Soft was the bed_The Modern Scottish Minstrel, Volumes 1-6. The Songs of Scotland of the Past Half Century

She had made for her lover,

White were the sheets

And embroider'd the cover;

But his sheets are more white,

And his canopy grander,

And sounder he sleeps

Where the hill foxes wander.

Alas, pretty maiden,

What sorrows attend you!

I see you sit shivering,

With lights at your window;

But long may you wait

Ere your arms shall enclose him,

For still, still he lies,

With a wreath on his bosom!

How painful the task,

The sad tidings to tell you!--

An orphan you were

Ere this misery befell you;

And far in yon wild,

Where the dead-tapers hover,

So cold, cold and wan

Lies the corpse of your lover!

GOOD NIGHT, AND JOY.

The year is wearing to the wane,

An' day is fading west awa',

Loud raves the torrent an' the rain,

And dark the cloud comes down the shaw;

But let the tempest tout an' blaw

Upon his loudest winter horn,

Good night, and joy be wi' you a',

We 'll maybe meet again the morn!

O, we hae wander'd far and wide

O'er Scotia's hills, o'er firth an' fell,

An' mony a simple flower we 've cull'd,

An' trimm'd them wi' the heather-bell!

We 've ranged the dingle an' the dell,

The hamlet an' the baron's ha',

Now let us take a kind farewell,--

Good night, an' joy be wi' you a'!

Though I was wayward, you were kind,

And sorrow'd when I went astray;

For O, my strains were often wild,

As winds upon a winter day.

If e'er I led you from the way,

Forgie your Minstrel aince for a';

A tear fa's wi' his parting lay,--

Good night, and joy be wi' you a'!

JAMES MUIRHEAD, D.D.

James Muirhead was born in 1742, in the parish of Buittle, and stewartry

of Kirkcudbright. His father was owner of the estate of Logan, and

representative of the family of Muirhead, who, for several centuries,

were considerable landed proprietors in Galloway. He was educated at the

Grammar School of Dumfries, and in the University of Edinburgh.

Abandoning the legal profession, which he had originally chosen, he

afterwards prosecuted theological study, and became, in 1769, a

licentiate of the Established Church. After a probation of three years,

he was ordained to the ministerial charge of Urr, a country parish in

the stewartry. In 1794 he received the degree of D.D. from the

University of Edinburgh. Warmly attached to his flock, he ministered at

Urr till his death, which took place on the 16th of May 1806.

Dr Muirhead was a person of warm affections and remarkable humour; his

scholarship was extensive and varied, and he maintained a correspondence

with many of his literary contemporaries. As an author, he is not known

to have written aught save the popular ballad of "Bess, the Gawkie,"--a

production which has been pronounced by Allan Cunningham "a song of

original merit, lively without extravagance, and gay without

grossness,--the simplicity elegant, and the naïveté scarcely

rivalled."[61]

[61] We have frequently had occasion to remark the ignorance of modern

editors regarding the authorship of the most popular songs. Every

collector of Scottish song has inserted "Bess, the Gawkie;" but scarcely

one of them has correctly stated the authorship. The song has been

generally ascribed to an anonymous "Rev. Mr Morehead;" by some to the

"Rev. Robert Morehead;" and Allan Cunningham, who states that his father

was acquainted with the real author, has described him as the "Rev.

William Morehead!"

BESS, THE GAWKIE.

TUNE--_"Bess, the Gawkie."_

Blythe young Bess to Jean did say,

Will ye gang to yon sunny brae,

Where flocks do feed, and herds do stray,

And sport a while wi' Jamie?

Ah, na, lass, I 'll no gang there,

Nor about Jamie tak' a care,

For he 's ta'en up wi' Maggie.

For hark, and I will tell you, lass,

Did I not see young Jamie pass,

Wi' mickle blytheness in his face,

Out ower the muir to Maggie.

I wat he gae her mony a kiss,

And Maggie took them nae amiss;

'Tween ilka smack pleased her wi' this,

That Bess was but a gawkie.

For when a civil kiss I seek,

She turns her head, and thraws her cheek,

And for an hour she 'll hardly speak;

Wha 'd no ca' her a gawkie?

But sure my Maggie has mair sense,

She 'll gie a score without offence;

Now gie me ane into the mense,

And ye shall be my dawtie.

O Jamie, ye hae monie ta'en,

But I will never stand for ane

Or twa when we do meet again;

So ne'er think me a gawkie.

Ah, na, lass, that canna be;

Sic thoughts as thae are far frae me,

Or ony thy sweet face that see,

E'er to think thee a gawkie.

But, whisht, nae mair o' this we 'll speak,

For yonder Jamie does us meet;

Instead o' Meg he kiss'd sae sweet,

I trow he likes the gawkie.

O, dear Bess! I hardly knew,

When I cam' by, your gown sae new;

I think you 've got it wet wi' dew!

Quoth she, That 's like a gawkie!

It 's wat wi' dew, and 'twill get rain,

And I 'll get gowns when it is gane;

Sae ye may gang the gate ye came,

And tell it to your dawtie.

The guilt appear'd in Jamie's cheek;

He cried, O cruel maid, but sweet,

If I should gang anither gate,

I ne'er could meet my dawtie.

The lasses fast frae him they flew,

And left poor Jamie sair to rue

That ever Maggie's face he knew,

Or yet ca'd Bess a gawkie.

As they gaed ower the muir, they sang,

The hills and dales wi' echoes rang,

Gang o'er the muir to Maggie.

MRS AGNES LYON.

A female contemporary of the Baroness Nairn, of kindred tastes, and of

equal indifference to a poetical reputation, was Mrs Agnes Lyon of

Glammis. She was the eldest daughter of John Ramsay L'Amy, of Dunkenny,

in Forfarshire, and was born at Dundee about the commencement of the

year 1762. She was reputed for her beauty, and had numerous suitors for

her hand; but she gave the preference to the Rev. Dr James Lyon,

minister of Glammis, to whom she was married on the 25th of January

1786. Of a highly cultivated mind and most lively fancy, she had early

improved a taste for versifying, and acquired the habit of readily

clothing her thoughts in the language of poetry. She became the mother

of ten children; and she relieved the toils of their upbringing, as well

as administered to the improvement of their youthful minds, by her

occasional exercises in verse. Her four volumes of MS. poetry contain

lyrics dated as having been written from the early period of her

marriage to nearly the time of her decease. The topics are generally

domestic, and her strain is lively and humorous; in pathetic pieces she

is tender and singularly touching. Possessed of a correct musical ear,

she readily parodied the more popular songs, or adapted words to their

airs, with the view of interesting her friends, or producing good humour

and happiness in the family circle. She had formed the acquaintance of

Neil Gow, the celebrated violinist, and composed, at his particular

request, the words to his popular tune "Farewell to Whisky,"--the only

lyric from her pen which has hitherto been published. In all the

collections of Scottish song, it appears as anonymous. In the present

work, it is printed from a copy in one of her MS. volumes.

Mrs Lyon died on the 14th September 1840, having survived her husband

about two years, and seen the greater number of her children carried to

the grave. Entirely free of literary ambition, she bequeathed her MSS.

to the widow of one of her sons, to whom she was devotedly attached,

accompanied by a request, inscribed in rhyme at the beginning of the

first volume, that the compositions might not be printed, unless in the

event of a deficiency in the family funds. Their origin is thus

described:--

"Written off-hand, as one may say,

Perhaps upon a rainy day,

Perhaps while at the cradle rocking.

Instead of knitting at a stocking,

She 'd catch a paper, pen, and ink,

And easily the verses clink.

Perhaps a headache at a time

Would make her on her bed recline,

And rather than be merely idle,

She 'd give her fancy rein and bridle.

She neither wanted lamp nor oil,

Nor found composing any toil;

As for correction's iron wand,

She never took it in her hand;

And can, with conscience clear, declare,

She ne'er neglected house affair,

Nor put her little babes aside,

To take on Pegasus a ride.

Rather let pens and paper flame,

Than any mother have the shame

(Except at any _orra time_)

To spend her hours in making rhyme."

In person, Mrs Lyon was of the middle height, and of a slender form. She

had a fair complexion, her eyes were of light blue, and her countenance

wore the expression of intelligence. She excelled in conversation; and a

retentive memory enabled her to render available the fruits of extensive

reading. In old age, she retained much of the buoyant vivacity of youth,

and her whole life was adorned by the most exemplary piety.

NEIL GOW'S FAREWELL TO WHISKY.[62]

TUNE--_"Farewell to Whisky."_

You 've surely heard of famous Neil,

The man who play'd the fiddle weel;

He was a heartsome merry chiel',

And weel he lo'ed the whisky, O!

For e'er since he wore the tartan hose

He dearly liket _Athole brose_![63]

And grieved he was, you may suppose,

To bid "farewell to whisky," O!

Alas! says Neil, I'm frail and auld,

And whiles my hame is unco cauld;

I think it makes me blythe and bauld,

A wee drap Highland whisky, O!

But a' the doctors do agree

That whisky 's no the drink for me;

I 'm fley'd they'll gar me tyne my glee,

By parting me and whisky, O!

But I should mind on "auld lang syne,"

How Paradise our friends did tyne,

Because something ran in their mind--

Forbid--like Highland whisky, O!

Whilst I can get good wine and ale,

And find my heart, and fingers hale,

I 'll be content, though legs should fail,

And though forbidden whisky, O!

I 'll tak' my fiddle in my hand,

And screw its strings whilst they can stand,

And mak' a lamentation grand

For guid auld Highland whisky, O!

Oh! all ye powers of music, come,

For deed I think I 'm mighty glum,

My fiddle-strings will hardly bum,

To say, "farewell to whisky," O!

[62] In the Author's MS., the following sentences occur prefatory to

this song:--"Everybody knows Neil Gow. When he was poorly, the

physicians forbade him to drink his favourite liquor. The words

following were composed, at his particular desire, to a lamentation he

had just made." Mrs Lyon became acquainted with Gow when she was a young

lady, attending the concerts in Dundee, at which the services of the

great violinist were regularly required. The song is very inaccurately

printed in some of the collections.

[63] A beverage composed of honey dissolved in whisky.

SEE THE WINTER CLOUDS AROUND.[64]

See the winter clouds around;

See the leaves lie on the ground;

Pretty little Robin comes,

Seeking for his daily crumbs!

In the window near the tree,

Little Robin you may see;

There his slender board is fix'd,

There his crumbs are bruised and mix'd.

View his taper limbs, how neat!

And his eyes like beads of jet;

See his pretty feathers shine!

Little Robin haste and dine.

When sweet Robin leaves the space,

Other birds will fill his place;

See the Tit-mouse, pretty thing!

See the Sparrow's sombre wing!

Great and grand disputes arise,

For the crumbs of largest size,

Which the bravest and the best

Bear triumphant to their nest.

What a pleasure thus to feed

Hungry mouths in time of need!

For whether it be men or birds,

Crumbs are better far than words.

[64] These simple stanzas, conveying such an excellent _morale_ at the

close, were written, almost without premeditation, for the amusement and

instruction of a little girl, the author's grandchild, who had been on a

visit at the manse of Glammis. The allusion to the _board_ in the second

verse refers to a little piece of timber which the amiable lady of the

house had affixed on the outside of one of the windows, for holding a

few crumbs which she daily spread on it for _Robin_, who regularly came

to enjoy the bounty of his benefactress. This lyric, and those

following, are printed for the first time.

WITHIN THE TOWERS OF ANCIENT GLAMMIS.[65]

TUNE--_"Merry in the Hall."_

Within the towers of ancient Glammis

Some merry men did dine,

And their host took care they should richly fare

In friendship, wit, and wine.

But they sat too late, and mistook the gate,

(For wine mounts to the brain);

O, 'twas merry in the hall, when the beards wagg'd all;

O, we hope they 'll be back again;

We hope they 'll be back again!

Sir Walter tapp'd at the parson's door,

To find the proper way,

But he dropt his switch, though there was no ditch,

And on the steps it lay.

So his wife took care of this nice affair,

And she wiped it free from stain;

For the knight was gone, nor the owner known,

So he ne'er got the switch again;

So he ne'er got the switch again.

This wondrous little whip[66] remains

Within the lady's sight,

(She crambo makes, with some mistakes,

But hopes for further light).

So she ne'er will part with this switch so smart,

These thirty years her ain;

Till the knight appear, it must just lie here,

He will ne'er get his switch again;

He will ne'er get his switch again!

[65] This lively lyrical rhapsody, written in April 1821, celebrates an

amusing incident connected with the visit of Sir Walter Scott to the

Castle of Glammis, in 1793. Sir Walter was hospitably entertained in the

Castle, by Mr Peter Proctor, the factor, in the absence of the noble

owner, the Earl of Strathmore, who did not reside in the family mansion;

and the conjecture may be hazarded, that he dropt his whip at the manse

door on the same evening that he drank an English pint of wine from the

_lion beaker_ of Glammis, the prototype of the _silver bear_ of

Tully-Veolan, "the _poculum potatorium_ of the valiant baron."--(See

_Note_ to Waverley, and Lockhart's Life of Sir Walter Scott).

[66] The whip is now in the custody of Mr George Lyon, of Stirling, the

author's son.

MY SON GEORGE'S DEPARTURE.[67]

TUNE--_"Peggy Brown."_

The parting kiss, the soft embrace,

I feel them at my heart!

'Twere joy to clasp you in those arms,

But agony to part.

But let us tranquillise our minds,

And hope the time may be,

When I shall see that face again,

So loved, so dear to me!

Five tedious years have roll'd along,

And griefs have had their sway,

Though many comforts fill'd my cup,

Yet thou wert far away.

On pleasant days, when friends are met,

Our sports are scarce begun,

When I shall sigh, because I miss

My George, my eldest son!

I owe my grateful thanks to Heaven,

I 've seen thee well and gay,

I 've heard the music of thy voice,

I 've heard thee sweetly play.

O try and cheer us with your strains

Ere many twelvemonths be,

And let us hear that voice again,

So loved, so dear to me!

[67] This lay of affection is dated September 1820, when the author

received a visit from her eldest son, who was then settled as a merchant

in London. Mr George Lyon, the subject of the song, and the only

surviving member of the family, is now resident at Snowdoun House,

Stirling.

ROBERT LOCHORE.

Robert Lochore was descended from a branch of a Norman family of that

name, long established in the neighbourhood of Biggar, and of which the

representative was the House of Lochore de Lochore in Fifeshire. He was

born at Strathaven, in the county of Lanark, on the 7th of July 1762,

and, in his thirteenth year, was apprenticed to a shoemaker in Glasgow.

He early commenced business in the city on his own account. In carrying

on public improvements he ever evinced a deep interest, and he

frequently held public offices of trust. He was founder of the "Annuity

Society,"--an institution attended with numerous benefits to the

citizens of Glasgow.

Mr Lochore devoted much of his time to private study. He was

particularly fond of poetical composition, and wrote verses with

facility, many of his letters to his intimate friends being composed in

rhyme. His poetry was of the descriptive order; his lyrical effusions

were comparatively rare. Several poetical tales and songs of his youth,

contributed to different periodicals, he arranged, about the beginning

of the century, in a small volume. The greater number of his

compositions remain in MS. in the possession of his family. He died in

Glasgow, on the 27th April 1852, in his ninetieth year. Of a buoyant and

humorous disposition, he composed verses nearly to the close of his long

life; and, latterly, found pleasure in recording, for the amusement of

his family, his recollections of the past. He was universally beloved as

a faithful friend, and was deeply imbued with a sense of religion.

NOW, JENNY LASS.

TUNE--_"Garryowen."_

Now, Jenny lass, my bonnie bird,

My daddy 's dead, an' a' that;

He 's snugly laid aneath the yird,

And I 'm his heir, an' a' that;

I 'm now a laird, an' a' that;

His gear an' land 's at my command,

And muckle mair than a' that.

He left me wi' his deein' breath,

A dwallin' house, an' a' that;

A burn, a byre, an' wabs o' claith--

A big peat-stack, an' a' that.

A mare, a foal, an' a' that;

Sax guid fat kye, a cauf forby,

An' twa pet ewes, an' a' that.

A yard, a meadow, lang braid leas,

An' stacks o' corn, an' a' that--

Enclosed weel wi' thorns an' trees,

An' carts, an' cars, an' a' that;

A pleugh, an' graith, an' a' that;

Guid harrows twa, cock, hens, an' a'--

A grecie, too, an' a' that.

I 've heaps o' claes for ilka days,

For Sundays, too, an' a' that;

I 've bills an' bonds on lairds an' lands,

And siller, gowd, an' a' that.

What think ye, lass, o' a' that?

What want I noo, my dainty doo,

But just a wife to a' that.

Now, Jenny dear, my errand here

Is to seek ye to a' that;

My heart 's a' loupin', while I speer

Gin ye 'll tak me, wi' a' that.

Mysel', my gear, an' a' that;

Come, gie 's your loof to be a proof,

Ye 'll be a wife to a' that.

Syne Jenny laid her neive in his--

Said, she 'd tak him wi' a' that;

An' he gied her a hearty kiss,

An' dauted her, an' a' that.

They set a day, an' a' that;

Whan she 'd gang hame to be his dame,

An' haud a rant, an' a' that.

MARRIAGE, AND THE CARE O'T.

TUNE--_"Whistle o'er the lave o't."_

Quoth Rab to Kate, My sonsy dear,

I 've woo'd ye mair than half a-year,

An' if ye 'd wed me, ne'er cou'd speer

Wi' blateness, an' the care o't.

Now to the point: sincere I 'm we 't;

Will ye be my half-marrow sweet?

Shake han's, and say a bargain be 't,

An' ne'er think on the care o't.

Na, na, quo' Kate, I winna wed,

O' sic a snare I 'll aye be rede;

How mony, thochtless, are misled

By marriage, an' the care o't!

A single life 's a life o' glee,

A wife ne'er think to mak' o' me,

Frae toil an' sorrow I 'll keep free,

An' a' the dool an' care o't.

Weel, weel, said Robin, in reply,

Ye ne'er again shall me deny,

Ye may a toothless maiden die,

For me, I 'll tak' nae care o't.

Fareweel, for ever!--aff I hie;--

Sae took his leave without a sigh:

Oh! stop, quo' Kate, I 'm yours, I 'll try

The married life, an' care o't.

Rab wheel't about, to Kate cam' back,

An' gae her mou' a hearty smack,

Syne lengthen'd out a lovin' crack

'Bout marriage, an' the care o't.

Though as she thocht she didna speak,

An' lookit unco mim an' meek,

Yet blythe was she wi' Rab to cleek

In marriage, wi' the care o't.

MARY'S TWA LOVERS.

TUNE--_"Bessie Bell and Mary Gray."_

Dear Aunty, I 've been lang your care,

Your counsels guid ha'e blest me;

Now in a kittle case ance mair

Wi' your advice assist me:

Twa lovers frequent on me wait,

An' baith I frankly speak wi';

Sae I 'm put in a puzzlin' strait

Whilk o' the twa to cleek wi'.

There 's sonsy James, wha wears a wig,

A widower fresh and canty,

Though turn'd o' sixty, gaes fu' trig,

He 's rich, and rowes in plenty.

Tam 's twenty-five, hauds James's pleugh,

A lad deserves regardin';

He 's clever, decent, sober too,

But he 's no worth ae fardin'.

Auld James, 'tis true, I downa see,

But 's cash will answer a' things;

To be a lady pleases me,

And buskit be wi' braw things.

Tam I esteem, like him there 's few,

His gait and looks entice me;

But, aunty, I 'll now trust in you,

And fix as ye advise me.

Then aunt, wha spun, laid down her roke,

An' thus repliet to Mary:

Unequal matches in a yoke

Draw thrawart and camstrarie.

Since gentle James ye dinna like,

Wi 's gear ha'e nae connexion;

Tam 's like yoursel', the bargain strike,

Grup to him wi' affection.

THE FORLORN SHEPHERD.[68]

TUNE--_"Banks of the Dee."_

Ye swains wha are touch'd wi' saft sympathy's feelin',

For victims wha 're doom'd sair affliction to dree,

If a heart-broken lover, despairin' an' wailin',

Claim pity, your pity let fa' upon me.

Like you I was blest with content, an' was cheerie,--

My pipe wont to play to the cantiest glee,

When smilin' an' kind was my Mary, sweet Mary,

While Mary was guileless, an' faithfu' to me.

She promised, she vow'd, she wad be my half-marrow,

The day too was set, when our bridal should be;

How happy was I, but I tell you wi' sorrow,

She 's perjured hersel', ah! an' ruined me.

For Ned o' Shawneuk, wi' the charms o' his riches,

An' sly winnin' tales, tauld sae pawky an' slee,

Her han' has obtain'd, an' clad her like a duchess,

Sae baith skaith an' scorn ha'e come down upon me.

Ye braes ance enchantin', o' you I 'm now wearie,

An' thou, ance dear haunt, 'neath the aul' thornie tree,

Where in rapture I sat an' dawtit fause Mary,

Fareweel! ye 'll never be seen mair by me.

Awa' as a pilgrim, far distant I 'll wander,

'Mang faces unkent, till the day that I dee.

Ye shepherds, adieu! but tell Mary to ponder,

To think on her vows, an' to think upon me.

[68] This song is here printed for the first time.

JOHN ROBERTSON.

John Robertson, author of "The Toom Meal Pock," a humorous song which

has long been popular in the west of Scotland, was the son of an

extensive grocer in Paisley, where he was born about the year 1770. He

received the most ample education which his native town could afford,

and early cultivated a taste for the elegant arts of music and drawing.

Destined for one of the liberal professions, the unfortunate bankruptcy

of his father put an effectual check on his original aspirations. For a

period he was engaged as a salesman, till habits of insobriety rendered

his services unavailable to his employer. As a last resort, he enlisted

in the regiment of local militia; and his qualifications becoming known

to the officers, he was employed as a regimental clerk and schoolmaster.

He had written spirited verses in his youth; and though his muse had

become mournful, she continued to sing. His end was melancholy: the

unfortunate circumstances of his life preyed upon his mind, and in a

paroxysm of phrensy he committed suicide. He died in the vicinity of

Portsmouth, in the beginning of April 1810, about six weeks before the

similar death of his friend, Robert Tannahill. A person of much

ingenuity and scholarship, Robertson, with ordinary steadiness, would

have attained a good position in life.

THE TOOM MEAL POCK.

Preserve us a'! what shall we do,

Thir dark, unhallow'd times;

We 're surely dreeing penance now,

For some most awfu' crimes.

Sedition daurna now appear,

In reality or joke;

For ilka chiel maun mourn wi' me,

O' a hinging, toom meal pock,

And sing, Oh waes me!

When lasses braw gaed out at e'en,

For sport and pastime free;

I seem'd like ane in paradise,

The moments quick did flee.

Like Venuses they all appear'd,

Weel pouther'd were their locks;

'Twas easy dune, when at their hame,

Wi' the shaking o' their pocks.

And sing, Oh waes me!

How happy pass'd my former days,

Wi' merry heartsome glee;

When smiling Fortune held the cup,

And Peace sat on my knee.

Nae wants had I but were supplied;

My heart wi' joy did knock,

When in the neuk I smiling saw

A gaucie, weel-fill'd pock.

And sing, Oh waes me!

Speak no ae word about reform,

Nor petition Parliament;

A wiser scheme I 'll now propose,

I 'm sure ye 'll gi'e consent:

Send up a chiel or twa like me,

As a sample o' the flock,

Whose hollow cheeks will be sure proof

O' a hinging, toom meal pock.

And sing, Oh waes me!

And should a sicht sae ghastly-like,

Wi' rags, and banes, and skin,

Hae nae impression on yon folks,

But tell ye 'll stand ahin';

O what a contrast will ye shaw,

To the glowrin' Lunnun folk,

When in St James' ye tak' your stand,

Wi' a hinging, toom meal pock.

And sing, Oh waes me!

Then rear your head, and glowr, and stare,

Before yon hills o' beef;

Tell them ye are frae Scotland come,

For Scotia's relief.

Tell them ye are the vera best,

Waled frae the fattest flock;

Then raise your arms, and oh! display

A hinging, toom meal pock.

And sing, Oh waes me!

ALEXANDER BALFOUR.

Alexander Balfour, a poet, novelist and miscellaneous writer, was born

on the 1st March 1767, at Guildie, a small hamlet in the parish of

Monikie, Forfarshire. His parents were in humble circumstances; and

being a twin, he was supported in early life by a friend of the family,

from whom he received such a religious training as exercised a highly

beneficial influence on his future character. He was educated at the

parish school, and evidenced precocity by essaying composition in his

twelfth year. Apprenticed to a weaver, he soon became disgusted with the

loom, and returned home to teach a school in his native parish. During

the intervals of leisure, he wrote articles for the provincial

miscellanies, the _British Chronicle_ newspaper, and _The Bee_,

published by Dr Anderson. In his 26th year, he became clerk to a

sail-cloth manufacturer in Arbroath; and, on the death of his employer,

soon afterwards, he entered into partnership with his widow. On her

death, in 1800, he assumed another partner. As government-contractors

for supplying the navy with canvas, the firm rapidly attained

prosperity; and Balfour found abundant leisure for prosecuting his

literary studies, and maintaining a correspondence with several men of

letters in the capital. He had married in 1794; and deeming a country

residence more advantageous for his rising family, he removed, in 1814,

to Trottick, within two miles of Dundee, where he assumed the management

of the branch of a London house, which for many years had been connected

with his own firm. This step was lamentably unfortunate; the house, in

which he had embarked his fortune, shared in the general commercial

disasters of 1815, and was involved in complete bankruptcy. Reduced to a

condition of dependance, Balfour accepted the situation of manager of a

manufacturing establishment at Balgonie, in Fife. In 1818, he resigned

this appointment; and proceeding to Edinburgh, was employed as a clerk

in the establishment of Mr Blackwood, the eminent publisher. The close

confinement of the counting-house, and the revolution of his fortunes,

which pressed heavily upon his mind, were too powerful for his

constitution. Symptoms of paralysis began to appear, shortly after his

removal to the capital; and in October 1819, he was so entirely

prostrated, as to require the use of a wheeled chair. His future career

was that of a man of letters. During the interval which elapsed between

his commercial reverses and the period of his physical debility, he

prepared a novel, which he had early projected, depicting the trials and

sufferings of an unbeneficed preacher. This work appeared in 1819, under

the title of "Campbell, or the Scottish Probationer," in three volumes;

and though published anonymously, soon led to the discovery and

reputation of the author. Towards the close of the same year, he edited

the poetical works of his late friend, Richard Gall, to which he

supplied an elegant biographical preface. His next separate publication

was "The Farmer's Three Daughters," a novel in three volumes. In 1820,

he published "Contemplation," with other poems, in one volume octavo;

which, favourably received by the press, also added considerably to his

fame. A third novel from his pen, entitled, "The Smuggler's Cave; or,

The Foundling of Glenthorn," appeared in 1823 from the unpropitious

Minerva press; it consequently failed to excite much attention. To the

_Scots Magazine_ he had long been a contributor; and, on the

establishment of _Constable's Edinburgh Magazine_ in its stead, his

assistance was secured by Mr Thomas Pringle, the original editor. His

articles, contributed to this periodical during the nine years of its

existence, contain matter sufficient to fill three octavo volumes: they

are on every variety of theme, but especially the manners of Scottish

rural life, which he has depicted with singular power. Of his numerous

contributions in verse, a series entitled, "Characters omitted in

Crabbe's Parish Register," was published separately in 1825; and this

production has been acknowledged as the most successful effort of his

muse. It is scarcely inferior to the more celebrated composition of the

English poet.

In 1827, on the application of Mr Hume, M.P., a treasury donation of one

hundred pounds was conferred on Mr Balfour by the premier, Mr Canning,

in consideration of his genius. His last novel, "Highland Mary," in four

volumes, was published shortly before his death. To the last, he

contributed to the periodical publications. He died, after an illness of

about two weeks' duration, on the 12th September 1829, in the

sixty-third year of his age.

Though confined to his wheel-chair for a period of ten years, and

otherwise debarred many of the comforts to which, in more prosperous

circumstances, he had been accustomed, Alexander Balfour retained to the

close of life his native placidity and gentleness. His countenance wore

a perpetual smile. He joined in the amusements of the young, and took

delight in the recital of the merry tale and humorous anecdote. His

speech, somewhat affected by his complaint, became pleasant from the

heartiness of his observations. He was an affectionate husband, and a

devoted parent; his habits were strictly temperate, and he was

influenced by a devout reverence for religion. A posthumous volume of

his writings, under the title of "Weeds and Wild-flowers," was published

under the editorial care of Mr D. M. Moir, who has prefixed an

interesting memoir. As a lyrical poet, he is not entitled to a first

place; his songs are, however, to be remarked for deep and genuine

pathos.

THE BONNY LASS O' LEVEN WATER.

Though siller Tweed rin o'er the lea,

An' dark the Dee 'mang Highland heather,

Yet siller Tweed an' drumly Dee

Are not sae dear as Leven Water:

When Nature form'd our favourite isle,

An' a' her sweets began to scatter,

She look'd with fond approving smile,

Alang the banks o' Leven Water.

On flowery braes, at gloamin' gray,

'Tis sweet to scent the primrose springin';

Or through the woodlands green to stray,

In ilka buss the mavis singin':

But sweeter than the woodlands green,

Or primrose painted fair by Nature,

Is she wha smiles, a rural queen,

The bonny lass o' Leven Water!

The sunbeam in the siller dew,

That hangs upon the hawthorn's blossom,

Shines faint beside her e'en sae blue;

An' purer is her spotless bosom.

Her smile wad thaw a hermit's breast;

There 's love an' truth in ilka feature;

For her I 'm past baith wark an' rest,

The bonny lass o' Leven Water!

But I 'm a lad o' laigh degree,

Her purse-proud daddy 's dour an' saucy;

An' sair the carle wad scowl on me,

For speakin' to his dawtit lassie:

But were I laird o' Leven's glen,

An' she a humble shepherd's daughter,

I 'd kneel, an' court her for my ain,

The bonny lass o' Leven Water!

SLIGHTED LOVE.

The rosebud blushing to the morn,

The sna'-white flower that scents the thorn,

When on thy gentle bosom worn,

Were ne'er sae fair as thee, Mary!

How blest was I, a little while,

To deem that bosom free frae guile;

When, fondly sighing, thou wouldst smile;

Yes, sweetly smile on me, Mary!

Though gear was scant, an' friends were few,

My heart was leal, my love was true;

I blest your e'en of heavenly blue,

That glanced sae saft on me, Mary!

But wealth has won your heart frae me;

Yet I maun ever think of thee;

May a' the bliss that gowd can gie,

For ever wait on thee, Mary!

For me, nae mair on earth I crave,

But that yon drooping willow wave

Its branches o'er my early grave,

Forgot by love, an' thee, Mary!

An' when that hallow'd spot you tread,

Where wild-flowers bloom above my head,

O look not on my grassy bed,

Lest thou shouldst sigh for me, Mary!

GEORGE MACINDOE.

George Macindoe, chiefly known as the author of "A Million o' Potatoes,"

a humorous ballad, in the Scottish language, was born at Partick, near

Glasgow, in 1771. He originally followed the occupation of a

silk-weaver, in Paisley, which he early relinquished for the less

irksome duties of a hotel-keeper in Glasgow. His hotel was a corner

tenement, at the head of King Street, near St Giles' Church, Trongate;

and here a club of young men, with which the poet Campbell was

connected, were in the habit of holding weekly meetings. Campbell made a

practice of retiring from the noisy society of the club to spend the

remainder of the evenings in conversation with the intelligent host.

After conducting the business of hotel-keeper in Glasgow, during a

period of twenty-one years, Macindoe became insolvent, and was

necessitated to abandon the concern. He returned to Paisley and resumed

the loom, at the same time adding to his finances by keeping a small

change-house, and taking part as an instrumental musician at the local

concerts. He excelled in the use of the violin. Ingenious as a mechanic,

and skilled in his original employment, he invented a machine for

figuring on muslin, for which he received premiums from the City

Corporation of Glasgow and the Board of Trustees.

Macindoe was possessed of a lively temperament, and his conversation

sparkled with wit and anecdote. His person was handsome, and his open

manly countenance was adorned with bushy locks, which in old age,

becoming snowy white, imparted to him a singularly venerable aspect. He

claimed no merit as a poet, and only professed to be the writer of

"incidental rhymes." In 1805, he published, in a thin duodecimo volume,

"Poems and Songs, chiefly in the Scottish Dialect," which he states, in

the preface, he had laid before the public to gratify "the solicitations

of friends." Of the compositions contained in this volume, the ballad

entitled "A Million o' Potatoes," and the two songs which we have

selected for this work, are alone worthy of preservation. In 1813, he

published a second volume of poems and songs, entitled "The Wandering

Muse;" and he occasionally contributed lyrics to the local periodicals.

He died at Glasgow, on the 19th April 1848, in his seventy-seventh year,

leaving a numerous family. His remains were interred at Anderston,

Glasgow. The following remarks, regarding Macindoe's songs, have been

kindly supplied by Mr Robert Chambers:--

"Amidst George Macindoe's songs are two distinguished

by more clearness and less vulgarity than the rest. One

of these, called 'The Burn Trout,' was composed on a

real incident which it describes, namely, a supper,

where the chief dish was a salmon, brought from Peebles

to Glasgow by my father,[69] who, when learning his

business, as a manufacturer, in the western city, about

the end of the century, had formed an acquaintance with

the poet. The other, entitled 'Cheese and Whisky,'

which contains some very droll verses, was written in

compliment to my maternal uncle, William Gibson, then

also a young manufacturer, but who died about two

months ago, a retired captain of the 90th regiment. The

jocund hospitable disposition of Gibson--'Bachelor

Willie'--and my father's social good-nature, are

pleasingly recalled to me by Macindoe's verses, rough

as they are.

"_June 1, 1855._"

[69] Mr James Chambers, of Peebles, who died in 1824.

CHEESE AND WHISKY.

TUNE--_"The gude forgi' me for leein'."_

Believe me or doubt me, I dinna care whilk,

When Bachelor Willie I 'm seeing,

I feast upon whisky, and cheese o' ewe milk,

And ne'er was choked for leeing, for leeing,

And ne'er was choked for leeing.

Your jams and your jellies, your sugars and teas,

If e'er I thought worthy the preeing,

Compared wi' gude whisky, and kebbocks o' cheese,

May I sup porridge for leeing, for leeing,

May I sup porridge for leeing.

When patfou's o' kale, thick wi' barley and pease,

Can as weel keep a body frae deeing,

As stoupfou's o' whisky, and platefou's o' cheese,

I 'll dree to be scrimpit for leeing, for leeing,

I 'll dree to be scrimpit for leeing.

Tho' the house where we 're sittin' were a' in a bleeze,

I never could think about fleeing,

But would guzzle the whisky, and rive at the cheese;

Perhaps ye may think that I 'm leeing, I 'm leeing,

Perhaps ye may think that I 'm leeing.

THE BURN TROUT.

TUNE--_"The gude forgi' me for leein'."_

Brither Jamie cam west, wi' a braw burn trout,

An' speer'd how acquaintance were greeing;

He brought it frae Peebles, tied up in a clout,

An' said it wad just be a preeing, a preeing,

An' said it wad just be a preeing.

In the burn that rins by his grandmother's door

This trout had lang been a dweller,

Ae night fell asleep a wee piece frae the shore,

An' was kill'd wi' a stane by the miller, the miller,

An' was kill'd wi' a stane by the miller.

This trout it was gutted an' dried on a nail

That grannie had reested her ham on,

Weel rubbed wi' saut, frae the head to the tail,

An' kipper'd as 't had been a sa'mon, a sa'mon,

An' kipper'd as 't had been a sa'mon.

This trout it was boil'd an' set ben on a plate,

Nae fewer than ten made a feast o't;

The banes and the tail, they were gi'en to the cat,

But we lickit our lips at the rest o't, the rest o't,

But we lickit our lips at the rest o't.

When this trout it was eaten, we were a' like to rive,

Sae ye maunna think it was a wee ane,

May ilk trout in the burn grow muckle an' thrive,

An' Jamie bring west aye a preeing, a preeing,

An' Jamie bring west aye a preeing.

ALEXANDER DOUGLAS.

Alexander Douglas was the son of Robert Douglas, a labourer in the

village of Strathmiglo in Fife, where he was born on the 17th June 1771.

Early discovering an aptitude for learning, he formed the intention of

studying for the ministry,--a laudable aspiration, which was

unfortunately checked by the indigence of his parents. Attending school

during winter, his summer months were employed in tending cattle to the

farmers in the vicinity; and while so occupied, he read the Bible in the

fields, and with a religious sense, remarkable for his years, engaged in

daily prayer in some sequestered spot, for the Divine blessing to grant

him a saving acquaintance with the record. At the age of fourteen he was

apprenticed to a linen weaver in his native village, with whom he

afterwards proceeded to Pathhead, near Kirkcaldy. He now assiduously

sought to acquaint himself with general literature, especially with the

British poets; and his literary ardour was stimulated by several

companions of kindred inclinations. He returned to Strathmiglo, and

while busily plying the shuttle began to compose verses for his

amusement. These compositions were jotted down during the periods of

leisure. Happening to quote a stanza to Dr Paterson of Auchtermuchty,

his medical attendant, who was struck with its originality, he was

induced to submit his MSS. to the inspection of this gentleman. A

cordial recommendation to publish his verses was the result; and a

large number of subscribers being procured, through the exertions of his

medical friend, he appeared, in 1806, as the author of an octavo volume

of "Poems," chiefly in the Scottish dialect. The publication yielded a

profit of one hundred pounds.

Douglas was possessed of a weakly constitution; he died on the 21st

November 1821. He was twice married, and left a widow, who still

survives. Three children, the issue of the first marriage, died in early

life. A man of devoted piety and amiable dispositions, Douglas had few

pretensions as a poet; some of his songs have however obtained a more

than local celebrity, and one at least seems not undeserving of a place

among the modern national minstrelsy.

FIFE, AN' A' THE LAND ABOUT IT.[70]

TUNE--_"Roy's Wife o' Aldivalloch."_

Fife, an' a' the land about it,

Fife, an' a' the land about it;

May health, an' peace, an' plenty glad,

Fair Fife, an' a' the land about it.

We 'll raise the song on highest key,

Through every grove till echo shout it;

The sweet enchantin' theme shall be,

Fair Fife, an' a' the land about it.

Fife, an' a' the land about it, &c.

Her braid an' lang extended vales

Are clad wi' corn, a' wavin' yellow;

Her flocks an' herds crown a' her hills;

Her woods resound wi' music mellow.

Fife, an' a' the land about it, &c.

Her waters pastime sweet afford

To ane an' a' wha like to angle;

The seats o' mony a laird an' lord,

Her plains, as stars the sky, bespangle.

Fife, an' a' the land about it, &c.

In ilka town an' village gay,

Hark! Thrift, her wheel an' loom are usin';

While to an' frae each port an' bay,

See wealthy Commerce briskly cruisin'.

Fife, an' a' the land about it, &c.

Her maids are frugal, modest, fair,

As lilies by her burnies growin';

An' ilka swain may here repair,

Whase heart wi' virt'ous love is glowin'.

Fife, an' a' the land about it, &c.

In peace, her sons like lammies mild,

Are lightsome, friendly, an' engagin';

In war, they 're loyal, bauld, an' wild,

As lions roused, an' fiercely ragin'.

Fife, an' a' the land about it, &c.

May auld an' young hae meat an' claes;

May wark an' wages aye be plenty;

An' may the sun to latest days

See Fife an' a' her bairnies canty.

Fife, an' a' the land about it,

Fife, an' a' the land about it;

May health, an' peace, an' plenty glad,

Fair Fife, an' a' the land about it.

[70] A song of this title was composed by Robert Fergusson.

WILLIAM M'LAREN.

William M'Laren, a poet of some merit, and an associate and biographer

of Robert Tannahill, was born at Paisley about 1772. He originally

followed the occupation of a handloom weaver, but was more devoted to

the pursuits of literature than the business of his trade. Possessing a

considerable share of poetical talent, he composed several volumes of

verses, which were published by him on his own account, and very

frequently to considerable pecuniary advantage. In 1817, he published,

in quarto, a poetical tale, entitled, "Emma; or, The Cruel Father;" and

another narrative poem in 1827, under the title of "Isabella; or, The

Robbers." Many of his songs and lyrical pieces were contributed to

provincial serials. His genius as a poet was exceeded by his skill as a

prose writer; he composed in prose with elegance and power. In 1815, he

published a memoir of Tannahill--an eloquent and affectionate tribute to

the memory of his departed friend--to which is appended an _éloge_ on

Robert Burns, delivered at an anniversary of that poet's birthday. In

1818, he published, with a memoir, the posthumous poetical works of his

relative, the poet Scadlock. His other prose writings consist of

pamphlets on a diversity of subjects.

At one period, M'Laren established himself as a manufacturer in Ireland;

but, rendering himself obnoxious by the bold expression of his political

opinions, he found it necessary to make a hasty departure for Scotland.

He latterly opened a change-house in Paisley, and his circumstances

became considerably prosperous. He died in 1832, leaving a family. He is

remembered as a person of somewhat singular manners, and of undaunted

enterprise and decision of character. He was shrewd and well-informed,

without much reading; he purchased no books, but was ingenious and

successful in recommending his own.[71]

[71] Mr James Bowie, of Paisley, to whom we are under obligations for

supplying curious and interesting information regarding several of the

bards of the west, kindly furnished the particulars of the above memoir.

NOW SUMMER SHINES WITH GAUDY PRIDE.

Now summer shines with gaudy pride,

By flowery vale and mountain side,

And shepherds waste the sunny hours

By cooling streams, and bushy bowers;

While I, a victim to despair,

Avoid the sun's offensive glare,

And in sequester'd wilds deplore

The perjured vows of Ella More.

Would Fate my injured heart provide

Some cave beyond the mountain tide,

Some spot where scornful Beauty's eye

Ne'er waked the ardent lover's sigh;

I 'd there to woods and rocks complain,

To rocks that skirt the angry main;

For angry main, and rocky shore,

Are kinder far than Ella More.

AND DOST THOU SPEAK SINCERE, MY LOVE?

TUNE--_"Lord Gregory."_

And dost thou speak sincere, my love?

And must we ever part?

And dost thou unrelenting see

The anguish of my heart?

Have e'er these doating eyes of mine,

One wandering wish express'd?

No; thou alone hast ever been

Companion of my breast.

I saw thy face, angelic fair,

I thought thy form divine,

I sought thy love--I gave my heart,

And hoped to conquer thine.

But, ah! delusive, cruel hope!

Hope now for ever gone!

My Mary keeps the heart I gave,

But with it keeps her own.

When many smiling summer suns

Their silver light has shed,

And wrinkled age her hoary hairs

Waves lightly o'er my head;

Even then, in life's declining hour,

My heart will fondly trace

The beauties of thy lovely form,

And sweetly smiling face.

SAY NOT THE BARD HAS TURN'D OLD.

Though the winter of age wreathes her snow on his head,

And the blooming effulgence of summer has fled,

Though the voice, that was sweet as the harp's softest string,

Be trem'lous, and low as the zephyrs of spring,

Yet say not the Bard has turn'd old.

Though the casket that holds the rich jewel we prize

Attracts not the gaze of inquisitive eyes;

Yet the gem that 's within may be lovely and bright

As the smiles of the morn, or the stars of the night;