + Join all in chorus, jolly boys, + And let punch and tears be shed, + For this prince of good old fellows + That, alack-a-day! is dead; + For this prince of worthy fellows-- + And a pretty man also-- + That has left the Saltmarket + In sorrow, grief, and woe! + For it ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e! + + +[44] This humorous elegy was first published in _Blackwood's Magazine_ +for September 1819. Captain Paton was a well-known character in Glasgow. +The son of Dr David Paton, a physician in that city, he obtained a +commission in a regiment raised in Scotland for the Dutch service. He +afterwards resided with his two maiden sisters, and an old servant +Nelly, in a tenement opposite the Old Exchange at the Cross, which had +been left him by his father. The following graphic account of the +Captain, we transcribe from Dr Strang's interesting work, "Glasgow and +its Clubs," recently published:--"Every sunshine day, and sometimes even +amid shower and storm, about the close of the past and the commencement +of the present century, was the worthy Captain in the Dutch service seen +parading the _plainstanes_, opposite his own residence in the Trongate, +donned in a suit of snuff-coloured brown or 'genty drab,' his long spare +limbs encased in blue striped stockings, with shoes and buckles, and +sporting ruffles of the finest cambric at his wrists, while adown his +back hung a long queue, and on his head was perched a small three-cocked +hat, which, with a _politesse tout a fait Francais_, he invariably took +off when saluting a friend. Captain Paton, while a denizen of the camp, +had studied well the noble art of fence, and was looked upon as a most +accomplished swordsman, which might easily be discovered from his happy +but threatening manner of holding his cane, when sallying from his own +domicile towards the coffee-room, which he usually entered about two +o'clock, to study the news of the day in the pages of the _Courier_. The +gallant Captain frequently indulged, like Othello, in speaking-- + +'Of moving incidents by flood and field, Of hair-breadth 'scapes i' the +imminent deadly breach.' + +And of his own brave doings on the tented field, 'at Minden and at +Dettingen,' particularly when seated round a bowl of his favourite cold +punch, made with limes from his own estate in Trinidad, and with water +newly drawn from the Westport well." It remains to be added, that this +"prince of worthy fellows" died in July 1807, at the age of sixty-eight. + + + + +CANADIAN BOAT-SONG.[45] + +_From the Gaelic._ + + + Listen to me, as when ye heard our father + Sing, long ago, the song of other shores; + Listen to me, and then in chorus gather + All your deep voices, as ye pull your oars: + Fair these broad meads--these hoary woods are grand; + But we are exiles from our fathers' land! + + From the lone shieling of the misty island + Mountains divide us, and the waste of seas; + Yet still the blood is strong, the heart is Highland, + And we in dreams behold the Hebrides. + + We ne'er shall tread the fancy-haunted valley, + Where, 'tween the dark hills, creeps the small clear stream, + In arms around the patriach-banner rally, + Nor see the moon on royal tombstones gleam. + + * * * * * + + Come, foreign rage!--let discord burst in slaughter! + Oh then for clansman true, and stern claymore! + The hearts that would have given their blood like water + Beat heavily beyond the Atlantic roar! + Fair these broad meads--these hoary woods are grand; + But we are exiles from our fathers' land! + + +[45] This simple and interesting lyric appears in No. XLVI. of the +"Noctes Ambrosianae," and has, we believe, on sufficient grounds, been +attributed to Lockhart. + + + + +THOMAS MATHERS. + + +Thomas Mathers, the fisherman poet, was born at St Monance, Fifeshire, +in 1794. Receiving an education at school confined to the simplest +branches, he chose the seafaring life, and connected himself with the +merchant service. At Venice, he had a casual rencounter with Lord +Byron,--a circumstance which he was in the habit of narrating with +enthusiasm. Leaving the merchant service, he married, and became a +fisherman and pilot, fixing his residence in his native village. His +future life was a career of incessant toil and frequent penury, much +alleviated, however, by the invocation of the muse. He contributed +verses for a series of years to several of the public journals; and his +compositions gained him a wide circle of admirers. He long cherished the +ambition of publishing a volume of poems; and the desire at length was +gratified through the subscriptions of his friends. In 1851, he printed +a duodecimo volume, entitled, "Musings in Verse, by Sea and Shore," +which, however, had only been put into shape when the author was called +to his rest. He died of a short illness, at St Monance, on the 25th +September 1851, leaving a widow and several young children. His poetry +is chiefly remarkable for depth of feeling. Of his powers as a +song-writer, the following lyric, entitled "Early Love," is a favourable +specimen. + + + + +EARLY LOVE. + + + There 's nae love like early love, + Sae lasting an' sae leal; + It wins upon the youthfu' heart, + An' sets its magic seal. + The die that 's cast in early life, + Is nae vain airy dream; + But makes thee still in after years + The subject of my theme. + + But years o' shade an' sunshine + Have flung alternately + Their fleeting shadows as they pass'd + Athwart life's changing sky. + Like troubled waters, too, the mind + 'S been ruffled an' distress'd; + But with the placid calm return'd + Thine image to my breast. + + Still I hae seen a fairer face, + Though fairer anes are few, + An' I hae marked kinder smiles + Than e'er I gat frae you. + But smiles, like blinks o' simmer sheen, + Leave not a trace behind; + While early love has forged chains + The freest heart to bind. + + The mind from tyrant fetters + Is free as air to rove; + But powerful are the links that chain + The heart to early love. + Affections, like the ivy + In nature's leafy screen, + Entwine the boughs o' early love + Wi' foliage "ever green." + + + + +JAMES BROWN. + + +James Brown was born at Libberton, a village in the upper ward of +Lanarkshire, on the 1st of July 1796. His father, the miller of +Libberton-mill, was a person of superior intelligence, and his mother, +Grizzel Anderson, was esteemed for her amiable dispositions. Deprived of +his father while only six years old, he was early apprenticed to a +hand-loom weaver. On the completion of his indenture, he removed to +Symington, a village situate at the base of Tintock hill. His leisure +hours were devoted to reading and an extensive correspondence with his +friends. He formed a club for literary discussion, which assembled +periodically at his house. Enthusiastic in his love of nature, he +rejoiced in solitary rambles on the heights of Tintock and Dungavel; he +made a pilgrimage to the Border and Ettrick Forest. In 1823 he removed +to Glasgow, where he was employed in the warehouse of a manufacturing +firm; he afterwards became agent of the house at Biggar, where he died +on the 12th September 1836. Though the writer of much poetry of merit, +Brown was indifferent to literary reputation; and chiefly intrusted his +compositions to the keeping of his friends. His songs in the present +work have been recovered by his early friend, Mr Scott Riddell, who has +supplied these particulars of his life. Austere in manner, he was +possessed of genial and benevolent dispositions; he became ultimately +impressed with earnest religious convictions. + + + + +MY PEGGY 'S FAR AWAY. + + + Yestreen as I stray'd on the banks o' the Clyde, + A laddie beneath the gay greenwood I spied, + Who sang o' his Peggy, and oh! he seem'd wae, + For Peggy, sweet Peggy, was far, far away. + + Though fair burns the taper in yon lofty ha', + Yet nought now shines bright where her shade doesna fa'; + My Peggy was pure as the dew-drops o' May, + But Peggy, sweet Peggy, is far, far away. + + Ye breezes that curve the blue waves o' the Clyde, + And sigh 'mang the dark firs on yon mountain side, + How dreary your murmurs throughout the lang day, + Since Peggy, sweet Peggy, gaed far, far away. + + The sable-wing'd blackbird yon birk-trees amang, + And mavis sing notes that accord wi' my sang, + A' nature is dowie, by bank and by brae, + Since Peggy, sweet Peggy, gaed far, far away. + + Ye dew-dripping daisies that bloom by the burn, + Though scathed by rude winter in spring ye return; + I mark'd, but I minded no whit your decay, + Ere Peggy, sweet Peggy, gaed far, far away. + + I mourn'd not the absence o' summer or spring, + Nor aught o' the beauties the seasons may bring, + E'en 'mid the dark winter this heart still was gay, + Ere Peggy, sweet Peggy, gaed far, far away. + + The bleak blawing winter, wi' a' its alarms, + Might add to, but tak not away from her charms, + The snaws seem'd as welcome as summer-won hay, + Ere Peggy, sweet Peggy, gaed far, far away. + + Our Henry lo'es Mary, Jock dotes upon Jean, + And Willie ca's Nancy o' beauty the queen, + But Peggy was mine, and far lovelier than they, + Ere Peggy, sweet Peggy, gaed far, far away. + + Oh, when will the days o' this sadness be o'er, + And Heaven, in pity, my Peggie restore? + It kens she 's the loveliest it ere made o' clay, + And ill I may thole that she 's far, far away. + + + + +LOVE BROUGHT ME A BOUGH. + + + Love brought me a bough o' the willow sae green + That waves by yon brook where the wild-flowers grow sheen; + And braiding my harp wi' the sweet budding rue, + It mellow'd its tones 'mang the saft falling dew; + It whisper'd a strain that I wist na to hear, + That false was the lassie my bosom held dear; + Pride stirr'd me to sing, as I tore off the rue-- + If she 's got ae sweetheart, sure I can get two! + + Yet aft when reflection brings back to my mind + The days that are gane, when my lassie was kind, + A sigh says I felt then as ne'er I feel now, + My soul was enraptured--I canna tell how. + Yet what need I sing o' the joys that hae been, + And why should I start at the glance o' her een, + Or think o' the dark locks that wave o'er her brow?-- + If she 's got ae sweetheart, sure I can get two! + + Yestreen when the sun glinted blithe on the hill, + I met her alane by the flower-border'd rill, + I speer'd for her weelfare, but cauld was her air, + And I soughtna' to change it by foul words or fair; + She says I deceived her, how can it be sae? + The heart, ere deceived some affection maun hae, + And that hers had nane, I the sairer may rue, + Though she 's got ae sweetheart, an' I can get two. + + She left me for ane wha o' mailins could sing, + Sae gie her the pleasures that riches can bring. + Gae fame to the hero, and gowd to the Jew, + And me the enjoyment that 's prized by the few; + A friend o' warm feeling, and frank and refined, + And a lassie that 's modest, true hearted, and kind, + I 'll woo her, I 'll lo'e her, and best it will do, + For love brings nae bliss when it tampers wi' two. + + + + +HOW 'S A' WI' YE. + +AIR--_"Jenny's Bawbee."_ + + + Ere foreign fashions cross'd the Tweed, + A bannet happ'd my daddie's head, + Our daintiest fare was milk-and-bread, + Folk scunner'd a' at tea; + When cronies met they didna stand, + To rule their words by manners grand, + But warmly clasping hand in hand, + Said, How 's a' wi' ye. + + But now there 's nought but shy finesse, + And mim and prim 'bout mess and dress, + That scarce a hand a hand will press + Wi' ought o' feeling free; + A cauldrife pride aside has laid + The hodden gray, and hame-spun plaid, + And a' is changed since neebors said + Just, How 's a' wi' ye. + + Our auld guidwife wore cloak and hood, + The maiden's gown was worset guid, + And kept her ringlets in a snood + Aboon her pawkie e'e; + Now set wi' gaudy gumflowers roun', + She flaunts it in her silken gown, + That scarce ane dare by glen or town + Say, How 's a' wi' ye. + + I watna how they manage now + Their brides in lighted ha's to woo, + But it is caulder wark, I trow, + Than e'er it was wi' me; + Aye true unto the trysts we set, + When we among the hawthorns met, + Love-warm, true love wad scarce us let + Say, How 's a' wi' ye. + + Wae-worth their haughty state and style, + That drive true feeling frae our isle! + In saxty years o' care and toil, + What ferlies do we see! + The lowliest heart a pride displays, + Unkent in our ain early days, + Ilk kind and canty thing decays, + Wi', How 's a' wi' ye. + + When back we look on bygane years, + Weel may the cheek be wet wi' tears, + The cauld mool mony a bosom bears, + Ance dear to you and me; + Yet I will neither chafe nor chide, + While ane comes to my ingle side, + Whose bosom glows wi' honest pride + At, How 's a' wi' ye. + + Newfangled guffs may things arrange + For further and still further change, + But strange things shall to me be strange, + While I can hear and see. + And when I gang, as I 'll do soon, + To join the leal in hames aboon, + I 'll greet them just as aye I 've doon, + Wi', How 's a' wi' ye. + + + + +OH! SAIR I FEEL THE WITCHING POWER. + +TUNE--_"Miller of Dron," improved set._ + + + Oh, sair I feel the witching power + O' that sweet pawkie e'e, + And sair I 'll rue the luckless hour + That e'er it shone on me; + Unless sic love as wounds this heart + Come frae that heart again, + And teach for aye the kindly ray + To blink on me alane. + Thy modest cheek aye mantling glows + Whene'er I talk o' love, + As rainbow rays upon the rose + Its native sweets improve; + Yet when the sunbeams leave yon tower, + And gloamin' vails the glen, + Will ye gang to the birken bower + When nane on earth can ken? + Oh, scenes delighting, smiles inviting, + Heartfelt pleasures len', + And oh! how fain to meet alane, + When nane on earth can ken! + + Amang the lave I manna speak, + And when I look the while, + The mair I 'm seen, the mair I seek + Their watching to beguile; + But leave, dear lassie, leave them a', + And frae this heart sae leal + Thou 'lt hear the love, by glen and shaw, + It canna mair conceal. + My plaid shall shield thy peerless charms + Frae evening's fanning gale, + And saft shall be my circling arms, + And true my simple tale; + And seated by the murmuring brook, + Within the flowery den, + If love 's reveal'd in word or look, + There 's nane on earth can ken. + Oh! scenes delighting, smiles inviting, + Heartfelt pleasures len', + And oh! how fain to meet alane, + When nane on earth can ken. + + There 's music in the lighted ha', + And looks in laughing een, + That seem affection forth to show, + That less is felt than seen. + But silent in the faithfu' heart + The charm o' love shall reign, + Or words shall but its power impart + To make it mair our ain. + Let worldlings doat upon their wealth, + And spendthrifts hae their glee, + Not a' the state o' a' the great, + Shall draw a wish frae me; + Away wi' thee by glen an' bower, + Far frae the haunts o' men, + Oh! a' the bliss o' hour like this, + The world can never ken. + Oh! scenes delighting, smiles inviting, + Heartfelt pleasures len', + And aye how fain we 'll meet again, + When nane on earth can ken. + + + + +DANIEL WEIR. + + +Daniel Weir was born at Greenock, on the 31st of March 1796. His father, +John Weir, was a shoemaker, and at one period a small shopkeeper in that +town. From his mother, Sarah Wright, he inherited a delicate +constitution. His education was conducted at a private school; and in +1809, he became apprentice to Mr Scott, a respectable bookseller in +Greenock. In 1815, he commenced business as a bookseller on his own +account. + +Imbued with the love of learning, and especially of poetry, Weir devoted +his hours of leisure to extensive reading and the composition of verses. +To the "Scottish Minstrel" of R. A. Smith, he contributed several +respectable songs; and edited for Messrs Griffin & Co., booksellers in +Glasgow, three volumes of lyric poems, which appeared under the title of +"The National Minstrel," "The Sacred Lyre," and "Lyrical Gems." These +collections are adorned with many compositions of his own. In 1829, he +published a "History of the Town of Greenock," in a thin octavo volume, +illustrated with engravings. He died on the 11th November 1831, in his +thirty-fifth year. + +Possessed of a fine genius, a brilliant fancy, and much gracefulness of +expression, Weir has decided claims to remembrance. His conversational +talents were of a remarkable description, and attracted to his shop many +persons of taste, to whom his poetical talents were unknown. He was +familiar with the whole of the British poets, and had committed their +best passages to memory. Possessing a keen relish for the ludicrous, he +had at command a store of delightful anecdote, which he gave forth with +a quaintness of look and utterance, so as to render the force of the +humour totally irresistible. His sarcastic wit was an object of dread to +his opponents in burgh politics. His appearance was striking. Rather +mal-formed, he was under the middle size; his head seemed large for his +person, and his shoulders were of unusual breadth. His complexion was +dark, and his eyes hazel; and when his countenance was lit upon the +recitation of some witty tale, he looked the impersonation of +mirthfulness. Eccentric as were some of his habits and modes of action, +he was seriously impressed by religious principle; some of his +devotional compositions are admirable specimens of sacred poetry. He +left an unpublished MS. poem, entitled "The Pleasures of Religion." + + + + +SEE THE MOON. + + + See the moon o'er cloudless Jura + Shining in the lake below; + See the distant mountain tow'ring + Like a pyramid of snow. + Scenes of grandeur--scenes of childhood-- + Scenes so dear to love and me! + Let us roam by bower and wildwood-- + All is lovelier when with thee. + + On Leman's breast the winds are sighing; + All is silent in the grove; + And the flow'rs, with dew-drops glist'ning, + Sparkle like the eye of love. + Night so calm, so clear, so cloudless; + Blessed night to love and me! + Let us roam by bower and fountain-- + All is lovelier when with thee. + + + + +LOVE IS TIMID. + + + Love is timid, love is shy, + Can you tell me, tell me why? + Ah! tell me why true love should be + Afraid to meet the kindly smile + Of him she loves, from him would flee, + Yet thinks upon him all the while? + Can you tell me, tell me why + Love is timid, love is shy? + + Love is timid, love is shy, + Can you tell me, tell me why? + True love, they say, delights to dwell + In some sequester'd, lonely bow'r, + With him she loves, where none can tell + Her tender look in passion's hour. + Can you tell me, tell me why + Love is timid, love is shy? + + Love is timid, love is shy, + Can you tell me, tell me why? + Love, like the lonely nightingale, + Will pour her heart, when all is lone; + Nor will repeat, amidst the vale, + Her notes to any, but to one. + Can you tell me, tell me why + Love is timid, love is shy? + + + + +RAVEN'S STREAM. + + + My love, come let us wander + Where Raven's streams meander, + And where, in simple grandeur, + The daisy decks the plain. + Peace and joy our hours shall measure; + Come, oh! come, my soul's best treasure! + Then how sweet, and then how cheerie, + Raven's braes will be, my dearie. + + The silver moon is beaming, + On Clyde her light is streaming; + And, while the world is dreaming, + We 'll talk of love, my dear. + None, my Jean, will share this bosom, + Where thine image loves to blossom; + And no storm will ever sever + That dear flow'r, or part us ever. + + + + +OH! OUR CHILDHOOD'S ONCE DELIGHTFUL HOURS. + +AIR--_"Oh! the days are past when beauty bright."_ + + + Oh! our childhood's once delightful hours + Ne'er come again-- + Their sunny glens, their blooming bowers, + And primrose plain! + With other days, + Ambitious rays + May flash upon our mind; + But give me back the morn of life, + With fond thoughts twined; + As it sweetly broke on bower and hill, + And youth's gay mind! + + Oh! our childhood's days are ne'er forgot + On life's dark sea, + And memory hails that sacred spot + Where'er we be; + It leaves all joys, + And fondly sighs + As youth comes on the mind, + And looks upon the morn of life + With fond thoughts, &c. + + When age will come, with locks of gray, + To quench youth's spark, + And its stream runs cold along the way + Where all seems dark, + 'Twill smiling gaze, + As memory's blaze + Breaks on its wavering mind; + But 'twill never bring the morn of life, + With fond thoughts, &c. + + + + +COULD WE BUT LOOK BEYOND OUR SPHERE. + + + Could we but look beyond our sphere, + And trace, along the azure sky, + The myriads that were inmates here + Since Abel's spirit soar'd on high-- + Then might we tell of those who see + Our wand'rings from eternity! + + But human frailty cannot gaze + On such a cloud of splendid light + As heaven's sacred court displays, + Of blessed spirits clothed in white, + Who from the fears of death are free, + And look from an eternity. + + They look, but ne'er return again + To tell the secrets of their home; + And kindliest tears for them are vain-- + For never, never shall they come, + Till Time's pale light begin to flee + Before a bright eternity! + + Could we but gaze beyond our sphere, + Within the golden porch of heaven, + And see those spirits which appear + Like stars upon the robe of even! + But no! unseen to us they see + Our wanderings from eternity! + + The crimes of men which Heaven saw, + And pitied with a parent's eye, + Could ne'er a kindred spirit draw + In mercy from its home on high; + They look, but all they know or see + Is silent as eternity! + + At noonday hour, or midnight deep, + No bright inhabitant draws nigh; + And though a parent's offspring weep, + No whisper echoes from the sky; + Though friends may gaze, yet all they see + Is known but in eternity! + + Yet we may look beyond our sphere + On One who shines among the throng; + And we by faith may also hear + The triumphs of a glorious song; + And while we gaze on Him, we see + The path to this eternity! + + + + +IN THE MORNING OF LIFE. + + + In the morning of life, when its sweet sunny smile + Shines bright on our path, we may dream we are blest; + We may look on the world as a gay fairy isle, + Where sorrow 's unknown, and the weary have rest! + + But the brightness that shone, and the hopes we enjoy'd, + Are clouded ere noon, and soon vanish away; + While the dark beating tempest, on life's stormy tide, + Obscures all the sweets of the morning's bright ray! + + Then where are those bowers, in some gay, happy plain, + Where hope ne'er deceives, and where love is aye true; + Where the brightness of morning shines on but to gain + A sunshine as bright and as promising too? + + Oh! ask for it not in this valley of sighs, + Where we smile but to weep, and we ne'er can find rest; + For the world we would wish shines afar in the skies, + Where sorrow 's unknown--'tis the home of the blest! + + + + +ON THE DEATH OF A PROMISING CHILD. + + + Oh! weep not thus, though the child thou hast loved, + Still, still as the grave, in silence sleeps on; + 'Midst the tears that are shed, his eye is unmoved, + And the beat of that bosom for ever is gone: + Then weep not thus, for the moment is blest + When the wand'rer sleeps on his couch of rest! + + The world to him, with its sorrows and sighs, + Has fled like a dream when the morn appears; + While the spirit awakes in the light of the skies, + No more to revisit this valley of tears: + Then weep not thus, for the moment is blest + When the wand'rer sleeps on his couch of rest! + + Few, few were his years; but, had they been more, + The sunshine which smiled might have vanish'd away, + And he might have fallen on some far friendless shore, + Or been wreck'd amidst storms in some desolate bay: + Then weep not thus, for the moment is blest + When the wand'rer sleeps on his couch of rest! + + Like a rosebud of promise, when fresh in the morn, + Was the child of thy heart while he lingered here; + But now from thy love, from thine arms he is torn, + Yet to bloom in a lovelier, happier sphere: + Then weep not thus, for the moment is blest + When the wand'rer sleeps on his couch of rest! + + How happy the pilgrim whose journey is o'er, + Who, musing, looks back on its dangers and woes; + Then rejoice at his rest, for sorrow no more + Can start on his dreams, or disturb his repose: + Then weep not thus, for the moment is blest + When the wand'rer sleeps on his couch of rest! + + Who would not recline on the breast of a friend, + When the night-cloud has lower'd o'er a sorrowful day? + Who would not rejoice at his journey's end, + When perils and toils encompass'd his way? + Then weep not thus, for the moment is blest + When the wand'rer sleeps on his couch of rest! + + + + +THE DYING HOUR. + + + Why does the day, whose date is brief, + Smile sadly o'er the western sea? + Why does the brown autumnal leaf + Hang restless on its parent tree? + Why does the rose, with drooping head, + Send richer fragrance from the bow'r? + Their golden time of life had fled-- + It was their dying hour! + + Why does the swan's melodious song + Come thrilling on the gentle gale? + Why does the lamb, which stray'd along, + Lie down to tell its mournful tale? + Why does the deer, when wounded, fly + To the lone vale, where night-clouds low'r? + Their time was past--they lived to die-- + It was their dying hour! + + Why does the dolphin change its hues, + Like that aerial child of light? + Why does the cloud of night refuse + To meet the morn with beams so bright? + Why does the man we saw to-day, + To-morrow fade like some sweet flow'r? + All earth can give must pass away-- + It was their dying hour! + + + + +THE MIDNIGHT WIND. + + + I 've listen'd to the midnight wind, + Which seem'd, to fancy's ear, + The mournful music of the mind, + The echo of a tear; + And still methought the hollow sound + Which, melting, swept along, + The voice of other days had found, + With all the powers of song. + + I 've listen'd to the midnight wind, + And thought of friends untrue-- + Of hearts that seem'd so fondly twined, + That nought could e'er undo; + Of cherish'd hopes, once fondly bright-- + Of joys which fancy gave-- + Of youthful eyes, whose lovely light + Were darken'd in the grave. + + I 've listen'd to the midnight wind + When all was still as death; + When nought was heard before, behind-- + Not e'en the sleeper's breath. + And I have sat at such an hour + And heard the sick man's sigh; + Or seen the babe, like some sweet flow'r, + At that lone moment die. + + I 've listen'd to the midnight wind, + And wept for others' woe; + Nor could the heart such music find + To bid its tear-drops flow. + The melting voice of one we loved, + Whose voice was heard no more, + Seem'd, when those fancied chords were moved, + Still breathing as before. + + I 've listen'd to the midnight wind, + And sat beside the dead, + And felt those movings of the mind + Which own a secret dread. + The ticking clock, which told the hour, + Had then a sadder chime; + And these winds seem'd an unseen pow'r, + Which sung the dirge of time. + + I 've listen'd to the midnight wind, + When, o'er the new-made grave + Of one whose heart was true and kind, + Its rudest blasts did rave. + Oh! there was something in the sound-- + A mournful, melting tone-- + Which led the thoughts to that dark ground + Where he was left alone. + + I 've listen'd to the midnight wind, + And courted sleep in vain, + While thoughts like these have oft combined + To rack the wearied brain. + And even when slumber, soft and deep, + Has seen the eyelid close, + The restless soul, which cannot sleep, + Has stray'd till morning rose. + + + + +ROBERT DAVIDSON. + + +Robert Davidson was born in the parish of Morebattle, Roxburghshire, in +1779. The son of humble parents, he was sent to tend cattle in his tenth +year. He had received at the parish school a limited education; and he +devoted his leisure time on the hills to miscellaneous reading. Learning +scraps of old ballads from the cottage matrons, as they sung them at +their distaffs, he early began to essay imitations of these olden +ditties. As a farm-servant and an agricultural labourer, he continued +through life to seek repose from toil in the perusal of poetry and the +composition of verses. "My simple muse," he afterwards wrote, "oft +visited me at the plough, and made the labour to seem lighter and the +day shorter." In 1811, and in 1824, he published small collections of +verses. At the recommendation of some influential friends, he published, +in 1848, a compact little volume of his best pieces, under the title, +"Leaves from a Peasant's Cottage-Drawer;" and to which was prefixed a +well-written autobiographical sketch. He was often oppressed by poverty; +and, latterly, was the recipient of parochial relief. He died in the +parish of Hounam, on the 6th April 1855; and his remains rest in the +church-yard of his native parish. Many of his poems are powerful, both +in expression and sentiment; and several of his songs are worthy of a +place in the national minstrelsy. In private life he was sober, prudent, +and industrious. + + + + +FAREWELL TO CALEDONIA. + + + Adieu! a lang and last adieu, + My native Caledonia! + For while your shores were in my view, + I steadfast gazed upon ye, O! + Your shores sae lofty, steep, an' bold, + Fit emblem of your sons of old, + Whose valour, more than mines of gold, + Has honour'd Caledonia. + + I think how happy I could be, + To live and die upon ye, O! + Though distant many miles from thee, + My heart still hovers o'er ye, O! + My fancy haunts your mountains steep, + Your forests fair, an' valleys deep, + Your plains, where rapid rivers sweep + To gladden Caledonia. + + Still mem'ry turns to where I spent + Life's cheerfu' morn sae bonnie, O! + Though by misfortune from it rent, + It 's dearer still than ony, O! + In vain I 'm told our vessel hies + To fertile fields an' kindly skies; + But still they want the charm that ties + My heart to Caledonia. + + My breast had early learn'd to glow + At name of Caledonia; + Though torn an' toss'd wi' many a foe, + She never bow'd to ony, O! + A land of heroes, famed an' brave-- + A land our fathers bled to save, + Whom foreign foes could ne'er enslave-- + Adieu to Caledonia! + + + + +ON VISITING THE SCENES OF EARLY DAYS. + + + Ye daisied glens and briery braes, + Haunts of my happy early days, + Where oft I 've pu'd the blossom'd slaes + And flow'rets fair, + Before my heart was scathed wi' waes + Or worldly care. + + Now recollection's airy train + Shoots through my heart with pleasing pain, + And streamlet, mountain, rock, or plain, + Like friends appear, + That, lang, lang lost, now found again, + Are doubly dear. + + But many a dauted object 's fled; + Low lies my once paternal shed; + Rank hemlocks wild, and weeds, o'erspread + The ruin'd heap; + Unstirr'd by cheerful tongue or tread, + The echoes sleep. + + Yon bonnie burn, whose limpid streams, + When warm'd with summer's glowing beams, + Have often laved my tender limbs, + When my employ + Was chasing childhood's airy whims + From joy to joy. + + Upon yon green, at gloamin' gray, + I 've often join'd in cheerful play, + Wi' comrades guileless, blithe, and gay, + Whose magic art, + Remember'd at this distant day, + Still warms the heart. + + Ah, cronies dear! for ever lost! + Abroad on life's rough ocean toss'd, + By adverse winds and currents cross'd, + By watching worn, + Some landed on that silent coast, + Ne'er to return! + + Howe'er the path of life may lie, + If poorly low, or proudly high, + When scenes of childhood meet our eye, + Their charms we own, + And yield the tribute of a sigh + To days long gone. + + + + +TO WANDER LANG IN FOREIGN LANDS. + +AIR--_"Auld Langsyne."_ + + + To wander lang in foreign lands, + It was my destinie; + I joyful was at my return, + My native hills to see. + My step grew light, my heart grew fain, + I thought my cares to tine, + Until I fand ilk weel-kenn'd spot + Sae alter'd sin' langsyne. + + I sigh'd to see the flow'ry green + Skaith'd by the ruthless pleugh; + Likewise the bank aboon the burn, + Where broom and hawthorns grew. + A lonely tree, whose aged trunk + The ivy did entwine, + Still mark'd the spot where youngsters met, + In cheerful sports langsyne. + + I mixed with the village train, + Yet still I seem'd alane; + Nae kindly hand did welcome me, + For a' my friends were gane. + Those friends who oft in foreign lands + Did haunt this heart o' mine, + And brought to mind the happy days + I spent wi' them langsyne. + + In youthfu' prime, at fortune's ca', + I braved the billows' roar; + I 've now seen thirty simmer suns + Blink on a distant shore; + And I have stood where honour call'd, + In the embattled line, + And there left many gallant lads, + The cronies o' langsyne. + + I 've gather'd walth o' weel-won gear, + Yet still I fortune blame; + I lang wi' strangers pass'd my days, + And now I 'm ane at hame. + I have nae friend but what my gowd + Can draw to mammon's shrine; + But how unlike the guileless hearts + That wish'd me weel langsyne! + + + + +PETER ROGER. + + +Peter Roger, blacksmith, formerly at Glenormiston, and latterly at +Peebles, though more the enthusiastic lover of, than a contributor to, +the national minstrelsy, is entitled to remembrance. His numerous +communications addressed to the editor of this work, have supplied much +information, which has been found useful in the preparation of these +volumes. Roger was born at Clovenford, in the parish of Stow, in 1792. +For thirty-seven years he wrought as blacksmith at Glenormiston, on the +banks of the Tweed, near Innerleithen. In 1852, he removed to Peebles, +where he had purchased a small cottage and garden. He died suddenly, at +Peebles, on the 3d April 1856, in his 64th year. The following sketch of +his character has been supplied, at our request, by his intimate +acquaintance, the Rev. James Murray, minister of Old Cumnock:-- + + "Roger was in many respects a very remarkable man.... + He possessed, in an eminent degree, an exquisite + natural sympathy with all things beautiful and good. He + was an excellent botanist, well-skilled in music, and + passionately fond of poetry. His conversation was very + interesting; and his slight tendency to dogmatise in + the presence of a stranger, entirely disappeared in the + society of his friends. He might almost be said to + revere any one possessed of intellectual gifts and + accomplishments, whether natural or acquired; and as he + lived many years in a cottage situated on the way-side + between Peebles and Innerleithen, he was frequently + visited by those who passed by. Occasionally the + Ettrick Shepherd would stop his gig to have a few + minutes' _crack_ with his 'friend Peter,' as he called + him. At another time it would be his minister, the Rev. + Mr Leckie, or some other worthy pastor, or some surgeon + of the district upon his widely-extended rounds--Dr + Craig, for example; or Mr Thomas Smibert; or Mr Adam + Dickson, a young genius nipt in the bud--whose + appearance would be the welcome signal for the + 'tinkling' of Peter's hammer to know a brief respite. + And I could mention others of his acquaintance, almost + self-taught like himself, whose intelligence might + enable them 'to stand before kings.' + + "My own intimacy with Peter extends back to the time of + my boyhood; and I can honestly say, that an evening + spent under his roof, in company with him and his pious + and amiable sister Peggy, who survives him, was among + the greatest treats I ever experienced. There, at his + door, in paper cap and leather apron, his shirt sleeves + turned up, and his bare, brawny arms crossed upon his + chest, and 'his brow wet with honest sweat,' would the + hard-headed and warm-hearted blacksmith await the + coming of him whom he expected. And, first, whilst his + sister was attending to the preparation of some + creature-comforts--for he was a man of some substance, + and hospitable withal--you would be conducted into his + little garden, sloping down to the very brink of the + Tweed, and embosomed amid natural hazel wood, the + lingering remains of a once goodly forest, to see some + favourite flower, or to hear him trill, with a skill + and execution which would have done little dishonour to + _Picus_ himself, some simple native melody upon his + Scotch flute. The _in-door_ entertainment consisted of + varied conversation, embracing the subjects of + literature, politics, and theology, largely + interspersed with the reading of MS. poems by his + numerous poetical friends. But the best part of the + treat came last. Gradually you would notice a serious + shade, not gloomy but chastened, steal over his massive + features. His conversation would glide most naturally, + and without any intentional effort that was apparent, + into a serious strain; and then Peggy would bring down + the family Bible, and, after having selected a suitable + psalm, he would sing it to some plaintive air--and he + could sing well; and the prayer which closed the usual + exercises was such a manly, pathetic, and godly + outpouring of a spirit chastened with the simplest and + purest piety, as made the heart glad. + + "Peter did nothing by halves, but everything with the + energy of a man working at a forge. He embraced the + temperance movement as soon as he heard of it, and + continued to the end of his days a most rigid total + abstainer from the use of all ardent spirits. + Altogether, he was one of those self-taught, + large-hearted, pious, and intellectual men of whom + Scotland may well be proud." + + + + +LOVELY JEAN. + +AIR--_"Miss Forbes' Farewell."_ + + + 'Mang a' the lassies young an' braw, + An' fair as summer's rosy beam, + There 's ane the bonniest o' them a', + That dwells by Manor's mountain stream. + Oft hae I gazed on her sweet face, + An' ilka time new beauties seen; + For aye some new discover'd grace + Endears to me my lovely Jean. + + An' oh! to list her ev'ning sang, + When a' alane she gently strays + The yellow waving broom amang, + That blooms on Manor's flow'ry braes-- + Her voice sae saft, sae sweet and clear, + Afar in yonder bower sae green, + The mavis quits her lay to hear + A bonnier sang frae lovely Jean. + + But it 's no her peerless face nor form, + It 's no her voice sae sweet and clear, + That keeps my love to her sae warm, + An' maks her every day mair dear; + It 's just the beauties o' her mind, + Her easy, winning, modest mien, + Her truth and constancy, which bind + My heart and soul to lovely Jean. + + + + +JOHN MALCOLM. + + +John Malcolm was the second son of the Rev. John Malcolm, minister of +the parish of Firth and Stennis, Orkney, where he was born about 1795. +Through a personal application to the Duke of Kent, he was enabled to +proceed as a volunteer to join the army in Spain. Arriving at the period +when the army under General Graham (afterwards Lord Lynedoch) was +besieging St Sebastian, he speedily obtained a lieutenancy in the 42d +Regiment, in which he served to the close of the Pyrenees' campaign. +Wounded at the battle of Toulouse, by a musket-ball penetrating his +right shoulder, and otherwise debilitated, he retired from active +service on half-pay, and with a pension for his wound. He now fixed his +abode in Edinburgh, and devoted himself to literary pursuits. He +contributed to _Constable's Magazine_, and other periodicals. For one of +the earlier volumes of "Constable's Miscellany," he wrote a narrative of +the Peninsular War. As a poet, he became known by some stanzas on the +death of Lord Byron, which appeared in the _Edinburgh Weekly Journal_. +In 1828, he published "Scenes of War, and other Poems;" and subsequently +contributed numerous poetical pieces to the pages of the _Edinburgh +Literary Journal_. A small volume of prose sketches also appeared from +his pen, under the title of "Tales of Field and Flood." In 1831 he +undertook the editorship of the _Edinburgh Observer_ newspaper, which he +held till the period of his death. He died at Edinburgh, of a pulmonary +complaint, in September 1835. + +Fond of conversation, and abounding in humorous anecdote, Malcolm was +especially esteemed for his gentle and amiable deportment. His poetry, +which is often vigorous, is uniformly characterised by sweetness of +versification. + + + + +THE MUSIC OF THE NIGHT. + + + The music of the night, + Upon its lonely flight + Into the west, where sink its ebbing sands; + That muffled music seems + Like voices heard in dreams, + Sigh'd back from long-lost years and distant lands. + + Amid the stillness round, + As 'twere the shade of sound, + Floats on the low sweet strain of lulling tones; + Such as from trembling wire + Of sweet AEolian lyre, + With winds awake in murmurs and in moans. + + Oh! melting on the ear, + What solemn chords are there! + The torrent's thunder sunk into a sigh; + And thine, majestic main! + Great Nature's organ strain, + Deep pealing through the temple of the sky. + + And songs unsung by day-- + The nightingale's lone lay. + From lady's bower, the lover's serenade; + And dirge of hermit-bird + From haunts of ruin heard, + The only voice that wails above the dead. + + To them that sail the deep, + When winds have sunk to sleep, + The dreamy murmurs of the night steal on; + Say, does their mystic hum, + So vague and varied, come + From distant shores unseen, and lands unknown? + + In them might fancy's ear + Earth's dying echoes hear, + Our home's sweet voices swooning on the floods; + Or songs of festal halls, + Or sound of waterfalls, + Or Indian's dismal war-whoop through the woods. + + Joy breathes in morning song, + And happy things among + Her choral bowers wake matins of delight; + But dearer unto me + The dirge-like harmony + Of vesper voices, and of wailing night. + + + + +THE SEA. + + + The sea--the deep, deep sea-- + That awful mystery! + Was there a time of old ere it was born, + Or e'er the dawn of light, + Coeval with the night-- + Say, slept it on, for ever and forlorn? + + Till the Great Spirit's word + Its sullen waters heard, + And their wild voices, through the void profound, + Gave deep responsive roar; + But silent never more + Shall be their solemn, drear, and dirge-like sound! + + Earth's echoes faint and die; + Sunk down into a sigh, + Scamander's voice scarce whispers on its way; + And desert silence reigns + Upon the mighty plains + Where battles' thunders peal'd--and where are they? + + But still from age to age + Upon its pilgrimage, + When many a glorious strain the world hath flown; + And while her echoes sleep + In darkness, the great deep, + Unwearied and unchanged, goes sounding on. + + + + +ERSKINE CONOLLY. + + +Erskine Conolly was born at Crail, Fifeshire, on the 12th of June 1796. +At the burgh school of his native town, he received an ordinary +elementary education, and was afterwards apprenticed to Mr Cockburn, +bookseller in Anstruther. He subsequently commenced business as a +bookseller in the small town of Colinsburgh; but after a trial of +several years, not having succeeded according to his expectations, he +removed to Edinburgh, where he was employed as a clerk by Mr Thomas +Megget, writer to the signet. At a future period, he entered into +partnership with Mr James Gillon, writer and messenger in Edinburgh; and +after his partner's death, carried on the business on his own account. +He died at Edinburgh on the 7th January 1843. Of highly sociable +dispositions, and with talents of a superior order, Conolly was much +beloved among a wide circle of friends. Unambitious of fame as a poet, +though he frequently wrote verses, he never ventured on a publication. +His popular song of "Mary Macneil," appeared in the _Edinburgh +Intelligencer_ of the 23d December 1840; it is much to be remarked for +deep feeling and genuine tenderness. + + + + +MARY MACNEIL. + +AIR--_"Kinloch of Kinloch."_ + + + The last gleam o' sunset in ocean was sinkin', + Owre mountain an' meadowland glintin' fareweel; + An' thousands o' stars in the heavens were blinkin', + As bright as the een o' sweet Mary Macneil. + A' glowin' wi' gladness she lean'd on her lover, + Her een-tellin' secrets she thought to conceal; + And fondly they wander'd whar nane might discover + The tryst o' young Ronald an' Mary Macneil. + + Oh! Mary was modest, an' pure as the lily, + That dew-draps o' mornin' in fragrance reveal; + Nae fresh bloomin' flow'ret in hill or in valley + Could rival the beauty of Mary Macneil. + She moved, and the graces play'd sportive around her; + She smiled, and the hearts o' the cauldest wad thrill; + She sang, and the mavis cam listenin' in wonder, + To claim a sweet sister in Mary Macneil. + + But ae bitter blast on its fair promise blawin', + Frae spring a' its beauty an' blossoms will steal; + An' ae sudden blight on the gentle heart fa'in', + Inflicts the deep wound nothing earthly can heal. + The simmer saw Ronald on glory's path hiein'; + The autumn, his corse on the red battle fiel'; + The winter, the maiden found heartbroken, dyin'; + An' spring spread the green turf owre Mary Macneil! + + + + +THERE 'S A THRILL OF EMOTION. + + + There 's a thrill of emotion, half-painful, half-sweet, + When the object of untold affection we meet, + But the pleasure remains, though the pang is as brief, + As the touch and recoil of the sensitive leaf. + + There 's a thrill of distress, between anger and dread, + When a frown o'er the fair face of beauty is spread; + But she smiles, and away the disturber is borne, + Like sunbeams dispelling the vapours of morn. + + There 's a thrill of endearment, all raptures above, + When the pure lip imprints the first fond kiss of love, + Which, like songs of our childhood, to memory clings, + The longest, the last of terrestrial things. + + + + +GEORGE MENZIES. + + +George Menzies was born in the parish of Arbuthnot, Kincardineshire, on +the 21st January 1797. His father was an agricultural labourer. On +completing his education at a country school, he became, in his +fourteenth year, apprentice to a gardener. He prosecuted his vocation in +different districts; acted some time as clerk to the contractors of the +Forth and Clyde Canal; laboured as a weaver in several towns in the +counties of Forfar and Kincardine; and conducted unendowed schools in +various localities. In 1833, he emigrated to Canada, where he taught in +different seminaries, and afterwards formed a connexion with a +succession of public journals. He ultimately became proprietor and +editor of the _Woodstock Herald_ newspaper. After a short illness, he +died at Woodstock, Canada West, on the 4th March 1847, in his +fifty-first year. + +Menzies was possessed of good talents and indomitable energy. He wrote +respectable verses, though not marked by any decided originality. In +1822, he published, at Forfar, a small volume of poems, entitled, +"Poetical Trifles," of which a second and enlarged edition appeared five +years afterwards. The whole of his poems, with an account of his life, +in a duodecimo volume, were published at Montrose in 1854. + + + + +THE BRAES OF AUCHINBLAE. + + + As clear is Luther's wave, I ween, + As gay the grove, the vale as green; + But, oh! the days that we have seen + Are fled, and fled for aye, Mary! + + Oh! we have often fondly stray'd + In Fordoun's green embow'ring glade, + And mark'd the moonbeam as it play'd + On Luther's bonnie wave, Mary! + + Since then, full many a year and day + With me have slowly pass'd away, + Far from the braes of Auchinblae, + And far from love and thee, Mary! + + And we must part again, my dear, + It is not mine to linger here; + Yes, we must part--and, oh! I fear, + We meet not here again, Mary! + + For on Culloden's bloody field, + Our hapless Prince's fate is seal'd-- + Last night to me it was reveal'd + Sooth as the word of heaven, Mary! + + And ere to-morrow's sun shall shine + Upon the heights of Galloquhine, + A thousand victims at the shrine + Of tyranny shall bleed, Mary! + + Hark! hark! they come--the foemen come-- + I go; but wheresoe'er I roam, + With thee my heart remains at home-- + Adieu, adieu for aye, Mary! + + + + +FARE THEE WEEL. + + + Fare thee weel, my bonnie lassie; + Fare thee weel for ever, Jessie! + Though I ne'er again may meet thee, + Tell na me that I 'll forget thee. + + By yon starry heavens I vow it! + By my love!--(I mayna rue it)-- + By this hour in which we sever! + I will love but thee for ever. + + Should the hand of death arrest me, + Think my latest prayer hath blest thee; + As the parting pang draws nearer, + I will love thee aye the dearer. + + Still my bosom's love I 'll cherish-- + 'Tis a spark that winna perish; + Though I ne'er again may meet thee, + Tell na me that I 'll forget thee. + + + + +JOHN SIM. + + +John Sim was born in Paisley, on the 6th of April 1797. His father, +James Sim, was engineer in the factory of James Carlile and Sons, and +was highly valued by his employers. In the Grammar-school, John made +rapid progress in classical learning; and in 1814 entered the University +of Glasgow, with a view to the medical profession. He obtained his +diploma as surgeon on the 6th of April 1818. He commenced the practice +of medicine in the village of Auchinleck, Ayrshire; but removed in a few +months to his native town. His professional success was not commensurate +with his expectations; and in the hope of bettering his circumstances, +he proceeded to the West Indies. He sailed from Greenock on the 19th +January 1819, for Trinidad; but had only been resident in that island +about eight months when he was seized with a fatal illness. The precise +date of his death is unknown. + +Sim was a young man of high promise. Early wedded to the muse, he was +selected as the original editor of the "Harp of Renfrewshire." He +published a small volume of poems and songs. His songs are somewhat +imitative, but are remarkable for sweetness of expression, and are +pervaded by genial sentiment. + + + + +NAE MAIR WE 'LL MEET. + +AIR--_"We 'll meet beside the dusky glen."_ + + + Nae mair we 'll meet again, my love, by yon burn side-- + Nae mair we 'll wander through the grove, by yon burn side-- + Ne'er again the mavis lay will we hail at close o' day, + Nor ne'er again we 'll stray down by yon burn side. + + Yet mem'ry oft will fondly brood on yon burn side, + O'er haunts which we sae saft hae trod, by yon burn side; + Still the walk wi' me thou 'lt share, though thy foot can never mair + Bend to earth the gowan fair, down by yon burn side. + + Now far removed from every care, 'boon yon burn side, + Thou bloom'st, my love, an angel fair, 'boon yon burn side; + And if angels pity know, sure the tear for me will flow, + Who must linger here below, down by yon burn side. + + + + +BONNIE PEGGY.[46] + +AIR--_"Bonnie lassie, O."_ + + + Oh, we aft hae met at e'en, bonnie Peggy, O! + On the banks of Cart sae green, bonnie Peggy, O! + Where the waters smoothly rin, + Far aneath the roarin' linn, + Far frae busy strife and din, bonnie Peggy, O! + When the lately crimson west, bonnie Peggy, O! + In her darker robe was dress'd, bonnie Peggy, O! + And a sky of azure blue, + Deck'd with stars of golden hue, + Rose majestic to the view, bonnie Peggy, O! + When the sound of flute or horn, bonnie Peggy, O! + On the gale of ev'ning borne, bonnie Peggy, O! + We have heard in echoes die, + While the wave that rippled by, + Sung a soft and sweet reply, bonnie Peggy, O! + + Then how happy would we rove, bonnie Peggy, O! + Whilst thou, blushing, own'd thy love, bonnie Peggy, O! + Whilst thy quickly throbbing breast + To my beating heart I press'd, + Ne'er was mortal half so blest, bonnie Peggy, O! + Now, alas! these scenes are o'er, bonnie Peggy, O! + Now, alas! we meet no more, bonnie Peggy, O! + Oh! never again, I ween, + Will we meet at summer e'en + On the banks of Cart sae green, bonnie Peggy, O! + Yet had'st thou been true to me, bonnie Peggy, O! + As I still hae been to thee, bonnie Peggy, O! + Then with bosom, oh, how light, + Had I hail'd the coming night, + And yon evening star so bright, bonnie Peggy, O! + + +[46] This song is much in the strain of the popular song of "Kelvin +Grove," which, it may here be remarked, has often been erroneously +ascribed to Sim. It was contributed to the "Harp of Renfrewshire," then +under his editorial care, by his townsman, class-fellow, and +professional brother, Mr Thomas Lyle, surgeon, Glasgow, and was +published in that work (p. 144) by Mr John Murdoch, the successor of Sim +in the editorship, with a number of alterations by that gentleman. Of +these alterations Mr Lyle complained to Mr Sim, and received a letter +from him attributing them to Mr Murdoch. On the completion of the work, +Sim was mentioned in the index as the author of the song--by the poet +Motherwell, the third and last editor, who, not unnaturally, assigned to +the original editor those songs which appeared anonymously in the +earlier portion of the volume. The song being afterwards published with +music by Mr Purdie, musicseller in Edinburgh, Mr Lyle was induced to +adopt measures for establishing his title to the authorship. In the +absence of the original MS., the claim was sufficiently made out by the +production of Mr Sim's letter on the subject of the alterations. (See +Memoir of Mr Lyle, _postea_.) + + + + +NOW, MARY, NOW THE STRUGGLE 'S O'ER.[47] + +_Gaelic Air._ + + + Now, Mary, now the struggle 's o'er-- + The war of pride and love; + And, Mary, now we meet no more, + Unless we meet above. + + Too well thou know'st how much I loved! + Thou knew'st my hopes how fair! + But all these hopes are blighted now, + They point but to despair. + + Thus doom'd to ceaseless, hopeless love, + I haste to India's shore; + For here how can I longer stay, + And call thee mine no more? + + Now, Mary, now the struggle 's o'er; + And though I still must love, + Yet, Mary, here we meet no more, + Oh, may we meet above! + + +[47] This song was addressed to a young lady to whom the author was +attached, and who had agreed to marry him on an improvement in his +worldly circumstances. A desire speedily to gain her hand is said to +have been the cause of his proceeding to the West Indies. The prediction +in the song was sadly realised. + + + + +WILLIAM MOTHERWELL. + + +William Motherwell was born in High Street, Glasgow, on the 13th October +1797. For thirteen generations, his paternal ancestors were owners of +the small property of Muirsmill, on the banks of the Carron, +Stirlingshire. His father, who bore the same Christian name, carried on +the business of an ironmonger in Glasgow. His mother, whose maiden name +was Elizabeth Barnet, was the daughter of a prosperous farmer in the +parish of Auchterarder, Perthshire, from whom she inherited a +considerable fortune. Of a family of six, William was the third son. His +parents removed to Edinburgh early in the century; and in April 1805, he +became a pupil of Mr William Lennie, a successful private teacher in +Crichton Street. In October 1808, he entered the High-school of +Edinburgh; but was soon after placed at the Grammar-school of Paisley, +being entrusted to the care of an uncle in that place. In his fifteenth +year, he became clerk in the office of the Sheriff-clerk of Paisley, and +in this situation afforded evidence of talent by the facility with which +he deciphered the more ancient documents. With the view of obtaining a +more extended acquaintance with classical literature, he attended the +Latin and Greek classes in the University of Glasgow, during the session +of 1818-19, and had the good fortune soon thereafter to receive the +appointment of Sheriff-clerk-depute of the county of Renfrew. + +From his boyhood fond of literature, Motherwell devoted his spare hours +to reading and composition. He evinced poetical talent so early as his +fourteenth year, when he produced the first draught of his beautiful +ballad of "Jeanie Morrison." Many of his earlier sketches, both in prose +and verse, were inconsiderately distributed among his friends. In 1818, +he made some contributions in verse to the "Visitor," a small work +published at Greenock; and in the following year became the third and +last editor of the "Harp of Renfrewshire," an esteemed collection of +songs, to which he supplied an interesting introductory essay and many +valuable notes. Pursuing his researches on the subject of Scottish song +and ballad, he appeared in 1827 as the editor of an interesting quarto +volume, entitled "Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern,"--a work which +considerably extended his reputation, and secured him the friendly +correspondence of Sir Walter Scott. In 1828, he originated the _Paisley +Magazine_, which was conducted by him during its continuance of one +year; it contains several of his best poetical compositions, and a copy +is now extremely rare. During the same year, he was appointed editor of +the _Paisley Advertiser_, a Conservative newspaper; and this office he +exchanged, in January 1830, for the editorship of the _Glasgow Courier_, +a more influential journal in the same political interests. + +On his removal to Glasgow, Motherwell rapidly extended the circle of his +literary friends, and began to exercise no unimportant influence as a +public journalist. To _The Day_, a periodical published in the city in +1832, he contributed many poetical pieces with some prose sketches; and +about the same time furnished a preface of some length to a volume of +Scottish Proverbs, edited by his ingenious friend, Andrew Henderson. +Towards the close of 1832, he collected his best poetical compositions +into a small volume, with the title of "Poems, Narrative and Lyrical." +In 1835, he became the coadjutor of the Ettrick Shepherd in annotating +an edition of Burns' Works, published by Messrs Fullarton of Glasgow; +but his death took place before the completion of this undertaking. He +died of apoplexy, after a few hours' illness, on the 1st of November +1835, at the early age of thirty-eight. His remains were interred in the +Necropolis, where an elegant monument, with a bust by Fillans, has been +erected to his memory. + +Motherwell was of short stature, but was well-formed. His head was large +and forehead ample, but his features were somewhat coarse; his +cheek-bones were prominent, and his eyes small, sunk in his head, and +surmounted by thick eye-lashes. In society he was reserved and often +taciturn, but was free and communicative among his personal friends. He +was not a little superstitious, and a firm believer in the reality of +spectral illusions. Desultory in some of his literary occupations, he +was laborious in pruning and perfecting his poetical compositions. His +claims as a poet are not inconsiderable; "Jeanie Morrison" is +unsurpassed in graceful simplicity and feeling, and though he had not +written another line, it had afforded him a title to rank among the +greater minstrels of his country. Eminent pathos and earnestness are his +characteristics as a song-writer. The translations of Scandinavian +ballads which he has produced are perhaps the most vigorous and +successful efforts of the kind which have appeared in the language. An +excellent edition of his poetical works, with a memoir by Dr M'Conechy, +was published after his death by Mr David Robertson of Glasgow. + + + + +JEANIE MORRISON.[48] + + + I 've wander'd east, I 've wander'd west, + Through mony a weary way, + But never, never can forget + The luve o' life's young day! + The fire that 's blawn on Beltane e'en, + May weel be black gin Yule; + But blacker fa' awaits the heart + Where first fond luve grows cule. + + O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, + The thochts o' bygane years + Still fling their shadows owre my path, + And blind my een wi' tears; + They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears; + And sair and sick I pine, + As memory idly summons up + The blithe blinks o' langsyne. + + 'Twas then we luvit ilk ither weel, + 'Twas then we twa did part; + Sweet time--sad time! twa bairns at schule, + Twa bairns, and but ae heart! + 'Twas then we sat on ae laigh bink, + To leir ilk ither lear; + And tones, and looks, and smiles were shed, + Remember'd evermair. + + I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet, + When sitting on that bink, + Cheek touchin' cheek, loof lock'd in loof, + What our wee heads could think. + When baith bent doun owre ae braid page, + Wi' ae buik on our knee, + Thy lips were on thy lesson--but + My lesson was in thee. + + Oh, mind ye how we hung our heads, + How cheeks brent red wi' shame, + Whene'er the schule-weans, laughin', said + We cleek'd thegither hame? + And mind ye o' the Saturdays + (The schule then skailt at noon) + When we ran aff to speel the braes-- + The broomy braes o' June? + + My head rins round and round about, + My heart flows like a sea, + As ane by ane the thoughts rush back + O' schule-time and o' thee. + Oh, mornin' life! oh, mornin' luve! + Oh, lichtsome days and lang, + When hinnied hopes around our hearts, + Like simmer blossoms sprang! + + Oh, mind ye, luve, how aft we left + The deavin', dinsome toun, + To wander by the green burnside, + And hear its waters croon? + The simmer leaves hung owre our heads, + The flowers burst round our feet, + And in the gloamin o' the wood, + The throssil whusslit sweet. + + The throssil whusslit in the wood, + The burn sang to the trees, + And we, with nature's heart in tune, + Concerted harmonies; + And on the knowe abune the burn, + For hours thegither sat + In the silentness o' joy, till baith + Wi' very gladness grat. + + Aye, aye, dear Jeanie Morrison, + Tears trickled doun your cheek, + Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nane + Had ony power to speak! + That was a time, a blessed time, + When hearts were fresh and young, + When freely gush'd all feelings forth, + Unsyllabled--unsung! + + I marvel, Jeanie Morrison, + Gin I hae been to thee + As closely twined wi' earliest thochts, + As ye hae been to me! + Oh, tell me gin their music fills + Thine heart, as it does mine; + Oh, say gin e'er your heart grows grit + Wi' dreamings o' langsyne? + + I 've wander'd east, I 've wander'd west, + I 've borne a weary lot; + But in my wanderings, far or near, + Ye never were forgot. + The fount that first burst frae this heart, + Still travels on its way; + And channels deeper as it rins, + The luve o' life's young day. + + Oh, dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, + Since we were sinder'd young, + I 've never seen your face, nor heard + The music o' your tongue; + But I could hug all wretchedness, + And happy could I die, + Did I but ken your heart still dream'd + O' bygane days and me! + + +[48] The heroine of this song, Miss Jane Morrison, now Mrs Murdoch, +still survives. Her father, Mr Ebenezer Morrison, was a respectable +brewer and corn-merchant in Alloa. In the autumn of 1807, when in her +seventh year, she became a pupil of Mr Lennie, and for several months +occupied the same class-room with young Motherwell. Of the flame which +she had excited in the susceptible heart of her boy-lover, she was +totally unconscious. Mr Lennie, however, in a statement published by the +editor of Motherwell's poems, refers to the strong impression which she +made on the young poet; he describes her as "a pretty girl, and of good +capacity." "Her hair," he adds, "was of a lightish brown, approaching to +fair; her eyes were dark, and had a sweet and gentle expression; her +temper was mild, and her manners unassuming." In 1823, Miss Morrison +became the wife of Mr John Murdoch, commission-agent in Glasgow, who +died in 1829. She has since resided in different places, but has now +(Whitsunday 1856) fixed her abode in the vicinity of Stirling. She never +met the poet in after-life, and has only an imperfect recollection of +his appearance as a boy. The ballad of "Jeanie Morrison" had been +published for several years before she became aware that she was the +heroine. It remains to be added, somewhat in justification of the poet's +juvenile passion, that Mrs Murdoch is a person of the most gentle and +amiable manners, and retains, in a very remarkable degree, that personal +beauty for which she was celebrated in youth. + + + + +WEARIE'S WELL. + + + In a saft simmer gloamin', + In yon dowie dell, + It was there we twa first met, + By Wearie's cauld well. + We sat on the broom bank, + And look'd in the burn, + But sidelang we look'd on + Ilk ither in turn. + + The corncraik was chirming + His sad eerie cry, + And the wee stars were dreaming + Their path through the sky; + The burn babbled freely + Its love to ilk flower, + But we heard and we saw nought + In that blessed hour. + + We heard and we saw nought, + Above or around; + We felt that our luve lived, + And loathed idle sound. + I gazed on your sweet face + Till tears fill'd my e'e, + And they drapt on your wee loof-- + A warld's wealth to me. + + Now the winter snaw 's fa'ing + On bare holm and lea, + And the cauld wind is strippin' + Ilk leaf aff the tree. + But the snaw fa's not faster, + Nor leaf disna part + Sae sune frae the bough, as + Faith fades in your heart. + + You 've waled out anither + Your bridegroom to be; + But can his heart luve sae + As mine luvit thee? + Ye 'll get biggings and mailins, + And mony braw claes; + But they a' winna buy back + The peace o' past days. + + Fareweel, and for ever, + My first luve and last; + May thy joys be to come-- + Mine live in the past. + In sorrow and sadness + This hour fa's on me; + But light, as thy luve, may + It fleet over thee! + + + + +WAE BE TO THE ORDERS. + + + Oh! wae be to the orders that march'd my luve awa', + And wae be to the cruel cause that gars my tears down fa', + Oh! wae be to the bluidy wars in Hie Germanie, + For they hae ta'en my luve, and left a broken heart to me. + + The drums beat in the mornin', afore the screich o' day, + And the wee, wee fifes play'd loud and shrill, while yet the morn was gray; + The bonnie flags were a' unfurl'd, a gallant sight to see, + But waes me for my sodger lad that march'd to Germanie. + + Oh! lang, lang is the travel to the bonnie Pier o' Leith, + Oh! dreich it is to gang on foot wi' the snaw drift in the teeth! + And oh, the cauld wind froze the tear that gather'd in my e'e, + When I gaed there to see my luve embark for Germanie. + + I look'd owre the braid blue sea, sae lang as could be seen + A wee bit sail upon the ship that my sodger lad was in; + But the wind was blawin' sair an' snell, and the ship sail'd speedilie, + And the waves and cruel wars hae twinn'd my winsome luve frae me. + + I never think o' dancin', and I downa try to sing, + But a' the day I speir what news kind neibour bodies bring; + I sometimes knit a stocking, if knittin' it may be, + Syne for every loop that I cast on, I 'm sure to let doun three. + + My father says I 'm in a pet, my mither jeers at me, + And bans me for a dautit wean, in dorts for aye to be; + But little weet they o' the cause that drumles sae my e'e, + Oh! they hae nae winsome love like mine, in the wars o' Germanie. + + + + +THE MIDNIGHT WIND. + + + Mournfully, oh, mournfully + This midnight wind doth sigh, + Like some sweet plaintive melody + Of ages long gone by: + It speaks a tale of other years-- + Of hopes that bloom'd to die-- + Of sunny smiles that set in tears, + And loves that mouldering lie. + + Mournfully, oh, mournfully + This midnight wind doth moan; + It stirs some chord of memory, + In each dull heavy tone: + The voices of the much-loved dead + Seem floating thereupon-- + All, all my fond heart cherished, + Ere death hath made it lone. + + Mournfully, oh, mournfully + This midnight wind doth swell, + With its quaint pensive minstrelsy, + Hope's passionate farewell. + To the dreamy joys of early years, + Ere yet grief's canker fell + On the heart's bloom--ay, well may tears + Start at that parting knell! + + + + +HE IS GONE! HE IS GONE! + + + He is gone! he is gone! + Like the leaf from the tree, + Or the down that is blown + By the wind o'er the lea. + He is fled--the light-hearted! + Yet a tear must have started + To his eye when he parted + From love-stricken me! + + He is fled! he is fled! + Like a gallant so free-- + Plumed cap on his head, + And sharp sword by his knee; + While his gay feathers flutter'd, + Surely something he mutter'd-- + He at least must have utter'd + A farewell to me! + + He 's away! he 's away! + To far lands o'er the sea, + And long is the day + Ere home he can be; + But where'er his steed prances + Amid thronging lances, + Sure he 'll think of the glances + That love stole from me! + + He is gone! he is gone! + Like the leaf from the tree, + But his heart is of stone + If it ne'er dream of me; + For I dream of him ever-- + His buff-coat and beaver, + And long sword, oh! never + Are absent from me! + + + + +DAVID MACBETH MOIR. + + +David Macbeth Moir was born at Musselburgh on the 5th January 1798. His +elementary education was conducted at a private seminary and the +Grammar-school of that town. He subsequently attended the medical +classes in the University of Edinburgh, and in his eighteenth year +obtained a surgeon's diploma. In partnership with Dr Brown, a +respectable physician of long standing, he entered on medical practice +in his native place. He wrote good poetry in his fifteenth year, and +about the same age contributed some prose essays to the _Cheap +Magazine_, a small periodical published in Haddington. In 1816 he +published a poem entitled "The Bombardment of Algiers." For a succession +of years after its commencement in 1817, he wrote numerous articles for +_Constable's Edinburgh Magazine_. Soon after the establishment of +_Blackwood's Magazine_, he became one of its more conspicuous +contributors; and his poetical contributions, which were generally +subscribed by his literary _nom de guerre_, the Greek letter Delta +([Greek: Delta]), long continued a source of much interest to the +readers of that periodical. In 1824 he published a collection of his +poetical pieces, under the title of "Legend of Genevieve, with other +Tales and Poems." "The Autobiography of Mansie Wauch," originally +supplied in a series of chapters to _Blackwood_, and afterwards +published in a separate form, much increased his reputation as an +author. In 1831 appeared his "Outlines of the Ancient History of +Medicine;" a work which was followed, in 1832, by a pamphlet entitled, +"Practical Observations on Malignant Cholera;" and a further +publication, with the title, "Proofs of the Contagion of Malignant +Cholera." A third volume of poems from his pen, entitled "Domestic +Verses," was published in 1843. In the early part of 1851 he delivered, +at the Philosophical Institution of Edinburgh, a course of six lectures +on the "Poetical Literature of the Past Half-century," which, afterwards +published in an elegant volume by the Messrs Blackwood, commanded a +large share of public attention. In a state of somewhat impaired health, +he proceeded to Dumfries on the 1st day of July 1851, hoping to derive +benefit from a change of scene and climate. But his end was approaching; +he died at Dumfries on the 6th of the same month, having reached only +his 53d year. His remains were interred, at a public funeral, in the +burying-ground of Musselburgh, where a monument has been erected to his +memory. Indefatigable in the discharge of his professional duties, Moir +regularly devoted a portion of his time to the gratification of his +literary tastes. A pleasant prose writer, he will be remembered for his +inimitable drollery in the adventures of "Mansie Wauch." As a poet, his +style is perspicuous and simple; and his characteristics are tenderness, +dignity, and grace. He is occasionally humorous, but he excels in the +plaintive and elegiac. Much of his poetry breathes the odour of a +genuine piety. He was personally of an agreeable presence. Tall in +stature, his countenance, which was of sanguine hue, wore a serious +aspect, unless kindled up by the recital of some humorous tale. His +mode of utterance was singularly pleasing, and his dispositions were +pervaded by a generous benignity. He loved society, but experienced his +chief happiness in the social intercourse of his own family circle. He +had married in 1829; and his amiable widow, with eight children, still +survive. A collected edition of his best poems, in two duodecimo +volumes, has been published since his death, by the Messrs Blackwood, +under the editorial superintendence of Thomas Aird, who has prefixed an +interesting memoir. + + + + +CASA WAPPY.[49] + + + And hast thou sought thy heavenly home, + Our fond, dear boy-- + The realms where sorrow dare not come, + Where life is joy? + Pure at thy death as at thy birth, + Thy spirit caught no taint from earth, + Even by its bliss we mete our dearth, + Casa Wappy! + + Despair was in our last farewell, + As closed thine eye; + Tears of our anguish may not tell + When thou didst die; + Words may not paint our grief for thee, + Sighs are but bubbles on the sea + Of our unfathom'd agony, + Casa Wappy! + + Thou wert a vision of delight + To bless us given; + Beauty embodied to our sight, + A type of heaven. + So dear to us thou wert, thou art + Even less thine own self than a part + Of mine and of thy mother's heart, + Casa Wappy! + + Thy bright, brief day knew no decline-- + 'Twas cloudless joy; + Sunrise and night alone were thine, + Beloved boy! + This morn beheld thee blithe and gay; + That found thee prostrate in decay; + And ere a third shone, clay was clay, + Casa Wappy! + + Gem of our hearth, our household pride, + Earth's undefiled, + Could love have saved, thou hadst not died, + Our dear, sweet child! + Humbly we bow to fate's decree; + Yet had we hoped that time should see + Thee mourn for us, not us for thee, + Casa Wappy! + + Do what I may, go where I will, + Thou meet'st my sight; + There dost thou glide before me still, + A form of light. + I feel thy breath upon my cheek, + I see thee smile, I hear thee speak, + Till, oh! my heart is like to break, + Casa Wappy! + + * * * * * + + The nursery shews thy pictured wall, + Thy bat, thy bow, + Thy cloak and bonnet, club and ball; + But where art thou? + A corner holds thine empty chair; + Thy playthings, idly scatter'd there, + But speak to us of our despair, + Casa Wappy! + + * * * * * + + We mourn for thee when blind, blank night + The chamber fills; + We pine for thee when morn's first light + Reddens the hills; + The sun, the moon, the stars, the sea-- + All--to the wallflower and wild pea-- + Are changed--we saw the world through thee, + Casa Wappy! + + * * * * * + + Snows muffled earth when thou didst go, + In life's spring-bloom, + Down to the appointed house below-- + The silent tomb. + But now the green leaves of the tree, + The cuckoo, and "the busy bee," + Return, but with them bring not thee, + Casa Wappy! + + 'Tis so! but can it be--(while flowers + Revive again)-- + Man's doom in death--that we and ours + For aye remain? + Oh! can it be that o'er the grave + The grass, renew'd, should yearly wave, + Yet God forget our child to save? + Casa Wappy! + + It cannot be; for were it so + Thus man could die, + Life were a mockery--thought were woe, + And truth a lie-- + Heaven were a coinage of the brain-- + Religion frenzy--virtue vain, + And all our hopes to meet again, + Casa Wappy! + + Then be to us, O dear, lost child! + With beam of love, + A star--death's uncongenial wild-- + Smiling above! + Soon, soon thy little feet have trod + The skyward path, the seraph's road, + That led thee back from man to God, + Casa Wappy! + + Yet, 'tis sweet balm to our despair, + Fond, fairest boy, + That heaven is God's, and thou art there + With him in joy! + There past are death and all its woes, + There beauty's stream for ever flows, + And pleasure's day no sunset knows, + Casa Wappy! + + Farewell, then--for a while farewell, + Pride of my heart! + It cannot be that long we dwell + Thus torn apart-- + Time's shadows like the shuttle flee; + And dark howe'er life's night may be, + Beyond the grave I 'll meet with thee, + Casa Wappy! + + +[49] This touching elegiac poem (which is not unsuitable for music) was +written by Mr Moir on the death of his favourite child, Charles +Bell--familiarly called by him "Casa Wappy"--who died in February 1838, +at the age of four and a half years. + + + + +FAREWELL, OUR FATHERS' LAND. + + + Farewell, our fathers' land, + Valley and fountain! + Farewell, old Scotland's strand, + Forest and mountain! + Then hush the drum and hush the flute, + And be the stirring bagpipe mute-- + Such sounds may not with sorrow suit-- + And fare thee well, Lochaber! + + This plume and plaid no more will see, + Nor philabeg, nor dirk at knee, + Nor even the broadswords which Dundee + Bade flash at Killiecrankie. + Farewell, our fathers' land, &c. + + Now when of yore, on bank and brae, + Our loyal clansmen marshall'd gay; + Far downward scowls Bennevis gray, + On sheep-walks spreading lonely. + Farewell, our fathers' land, &c. + + For now we cross the stormy sea, + Ah! never more to look on thee, + Nor on thy dun deer, bounding free, + From Etive glens to Morven. + Farewell, our fathers' land, &c. + + Thy mountain air no more we 'll breathe; + The household sword shall eat the sheath, + While rave the wild winds o'er the heath + Where our gray sires are sleeping. + Then farewell, our fathers' land, &c. + + + + +HEIGH-HO! + + + A pretty young maiden sat on the grass-- + Sing heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho!-- + And by a blithe young shepherd did pass, + In the summer morning so early. + Said he, "My lass, will you go with me, + My cot to keep and my bride to be; + Sorrow and want shall never touch thee, + And I will love you rarely?" + + "O! no, no, no!" the maiden said-- + Sing heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho!-- + And bashfully turn'd aside her head, + On that summer morning so early. + "My mother is old, my mother is frail, + Our cottage it lies in yon green dale; + I dare not list to any such tale, + For I love my kind mother rarely." + + The shepherd took her lily-white hand-- + Sing heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho!-- + And on her beauty did gazing stand, + On that summer morning so early. + "Thy mother I ask thee not to leave + Alone in her frail old age to grieve; + But my home can hold us all, believe-- + Will that not please thee fairly?" + + "O! no, no, no! I am all too young"-- + Sing heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho!-- + "I dare not list to a young man's tongue, + On a summer morning so early." + But the shepherd to gain her heart was bent; + Oft she strove to go, but she never went; + And at length she fondly blush'd consent-- + Heaven blesses true lovers so fairly. + + + + +ROBERT FRASER. + + +Robert Fraser was born in the village of Pathhead, Fifeshire, on the +24th of June 1798. Receiving a respectable education at the various +schools of the place, he became apprenticed in his fourteenth year to a +wine-merchant in Kirkcaldy, with whom he continued during a period of +four years. In 1819 he commenced business with a partner as an +ironmonger in Kirkcaldy, and for a considerable time was prosperous in +merchandise. His spare hours were devoted to literature, more especially +to classical learning and the acquisition of the modern languages. He +was latterly familiar with all the languages of Europe. He contributed +both in prose and verse to the _Edinburgh Literary Journal_, and other +periodicals. A series of misfortunes led to his renouncing business, and +in 1838 he accepted the editorship of the _Fife Herald_ newspaper, when +he removed his residence to Cupar-Fife. He died at Cupar, after a +lingering illness, on the 22d May 1839. His "Poetical Remains," with a +memoir from the pen of the poet Vedder, were published a few months +after his decease. Though not entitled to a high rank, his poetry is +pervaded by gracefulness, and some of his lyrics evince considerable +power. + + + + +OH, I LO'ED MY LASSIE WEEL. + + + Oh, I lo'ed my lassie weel, + How weel I canna tell; + Lang, lang ere ithers trow'd, + Lang ere I wist mysel'. + At the school amang the lave, + If I wrestled or I ran, + I cared na' for the prize, + If she saw me when I wan. + + Oh, I lo'ed my lassie weel, + When thae gleesome days were gane; + 'Mang a' the bonnie an' the gude, + To match her saw I nane. + Though the cauld warl' o'er me cam, + Wi' its cumber an' its toil, + My day-tide dool was a' forgot, + In her blithe e'enin' smile. + + Oh, I lo'ed, nor lo'ed in vain; + An' though mony cam to woo, + Wha to won her wad been fain, + Yet to me she aye was true. + She grat wi' very joy + When our waddin' day was set; + An' though twal' gude years sinsyne hae fled, + She 's my darling lassie yet. + + + + +JAMES HISLOP. + + +James Hislop, a short-lived poet of considerable promise, was born of +humble parents in the parish of Kirkconnel, Dumfriesshire, in July 1798. +Under the care of his grandfather, a country weaver, and a man of piety +and worth, he taught himself to read. When little more than a child, he +became a cow-herd on the farm of Dalblair, in the neighbourhood of his +birth-place. About the age of thirteen, he obtained a year's schooling, +which was nearly the whole amount of his regular education. He had +already read many books on the hillside. In his fourteenth year, he +became a shepherd and tended his first flock at Boghead, parish of +Auchinleck, Ayrshire, in the immediate vicinity of Airsmoss, the scene +of the skirmish, in 1680, between a body of the soldiers of Charles II. +and a small party of Covenanters, when their minister, the famous +Richard Cameron, was slain. The traditions which still floated among the +peasantry around the tombstone of this indomitable pastor of the +persecuted Presbyterians, essentially fostered in his mind the love of +poetry; and he afterwards turned them to account in his poem of "The +Cameronian's Dream." Some years having passed at this place, he removed +to Corsebank, on the stream Crawick, and afterwards to Carcoe, in the +neighbourhood of Sanquhar. Instead of a course of indiscriminate +reading, he now followed a system of regular study; and ere his +twentieth year, was not only a respectable classical scholar, but +tolerably conversant with some of the modern languages and the exact +sciences. He opened an evening school for the instruction of his humble +pastoral associates; and about the close of 1819, was induced to remove +to Greenock, there to make the attempt of earning a livelihood by +teaching. In October of the same year, he began to contribute verses to +the _Edinburgh Magazine_, which excited no inconsiderable attention, and +especially called forth the kindly criticisms of the amiable editor, the +Rev. Mr Morehead. Visiting Edinburgh, he was introduced by this +gentleman to Mr Jeffrey and the Rev. Mr Alison, who had both been +interested by his poetry. + +The Greenock school adventure was unfortunate, and the poet returned to +the pastoral scenes of Carcoe. At this period he composed "The +Cameronian's Dream," which appeared in the _Edinburgh Magazine_ for +February 1821, and attracted much attention. He now commenced teaching +in Edinburgh; but soon obtained, through the recommendation of Mr +Jeffrey, the appointment of schoolmaster in the "Doris" frigate, about +to sail for South America. At sea, he continued to apply himself to +mental improvement; and on his return from a three years' cruise along +the coasts of the Western world, he published, in the pages of the +_Edinburgh Magazine_, a series of papers, under the title of "Letters +from South America," describing the scenes which he had surveyed. In +1825 he proceeded to London, and there formed the acquaintance of Allan +Cunningham, Joanna Baillie, and J. G. Lockhart. For some time, he +reported to one of the London newspapers; but this employment proving +uncongenial, was speedily abandoned. The fidelity with which he had +reported a sermon of the famous Edward Irving, gained him the personal +acquaintance of that extraordinary individual, who presented him with +some tokens of his regard. In 1826, he was appointed teacher of an +extensive free school in the neighbourhood of London--an office which, +at the end of a year, he exchanged for that of schoolmaster on board the +"Tweed" man-of-war, ordered to the Mediterranean and the Cape of Good +Hope. While the vessel was cruising off the Cape de Verd islands, +Hislop, along with the midshipmen, made a visit of pleasure to the +island of St Jago. Sleeping a night on shore, they were all seized with +fever, which, in the case of six of the party, including poor Hislop, +proved fatal. After lingering for twelve days, he died on the 4th +December 1827, in his twenty-ninth year. + +Of a clear head, a warm heart, and exemplary steadiness of character, +Hislop was much beloved; and a wide circle of hopeful friends deeply +lamented his premature decease. By Allan Cunningham, his genius has been +described as "elegant rather than vigorous, sweet and graceful rather +than lofty, although he was occasionally lofty, too." As the author of +"The Cameronian's Dream," he is entitled to a place among the bards of +his country. + + + + +THE CAMERONIAN'S DREAM. + + + In a dream of the night, I was wafted away + To the muirlands of mist where the martyrs lay; + Where Cameron's sword and his Bible are seen + Engraved on the stone where the heather grows green. + + 'Twas a dream of those ages of darkness and blood, + When the minister's home was the mountain and wood, + And in Wellwood's dark valley the standard of Zion, + All bloody and torn, 'mong the heather was lying. + + 'Twas morning, and summer's young sun from the east + Lay in lovely repose on the green mountain's breast; + On Wardlaw and Cairntable, the clear shining dew + Glisten'd sheen 'mong the heath-bells and mountain-flowers blue. + + And far up in heaven, in a white sunny cloud, + The song of the lark was melodious and loud; + And in Glenmuir's wild solitudes, lengthen'd and deep, + Were the whistling of plovers and bleating of sheep. + + And Wellwood's sweet valley breathed music and gladness, + The fresh meadow blooms hung in beauty and redness; + Its daughters were happy to hail the returning, + And drink the delights of July's sweet morning. + + But, ah! there were hearts cherish'd far other feelings-- + Illumed by the light of prophetic revealings-- + And drank from the scenery of beauty but sorrow, + For they knew that their blood would bedew it to-morrow. + + 'Twas the few faithful ones who with Cameron were lying, + Conceal'd 'mong the mist where the heath-fowl were crying; + For the horsemen of Earlshall around them were hovering, + And their bridle-reins rung through the thin misty covering. + + Their faces grew pale, and their swords were unsheath'd, + But the vengeance that darken'd their brow was unbreathed; + With eyes raised to heaven, in calm resignation, + They sung their last song to the God of salvation. + + The hills with the sweet mournful music were ringing, + The curlew and plover in concert were singing; + But the melody died 'midst derision and laughter, + As the host of ungodly rush'd on to the slaughter. + + Though in mist and in darkness and fire they were shrouded, + Yet the souls of the righteous were calm and unclouded; + Their dark eyes flash'd lightning, as, proud and unbending, + They stood like the rock which the thunder was rending. + + The muskets were flashing, the blue swords were gleaming, + The helmets were cleft, and the red blood was streaming, + The heavens grew black, and the thunder was rolling, + As in Wellwood's dark muirlands the mighty were falling. + + When the righteous had fallen, and the combat was ended, + A chariot of fire through the dark cloud descended; + Its drivers were angels on horses of whiteness, + And its burning wheels turn'd upon axles of brightness. + + A seraph unfolded its door, bright and shining, + All dazzling like gold of the seventh refining; + And the souls that came forth out of great tribulation, + Have mounted the chariot and steeds of salvation. + + On the arch of the rainbow the chariot is gliding; + Through the path of the thunder the horsemen are riding; + Glide swiftly, bright spirits! the prize is before ye-- + A crown never fading, a kingdom of glory! + + + + +HOW SWEET THE DEWY BELL IS SPREAD. + + + How sweet the dewy bell is spread + Where Spango's mossy streams are lavin' + The heathery locks o' deepenin' red, + Around the mountain brow aye wavin'! + Here, on the sunny mountain side, + Dear lassie, we 'll lie down thegither; + Where Nature spreads luve's crimson bed, + Among the bonnie bloomin' heather. + + Lang hae I wish'd, my lovely maid, + Amang thae fragrant wilds to lead ye; + And now, aneath my tartan plaid, + How blest I lie wi' you aside me! + And art thou happy--dearest, speak-- + Wi' me aneath the tartan plaidie? + Yes; that dear glance, sae saft and meek, + Resigns thee to thy shepherd laddie. + + The saftness o' the gentle dove, + Its eyes in dying sweetness closin', + Is like thae languid eyes o' love, + Sae fondly on my heart reposin'. + When simmer suns the flowers expand, + In a' their silken beauties shinin', + They 're no sae saft as thy white hand, + Upon my love-warm cheek reclinin'. + + While thus, aneath my tartan plaid, + Sae warmly to my lips I press ye; + That hinnied bloom o' dewy red + Is nocht like thy sweet lips, dear lassie! + Reclined on love's soft crimson bed, + Our hearts sae fondly lock'd thegither; + Thus o'er my cheek thy ringlets spread, + How happy, happy 'mang the heather! + + + + +ROBERT GILFILLAN. + + +A respectable contributor to the Caledonian minstrelsy, Robert Gilfillan +was born in Dunfermline on the 7th July 1798. His parents were in humble +circumstances; and owing to the infirmities of his father, he was +required, while a mere youth, to engage in manual labour for the support +of the family. He found a solace to his toils in the gratification of a +turn for verse-making, which he inherited from his mother. In his +thirteenth year, he entered on an apprenticeship to a cooper in Leith; +and at the age of twenty, became a grocer's assistant in his native +town. From his twenty-third till his thirty-ninth year, he acted as +clerk to a wine-merchant in Leith. In 1837, he was preferred to the +office of Collector of Poor's-rates in Leith, and continued to hold this +appointment till his death. This event took place on the 4th December +1850, in his fifty-second year. + +A man of amiable and social dispositions, Gilfillan was much cherished +among the wits of the capital. A volume of lyrics from his pen passed +through two editions; and several of his songs have been set to music, +and have attained a well-merited popularity. His style is remarkable for +graceful simplicity. + + + + +MANOR BRAES. + +TUNE--_"Logan Water."_ + + + Where Manor stream rins blithe an' clear, + And Castlehill's white wa's appear, + I spent ae day, aboon a' days, + By Manor stream, 'mang Manor braes. + The purple heath was just in bloom, + And bonnie waved the upland broom, + The flocks on flowery braes lay still, + Or, heedless, wander'd at their will. + + 'Twas there, 'mid Nature's calm repose, + Where Manor clearest, saftest flows, + I met a maiden fair to see, + Wi' modest look and bashfu' e'e; + Her beauty to the mind did bring + A morn where summer blends wi' spring, + So bright, so pure, so calm, so fair, + 'Twas bliss to look--to linger there! + + Ilk word cam frae her bosom warm, + Wi' love to win and sense to charm, + So much of nature, nought of art, + She 'll live enthroned within my heart! + Aboon her head the laverock sang, + And 'neath her feet the wild-flowers sprang; + Oh, let me dwell, where beauty strays, + By Manor stream an' Manor braes. + + I speir'd gif ane sae young an' fair + Knew aught of love, wi' a' its care? + She said her heart frae love was free, + But aye she blush'd wi' downcast e'e. + The parting cam, as partings come, + Wi' looks that speak, though tongues be dumb; + Yet I 'll return, ere many days, + To live an' love 'mang Manor braes. + + + + +FARE THEE WELL. + +TUNE--_"Roy's Wife."_ + + + Fare thee well, for I must leave thee; + But, oh, let not our parting grieve thee; + Happier days may yet be mine, + At least I wish them thine--believe me! + + We part--but by those dew-drops clear, + My love for thee will last for ever; + I leave thee--but thy image dear, + Thy tender smiles, will leave me never. + Fare thee well, &c. + + Oh! dry those pearly tears that flow-- + One farewell smile before we sever; + The only balm for parting woe + Is--fondly hope 'tis not for ever. + Fare thee well, &c. + + Though dark and dreary lowers the night, + Calm and serene may be the morrow; + The cup of pleasure ne'er shone bright, + Without some mingling drops of sorrow! + Fare thee well, for I must leave thee, + But, oh, let not our parting grieve thee; + Happier days may yet be mine, + At least I wish them thine--believe me! + + + + +THE FIRST ROSE OF SUMMER. + + + 'Tis the first rose of summer that opes to my view, + With its bright crimson bosom all bathed in the dew; + It bows to its green leaves with pride from its throne-- + 'Tis the queen of the valley, and reigneth alone. + + Oh! why, lovely stranger! thus early in bloom, + Art thou here to assure us that summer is come? + The primrose and harebell appear with the spring, + But tidings of summer the young roses bring. + + Thou fair gift of nature (I welcome the boon), + Was 't the lark of the morning that 'woke thee so soon? + Yet I weep, thou sweet floweret! for soon, from the sky, + The lark shall repose where thy leaves wither'd lie. + + Oh! if beauty could save thee, thou ne'er wouldst decay, + But, alas! soon thou 'lt perish and wither away; + And thy kindred may blossom, and blossom as fair-- + Yet I 'll mourn, lonely rosebud! when thou art not there. + + + + +THE EXILE'S SONG. + +TUNE--_"My ain Countrie."_ + + + Oh! why left I my hame, + Why did I cross the deep? + Oh! why left I the land + Where my forefathers sleep? + I sigh for Scotia's shore, + And I gaze across the sea; + But I canna get a blink + O' my ain countrie! + + The palm-tree waveth high, + And fair the myrtle springs, + And to the Indian maid + The bulbul sweetly sings; + But I dinna see the broom + Wi' its tassels on the lea, + Nor hear the lintie's sang + O' my ain countrie! + + Oh! here no Sabbath bell + Awakes the Sabbath morn, + Nor song of reapers heard + Amang the yellow corn; + For the tyrant's voice is here, + And the wail of slaverie, + But the sun of freedom shines + In my ain countrie! + + There 's a hope for every woe, + And a balm for every pain; + But the first joys o' our heart + Come never back again. + There 's a track upon the deep, + And a path across the sea, + But the weary ne'er return + To their ain countrie! + + + + +THE HAPPY DAYS O' YOUTH. + + + Oh! the happy days o' youth are fast gaun by, + And age is coming on, wi' its bleak winter sky; + An' whar shall we shelter frae its storms when they blaw, + When the gladsome days o' youth are flown awa'? + + They said that wisdom cam wi' manhood's riper years, + But naething did they tell o' its sorrows an' tears; + Oh! I 'd gie a' the wit, gif ony wit be mine, + For ae sunny morning o' bonnie langsyne. + + I canna dow but sigh, I canna dow but mourn, + For the blithe happy days that never can return; + When joy was in the heart, an' love was on the tongue, + An' mirth on ilka face, for ilka face was young. + + Oh! the bonnie weaving broom, whaur aften we did meet, + Wi' its yellow flowers that fell like gowd 'mang our feet; + The bird would stop its sang, but only for a wee, + As we gaed by its nest, 'neath its ain birk-tree. + + Oh! the sunny days o' youth, they couldna aye remain-- + There was ower meikle joy and ower little pain; + Sae fareweel, happy days! an' fareweel, youthfu' glee! + The young may court your smiles, but ye 're gane frae me. + + + + +'TIS SAIR TO DREAM. + + + 'Tis sair to dream o' them we like, + That waking we sall never see; + Yet oh! how kindly was the smile + My laddie in my sleep gave me! + I thought we sat beside the burn + That wimples down the flowery glen, + Where, in our early days o' love, + We met that ne'er sall meet again. + + The simmer sun sank 'neath the wave, + And gladden'd wi' his parting ray + The woodland wild and valley green, + Fast fading into gloamin' gray. + He talk'd of days o' future joy, + And yet my heart was haflins sair; + For when his eye it beam'd on me, + A withering death-like glance was there! + + I thought him dead, and then I thought + That life was young and love was free; + For o'er our heads the mavis sang, + And hameward hied the janty bee! + We pledged our love and plighted troth, + But cauld, cauld was the kiss he gave; + When, starting from my dream, I found + His troth was plighted to the grave! + + I canna weep, for hope is fled, + And nought would do but silent mourn, + Were 't no for dreams that should na come, + To whisper back my love's return. + 'Tis sair to dream o' them we like, + That waking we sall never see; + Yet, oh! how kindly was the smile + My laddie in my sleep gave me! + + + + +METRICAL TRANSLATIONS + +FROM + +The Modern Gaelic Minstrelsy. + + + + +METRICAL TRANSLATIONS + +FROM + +The Modern Gaelic Minstrelsy. + + + + +WILLIAM ROSS. + + +William Ross, the Bard of Gairloch, and the Burns of the Gaelic +Highlands, was born at Broadford, in the island of Skye, in 1762. He +received his school education at Forres, whither his parents removed +during his youth, and obtained his training as a poet among the wilds of +Highland scenery, which he visited with his father, who followed the +calling of a pedlar. Acquiring a knowledge of the classics and of +general learning, he was found qualified for the situation of parish +school-master of Gairloch. He died at Gairloch in 1790, at the early age +of twenty-eight. Ross celebrated the praises of whisky (_uisg-bea_) in +several lyrics, which continue popular among the Gael; but the chief +theme of his inspiration was "Mary Ross," a fair Hebridean, whose +coldness and ultimate desertion are understood to have proved fatal to +the too susceptible poet. + + + + +THE HIGHLAND MAY. + + +I. + + Let the maids of the Lowlands + Vaunt their silks and their Hollands, + In the garb of the Highlands + Oh give me my dear! + Such a figure for grace! + For the Loves such a face! + And for lightness the pace + That the grass shall not stir. + * * * * * + + +II. + + Lips of cherry confine + Teeth of ivory shine, + And with blushes combine + To keep us in thrall. + Thy converse exceeding + All eloquent pleading, + Thy voice never needing + To rival the fall + Of the music of art,-- + Steal their way to the heart, + And resistless impart + Their enchantment to all. + + +III. + + When _Beltane_ is over, + And summer joys hover, + With thee a glad rover + I 'll wander along, + Where the harp-strings of nature + Are strung by each creature, + And the sleep shall be sweeter + That lulls to their song, + There, bounding together, + On the lawn of the heather, + And free from the tether, + The heifers shall throng. + + +IV. + + There shall pasture the ewes, + There the spotted goats browse, + And the kids shall arouse + In their madness of play; + They shall butt, they shall fight, + They shall emulate flight, + They shall break with delight + O'er the mountains away. + And there shall my Mary + With her faithful one tarry, + And never be weary + In the hollows to stray. + + +V. + + While a concert shall cheer us, + For the bushes are near us; + And the birds shall not fear us, + We 'll harbour so still. + + * * * * * + + Strains the mavis his throat, + Lends the cuckoo her note, + And the world is forgot + By the side of the hill. + + + + +THE CELT AND THE STRANGER. + + + The dawn it is breaking; but lonesome and eerie + Is the hour of my waking, afar from the glen.[50] + Alas! that I ever came a wanderer hither, + Where the tongue of the stranger is racking my brain! + + Cleft in twain is my heart, all my pleasure betraying; + The half is behind, but the better is straying + The shade of the hills and the copses away in, + And the truant I call to the Lowlands in vain. + + I know why it wanders,--it is to be treading + Where long I frequented the haunts of my dear, + The meadow so dewy, the glades so o'erspreading, + With the gowans to lean on, the mavis to cheer. + + It is to be tending where heifers are wending, + And the birds, with the music of love, are contending; + And rapture, its passion to innocence lending, + Is a dance in my soul, and a song in my ear. + + +[50] This song was written in Edinburgh. + + + + +CORMAC'S CURE. + + The following is a portion of the poet's "Lament for + his Lost Love," on her departure to England with her + husband. Cormac, an Irish harper, was long entertained + in his professional character by Macleod of Lewis; and + had the temerity to make love to the chief's daughter. + On the discovery, and its apprehended consequences to + his safety, he is said to have formed the desperate + resolution of slaying the father, and carrying away the + lady. His hand was stayed, as he raised the deadly + weapon, by the sudden appearance of Macleod's son; who, + with rare and commendable temper, advised him to look + for a love among the hundred maidens of his own degree + who were possessed of equal charms. With the same + uncommon self-command, poor Cormac formed the + resolution of drowning his love in the swell of his own + music. Ross applies the story to his own case. + + Thus sung the minstrel Cormac, his anguish to beguile, + And laid his hand upon his harp, and struck the strings the while-- + "Since they have taught my lady fair on her poet's gifts to frown, + In deeper swellings of the lay, I 'll learn my love to drown." + + When Colin Cormac's guilty grasp was closing with the spear, + Rush'd in the chieftain's heir, and cried, "What frenzied mood is here! + Sure many a May of ruby ray, as blushful on the brow, + As rosy on the lip, is there--then, why so frantic thou?" + + The heart-struck minstrel heard the word; and though his flame, uncured, + Still fired his soul, in haste the shores of danger he abjured: + But aye he rung his harp, though now it knew another strain, + And loud arose its warblings as the sounding of the main. + + Yes! 'twas an organ peal that soar'd the vocal lift along, + As chorus'd to the high-strung harp his words of mightier song, + Lest, hapless chance! should rise, above the swelling of the tide, + A remnant of the ambitious love that sought a noble bride. + + But I, alas! no language find, of Sassenach or Gael, + Nor note of music in the land, my cureless woe to quail. + And art thou gone, without a word, without a kindly look + Of smiling comfort, on the bard whose life thy beauty shook? + + Not so it fared with Cormac; for thus the tale is told, + That never, to the last, he brook'd desertion's bitter cold. + His comrades sorrow'd round him; his dear vouchsafed a kiss-- + He almost thought he heard her sigh, "_Come back again to bliss!_" + + + + +THE LAST LAY OF LOVE. + + This was composed when Ross was dying, and probably + when he was aware of his approaching end. He died of + consumption, precipitated by the espousals of his + mistress to another lover. + + + Reft the charm of the social shell + By the touch of the sorrowful mood; + And already the worm, in her cell, + Is preparing the birth of her brood. + + She blanches the hue of my cheek, + And exposes my desperate love; + Nor needs it that death should bespeak + The hurt no remeid can remove. + + The step, 'twas a pleasure to trace, + Even that has withdrawn from the scene; + And, now, not a breeze can displace + A leaf from its summit of green + + So prostrate and fallen to lie, + So far from the branch where it hung, + As, in dust and in helplessness, I, + From the hope to which passion had clung. + + Yet, benison bide! where thy choice + Deems its bliss and its treasure secure, + May the months in thy blessings rejoice, + While their rise and their wane shall endure! + + For me, a poor warrior, in blood + By thy arrow-shot steep'd, I am prone, + The glow of ambition subdued, + The weapons of rivalry gone. + + Yet, cruel to mock me, the base + Who scoff at the name of the bard, + To scorn the degree of my race, + Their toil and their travail, is hard. + + Since one, a bold yeoman ne'er drew + A furrow unstraight or unpaid; + And the other, to righteousness true, + Hung even the scales of his trade. + + And I--ah! they should not compel + To waken the theme of my praise; + I can boast over hundreds, to tell + Of a chief in the conflict of lays. + + And now it is over--the heart + That bounded, the hearing that thrill'd, + In the song-fight shall never take part, + And weakness gives warning to yield. + + As the discord that raves 'neath the cloud + That is raised by the dash of the spray + When waters are battling aloud, + Bewilderment bears me away. + + And to measure the song in its charm, + Or to handle the viol with skill, + Or beauty with carols to warm, + Gone for ever, the power and the will. + + No never, no never, ascend + To the mountain-pass glories, shall I, + In the cheer of the chase to unbend; + Enough, it is left but to die. + + And yet, shall I go to my rest, + Where the dead of my brothers repair-- + To the hall of the bards, not unblest, + That their worthies before me are there? + + + + +LACHLAN MACVURICH. + + +This bard, known by his territorial designation of "Strathmassie," lived +during nearly eighty years of the last century, and died towards its +close. His proper patronymic was Macpherson. He was a favourite tenant +of the chief of Cluny, and continued to enjoy the benefit of his lease +of a large farm in Badenoch, after the misfortunes of the family, and +forfeiture of their estate. He was very intimate with his clansman, +James Macpherson, who has identified his own fame so immortally with +that of Ossian. Lachlan had the reputation of being his Gaelic tutor, +and was certainly his fellow-traveller during the preparation of his +work. In the specimens of his poetical talents which are preserved, +"Strathmassie" evinces the command of good Gaelic, though there is +nothing to indicate his power of being at all serviceable to his +namesake in that fabrication of imagery, legends, and sentiments, which, +in the opinion of many, constitutes all that we have in the name of +Ossian. + + + + +THE EXILE OF CLUNY. + + The brave chief of Cluny, after lingering long on the + heights of Benalder, where he entertained his + unfortunate prince during some of the last days of the + adventurer's wandering, at length took shipping for + France, amidst the tears and regrets of a clan that + loved him with the fondest devotion. "Strathmassie" + seems to have caught, in the following verses, some + characteristic traits of his chief, in whom peaceful + dispositions were remarkably blended with the highest + courage in warfare. + + + Oh, many a true Highlander, many a liegeman, + Is blank on the roll of the brave in our land; + And bare as its heath is the dark mountain region, + Of its own and its prince's defenders unmann'd. + The hound's death abhorr'd, some have died by the cord, + And the axe with the best of our blood is defiled, + And e'en to the visions of hope unrestored, + Some have gone from among us, for ever exiled. + + He is gone from among us, our chieftain of Cluny; + At the back of the steel, a more valiant ne'er stood; + Our father, our champion, bemoan we, bemoan we! + In battle, the brilliant; in friendship, the good. + When the sea shut him from us, then the cross of our trial + Was hung on the mast and was swung in the wind: + "Woe the worth we have sepulchred!" now is the cry all; + "Save the shade of a memory, is nothing behind." + + What symbols may match our brave chief's animation? + When his wrath was awake, 'twas a furnace in glow; + As a surge on the rock struck his bold indignation, + As the breach to the wall was his arm to the foe. + So the tempest comes down, when it lends in its fury + To the frown of its darkness the rattling of hail; + So rushes the land-flood in turmoil and hurry, + So bickers the hill-flame when fed by the gale. + + Yet gentle as Peace was the flower of his race, + Rare was shade on his face, as dismay in his heart; + The brawl and the scuffle he deem'd a disgrace, + But the hand to the brand was as ready to start. + Who could grapple with him in firmness of limb + And sureness of sinew? and--for the stout blow-- + 'Twas the scythe to the swathe in the meadows of death, + Where numbers were levell'd as fast and as low. + + Ever loyal to reason, we 've seen him appeasing + With a wave of one hand the confusion of strife; + With the other unsheathing his sword, and, unbreathing, + Following on for the right in the havoc of life. + To the wants of the helpless, the wail of the weak, + His hand aye was open, his arm was aye strong; + And under yon sun, not a tongue can bespeak + His word or his deed that was blemish'd with wrong. + + + + +JAMES M'LAGGAN. + + +James M'Laggan was the son of a small farmer at Ballechin, in the parish +of Logierait, Perthshire, where he was born in 1728. Educated at the +University of St Andrews, he received license as a probationer of the +Established Church. Through the influence of the Duke of Atholl, he was +appointed to the Chapel of Ease, at Amulree, in Perthshire, and +subsequently to the chaplainship of the 42d Regiment, his commission to +the latter office bearing date the 15th of June 1764. His predecessor in +the chaplainship was Dr Adam Ferguson, author of the "History of the +Roman Republic," who was also a native of the parish of Logierait. + +Than Mr M'Laggan, few could have been better qualified for the duties of +chaplain to a Highland regiment. He was intimately conversant with the +language, character, and partialities of the Gael, and was possessed of +much military ardour, as well as Christian devotedness. He accompanied +the regiment to America, and was present in several skirmishes during +the War of Independence. Anecdotes are still recounted of the humour and +spirit with which he maintained an influence over the minds of his +flock; and Stewart, in his "History of the Highlands," has described him +as having essentially contributed to form the character of the Highland +soldier, then in the novitiate of his loyalty and efficiency in the +national service. In 1776, while stationed with his regiment in Glasgow, +he had the freedom of the city conferred on him by the corporation. +After discharging the duties of military chaplain during a period of +twenty-four years, he was in 1788 presented by the Duke of Atholl to the +parish of Blair-Athole, Perthshire. He died in 1805, in the +seventy-seventh year of his age. + +A pious and exemplary clergyman, Mr M'Laggan is still kindly remembered +in the scene of his parochial ministrations. An accomplished Gaelic +scholar, and with a strong admiration of the poetry of the Gael, he +recovered, from the recitation of many aged persons, large portions of +the poetry of Ossian, prior to the publication of the collections of +Macpherson.[51] He composed some spirited Gaelic lyrics during the +period of his connexion with the army, but the greater portion of his +poetry still remains in MS. A collection of Gaelic songs under his +editorial superintendence was published anonymously. + +Mr M'Laggan was of fair and ruddy complexion, and was under the middle +stature. He was fond of humour, and his dispositions were singularly +benevolent. In youth, he was remarkable for his skill in athletic +exercises. He married a daughter of the Rev. James Stewart, minister of +Killin, the originator of the translation of the Scriptures into the +Gaelic language. Of a family of four sons and three daughters, one son +and two daughters still survive; his eldest son, the Rev. James +M'Laggan, D.D., was successively minister of the parishes of +Auchtergaven and Kinfauns, in Perthshire, and ultimately Free Church +Professor of Divinity in Aberdeen. + + +[51] Macpherson afterwards consulted Mr M'Laggan's "Collection of +Ossianic Remains" (see report on Ossian, App. 153). + + + + +SONG OF THE ROYAL HIGHLAND REGIMENT. + + + For success, a prayer, with a farewell, bear + To the warriors dear of the muir and the valley-- + The lads that convene in their plaiding of green, + With the curtal coat, and the sweeping _eil-e_. + In their belts array'd, where the dark blue blade + Is hung, with the dirk at the side; + When the sword is at large, and uplifted the targe, + Ha! not a foe the boys will abide. + + The followers in peril of Ian the Earl, + The race of the wight of hand; + Sink the eyes of the foe, of the friend's mounts the glow, + When the Murdoch's high blood takes command. + With Loudon to lead ye, the wise and the steady, + The daring in fight and the glorious, + Like the lightning ye 'll rush, with the sword's bright flash, + And return to your mountains victorious. + + Oh, sons of the Lion! your watch is the wild-lands, + The garb of the Highlands is mingled with blue, + Though the target and bosses are bright in the Highlands, + The axe in your hands might be blunted well, too. + Then forward--and see ye be huntsmen true, + And, as erst the red deer felling, + So fell ye the Gaul, and so strike ye all + The tribes in the backwoods dwelling. + + Where ocean is roaring, let top-sails be towering, + And sails to the motion of helm be flying; + Though high as the mountain, or smooth as the fountain, + Or fierce as the boiling floods angrily crying, + Though the tide with a stroke be assailing the rock; + Oh, once let the pibroch's wild signal be heard, + Then the waves will come bending in dimples befriending, + And beckoning the friends of their country on board. + The ocean-tide 's swelling, its fury is quelling, + In salute of thunder proclaiming your due; + And, methinks, that the hum of a welcome is come, + And is warbling the Jorram to you. + + When your levy is landed, oh, bright as the pearls + Shall the strangers who welcome you, gladly and greeting + Speak beautiful thoughts; aye, the beautiful girls + From their eyes shall the tears o'er the ruby be meeting, + And encounter ye, praying, from the storm and the slaying, + "From the stranger, the enemy, save us, oh save! + From rapine and plunder, oh tear us asunder,-- + Our noble defenders are ever the brave!" + + "If the fondest ye of true lovers be," + So cries each trembling beauty, + "Be bold in the fight, and give transport's delight + To your friends and the fair, by your duty." + "Oh, yes!" shall the beautiful hastily cry; + "Oh, yes!" in a word, shall the valiant reply; + "By our womanly faith we pledge you for both, + For where'er we contract, and where'er we betroth, + We vow with the daring to die!" + + Faithful to trust is the lion-like host + Whom the dawn of their youth doth inure + To hunger's worst ire, and to action's bold fire, + And to ranging the wastes of the moor. + Accustom'd so well to each enterprise snell, + Be the chase or the warfare their quarry; + Aye ever they fight the best, for the right + To the strike of the swords, when they hurry. + + + + +GLOSSARY. + + +_Ahin'_, behind. + +_Auld-farrant_, sagacious, cunning. + +_Baudrons_, a cat. + +_Beltane_, the 1st of May. + +_Bield_, shelter. + +_Bink_, a bank of earth. + +_Birk_, birch. + +_Blae_, blue. + +_Blaud_, a flat piece of anything, to slap. + +_Blinket_, looked kindly. + +_Bonnie_, beautiful. + +_Burnie_, a small rivulet. + +_Byke_, a bee-hive. + +_Cannily_, gently, dexterously. + +_Cauldrife_, coldish. + +_Chanter_, the drone of a bagpipe. + +_Cleugh_, a cliff. + +_Clutch_, seize. + +_Coble_, a fishing-boat. + +_Couthilie_, kindly. + +_Crack_, to converse. + +_Cuiff_, a blockhead. + +_Daffin'_, diversion. + +_Dautit_, fondled, caressed. + +_Dighted_, wiped. + +_Doited_, very stupid. + +_Donnart_, stupified. + +_Dow_, wither. + +_Dowie_, sad, worn with grief. + +_Dree_, suffer, endure. + +_Dreich_, tedious. + +_Dunt_, a knock. + +_Eerie_, dreading things supernatural. + +_Fashious_, troublesome. + +_Fause_, false. + +_Ferlies_, wonders. + +_Flate_, scolded. + +_Flow_, a small quantity. + +_Gar_, compel. + +_Gauds_, trinkets. + +_Gawkie_, a thoughtless person. + +_Gif_, if. + +_Gilphie_, a half-grown person, a romping lad. + +_Glaiks_, foolish talk. + +_Gowd_, gold. + +_Gree_, agree. + +_Greet_, weep. + +_Haddin_, a farmer's stock. + +_Haffit-links_, a necklace. + +_Haflins_, nearly half, partly. + +_Haps_, outer garments. + +_Haud_, hold. + +_Hinnied_, honied. + +_Hodden_, a coarse kind of cloth. + +_Hummel_, humble. + +_Kame_, comb. + +_Ken_, know. + +_Kilt_, to truss up the clothes. + +_Kye_, cattle. + +_Laigh_, low. + +_Leal_, loyal, true. + +_Lear_, learning. + +_Lick_, wipe, beat. + +_Lift_, the sky. + +_Litheless_, listless. + +_Loonie_, a little fellow. + +_Loupin'_, leaping. + +_Losh_, an exclamation of surprise. + +_Lowne_, warm. + +_Maen_, moan, complain. + +_Mailin_, a tax, a rent. + +_Maw_, to mow, the stomach. + +_Meikle_, much. + +_Mim_, prim. + +_Mirk_, dark. + +_Muter_, multure, ground corn. + +_Neivefu'_, a handful. + +_Newfangled_, newfashioned. + +_Nit_, a nut. + +_Owre_, over. + +_Pow_, the head. + +_Pree_, to taste, to kiss. + +_Puirtith_, poverty. + +_Racket_, stretched. + +_Scaur_, to scare, a wound. + +_Scoured_, burnished, ran. + +_Scunner'd_, disgusted. + +_Shiel_, a temporary cottage or hut. + +_Siccan_, such. + +_Siching_, sighing. + +_Skailt_, emptied, scattered. + +_Souch_, the sighing of the wind, the breathing of a tune. + +_Speer'd_, inquired. + +_Steer_, stir. + +_Syne_, then, since. + +_Tauld_, told. + +_Tentie_, heedful, cautious. + +_Tentin'_, leading. + +_Tint_, lost. + +_Trantlooms_, odds and ends. + +_Wauken_, awaken. + +_Waukrife_, watchful, sleepless. + +_Waunert_, wandered. + +_Wean_, a child. + +_Wee_, little. + +_Weel-faur'd_, well-favoured. + +_Weir_, war, to herd. + +_Whusslit_, whistled. + +_Wooster-trystes_, wool-markets. + +_Yird_, earth, soil. + + +END OF VOL. 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