And foreign lands maun hide in;
Our bonnie glens, we lo'ed sae dear,
We daurna langer bide in.
LORD RONALD CAME TO HIS LADY'S BOWER.
Lord Ronald came to his lady's bower,
When the moon was in her wane;
Lord Ronald came at a late, late hour,
And to her bower is gane.
He saftly stept in his sandal shoon,
And saftly laid him doun;
"It 's late, it 's late," quoth Ellenore,
"Sin ye maun wauken soon.
"Lord Ronald, stay till the early cock
Shall flap his siller wing,
An' saftly ye maun ope the gate,
An' loose the silken string."
"O Ellenore, my fairest fair,
O Ellenore, my bride!
How can ye fear when my merry men a'
Are on the mountain side."
The moon was hid, the night was sped,
But Ellenore's heart was wae;
She heard the cock flap his siller wing,
An' she watched the morning ray:
"Rise up, rise up, Lord Ronald, dear,
The mornin' opes its e'e;
Oh, speed thee to thy father's tower,
And safe, safe may thou be."
But there was a page, a little fause page,
Lord Ronald did espy,
An' he has told his baron all,
Where the hind and hart did lie.
"It is na for thee, but thine, Lord Ronald,
Thy father's deeds o' weir;
But since the hind has come to my faul',
His blood shall dim my spear."
Lord Ronald kiss'd fair Ellenore,
And press'd her lily hand;
Sic a comely knight and comely dame
Ne'er met in wedlock's band:
But the baron watch'd, as he raised the latch,
And kiss'd again his bride;
And with his spear, in deadly ire,
He pierced Lord Ronald's side.
The life-blood fled frae fair Ellenore's cheek,
She look'd all wan and ghast;
She lean'd her down by Lord Ronald's side,
An' the blood was rinnin' fast:
She kiss'd his lip o' the deadlie hue,
But his life she cou'dna stay;
Her bosom throbb'd ae deadlie throb,
An' their spirits baith fled away.
THE LOVELY MAID OF ORMADALE.
AIR--_"Highland Lassie."_
When sets the sun o'er Lomond's height,
To blaze upon the western wave;
When peace and love possess the grove,
And echo sleeps within the cave;
Led by love's soft endearing charms,
I stray the pathless winding vale,
And hail the hour that gives to me
The lovely maid of Ormadale.
Her eyes outshine the star of night,
Her cheeks the morning's rosy hue;
And pure as flower in summer shade,
Low bending in the pearly dew:
Nor flower sae fair and lovely pure,
Shall fate's dark wintry winds assail;
As angel-smile she aye will be
Dear to the bowers of Ormadale.
Let fortune soothe the heart of care,
And wealth to all its votaries give;
Be mine the rosy smile of love,
And in its blissful arms to live.
I would resign fair India's wealth,
And sweet Arabia's spicy gale,
For balmy eve and Scotian bower,
With thee, loved maid of Ormadale.
A LASSIE CAM' TO OUR GATE.
A lassie cam' to our gate yestreen,
An' low she curtsied doun;
She was lovelier far, an' fairer to see,
Then a' our ladies roun'.
Oh, whare do ye wend, my sweet winsome doo?
An' whare may your dwelling be?
But her heart, I trow, was liken to break,
An' the tear-drap dimm'd her e'e.
I haena a hame, quo' the bonnie lassie--
I haena a hame, nor ha';
Fain here wad I rest my weary feet,
For the night begins to fa'.
I took her into our tapestry ha',
An' we drank the ruddy wine;
An' aye I strave, but fand my heart
Fast bound wi' Love's silken twine.
I ween'd she might be the fairies' queen
She was sae jimp and sma';
And the tear that dimm'd her bonnie blue e'e
Fell ower twa heaps o' snaw.
Oh, whare do ye wend, my sweet winsome doo?
An' whare may your dwelling be?
Can the winter's rain an' the winter's wind
Blaw cauld on sic as ye?
I haena a hame, quo' the bonnie lassie--
I haena a ha' nor hame;
My father was ane o' "Charlie's" men,
An' him I daurna name.
Whate'er be your kith, whate'er be your kin,
Frae this ye mauna gae;
An' gin ye 'll consent to be my ain,
Nae marrow ye shall hae.
Sweet maiden, tak' the siller cup,
Sae fu' o' the damask wine,
An' press it to your cherrie lip,
For ye shall aye be mine.
An' drink, sweet doo, young Charlie's health,
An' a' your kin sae dear;
Culloden has dimm'd mony an e'e
Wi' mony a saut, saut tear.
THE THISTLE AND THE ROSE.
There grew in bonnie Scotland
A thistle and a brier,
And aye they twined and clasp'd,
Like sisters, kind and dear.
The rose it was sae bonnie,
It could ilk bosom charm;
The thistle spread its thorny leaf,
To keep the rose frae harm.
A bonnie laddie tended
The rose baith ear' and late;
He water'd it, and fann'd it,
And wove it with his fate;
And the leal hearts of Scotland
Pray'd it might never fa',
The thistle was sae bonny green,
The rose sae like the snaw.
But the weird sisters sat
Where Hope's fair emblems grew;
They drapt a drap upon the rose
O' bitter, blasting dew;
And aye they twined the mystic thread,--
But ere their task was done,
The snaw-white shade it disappear'd,
And wither'd in the sun!
A bonnie laddie tended
The rose baith ear' an' late;
He water'd it, and fann'd it,
And wove it with his fate;
But the thistle tap it wither'd,
Winds bore it far awa',
And Scotland's heart was broken,
For the rose sae like the snaw!
THE COVENANTER'S LAMENT.
TUNE--_"The Martyr's Grave."_
There 's nae Covenant now, lassie!
There 's nae Covenant now!
The Solemn League and Covenant
Are a' broken through!
There 's nae Renwick now, lassie,
There 's nae gude Cargill,
Nor holy Sabbath preaching
Upon the Martyrs' Hill!
It 's naething but a sword, lassie!
A bluidy, bluidy ane!
Waving owre poor Scotland,
For her rebellious sin.
Scotland 's a' wrang, lassie,
Scotland 's a' wrang--
It 's neither to the hill nor glen,
Lassie, we daur gang.
The Martyrs' Hill 's forsaken,
In simmer's dusk sae calm;
There 's nae gathering now, lassie,
To sing the e'ening psalm!
But the martyr's grave will rise, lassie,
Aboon the warrior's cairn;
An' the martyr soun' will sleep, lassie,
Aneath the waving fern!
BONNIE LASSIE.
Bonnie lassie, blythesome lassie,
Sweet 's the sparkling o' thine e'e;
Aye sae wyling, aye beguiling,
Ye hae stown my heart frae me.
Fondly wooing, fondly sueing,
Let me love, nor love in vain;
Fate shall never fond hearts sever,
Hearts still bound by true love's chain.
Fancy dreaming, hope bright beaming,
Shall each day life's feast renew;
Ours the treasure, ours the pleasure,
Still to live and love more true.
Mirth and folly, joys unholy,
Never shall our thoughts employ;
Smiles inviting, hearts uniting,
Love and bliss without alloy.
Bonnie lassie, blythesome lassie,
Sweet 's the sparkling o' thine e'e;
Aye sae wyling, aye beguiling,
Ye hae stown my heart frae me.
ANDREW MERCER.
Andrew Mercer was born at Selkirk, in 1775. By his father, who was a
respectable tradesman, he was destined for the pulpit of the United
Secession Church. He became a student in the University of Edinburgh, in
1790, and was the class-fellow and friend of John Leyden, and of Dr
Alexander Murray, the future philologist. At the house of Dr Robert
Anderson, he formed the intimacy of Thomas Campbell; he also numbered
among his early associates Thomas Brown and Mungo Park. Abandoning
theological study, he cultivated a taste for the fine arts; and he
endeavoured to establish himself in the capital in the twofold capacity
of a miniature-painter, and a man of letters. With respect to both
avocations, he proved unfortunate. In 1804, a periodical entitled the
_North British Magazine_ was originated and supported by his friends, on
his behalf; but the publication terminated at the end of thirteen
months. At a subsequent period, he removed to Dunfermline, where he was
engaged in teaching, and in drawing patterns for the manufacturers. In
1828, he published a "History of Dunfermline," in a duodecimo volume;
and, at an interval of ten years, a volume of poems, entitled "Summer
Months among the Mountains." A man of considerable ingenuity and
scholarship, he lacked industry and steadiness of application. His
latter years were clouded by poverty. He died at Dunfermline on the 11th
of June 1842, in his 67th year.
THE HOUR OF LOVE.
When the fair one and the dear one--
Her lover by her side--
Strays or sits as fancy flits,
Where yellow streamlets glide;
Gleams illuming--flowers perfuming
Where'er her footsteps rove;
Time beguiling with her smiling,
Oh! that 's the hour of love.
When the fair one and the dear one,
Amid a moonlight scene,
Where grove and glade, and light and shade,
Are all around serene;
Heaves the soft sigh of ecstasy,
While coos the turtle-dove,
And in soft strains appeals--complains,
Oh! that 's the hour of love.
Should the fair one and the dear one
The sigh of pity lend
For human woe, that presses low
A stranger, or a friend,
Tears descending, sweetly blending,
As down her cheeks they rove;
Beauty's charms in pity's arms--
Oh! that 's the hour of love.
When the fair one and the dear one
Appears in morning dreams,
In flowing vest by fancy drest,
And all the angel beams;
The heavenly mien, and look serene,
Confess her from above;
While rising sighs and dewy eyes
Say, that 's the hour of love!
JOHN LEYDEN, M.D.
John Leyden was born on the 8th September 1775, at Denholm, a hamlet in
the parish of Cavers, Roxburghshire. His ancestors, for several
generations, were farmers, but his father followed the humble occupation
of a shepherd. Of four brothers and two sisters, John was the eldest.
About a year after his birth, his father removed to Henlawshiel, a
solitary cottage,[94] about three miles from Denholm, on the margin of
the heath stretching down from the "stormy Ruberslaw." He received the
rudiments of knowledge from his paternal grandmother; and discovering a
remarkable aptitude for learning, his father determined to afford him
the advantages of a liberal education. He was sent to the parish school
of Kirkton, and afterwards placed under the tutorship of a Cameronian
clergyman, in Denholm, reputed as a classical scholar. In 1790, he
entered the University of Edinburgh, where he soon acquired distinction
for his classical attainments and devotedness to general learning. His
last session of college attendance was spent at St Andrews, where he
became a tutor. By the Presbytery of St Andrews, in May 1798, he was
licensed as a probationer of the Scottish Church. On obtaining his
licence, he returned to the capital, where his reputation as a scholar
had secured him many friends. He now accepted the editorship of the
_Scots Magazine_, to which he had formerly been a contributor, and
otherwise employed himself in literary pursuits. In 1799, he published,
in a duodecimo volume, "An Historical and Philosophical Sketch of the
Discoveries and Settlements of the Europeans in Northern and Central
Africa, at the Close of the Eighteenth Century." "The Complaynt of
Scotland," a curious political treatise of the sixteenth century, next
appeared under his editorial care, with an ingenious introduction, and
notes. In 1801, he contributed the ballad of "The Elf-king," to Lewis'
"Tales of Wonder;" and, about the same period, wrote several ballads for
the "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border." The dissertation on "Fairy
Superstition," in the second volume of the latter work, slightly altered
by Scott, proceeded from his pen. In 1802, he edited a small volume,
entitled, "Scottish Descriptive Poems," consisting of a new edition of
Wilson's "Clyde," and a reprint of "Albania,"--a curious poem, in blank
verse, by an anonymous writer of the beginning of the eighteenth
century.
A wide circle of influential friends were earnestly desirous of his
promotion. In 1800, the opposition of the aged incumbent prevented his
appointment as assistant and successor in the ministerial charge of his
native parish. A proposal to appoint him Professor of Rhetoric in the
University of Edinburgh also failed. He now resolved to proceed to
Africa, to explore the interior, under the auspices of the African
Association; but some of his friends meanwhile procured him an
appointment as a surgeon in the East India Company's establishment at
Madras. During his course at the University, he had attended some of the
medical classes; and he now resumed the study of medicine, with such an
amount of success, that in six weeks he qualified himself for a
surgeon's diploma. About the same time, the degree of M.D. was conferred
on him by the University of St Andrews.
Before his departure for the East, Leyden finished his longest poem, the
"Scenes of Infancy," the publication of which he entrusted to his
friend, Dr Thomas Brown. His last winter in Britain he passed in London,
enjoying the society of many distinguished men of letters, to whom he
was introduced by his former friend, Mr Richard Heber. He sailed for
India[95] on the 7th April 1803, and arrived at Madras on the 19th
August. In Hindostan, his talents and extraordinary capabilities in
forming an acquaintance with the native tongues gained him numerous
friends. He was successively appointed surgeon to the commissioners for
surveying the provinces in Mysore, recently conquered from Tippoo
Sultan; professor of Hindostan in the College of Calcutta; judge of the
twenty-four pargunnahs of Calcutta; a commissioner of the Court of
Requests in Calcutta; and assay-master of the mint. His literary
services being required by the Governor-General, he left Calcutta for
Madras, and afterwards proceeded along with the army in the expedition
against Java. On the capture of the town of Batavia, having gone to
examine the library of the place, in which he expected to find some
curious Indian MSS., he caught a malignant fever from the tainted air of
the apartment. He survived only three days, terminating a life of much
promise, on the 28th of August 1811, in the thirty-sixth year of his
age.
In John Leyden an unconquerable perseverance was united to remarkable
native genius, and a memory of singular retentiveness. Eminent as a
linguist, he was an able and accurate philologist; in a knowledge of the
many languages of India he stood unrivalled. During his residence in the
East, he published a "Dissertation on the Languages and Literature of
the Indo-Chinese Nations," in the tenth volume of the "Asiatic
Researches," and he left numerous MSS. on subjects connected with
oriental learning. He was early a votary of the Muse; and, in youth, was
familiar with the older Scottish bards. In April 1795, he appeared in
the _Edinburgh Literary Magazine_ as author of an elegy "On the Death of
a Sister;" and subsequently became a regular contributor of verses to
the periodicals of the capital. His more esteemed poetical productions
are the "Scenes of Infancy," and the ballads which he composed for the
"Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border." Of the latter, the supernatural
machinery is singularly striking; in the former poem, much smooth and
elegant versification is combined with powerful and vigorous
description. There are, indeed, occasional repetitions and numerous
digressions; but amidst these marks of hasty composition, every sentence
bears evidence of a masculine intellect and powerful imagination. His
lyrical effusions are pervaded with simplicity and tenderness.
Like some other sons of genius, Leyden was of rather eccentric habits.
He affected to despise artificial manners; and, though frequenting
polished circles in Edinburgh, then in London, and afterwards in Madras
and Calcutta, he persevered in an indomitable aversion to the use of the
English tongue, which he so well knew how to write with precision and
power. He spoke the broadest provincial Scotch with singular
pertinacity. His voice was extremely dissonant, but, seemingly
unconscious of the defect, he talked loud; and if engaged in argument,
raised his voice to a pitch which frequently proved more powerful than
the strength of his reasoning. He was dogmatical in maintaining his
opinions, and prone to monopolise conversation; his gesticulations were
awkward and even offensive. Peculiar as were his habits, few of the
distinguished persons who sought his acquaintance ever desired to
renounce his friendship.[96] In his domestic habits, he was temperate
often to abstinence; he was frugal, but not mean--careful, but not
penurious. He was generous towards his aged parents; was deeply imbued
with a sense of religion, and was the foe of vice in every form. He was
of a slight figure, and of middle stature; his countenance was
peculiarly expressive of intelligence. His hair was auburn, his eyes
dark, and his complexion clear and sanguine. He was considerably robust,
and took delight in practising gymnastics; he desired fame, not less for
feats of running and leaping, than in the sedate pursuits of literature.
His premature death was the subject of general lamentation; in the "Lord
of the Isles," Scott introduced the following stanza in tribute to his
memory:--
"His bright and brief career is o'er,
And mute his tuneful strain;
Quench'd is his lamp of varied lore,
That loved the light of song to pour;
A distant and a deadly shore
Has Leyden's cold remains."
[94] We lately visited the spot. Not a vestige of the cottage remains. A
wilder and more desolate locality hardly ever nourished the youthful
imagination of a poet.
[95] Leyden was assisted in his outfit for India by Sir Walter Scott and
Sydney Smith, the latter contributing forty pounds. (See "Memoir of the
Rev. Sydney Smith," by his daughter, Lady Holland, vol. i. p. 21.
London: 1855. 2 vols. 8vo.)
[96] Thomas Campbell was one of Leyden's early literary friends; they
had quarrelled, but continued to respect each other's talents. The
following anecdote is recorded by Sir Walter Scott in his diary:--"When
I repeated 'Hohenlinden' to Leyden, he said, 'Dash it, man, tell the
fellow that I hate him; but, dash him, he has written the finest verses
that have been published these fifty years.' I did mine errand as
faithful as one of Homer's messengers, and had for answer:--'Tell Leyden
that I detest him, but I know the value of his critical
approbation.'"--_Lockhart's Life of Scott._
ODE TO THE EVENING STAR.
How sweet thy modest light to view,
Fair star! to love and lovers dear;
While trembling on the falling dew,
Like beauty shining through a tear.
Or hanging o'er that mirror-stream,
To mark that image trembling there,
Thou seem'st to smile with softer gleam,
To see thy lovely face so fair.
Though, blazing o'er the arch of night,
The moon thy timid beams outshine
As far as thine each starry light,
Her rays can never vie with thine.
Thine are the soft, enchanting hours
When twilight lingers on the plain,
And whispers to the closing flowers
That soon the sun will rise again.
Thine is the breeze that, murmuring bland
As music, wafts the lover's sigh,
And bids the yielding heart expand
In love's delicious ecstasy.
Fair star! though I be doom'd to prove
That rapture's tears are mix'd with pain,
Ah, still I feel 'tis sweet to love--
But sweeter to be loved again.
THE RETURN AFTER ABSENCE.
Oh! the breeze of the mountain is soothing and sweet,
Warm breathing of love, and the friends we shall meet;
And the rocks of the desert, so rough when we roam,
Seem soft, soft as silk, on the dear path of home;
The white waves of the Jeikon, that foam through their speed,
Seem scarcely to reach to the girth of my steed.
Rejoice, O Bokhara, and flourish for aye!
Thy King comes to meet thee, and long shall he stay.
Our King is our moon, and Bokhara our skies,
Where soon that fair light of the heavens shall arise--
Bokhara our orchard, the cypress our king,
In Bokhara's fair orchard soon destined to spring.
LAMENT FOR RAMA.
FROM THE BENGALI.
I warn you, fair maidens, to wail and to sigh,
For Rama, our Rama, to greenwood must fly;
Then hasten, come hasten, to see his array,
Ayud'hya is dark when our chief goes away.
All the people are flocking to see him pass by;
They are silent and sad, with the tear in their eye:
From the fish in the streamlets a broken sigh heaves,
And the birds of the forest lament from the leaves.
His fine locks are matted, no raiment has he
For the wood, save a girdle of bark from the tree;
And of all his gay splendour, you nought may behold,
Save his bow and his quiver, and ear-rings of gold.
Oh! we thought to have seen him in royal array
Before his proud squadrons his banners display,
And the voice of the people exulting to own
Their sovereign assuming the purple and crown;
But the time has gone by, my hope is despair,--
One maiden perfidious has wrought all my care.
Our light is departing, and darkness returns,
Like a lamp half-extinguished, and lonely it burns;
Faith fades from the age, nor can honour remain,
And fame is delusive, and glory is vain.
JAMES SCADLOCK.
James Scadlock, a poet of considerable power, and an associate of
Tannahill, was born at Paisley on the 7th October 1775. His father, an
operative weaver, was a person of considerable shrewdness; and the poet
M'Laren, who became his biographer, was his uterine brother. Apprenticed
to the loom, he renounced weaving in the course of a year, and
thereafter was employed in the establishment of a bookbinder. At the age
of nineteen he entered on an indenture of seven years to a firm of
copperplate engravers at Ferenize. He had early been inclined to
verse-making, and, having formed the acquaintance of Tannahill, he was
led to cultivate with ardour his native predilection. He likewise
stimulated his ingenious friend to higher and more ambitious efforts in
poetry. Accomplished in the elegant arts of drawing and painting,
Scadlock began the study of classical literature and the modern
languages. A general stagnation of trade, which threw him out of
employment, checked his aspirations in learning. After an interval
attended with some privations, he heard of a professional opening at
Perth, which he proceeded to occupy. He returned to Paisley, after the
absence of one year; and having married in 1808, his attention became
more concentrated in domestic concerns. He died of fever on the 4th July
1818, leaving a family of four children.
Scadlock was an upright member of society, a sincere friend, a
benevolent neighbour, and an intelligent companion. In the performance
of his religious duties he was regular and exemplary. Desirious of
excelling in conversation, he was prone to evince an undue formality of
expression. His poetry, occasionally deficient in power, is uniformly
distinguished for smoothness of versification.
ALONG BY LEVERN STREAM SO CLEAR.[97]
Along by Levern stream so clear,
When Spring adorns the infant year,
And music charms the list'ning ear,
I 'll wander with my Mary,
My bonny blooming Mary;
Not Spring itself to me is dear,
When absent from my Mary.
When Summer's sun pours on my head
His sultry rays, I 'll seek the shade,
Unseen upon a primrose bed
I 'll sit with little Mary,
My bonny blooming Mary,
Where fragrant flowers around are spread,
To charm my little Mary.
She 's mild 's the sun through April shower
That glances on the leafy bower,
She 's sweet as Flora's fav'rite flower,
My bonny little Mary,
My blooming little Mary;
Give me but her, no other dower
I 'll ask with little Mary.
Should fickle fortune frown on me,
And leave me bare 's the naked tree,
Possess'd of her, how rich I 'd be,
My lovely little Mary,
My bonny blooming Mary;
From gloomy care and sorrow free,
I 'd ever keep my Mary.
[97] Set to music by R. A. Smith.
HARK, HARK, THE SKYLARK SINGING.
WELSH AIR--_"The rising of the Lark."_
Hark, hark the skylark singing,
While the early clouds are bringing
Fragrance on their wings;
Still, still on high he 's soaring,
Through the liquid haze exploring,
Fainter now he sings.
Where the purple dawn is breaking,
Fast approaches morning's ray,
From his wings the dew he 's shaking,
As he joyful hails the day,
While echo, from his slumbers waking,
Imitates his lay.
See, see the ruddy morning,
With his blushing locks adorning
Mountain, wood, and vale;
Clear, clear the dew-drop 's glancing,
As the rising sun 's advancing
O'er the eastern hill;
Now the distant summits clearing,
As the vapours steal their way,
And his heath-clad breast 's appearing,
Tinged with Phoebus' golden ray,
Far down the glen the blackbird 's cheering
Morning with her lay.
Come, then, let us be straying,
Where the hazel boughs are playing,
O'er yon summits gray;
Mild now the breeze is blowing,
And the crystal streamlet 's flowing
Gently on its way.
On its banks the wild rose springing
Welcomes in the sunny ray,
Wet with dew its head is hinging,
Bending low the prickly spray;
Then haste, my love, while birds are singing,
To the newborn day.
OCTOBER WINDS.
AIR--_"Oh, my love's bonnie."_
October winds, wi' biting breath,
Now nip the leaves that 's yellow fading;
Nae gowans glint upon the green,
Alas! they 're co'er'd wi' winter's cleading.
As through the woods I musing gang,
Nae birdies cheer me frae the bushes,
Save little robin's lanely sang,
Wild warbling where the burnie gushes.
The sun is jogging down the brae,
Dimly through the mist he 's shining,
And cranreugh hoar creeps o'er the grass,
As Day resigns his throne to E'ening.
Oft let me walk at twilight gray,
To view the face of dying nature,
Till Spring again, wi' mantle green,
Delights the heart o' ilka creature.
SIR ALEXANDER BOSWELL, BART.
Alexander Boswell was the eldest son of James Boswell, the celebrated
biographer of Dr Johnson, and grandson of Lord Auchinleck, one of the
senators of the College of Justice. He was born on the 9th October 1775.
His mother, a daughter of Sir Walter Montgomery, Bart., of Lainshaw, was
a woman of superior intelligence, and of agreeable and dignified
manners. Along with his only brother James, he received his education at
Westminster School and the University of Oxford. In 1795, on the death
of his father, he succeeded to the paternal estate of Auchinleck. He now
made the tour of Europe, and on his return took up his residence in the
family mansion.
Inheriting his father's love of literature, and deriving from his mother
a taste for elegant accomplishments, Alexander Boswell diligently
applied himself to the cultivation of his mind, by an examination of the
stores of the famous "Auchinleck Library." From his youth he had been
ardent in his admiration of Burns, and had written verses for the
amusement of his friends. A wooer of the lyric Muse, many of his lays
rapidly obtained circulation, and were sung with a gusto not inferior to
that inspired by the songs of the Bard of Coila. In 1803 he published,
without his name, in a thin octavo volume, "Songs, chiefly in the
Scottish Dialect," and subsequently contributed a number of lyrics of
various merit to the Musical Collection of Mr George Thomson, and
Campbell's "Albyn's Anthology." Several other poetical works proceeded
from his pen. In 1803, shortly after the appearance of his songs, he
published a ballad entitled "The Spirit of Tintoc; or, Johnnie Bell and
the Kelpie," with notes, 16 pp. 8vo: Mundell and Son, Edinburgh. This
performance, in which are humorously related the adventures of a drunken
tailor with the brownies and other denizens of the unseen world, on the
summit of Tintoc Hill, was followed in 1810 by another amusing poem,
bearing the title of "Edinburgh, or the Ancient Royalty, a Sketch of
Former Manners, with Notes by Simon Gray." In this poem, the changes
which had occurred in the habits of the citizens of Edinburgh are
pourtrayed in a colloquy between an old farmer and his city friend. In
1811 appeared "Clan-Alpin's Vow, a Fragment," with the author's name
prefixed. This production, founded upon a horrible tragedy connected
with the history of the Clan Macgregor, proved one of the most popular
of the author's works; it was reprinted in 1817, by Bentley and Son,
London. His future publications may be simply enumerated; they were
generally issued from a printing press which he established in the
mansion of Auchinleck. In 1812 he printed, for private circulation, a
poetical fragment entitled "Sir Albon," intended to burlesque the
peculiar style and rhythm of Sir Walter Scott; in 1815, "The Tyrant's
Fall," a poem on the battle of Waterloo; in 1816, "Skeldon Haughs, or
the Sow is Flitted," a tale in verse founded on an old Ayrshire
tradition; and in the same year another poetical tale, after the manner
of Allan Ramsay's "Monk and Miller's Wife," entitled, "The Woo'-creel,
or the Bull o' Bashun." From his printing office at Auchinleck, besides
his poetical tales and pasquinades, he issued many curious and
interesting works, chiefly reprints of scarce tracts on different
subjects, preserved in the Auchinleck Library. Of these the most
remarkable was the disputation between John Knox and Quentin Kennedy, at
Maybole, in 1562, of which the only copy then known to exist was
deposited in his paternal library.[98]
Amidst his devotedness to the pursuits of elegant literature, Mr Boswell
bestowed much attention on public affairs. He was M.P. for the county of
Ayr; and though silent in the House of Commons, was otherwise
indefatigable in maintaining his political sentiments. He supported
strict conservative principles, and was not without the apprehension of
civil disturbance through the impetuosity of the advocates of reform. As
Lieutenant-Colonel of the Ayrshire Yeomanry Cavalry, he was painstaking
in the training of his troops; the corps afterwards acknowledging his
services by the presentation of a testimonial. In 1821, his zeal for the
public interest was rewarded by his receiving the honour of a Baronetcy.
One of the most substantial of Sir Alexander's patriotic achievements
was the erection of an elegant monument to Robert Burns on the banks of
the Doon. The mode in which the object was accomplished is sufficiently
interesting. Along with a friend who warmly approved of the design, Sir
Alexander advertised in the public prints that a meeting would be held
at Ayr, on a particular day, to take into consideration the proposal of
rearing a monument to the great national bard. The day and hour arrived,
but, save the projectors, not a single individual attended. Nothing
disheartened, Sir Alexander took the chair, and his friend proceeded to
act as clerk; resolutions were proposed, seconded, and recorded, thanks
were voted to the chairman, and the meeting separated. These resolutions
being printed and circulated, were the means of raising by public
subscription the sum of nearly two thousand pounds for the erection of
the monument. Sir Alexander laid the foundation stone on the 25th of
January 1820.
The literary and patriotic career of Sir Alexander Boswell was brought
to a sudden termination. Prone to indulge a strong natural tendency for
sarcasm, especially against his political opponents, he published, in a
Glasgow newspaper, a severe poetical pasquinade against Mr James Stuart,
younger of Dunearn, a leading member of the Liberal party in Edinburgh.
The discovery of the authorship was followed by a challenge from Mr
Stuart, which being accepted, the hostile parties met near the village
of Auchtertool, in Fife. Sir Alexander fell, the ball from the pistol of
his antagonist having entered near the root of his neck on the right
side. He was immediately carried to Balmuto, a seat of his ancestors in
the vicinity, where he expired the following day. The duel took place on
the 26th March 1822.
The remains of the deceased Baronet were solemnly deposited in the
family vault of Auchinleck. In personal appearance, Sir Alexander
presented a powerful muscular figure; in society, he was fond of
anecdote and humour. In his youth he was keen on the turf and in field
sports; he subsequently found his chief entertainment in literary
avocations. As a poet, he had been better known if his efforts had been
of a less fragmentary character. The general tendency of his Muse was
drollery, but some of his lyrics are sufficiently touching.
[98] Another copy has since been discovered.
JENNY'S BAWBEE.
I met four chaps yon birks amang,
Wi' hanging lugs and faces lang;
I spier'd at neighbour Bauldy Strang,
Wha 's they I see?
Quoth he, Ilk cream-faced, pawky chiel'
Thinks himsel' cunnin' as the deil,
And here they cam awa' to steal
Jenny's bawbee.
The first, a Captain to his trade,
Wi' ill-lined skull, but back weel clade,
March'd round the barn, and by the shed,
And papped on his knee:
Quoth he, My goddess, nymph, and queen,
Your beauty 's dazzled baith my e'en!
Though ne'er a beauty he had seen
But Jenny's bawbee.
A Norland Laird neist trotted up,
Wi' bawsint naig and siller whup;
Cried--There 's my beast, lad, haud the grup,
Or tie it to a tree.
What 's gowd to me? I 've wealth o' lan',
Bestow on ane o' worth your han':
He thought to pay what he was awn
Wi' Jenny's bawbee.
A Lawyer neist, wi' bleth'rin' gab,
Wha speeches wove like ony wab;
O' ilk ane's corn aye took a dab,
And a' for a fee;
Accounts he owed through a' the toun,
And tradesmen's tongues nae mair could drown;
But now he thought to clout his goun
Wi' Jenny's bawbee.
Quite spruce, just frae the washin' tubs,
A fool came neist; but life has rubs;
Foul were the roads, and fu' the dubs,
And jaupit a' was he:
He danced up, squintin' through a glass,
And grinn'd, i' faith, a bonnie lass!
He thought to win, wi' front o' brass,
Jenny's bawbee.
She bade the laird gae kaim his wig,
The sodger not to strut sae big,
The lawyer not to be a prig;
The fool he cried, Te-hee!
I kenn'd that I could never fail!
But she pinn'd the dishclout to his tail,
And soused him frae the water-pail,
And kept her bawbee.
Then Johnnie came, a lad o' sense,
Although he had na mony pence;
And took young Jenny to the spence,
Wi' her to crack a wee.
Now Johnnie was a clever chiel',
And here his suit he press'd sae weel
That Jenny's heart grew saft as jeel,
And she birl'd her bawbee.[99]
[99] The last stanza does not appear in the original version of the
song; it is here added from Allan Cunningham's collection. The idea of
the song, Cunningham remarks, was probably suggested to the author by an
old fragment, which still lives among the peasantry:--
"And a' that e'er my Jenny had,
My Jenny had, my Jenny had,
A' that e'er my Jenny had,
Was ae bawbee.
There 's your plack and my plack,
And your plack and my plack,
And my plack and your plack,
And Jenny's bawbee.
We 'll put it in the pint stoup,
The pint stoup, the pint stoup,
We 'll put it in the pint stoup,
And birl 't a' three."
JENNY DANG THE WEAVER.[100]
At Willie's weddin' o' the green,
The lasses, bonnie witches,
Were busked out in aprons clean,
And snaw-white Sunday mutches;
Auld Mysie bade the lads tak' tent,
But Jock wad na believe her;
But soon the fool his folly kent,
For Jenny dang the weaver.
In ilka country dance and reel
Wi' her he wad be babbin';
When she sat down, then he sat down,
And till her wad be gabbin';
Where'er she gaed, or butt or ben,
The coof wad never leave her,
Aye cacklin' like a clockin' hen,
But Jenny dang the weaver.
Quoth he, My lass, to speak my mind,
In troth I needna swither,
Ye 've bonnie e'en, and, gif ye 're kind,
I needna court anither!
He humm'd and haw'd, the lass cried "pheugh,"
And bade the coof no deave her,
Syne crack'd her thumb, and lap and leugh,
And dang the silly weaver.
[100] The origin of the air is somewhat amusing. The Rev. Mr Gardner,
minister of Birse, in Aberdeenshire, known for his humour and musical
talents, was one evening playing over on his Cremona the notes of an air
he had previously jotted down, when a curious scene arrested his
attention in the courtyard of the manse. His man "Jock," who had lately
been a weaver in the neighbouring village, had rudely declined to wipe
the minister's shoes, as requested by Mrs Gardner, when the enraged
matron, snatching a culinary utensil, administered a hearty drubbing to
the shoulders of the impudent boor, and compelled him to execute her
orders. The minister witnessing the proceeding from the window, was
highly diverted, and gave the air he had just completed the title of
"Jenny Dang the Weaver." This incident is said to have occurred in the
year 1746.
THE LASS O' ISLA.
"Ah, Mary, sweetest maid, farewell!
My hopes are flown, for a 's to wreck;
Heaven guard you, love, and heal your heart,
Though mine, alas, alas! maun break."
"Dearest lad, what ills betide?
Is Willie to his love untrue?
Engaged the morn to be his bride,
Ah! hae ye, hae ye, ta'en the rue?"
"Ye canna wear a ragged gown,
Or beggar wed wi' nought ava;
My kye are drown'd, my house is down,
My last sheep lies aneath the snaw."
"Tell na me o' storm or flood,
Or sheep a' smoor'd ayont the hill;
For Willie's sake I Willie lo'ed,
Though poor, ye are my Willie still."
"Ye canna thole the wind and rain,
Or wander friendless far frae hame;
Cheer, cheer your heart, some other swain
Will soon blot out lost Willie's name."
"I 'll tak my bundle in my hand,
An' wipe the dew-drop frae my e'e;
I 'll wander wi' ye ower the land;
I 'll venture wi' ye ower the sea."
"Forgi'e me, love, 'twas all a snare,
My flocks are safe, we needna part;
I 'd forfeit them and ten times mair
To clasp thee, Mary, to my heart."
"How could ye wi' my feelings sport,
Or doubt a heart sae warm and true?
I maist could wish ye mischief for 't,
But canna wish ought ill to you."
TASTE LIFE'S GLAD MOMENTS.[101]
Taste life's glad moments,
Whilst the wasting taper glows;
Pluck, ere it withers,
The quickly-fading rose.
Man blindly follows grief and care,
He seeks for thorns, and finds his share,
Whilst violets to the passing air
Unheeded shed their blossoms.
Taste life's, &c.
When tim'rous Nature veils her form,
And rolling thunder spreads alarm,
Then, ah! how sweet, when lull'd the storm,
The sun shines forth at even.
Taste life's, &c.
How spleen and envy anxious flies,
And meek content, in humble guise,
Improves the shrub, a tree shall rise,
Which golden fruits shall yield him.
Taste life's, &c.
Who fosters faith in upright breast,
And freely gives to the distress'd,
There sweet contentment builds her nest,
And flutters round his bosom.
Taste life's, &c.
And when life's path grows dark and strait,
And pressing ills on ills await,
Then friendship, sorrow to abate,
The helping hand will offer.
Taste life's, &c.
She dries his tears, she strews his way,
E'en to the grave, with flow'rets gay,
Turns night to morn, and morn to day,
And pleasure still increases.
Taste life's, &c.
Of life she is the fairest band,
Joins brothers truly hand in hand,
Thus, onward to a better land,
Man journeys light and cheerly.
Taste life's, &c.
[101] These verses, which form a translation of _Freùt euch des Libens_,
were written at Leipsig in 1795, when the author was on his continental
tour. He was then in his twentieth year.
GOOD NIGHT, AND JOY BE WI' YE A'.
Good night, and joy be wi' ye a',
Your harmless mirth has cheer'd my heart;
May life's fell blasts out o'er ye blaw;
In sorrow may ye never part!
My spirit lives, but strength is gone,
The mountain-fires now blaze in vain;
Remember, sons, the deeds I 've done,
And in your deeds I 'll live again!
When on yon muir our gallant clan,
Frae boasting foes their banners tore;
Wha shew'd himself a better man,
Or fiercer waved the red claymore?
But when in peace--then mark me there--
When through the glen the wand'rer came,
I gave him of our lordly fare,
I gave him here a welcome hame.
The auld will speak, the young maun hear;
Be cantie, but be gude and leal;
Your ain ills aye hae heart to bear,
Anither's aye hae heart to feel.
So, ere I set, I 'll see ye shine;
I 'll see ye triumph ere I fa';
My parting breath shall boast you mine--
Good night, and joy be wi' ye a'!
OLD AND NEW TIMES.[102]
AIR--_"Kellyburn Braes."_
Hech! what a change hae we now in this town!
The lads a' sae braw, the lasses sae glancin',
Folk maun be dizzie gaun aye in the roun'
For deil a haet 's done now but feastin' and dancin'.
Gowd 's no that scanty in ilk siller pock,
When ilka bit laddie maun hae his bit staigie;
But I kent the day when there was nae a Jock,
But trotted about upon honest shank's naigie.
Little was stown then, and less gaed to waste,
Barely a mullin for mice or for rattens;
The thrifty housewife to the flesh-market paced,
Her equipage a'--just a gude pair o' pattens.
Folk were as good then, and friends were as leal,
Though coaches were scant, wi' their cattle a-cantrin';
Right air we were tell 't by the housemaid or chiel',
Sir, an' ye please, here 's your lass and a lantern.
The town may be clouted and pieced, till it meets
A' neebours benorth and besouth, without haltin';
Brigs may be biggit ower lums and ower streets,
The Nor' Loch itsel' heapêd heigh as the Calton.
But whar is true friendship, and whar will you see,
A' that is gude, honest, modest, and thrifty?
Tak' gray hairs and wrinkles, and hirple wi' me,
And think on the seventeen hundred and fifty.
[102] Contributed to the fourth volume of Mr George Thomson's
Collection.
BANNOCKS O' BARLEY MEAL.[103]
AIR--_"Bannocks o' Barley Meal."_
Argyle is my name, and you may think it strange
To live at a court, and yet never to change;
To faction, or tyranny, equally foe,
The good of the land 's the sole motive I know.
The foes of my country and king I have faced,
In city or battle I ne'er was disgraced;
I 've done what I could for my country's weal,
Now I 'll feast upon bannocks o' barley meal.
Ye riots and revels of London, adieu!
And folly, ye foplings, I leave her to you!
For Scotland, I mingled in bustle and strife;
For myself, I seek peace and an innocent life:
I 'll haste to the Highlands, and visit each scene,
With Maggie, my love, in her rockley o' green;
On the banks of Glenary what pleasure I 'll feel,
While she shares my bannock o' barley meal!
And if it chance Maggie should bring me a son,
He shall fight for his king, as his father has done;
I 'll hang up my sword with an old soldier's pride--
O! may he be worthy to wear 't on his side.
I pant for the breeze of my loved native place;
I long for the smile of each welcoming face;
I 'll aff to the Highlands as fast 's I can reel,
And feast upon bannocks o' barley meal.
[103] This song was contributed by Sir Alexander Boswell to the third
volume of Thomson's Collection. It is not wholly original, but an
improved version of former words to the same air, which are understood
to be the composition of John Campbell, the celebrated Duke of Argyle
and Greenwich, who died on the 4th October 1743.
WILLIAM GILLESPIE.
William Gillespie was born in the manse of Kells, in Galloway, on the
18th February 1776. His father, John Gillespie, minister of Kells, was
the intimate friend of Robert Burns; and likewise an early patron of
John Low, the ingenious, but unfortunate author of "Mary's Dream."
Receiving the rudiments of education at the parish school, William
proceeded, in 1792, to the University of Edinburgh, to prosecute his
studies for the Church. Obtaining licence as a probationer, he was, in
1801, ordained assistant and successor to his father, on whose death, in
1806, he succeeded to the full benefits of the charge. Inheriting from
his father an elegant turn of mind and a devotedness to literary
composition, he was induced to publish, in his twenty-ninth year, an
allegorical poem, entitled "The Progress of Refinement." A higher effort
from his pen appeared in 1815, under the title of "Consolation, and
other Poems." This volume, which abounds in vigorous sentiment and rich
poetical description, evincing on the part of the author a high
appreciation of the beauties of nature, considerably extended his
reputation. He formed habits of intimacy with many of his poetical
contemporaries, by whom he was beloved for the amenity of his
disposition. He largely contributed to various periodicals, especially
the agricultural journals; and was a zealous member of the Highland
Society of Scotland.
In July 1825, Mr Gillespie espoused Miss Charlotte Hoggan. Soon after
this event, he was attacked with erysipelas,--a complaint which,
resulting in general inflammation, terminated his promising career on
the 15th of October, in his fiftieth year. The following lyrics evince
fancy and deep pathos, causing a regret that the author did not more
amply devote himself to the composition of songs.
THE HIGHLANDER.[104]
From the climes of the sun, all war-worn and weary,
The Highlander sped to his youthful abode;
Fair visions of home cheer'd the desert so dreary,
Though fierce was the noon-beam, and steep was the road.
Till spent with the march that still lengthen'd before him,
He stopp'd by the way in a sylvan retreat;
The light shady boughs of the birch-tree waved o'er him,
The stream of the mountain fell soft at his feet.
He sunk to repose where the red heaths are blended,
On dreams of his childhood his fancy past o'er;
But his battles are fought, and his march it is ended,
The sound of the bagpipes shall wake him no more.
No arm in the day of the conflict could wound him,
Though war launch'd her thunder in fury to kill;
Now the Angel of Death in the desert has found him,
And stretch'd him in peace by the stream of the hill.
Pale Autumn spreads o'er him the leaves of the forest,
The fays of the wild chant the dirge of his rest;
And thou, little brook, still the sleeper deplorest,
And moistens the heath-bell that weeps on his breast.
[104] Many years ago, a poor Highland soldier, on his return to his
native hills, fatigued, as was supposed, by the length of the march and
the heat of the weather, sat down under the shade of a birch tree on the
solitary road of Lowran, that winds along the margin of Loch Ken, in
Galloway. Here he was found dead; and this incident forms the subject of
these verses.--_Note by the Author._ "The Highlander" is set to a Gaelic
air in the fifth volume of R. A. Smith's "Scottish Minstrel."
ELLEN.
The moon shone in fits,
And the tempest was roaring,
The Storm Spirit shriek'd,
And the fierce rain was pouring;
Alone in her chamber,
Fair Ellen sat sighing,
The tapers burn'd dim,
And the embers were dying.
"The drawbridge is down,
That spans the wide river;
Can tempests divide,
Whom death cannot sever?
Unclosed is the gate,
And those arms long to fold thee,
'Tis midnight, my love;
O say, what can hold thee?"
But scarce flew her words,
When the bridge reft asunder,
The horseman was crossing,
'Mid lightning and thunder,
And loud was the yell,
As he plunged in the billow,
The maid knew it well,
As she sprang from her pillow.
She scream'd o'er the wall,
But no help was beside her;
And thrice to her view
Rose the horse and his rider.
She gazed at the moon,
But the dark cloud pass'd over;
She plunged in the stream,
And she sunk to her lover.
Say, what is that flame,
O'er the midnight deep beaming?
And whose are those forms,
In the wan moonlight gleaming?
That flame gilds the wave,
Which their pale corses cover;
And those forms are the ghosts
Of the maid and her lover.
THOMAS MOUNSEY CUNNINGHAM.
Thomas Mounsey Cunningham, an elder brother of Allan Cunningham, is
entitled to commemoration among the modern song-writers of his country.
His ancestors were lords of that district of Ayrshire which still bears
their family name; and a small inheritance in that county, which
belonged to his more immediate progenitors, was lost to the name and
race by the head of the family having espoused the cause and joined the
army of the Duke of Montrose. For several generations his forefathers
were farmers at Gogar, in the parish of Ratho, Midlothian. John
Cunningham, his father, was born at Gogar on the 26th March 1743, whence
he removed in his twenty-third year to fill the situation of
land-steward on the estate of Lumley, in the parish of Chester, and
county of Durham. He next became overseer on the property of Mr Mounsey
of Ramerscales, near Lochmaben, Dumfriesshire. He married Elizabeth
Harley, a lady of good connexions and of elegant personal
accomplishments, and with the view of acquiring a more decided
independence in his new condition, took in lease the farm of Culfaud, in
the stewartry of Kirkcudbright. Of a family of ten, Thomas was the
second son; he was born at Culfaud on the 25th June 1776. During his
infancy the farming speculations of his father proved unfortunate, and
the lease of Culfaud was abandoned. Returning to his former occupation
as a land-steward, John Cunningham was employed in succession by the
proprietors of Barncaillie and Collieston, and latterly by the
ingenious Mr Miller of Dalswinton.
Thomas was educated at the village-school of Kellieston, and
subsequently at the academy of Dumfries. The circumstances of his
parents required that he should choose a manual profession; and he was
apprenticed by his own desire to a neighbouring mill-wright. It was
during his intervals of leisure, while acquiring a knowledge of this
laborious occupation, that he first essayed the composition of verses;
he submitted his poems to his father, who mingled judicious criticism
with words of encouragement. "The Har'st Home," one of his earliest
pieces of merit, was privileged with insertion in the series of "Poetry,
Original and Selected," published by Brash & Reid, booksellers in
Glasgow. Proceeding to England in 1797, he entered the workshop of a
mill-wright in Rotherham. Under the same employer he afterwards pursued
his craft at King's Lynn; in 1800 he removed to Wiltshire, and soon
after to the neighbourhood of Cambridge. He next received employment at
Dover, and thence proceeded to London, where he occupied a situation in
the establishment of Rennie, the celebrated engineer. He afterwards
became foreman to one Dickson, an engineer, and superintendent of
Fowler's chain-cable manufactory. In 1812 he returned to Rennie's
establishment as a clerk, with a liberal salary. On leaving his father's
house to seek his fortune in the south, he had been strongly counselled
by Mr Miller of Dalswinton to abjure the gratification of his poetical
tendencies, and he seems to have resolved on the faithful observance of
this injunction. For a period of nine years his muse was silent; at
length, in 1806, he appeared in the _Scots Magazine_ as the contributor
of some of the best verses which had ever adorned the pages of that
periodical. The editor was eloquent in his commendations; and the
Ettrick Shepherd, who was already a contributor to the magazine, took
pains to discover the author, and addressed him a lengthened poetical
epistle, expressive of his admiration. A private intimacy ensued between
the two rising poets; and when the Shepherd, in 1809, planned the
"Forest Minstrel," he made application to his ingenious friend for
contributions. Cunningham sanctioned the republication of such of his
lyrics as had appeared in the _Scots Magazine_, and these proved the
best ornaments of the work.
Impatient of criticism, and of a whimsical turn of mind, Cunningham was
incapable of steadfastly pursuing the career of a man of letters. Just
as his name was becoming known by his verses in the _Scots Magazine_, he
took offence at some incidental allusions to his style, and suddenly
stopped his contributions. Silent for a second period of nine years, the
circumstance of the appropriation of one of his songs in the "Nithsdale
Minstrel," a provincial collection of poetry, published at Dumfries,
again aroused him to authorship. He made the publishers the subject of a
satirical poem in the _Scots Magazine_ of 1815. On the origin of the
_Edinburgh Magazine_, in 1817, he became a contributor, and under the
title of the "Literary Legacy," wrote many curious snatches of
antiquities, sketches of modern society, and scraps of song and ballad,
which imparted a racy interest to the pages of the new periodical. A
slight difference with the editor at length induced him to relapse into
silence. Fitful and unsettled as a cultivator of literature, he was in
the business of life a model of regularity and perseverance. He was much
esteemed by his employer, and was ultimately promoted to the chief
clerkship in his establishment. He fell a victim to the Asiatic cholera
on the 28th October 1834, in the 58th year of his age. During his latter
years he was in the habit of examining at certain intervals the MSS. of
prose and poetry, which at a former period he had accumulated. On those
occasions he uniformly destroyed some which he deemed unworthy of
further preservation. During one of these purgations, he hastily
committed to the flames a poem on which he had bestowed much labour, and
which contained a humorous description of scenes and characters familiar
to him in youth. The poem was entitled "Braken Fell;" and his ingenious
brother Allan, in a memoir of the author, has referred to its
destruction in terms of regret.[105] The style of Thomas Cunningham
seems, however, to have been lyrical, and it may be presumed that his
songs afford the best evidence of his power. In private life he was much
cherished by a circle of friends, and his society was gay and animated.
He was rather above the middle height, and latterly was corpulent. He
married in 1804, and has left a family.
[105] See _Scottish Monthly Magazine_, August 1836.
ADOWN THE BURNIE'S FLOWERY BANK.[106]
Adown the burnie's flowery bank,
Or through the shady grove,
Or 'mang the bonnie scroggie braes,
Come, Peggy, let us rove.
See where the stream out ower the linn
Deep headlong foamin' pours,
There let us gang and stray amang
The bloomin' hawthorn bowers.
We 'll pu' the rose frae aff the brier,
The lily frae the brae;
We 'll hear the birdies blithely sing,
As up the glen we gae.
His yellow haughs o' wavin' grain
The farmer likes to see,
But my ain Peggy's artless smile
Is far mair dear to me.
[106] Written when the author was quite a youth.
THE HILLS O' GALLOWA'.[107]
TUNE--_"The Lea Rig."_
Amang the birks sae blithe an' gay,
I met my Julia hameward gaun;
The linties chantit on the spray,
The lammies loupit on the lawn;
On ilka swaird the hay was mawn,
The braes wi' gowans buskit bra',
An' ev'ning's plaid o' gray was thrawn
Out ower the hills o' Gallowa'.
Wi' music wild the woodlands rang,
An' fragrance wing'd alang the lea,
As down we sat the flowers amang,
Upon the banks o' stately Dee.
My Julia's arms encircled me,
An' saftly slade the hours awa',
Till dawning coost a glimm'rin' e'e
Upon the hills o' Gallowa'.
It isna owsen, sheep, an' kye,
It isna gowd, it isna gear,
This lifted e'e wad hae, quo' I,
The warld's drumlie gloom to cheer;
But gie to me my Julia dear,
Ye powers wha rowe this yirthen ba',
An' oh, sae blithe through life I 'll steer,
Amang the hills o' Gallowa'.
When gloamin' daunders up the hill,
An' our gudeman ca's hame the yowes,
Wi' her I 'll trace the mossy rill
That through the muir meand'ring rowes;
Or tint amang the scroggie knowes,
My birken pipe I 'll sweetly blaw,
An' sing the streams, the straths, and howes,
The hills an' dales o' Gallowa'.
An' when auld Scotland's heathy hills,
Her rural nymphs an' jovial swains,
Her flowery wilds an' wimpling rills,
Awake nae mair my canty strains;
Where friendship dwells an' freedom reigns,
Where heather blooms an' muircocks craw,
Oh, dig my grave, and lay my banes
Amang the hills o' Gallowa'.
[107] Like many other Scottish songs composed early in the century, and
which at the time of publication were unacknowledged by their authors,
the "Hills o' Gallowa'" came to be attributed to Burns. It is included
among his songs in Orphoot's edition of his poetical works, which was
published at Edinburgh in 1820. In the "Harp of Caledonia," the editor,
Mr Struthers, assigns it to the Ettrick Shepherd. Along with those which
follow, the song appeared in the "Forest Minstrel." The heroine was
Julia Curtis, a maiden in Galloway, to whom Cunningham was early
attached. She is also celebrated by the poet in the "Braes of Ballahun,"
and her early demise is lamented in the tender stanzas of "Julia's
Grave." The latter composition first appeared in the _Scots Magazine_
for 1807, p. 448.
THE BRAES OF BALLAHUN.[108]
TUNE--_"Roslin Castle."_
Now smiling summer's balmy breeze,
Soft whispering, fans the leafy trees;
The linnet greets the rosy morn,
Sweet in yon fragrant flowery thorn;
The bee hums round the woodbine bower,
Collecting sweets from every flower;
And pure the crystal streamlets run
Among the braes of Ballahun.
Oh, blissful days, for ever fled,
When wand'ring wild, as fancy led,
I ranged the bushy bosom'd glen,
The scroggie shaw, the rugged linn,
And mark'd each blooming hawthorn bush,
Where nestling sat the speckled thrush;
Or, careless roaming, wander'd on
Among the braes of Ballahun.
Why starts the tear, why bursts the sigh,
When hills and dales rebound with joy?
The flowery glen and lilied lea,
In vain display their charms to me.
I joyless roam the heathy waste,
To soothe this sad, this troubled breast;
And seek the haunts of men to shun,
Among the braes of Ballahun.
The virgin blush of lovely youth,
The angel smile of artless truth,
This breast illumed with heavenly joy,
Which lyart time can ne'er destroy.
Oh, Julia dear! the parting look,
The sad farewell we sorrowing took,
Still haunt me as I stray alone,
Among the braes of Ballahun.
[108] Ballahun is a romantic glen, near Blackwood House, on the river
Nith.
THE UNCO GRAVE.[109]
TUNE--_"Crazy Jane."_
Bonnie Clouden, as ye wander
Hills, an' haughs, an' muirs amang,
Ilka knowe an' green meander,
Learn my sad, my dulefu' sang!
Braes o' breckan, hills o' heather,
Howms whare rows the gowden wave;
Blissful scenes, fareweel for ever!
I maun seek an unco grave.
Sair I pled, though fate, unfriendly,
Stang'd my heart wi' waes and dules,
That some faithfu' hand might kindly
Lay 't among my native mools.
Cronies dear, wha late an' early
Aye to soothe my sorrows strave,
Think on ane wha lo'es ye dearly,
Doom'd to seek an unco grave.
Torn awa' frae Scotia's mountains,
Far frae a' that 's dear to dwall,
Mak's my e'en twa gushin' fountains,
Dings a dirk in my puir saul.
Braes o' breckan, hills o' heather,
Howms whare rows the gowden wave,
Blissful scenes, fareweel for ever!
I maun seek an unco grave.
[109] The Clouden is a stream which flows into the Nith, at Lincluden
College, near Dumfries.
JULIA'S GRAVE.
TUNE--_"Logan Water."_
Ye briery bields, where roses blaw!
Ye flowery fells, and sunny braes,
Whase scroggie bosoms foster'd a'
The pleasures o' my youthfu' days!
Amang your leafy simmer claes,
And blushing blooms, the zephyr flies,
Syne wings awa', and wanton plays
Around the grave whare Julia lies.
Nae mair your bonnie birken bowers,
Your streamlets fair, and woodlands gay,
Can cheer the weary winged hours,
As up the glen I joyless stray;
For a' my hopes hae flown away,
And when they reach'd their native skies,
Left me amid the world o' wae,
To weet the grave where Julia lies.
It is na beauty's fairest bloom,
It is na maiden charms consign'd,
And hurried to an early tomb,
That wrings my heart and clouds my mind;
But sparkling wit, and sense refined,
And spotless truth, without disguise,
Make me with sighs enrich the wind
That fans the grave whare Julia lies.
FAREWEEL, YE STREAMS.
AIR--_"Lassie wi' the Yellow Coatie."_
Fareweel, ye streams sae dear to me,
My bonnie Clouden, Kith, and Dee;
Ye burns that row sae bonnily,
Your siller waves nae mair I 'll see.
Yet though frae your green banks I 'm driven,
My saul away could ne'er be riven;
For still she lifts her e'en to heaven,
An' sighs to be again wi' thee.
Ye canty bards ayont the Tweed,
Your skins wi' claes o' tartan cleed,
An' lilt alang the verdant mead,
Or blithely on your whistles blaw,
An' sing auld Scotia's barns an ha's,
Her bourtree dykes an mossy wa's,
Her faulds, her bughts, an' birken shaws,
Whare love an' freedom sweeten a'.
Sing o' her carles teuch an' auld,
Her carlines grim that flyte an' scauld,
Her wabsters blithe, an' souters bauld,
Her flocks an' herds sae fair to see.
Sing o' her mountains bleak an high;
Her fords, whare neigh'rin' kelpies ply;
Her glens, the haunts o' rural joy;
Her lasses lilting o'er the lea.
To you the darling theme belangs,
That frae my heart exulting spangs;
Oh, mind, amang your bonnie sangs,
The lads that bled for liberty.
Think o' our auld forbears o' yore,
Wha dyed the muir wi' hostile gore;
Wha slavery's bands indignant tore,
An' bravely fell for you an' me.
My gallant brithers, brave an' bauld,
Wha haud the pleugh, or wake the fauld,
Until your dearest bluid rin cauld,
Aye true unto your country be.
Wi' daring look her dirk she drew,
An' coost a mither's e'e on you;
Then let na ony spulzien crew
Her dear-bought freedom wrest frae thee.
JOHN STRUTHERS.
John Struthers, whose name is familiar as the author of "The Poor Man's
Sabbath," was born on the 18th July 1776, in the parish of East
Kilbride, Lanarkshire. His parents were of the humbler rank, and were
unable to send him to school; but his mother, a woman of superior
intelligence, was unremitting in her efforts to teach him at home. She
was aided in her good work by a benevolent lady of the neighbourhood,
who, interested by the boy's precocity, often sent for him to read to
her. This kind-hearted individual was Mrs Baillie, widow of the Rev. Dr
Baillie of Hamilton, who was then resident at Longcalderwood, and whose
celebrated daughter, Joanna Baillie, afterwards took a warm interest in
the fame and fortunes of her mother's _protégé_. From the age of eight
to fourteen, young Struthers was engaged as a cowherd and in general
work about a farm; he then apprenticed himself to a shoemaker. On the
completion of his indenture, he practised his craft several years in his
native village till September 1801, when he sought a wider field of
business in Glasgow. In 1804, he produced his first and most celebrated
poem, "The Poor Man's Sabbath," which, printed at his own risk, was well
received, and rapidly passed through two editions. On the recommendation
of Sir Walter Scott, to whom the poem was made known by Joanna Baillie,
Constable published a third edition in 1808, handing the author thirty
pounds for the copyright. Actively employed in his trade, Struthers
continued to devote his leisure hours to composition. In 1816 he
published a pamphlet "On the State of the Labouring Poor." A more
ambitious literary effort was carried out in 1819; he edited a
collection of the national songs, which was published at Glasgow, under
the title of "The Harp of Caledonia," in three vols. 18mo. To this work
Joanna Baillie, Mrs John Hunter, and Mr William Smyth of Cambridge
contributed songs, while Scott and others permitted the re-publication
of such of their lyrics as the author chose to select.
Struthers married early in life. About the year 1818 his wife and two of
his children were snatched from him by death, and these bereavements so
affected him, as to render him unable to prosecute his labours as a
tradesman. He now procured employment as a corrector of the press, in
the printing-office of Khull, Blackie, & Co. During his connexion with
this establishment he assisted in preparing an edition of "Wodrow's
History," and produced a "History of Scotland" from the political Union
in 1707 to the year 1827, the date of its publication. These works--the
latter extending to two octavo volumes--were published by his employers.
On a dissolution of their co-partnership, in 1827, Struthers was thrown
out of employment till his appointment, in 1832, to the Keepership of
Stirling's Library, a respectable institution in Glasgow. This
situation, which yielded him a salary of about £50 a-year, he retained
till 1847, when he was led to tender his resignation. In his
seventy-first year he returned to his original trade, after being thirty
years occupied with literary concerns. He died suddenly on the 30th July
1853, at the advanced age of seventy-seven.
A man of strong intellect and vigorous imagination, John Struthers was
industrious in his trade, and persevering as an author, yet he failed to
obtain a competency for the winter of life; his wants, however, were
few, and he never sought to complain. Inheriting pious dispositions from
his parents, he excelled in familiarity with the text of Scripture, and
held strong opinions on the subject of morality. Educated in the
communion of the Original Secession Church, he afterwards joined the
Establishment, and ultimately retired from it at the Disruption in 1843.
He was a zealous member of the Free Church, and being admitted to the
eldership, was on two occasions sent as a representative to the General
Assembly of that body. An enthusiast respecting the beauties of external
nature, he was in the habit of undertaking lengthened pedestrian
excursions into the country, and took especial delight in rambling by
the sea-shore, or climbing the mountain-tops. His person was tall and
slight, though abundantly muscular, and capable of undergoing the toil
of extended journeys. Three times married, he left a widow, who has
lately emigrated to America; of his children two sons and two daughters
survive.
Besides the works already enumerated, Struthers was the author of other
compositions, both in prose and verse. He wrote an octavo pamphlet of 96
pages in favour of National Church Establishments; contributed memoirs
of James Hogg, minister of Carnock, and Principal Robertson to the
_Christian Instructor_, and prepared various lives of deceased worthies,
which were included in the "Illustrious and Distinguished Scotsmen,"
edited by Mr Robert Chambers. At the period of his death, he was engaged
in preparing a continuation of his "History of Scotland," to the era of
the Disruption; he also meditated the publication of a volume of essays.
His poetical works, which appeared at various intervals, were
re-published in 1850, in two duodecimo volumes, with an interesting
autobiographical sketch. Of his poems those most deserving of notice,
next to the "Sabbath," are "The House of Mourning, or the Peasant's
Death," and "The Plough," both evincing grave and elevated sentiment,
expressed in correct poetical language. The following songs are
favourable specimens of his lyrical compositions.
ADMIRING NATURE'S SIMPLE CHARMS.
TUNE--_"Gramachre."_
Admiring Nature's simple charms,
I left my humble home,
Awhile my country's peaceful plains
With pilgrim step to roam.
I mark'd the leafy summer wave
On flowing Irvine's side,
But richer far 's the robe she wears
Within the vale of Clyde.
I roam'd the braes o' bonnie Doon,
The winding banks o' Ayr,
Where flutters many a small bird gay,
Blooms many a flow'ret fair.
But dearer far to me the stem
That once was Calder's pride,
And blossoms now the fairest flower
Within the vale of Clyde.
Avaunt, thou life-repressing north,
Ye withering east winds too;
But come, thou all-reviving west,
Breathe soft thy genial dew.
Till at the last, in peaceful age,
This lovely flow'ret shed
Its last green leaf upon my grave,
Within the vale of Clyde.
OH, BONNIE BUDS YON BIRCHEN TREE.
TUNE--_"The mill, mill, O."_
Oh, bonnie buds yon birchen tree,
The western breeze perfuming;
And softly smiles yon sunny brae,
Wi' gowans gaily blooming.
But sweeter than yon birchen tree,
Or gowans gaily blooming,
Is she, in blushing modesty,
Wha meets me there at gloaming.
Oh, happy, happy there yestreen,
In mutual transport ranging,
Among these lovely scenes, unseen,
Our vows of love exchanging.
The moon, with clear, unclouded face,
Seem'd bending to behold us;
And breathing birks, with soft embrace,
Most kindly to enfold us.
We bade each tree record our vows,
And each surrounding mountain,
With every star on high that glows
From light's o'erflowing fountain.
But gloaming gray bedims the vale,
On day's bright beam encroaching;
With rapture once again I hail
The trysting hour approaching.
RICHARD GALL.
Richard Gall was born in December 1776, at Linkhouse, near Dunbar. His
father was a notary; but, being in poor circumstances, he apprenticed
his son, in his eleventh year, to a relative, who followed the conjoined
business of a builder and house-carpenter. The drudgery of heavy manual
labour proved very uncongenial; and the apprentice suddenly took his
departure, walking a long distance to Edinburgh, whither his parents had
removed their residence. He now selected the profession of a printer,
and entered on an indenture to Mr David Ramsay of the _Edinburgh Evening
Courant_. At the close of his apprenticeship, he became Mr Ramsay's
travelling clerk.
In the ordinary branches of education, young Gall had been instructed in
a school at Haddington; he took lessons in the more advanced departments
from a private tutor during his apprenticeship. He wrote verses from his
youth, and several of his songs became popular, and were set to music.
His poetical talents attracted the attention of Robert Burns and Hector
Macneill, both of whom cherished his friendship,--the former becoming
his correspondent. He also shared the intimacy of Thomas Campbell, and
of Dr Alexander Murray, the distinguished philologist.
His promising career was brief; an abscess broke out in his breast,
which medical skill could not subdue. After a lingering illness, he died
on the 10th of May 1801, in his twenty-fifth year. He had joined a
Highland volunteer regiment; and his remains were accompanied by his
companions-in-arms to the Calton burial-ground, and there interred with
military honours.
Possessed of a lively and vigorous fancy, a generous warmth of
temperament, and feelings of extreme sensibility, Richard Gall gave
promise of adorning the poetical literature of his country. Patriotism
and the beauties of external nature were the favourite subjects of his
muse, which, as if premonished of his early fate, loved to sing in
plaintive strains. Gall occasionally lacks power, but is always
pleasing; in his songs (two of which have frequently been assigned to
Burns) he is uniformly graceful. He loved poetry with the ardour of an
enthusiast; during his last illness he inscribed verses with a pencil,
when no longer able to wield the pen. He was thoroughly devoid of
personal vanity, and sought to advance the poetical reputation of his
country rather than his own. In his lifetime, his pieces were printed
separately; a selection of his poems and songs, with a memoir by
Alexander Balfour, was published in 1819.
HOW SWEET IS THE SCENE.
How sweet is the scene at the waking o' morning!
How fair ilka object that lives in the view!
Dame Nature the valley an' hillock adorning,
The wild-rose an' blue-bell yet wet wi' the dew.
How sweet in the morning o' life is my Anna!
Her smiles like the sunbeam that glints on the lea;
To wander an' leave the dear lassie, I canna;
Frae Truth, Love, an' Beauty, I never can flee.
O lang hae I lo'ed her, and lo'ed her fu' dearly,
For saft is the smile o' her bonny sweet mou';
An' aft hae I read in her e'en, glancing clearly,
A language that bade me be constant an' true.
Then ithers may doat on their gowd an' their treasure;
For pelf, silly pelf, they may brave the rude sea;
To lo'e my sweet lassie, be mine the dear pleasure;
Wi' her let me live, an' wi' her let me die.
CAPTAIN O'KAIN.
Flow saftly, thou stream, through the wild spangled valley;
Oh green be thy banks, ever bonny an' fair!
Sing sweetly, ye birds, as ye wanton fu' gaily,
Yet strangers to sorrow, untroubled by care.
The weary day lang
I list to your sang,
An' waste ilka moment, sad, cheerless, alane;
Each sweet little treasure
O' heart-cheering pleasure,
Far fled frae my bosom wi' Captain O'Kain.
Fu' aft on thy banks hae we pu'd the wild gowan,
An' twisted a garland beneath the hawthorn;
Ah! then each fond moment wi' pleasure was glowing,
Sweet days o' delight, which can never return!
Now ever, wae's me!
The tear fills my e'e,
An sair is my heart wi' the rigour o' pain;
Nae prospect returning,
To gladden life's morning,
For green waves the willow o'er Captain O'Kain.
MY ONLY JO AND DEARIE, O'.
Thy cheek is o' the rose's hue,
My only jo an' dearie, O;
Thy neck is like the siller dew
Upon the banks sae briery, O;
Thy teeth are o' the ivory,
O, sweet 's the twinkle o' thine e'e!
Nae joy, nae pleasure, blinks on me,
My only jo an' dearie, O.
The birdie sings upon the thorn,
Its sang o' joy, fu' cheerie, O,
Rejoicing in the simmer morn,
Nae care to make it eerie, O;
But little kens the sangster sweet,
Ought o' the care I hae to meet,
That gars my restless bosom beat,
My only jo an' dearie, O.
Whan we were bairnies on yon brae,
An' youth was blinking bonny, O,
Aft we wad daff the lee lang day,
Our joys fu' sweet an' mony, O;
Aft I wad chase thee o'er the lea,
An' round about the thorny tree;
Or pu' the wild flowers a' for thee,
My only jo an' dearie, O.
I hae a wish I canna tine,
'Mang a' the cares that grieve me, O;
I wish that thou wert ever mine,
An' never mair to leave me, O;
Then I wad dawt thee night an' day,
Nae ither warldly care wad hae,
Till life's warm stream forgat to play,
My only jo an' dearie, O.
THE BONNIE BLINK O' MARY'S E'E.[110]
Now bank an' brae are clad in green,
An' scatter'd cowslips sweetly spring;
By Girvan's fairy-haunted stream,
The birdies flit on wanton wing;
By Cassillis' banks, when e'ening fa's,
There let my Mary meet wi' me,
There catch her ilka glance o' love,
The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e.
The chiel' wha boasts o' warld's wealth
Is aften laird o' meikle care;
But Mary she is a' my ain,
An' Fortune canna gie me mair.
Then let me stray by Cassillis' banks,
Wi' her, the lassie dear to me,
An' catch her ilka glance o' love,
The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e.
[110] Cromeck in his "Reliques," erroneously attributes this song to
Burns.
THE BRAES O' DRUMLEE.
Ere eild wi' his blatters had warsled me down,
Or reft me o' life's youthfu' bloom,
How aft hae I gane, wi' a heart louping light,
To the knowes yellow tappit wi' broom!
How aft hae I sat i' the beild o' the knowe,
While the laverock mounted sae hie,
An' the mavis sang sweet in the plantings around,
On the bonnie green braes o' Drumlee.
But, ah! while we daff in the sunshine of youth,
We see na' the blasts that destroy;
We count na' upon the fell waes that may come,
An eithly o'ercloud a' our joy.
I saw na the fause face that fortune can wear,
Till forced from my country to flee;
Wi' a heart like to burst, while I sobbed, "Farewell,
To the bonnie green braes o' Drumlee!
"Fareweel, ye dear haunts o' the days o' my youth,
Ye woods and ye valleys sae fair;
Ye 'll bloom whan I wander abroad like a ghaist,
Sair nidder'd wi' sorrow an' care.
Ye woods an' ye valleys, I part wi' a sigh,
While the flood gushes down frae my e'e;
For never again shall the tear weet my cheek,
On the bonnie green braes o' Drumlee.
"O Time, could I tether your hours for a wee!
Na, na, for they flit like the wind!"--
Sae I took my departure, an' saunter'd awa',
Yet aften look'd wistfu' behind.
Oh, sair is the heart of the mither to twin,
Wi' the baby that sits on her knee;
But sairer the pang, when I took a last peep,
O' the bonnie green braes o' Drumlee.
I heftit 'mang strangers years thretty-an'-twa,
But naething could banish my care;
An' aften I sigh'd when I thought on the past,
Whare a' was sae pleasant an' fair.
But now, wae 's my heart! whan I 'm lyart an' auld,
An' fu' lint-white my haffet-locks flee,
I 'm hamewards return'd wi' a remnant o' life,
To the bonnie green braes o' Drumlee.
Poor body! bewilder'd, I scarcely do ken
The haunts that were dear ance to me;
I yirded a plant in the days o' my youth,
An' the mavis now sings on the tree.
But, haith! there 's nae scenes I wad niffer wi' thae;
For it fills my fond heart fu' o' glee,
To think how at last my auld banes they will rest,
Near the bonnie green braes o' Drumlee.
I WINNA GANG BACK TO MY MAMMY AGAIN.
I winna gang back to my mammy again,
I 'll never gae back to my mammy again;
I 've held by her apron these aught years an' ten,
But I 'll never gang back to my mammy again.
I 've held by her apron, &c.
Young Johnnie cam' down i' the gloamin' to woo,
Wi' plaidie sae bonny, an' bannet sae blue:
"O come awa, lassie, ne'er let mammy ken;"
An' I flew wi' my laddie o'er meadow an' glen.
"O come awa, lassie," &c.
He ca'd me his dawtie, his dearie, his doo,
An' press'd hame his words wi' a smack o' my mou';
While I fell on his bosom heart-flicher'd an' fain,
An' sigh'd out, "O Johnnie, I 'll aye be your ain!"
While I fell on his bosom, &c.
Some lasses will talk to their lads wi' their e'e,
Yet hanker to tell what their hearts really dree;
Wi' Johnnie I stood upon nae stapping-stane,
Sae I 'll never gae back to my mammy again.
Wi' Johnnie I stood, &c.
For many lang year sin' I play'd on the lea,
My mammy was kind as a mither could be;
I 've held by her apron these aught years an' ten,
But I 'll never gang back to my mammy again.
I 've held by her apron, &c.
THE BARD.
IRISH AIR--_"The Brown Maid."_
The Bard strikes his harp the wild valleys amang,
Whare the tall aiken trees spreading leafy appear;
While the murmuring breeze mingles sweet wi' his sang,
An' wafts the saft notes till they die on the ear;
But Mary, whase presence sic transport conveys,
Whase beauties my moments o' pleasure control,
On the strings o' my heart ever wantonly plays,
An' each languishing note is a sigh frae my soul!
Her breath is as sweet as the sweet-scented brier,
That blossoms and blaws in yon wild lanely glen;
When I view her fair form which nae mortal can peer,
A something o'erpowers me I dinna weel ken.
What sweetness her snawy white bosom displays!
The blink o' her bonny black e'e wha' can thole!
On the strings o' my heart she bewitchingly plays,
An' each languishing note is a sigh frae my soul!
LOUISA IN LOCHABER.
Can ought be constant as the sun,
That makes the world sae cheerie?
Yes, a' the powers can witness be,
The love I bear my dearie.
But what can make the hours seem lang,
An' rin sae wondrous dreary?
What but the space that lies between
Me an' my only dearie.
Then fare ye weel, wha saw me aft,
Sae blythe, baith late and early;
An' fareweel scenes o' former joys,
That cherish life sae rarely;
Baith love an' beauty bid me flee,
Nor linger lang an' eerie,
But haste, an' in my arms enfauld,
My only pride an' dearie.
I 'll hail Lochaber's valleys green,
Where many a rill meanders;
I 'll hail wi' joy, its birken bowers,
For there Louisa wanders.
There will I clasp her to my breast,
An' tent her smile fu' cheerie;
An' thus, without a wish or want,
Live happy wi' my dearie.
THE HAZELWOOD WITCH.
For mony lang year I hae heard frae my grannie
Of brownies an' bogles by yon castle wa',
Of auld wither'd hags that were never thought cannie,
An' fairies that danced till they heard the cock caw.
I leugh at her tales; an' last owk, i' the gloamin',
I daunder'd, alane, down the hazelwood green;
Alas! I was reckless, and rue sair my roamin',
For I met a young witch, wi' twa bonnie black e'en.
I thought o' the starns in a frosty night glancing,
Whan a' the lift round them is cloudless an' blue;
I looked again, an' my heart fell a-dancing,
When I wad hae spoken, she glamour'd my mou'.
O wae to her cantrips! for dumpish I wander,
At kirk or at market there 's nought to be seen;
For she dances afore me wherever I daunder,
The hazelwood witch wi' the bonnie black e'en.
FAREWELL TO AYRSHIRE.[111]
Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure,
Scenes that former thoughts renew;
Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure,
Now a sad and last adieu!
Bonny Doon, sae sweet at gloamin',
Fare thee weel before I gang;
Bonny Doon, whare, early roamin',
First I weaved the rustic sang.
Bowers, adieu! where, love decoying,
First enthrall'd this heart o' mine;
There the saftest sweets enjoying,
Sweets that memory ne'er shall tine.
Friends sae near my bosom ever,
Ye hae render'd moments dear;
But, alas! when forced to sever,
Then the stroke, O how severe!
Friends, that parting tear reserve it,
Though 'tis doubly dear to me;
Could I think I did deserve it,
How much happier would I be.
Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure,
Scenes that former thoughts renew;
Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure,
Now a sad and last adieu!
[111] This is another song of Richard Gall which has been assigned to
Burns; it has even been included in Dr Currie's edition of his works. It
was communicated anonymously by Gall to the publisher of the "Scots
Musical Museum," and first appeared in that work. The original MS. of
the song was in the possession of Mr Stark, the author of a memoir of
Gall in the "Biographia Scotica."
GEORGE SCOTT.
George Scott was the son of a small landowner in Roxburghshire. He was
born at Dingleton, near Melrose, in 1777; and after attending the
parish-schools of Melrose and Galashiels, became a student in the
University of Edinburgh. On completing a curriculum of classical study,
he was in his twenty-second year appointed parochial schoolmaster of
Livingstone, West Lothian; and in six years afterwards was preferred to
the parish-school of Lilliesleaf, in his native county. He was an
accomplished scholar, and had the honour of educating many individuals
who afterwards attained distinction. With Sir Walter Scott, who
appreciated his scholarship, he maintained a friendly correspondence. In
1820, he published a small volume of poems, entitled, "Heath Flowers;
or, Mountain Melodies," which exhibits considerable poetical talent.
Having discharged the duties of an instructor of youth for half a
century, he retired from his public avocations in November 1850. He
survived till the 23d of February 1853, having attained his
seventy-sixth year.
THE FLOWER OF THE TYNE.
AIR--_"Bonnie Dundee."_
Now rests the red sun in his caves of the ocean,
Now closed every eye but of misery and mine;
While, led by the moonbeam, in fondest devotion,
I doat on her image, the Flower of the Tyne.
Her cheek far outrivals the rose's rich blossom,
Her eyes the bright gems of Golconda outshine;
The snow-drop and lily are lost on her bosom,
For beauty unmatched is the Flower of the Tyne.
So charming each feature, so guileless her nature,
A thousand fond voices pronounce her divine;
So witchingly pretty, so modestly witty,
That sweet is thy thraldom, fair Flower of the Tyne!
Thine aspect so noble, yet sweetly inviting,
The loves and the graces thy temples entwine;
In manners the saint and the syren uniting,
Bloom on, dear Louisa, the Flower of the Tyne.
Though fair, Caledonia, the nymphs of thy mountains,
And graceful and straight as thine own silver pine,
Though fresh as thy breezes, and pure as thy fountains,
Yet fairer to me is the Flower of the Tyne.
This poor throbbing heart as an offering I give her,
A temple to love is this bosom of mine;
Then smile on thy victim, Louisa, for ever,
I 'll kneel at thine altar, sweet Flower of the Tyne.
THOMAS CAMPBELL.
Thomas Campbell, author of the "Pleasures of Hope," was descended from a
race of landed proprietors in Argyleshire, who claimed ancestry in
Macallummore, the great head of clan Campbell, and consequent
propinquity to the noble House of Argyle. Alexander Campbell, the poet's
father, had carried on a prosperous trade as a Virginian merchant, but
had suffered unhappy embarrassments, at the outbreak of the American
war. Of his eleven children, Thomas was the youngest. He was born on the
27th July 1777, in his father's house, High Street, Glasgow, and was
baptised by the celebrated Dr Thomas Reid, after whom he received his
Christian name. The favourite child of his parents, peculiar care was
bestowed upon his upbringing; he was taught to read by his eldest
sister, who was nineteen years his senior, and had an example of energy
set before him by his mother, a woman of remarkable decision. He
afforded early indication of genius; as a child, he was fond of ballad
poetry, and in his tenth year he wrote verses. At the age of eight he
became a pupil in the grammar school, having already made some
proficiency in classical learning. During the first session of
attendance at the University, he gained two prizes and a bursary on
Archbishop Leighton's foundation. As a classical scholar, he acquired
rapid distinction; he took especial delight in the dramatic literature
of Greece, and his metrical translations from the Greek plays were
pronounced excellent specimens of poetical composition. He invoked the
muse on many themes, and occasionally printed verses, which were
purchased by his comrades. From the commencement of his curriculum he
chiefly supported himself by teaching; at the close of his fourth
session, he accepted a tutorship in the island of Mull. There he
prosecuted verse-making, and continued his translations from the Greek
dramatists. He conducted a poetical correspondence with Hamilton Paul;
and the following lines addressed to this early friend, and entitled "An
Elegy written in Mull," may be quoted in evidence of his poetical talent
in his seventeenth year. These lines do not occur in any edition of his
works:
"The tempest blackens on the dusky moor,
And billows lash the long-resounding shore;
In pensive mood I roam the desert ground,
And vainly sigh for scenes no longer found.
Oh, whither fled the pleasurable hours
That chased each care, and fired the muse's powers;
The classic haunts of youth, for ever gay
Where mirth and friendship cheer'd the close of day,
The well-known valleys where I wont to roam,
The native sports, the nameless joys of home?
Far different scenes allure my wondering eye:
The white wave foaming to the distant sky;
The cloudy heavens, unblest by summer's smile;
The sounding storm that sweeps the rugged isle,
The chill, bleak summit of eternal snow,
The wide, wild glen, the pathless plains below,
The dark blue rocks, in barren grandeur piled,
The cuckoo sighing to the pensive wild!
Far different these from all that charm'd before,
The grassy banks of Clutha's winding shore:
The sloping vales, with waving forests lined;
Her smooth blue lakes, unruffled by the wind.
Hail, happy Clutha! glad shall I survey
Thy gilded turrets from the distant way!
Thy sight shall cheer the weary traveller's toil,
And joy shall hail me to my native soil."
He remained at Mull five months; and subsequently became tutor in the
family of Sir William Napier, at Downie, near Loch Fyne. On completing a
fifth session at the University, he experienced anxiety regarding the
choice of a profession, chiefly with the desire of being able speedily
to aid in the support of his necessitous parents. He first thought of a
mercantile life, and then weighed the respective advantages of the
clerical, medical, and legal professions. For a period, he attempted
law, but soon tired of the drudgery which it threatened to impose. In
Edinburgh, during a brief period of legal study, he formed the
acquaintance of Dr Robert Anderson, through whose favour he became known
to the rising wits of the capital. Among his earlier friends he reckoned
the names of Francis Jeffrey, Henry Brougham, Thomas Brown, James
Graham, and David Irving.
In 1798, Campbell induced his parents to remove to Edinburgh, where he
calculated on literary employment. He had already composed the draught
of the "Pleasures of Hope," but he did not hazard its publication till
he had exhausted every effort in its improvement. His care was well
repaid; his poem produced one universal outburst of admiration, and one
edition after another rapidly sold. He had not completed his
twenty-second year when he gained a place among the most distinguished
poets of his country. For the copyright Mundell and Company allowed him
only two hundred copies in quires, which yielded him about fifty pounds;
but they presented him with twenty-five pounds on the appearance of each
successive edition. He was afterwards permitted to publish an edition on
his own account,--a privilege which brought him the sum of six hundred
pounds. Resolving to follow literature as a profession, he was desirous
of becoming personally acquainted with the distinguished men of letters
in Germany; in June 1800 he embarked at Leith for Hamburg. He visited
Ratisbon, Munich, and Leipsic; had an interview with the poet Klopstock,
then in his seventy-seventh year, and witnessed a battle between the
French and Germans, near Ratisbon. At Hamburg he formed the acquaintance
of Anthony M'Cann, who had been driven into exile by the Irish
Government in 1798, on the accusation of being a leader in the
rebellion. Of this individual he formed a favourable opinion, and his
condition suggested the exquisite poem, "The Exile of Erin." After some
months' residence at Altona, he sailed for England; the vessel narrowly
escaping capture by a privateer, landed him at Yarmouth, whence he
proceeded to London. He had been in correspondence with Perry of the
_Morning Chronicle_, who introduced him to Lord Holland, Sir James
Macintosh, and Samuel Rogers. Receiving tidings of his father's death,
he returned to Edinburgh. Not a little to his concern, he found that
warrants had been issued for his apprehension on the charge of high
treason; he was accused of attending Jacobin clubs at Hamburg, and of
conspiring with General Moreau and the Irish exiles to land troops in
Ireland! The seizure of his travelling trunk led to the ample
vindication of his loyalty; it was found to contain the first draught of
the "Mariners of England." Besides a magnificent quarto edition of the
"Pleasures of Hope," he now prepared a work in three volumes, entitled
"Annals of Great Britain;" for which the sum of three hundred pounds was
paid him by Mundell and Company. Through Professor Dugald Stewart, he
obtained the friendship of Lord Minto, who invited him to London, and
afterwards entertained him at Minto.
In 1803, Campbell resolved to settle in London; in his progress to the
metropolis he visited his friends Roscoe and Currie, at Liverpool. On
the 10th September, 1803, he espoused his fair cousin, Matilda Sinclair,
and established his residence in Upper Eaton Street, Pimlico. In the
following year, he sought refuge from the noise of the busy world in
London, by renting a house at Sydenham. His reputation readily secured
him a sufficiency of literary employment; he translated for the _Star_,
with a salary of two hundred pounds per annum, and became a contributor
to the _Philosophical Magazine_. He declined the offer of the Regent's
chair in the University of Wilna, in Russian-Poland; but shortly after
had conferred on him, by the premier, Charles Fox, a civil-list pension
of two hundred pounds. In 1809, he published his poem, "Gertrude of
Wyoming," along with the "Battle of the Baltic," the "Mariners of
England," "Hohenlinden," "Glenara," and others of his best lyrics. This
volume was well received, and added largely to his laurels. In 1811, he
delivered five lectures on poetry, in the Royal Institution.
Campbell was now a visitor in the first literary circles, and was
welcomed at the tables of persons of opulence. From the commencement of
his residence in London, he had known John Kemble, and his accomplished
sister, Mrs Siddons. He became intimate with Lord Byron and Thomas
Moore; and had the honour of frequent invitations to the residence of
the Princess of Wales, at Blackheath. In 1814, he visited Paris, where
he was introduced to the Duke of Wellington; dined with Humboldt and
Schlegel, and met his former friend and correspondent, Madame de Staël.
A proposal of Sir Walter Scott, in 1816, to secure him a chair in the
University of Edinburgh, was not attended with success. The "Specimens
of the British Poets," a work he had undertaken for Mr Murray, appeared
in 1819. In 1820, he accepted the editorship of the _New Monthly
Magazine_, with a salary of six hundred pounds per annum. A second
visit to Germany, which he accomplished immediately after the
commencement of his editorial duties, suggested to him the idea of the
London University; and this scheme, warmly supported by his literary
friends, and advocated by Lord Brougham, led in 1825 to the
establishment of the institution. In the year subsequent to this happy
consummation of his exertions on behalf of learning in the south, he
received intelligence of his having been elected Lord Rector of the
University of Glasgow. This honour was the most valued of his life; it
was afterwards enhanced by his re-election to office for the third
time,--a rare occurrence in the history of the College.
The future career of the poet was not remarkable for any decided
achievements in literature or poetry. In 1831, he allowed his name to be
used as the conductor of the _Metropolitan_, a short-lived periodical.
He published in 1834 a "Life of Mrs Siddons," in two volumes, but this
performance did not prove equal to public expectation. One of his last
efforts was the preparation of an edition of the "Pleasures of Hope,"
which was illustrated with engravings from drawings by Turner.
Subsequent to the death of Mrs Campbell, which took place in May 1828,
he became unsettled in his domestic habits, evincing a mania for change
of residence. In 1834, he proceeded to Algiers, in Africa; and returning
by Paris, was presented to King Louis Philippe. On his health failing,
some years afterwards, he tried the baths of Wiesbaden, and latterly
established his residence at Boulogne. After a prostrating illness of
several months, he expired at Boulogne, on the 15th of June 1844, in his
67th year.
Of the poetry of Thomas Campbell, "The Pleasures of Hope" is one of the
most finished epics in the language; it is alike faultless in respect
of conception and versification. His lyrics are equally sustained in
power of thought and loftiness of diction; they have been more
frequently quoted than the poems of any other modern author, and are
translated into various European languages. Few men evinced more
jealousy in regard to their reputation; he was keenly sensitive to
criticism, and fastidious in judging of his own composition. As a prose
writer, though he wrote with elegance, he is less likely to be
remembered. Latterly a native unsteadiness of purpose degenerated into
inaction; during the period of his unabated vigour, it prevented his
carrying out many literary schemes. A bad money manager, he had under no
circumstances become rich; at one period he was in the receipt of
fifteen hundred pounds per annum, yet he felt poverty. He had a strong
feeling of independence, and he never received a favour without
considering whether he might be able to repay it. He was abundantly
charitable, and could not resist the solicitations of indigence. Of
slavery and oppression in every form he entertained an abhorrence; his
zeal in the cause of liberty led him while a youth to be present in
Edinburgh at the trial of Gerard and others, for maintaining liberal
opinions, and to support in his maturer years the cause of the Polish
refugees. Naturally cheerful, he was subject to moods of despondency,
and his temper was ardent in circumstances of provocation. In personal
appearance he was rather under the middle height, and he dressed with
precision and neatness. His countenance was pleasing, but was only
expressive of power when lit up by congenial conversation. He was fond
of society and talked with fluency. His remains rest close by the ashes
of Sheridan, in Westminster Abbey, and over them a handsome monument has
lately been erected to his memory.
YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.
Ye mariners of England,
That guard our native seas;
Whose flag has braved a thousand years
The battle and the breeze!
Your glorious standard launch again
To match another foe;
And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.
The spirit of your fathers
Shall start from every wave;
For the deck it was their field of fame,
And ocean was their grave:
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.
Britannia needs no bulwarks,
No towers along the steep;
Her march is o'er the mountain-waves,
Her home is on the deep.
With thunders from her native oak,
She quells the floods below,--
As they roar on the shore,
When the stormy winds do blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.
The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn;
Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean warriors!
Our song and feast shall flow,
To the fame of your name,
When the storm has ceased to blow;
When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.
GLENARA.
Oh! heard ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale,
Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and wail?
'Tis the chief of Glenara laments for his dear;
And her sire, and the people, are call'd to her bier.
Glenara came first, with the mourners and shroud;
Her kinsmen they follow'd, but mourn'd not aloud:
Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around;
They march'd all in silence, they look'd on the ground.
In silence they reach'd, over mountain and moor,
To a heath where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar.
"Now here let us place the gray stone of her cairn;
Why speak ye no word?" said Glenara the stern.
"And tell me, I charge you, ye clan of my spouse!
Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your brows?"
So spake the rude chieftain. No answer is made,
But each mantle unfolding, a dagger display'd.
"I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud,"
Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud;
"And empty that shroud and that coffin did seem.
Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream."
Oh! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween,
When the shroud was unclosed, and no lady was seen;
When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn--
'Twas the youth who had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn:
"I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief,
I dreamt that her lord was a barbarous chief;
On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem.
Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!"
In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground,
And the desert reveal'd where his lady was found;
From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne--
Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn!
THE WOUNDED HUSSAR.
Alone to the banks of the dark-rolling Danube,
Fair Adelaide hied when the battle was o'er.
"O, whither," she cried, "hast thou wander'd, my lover,
Or here dost thou welter and bleed on the shore?
"What voice did I hear? 'twas my Henry that sigh'd!"
All mournful she hasten'd, nor wander'd she far,
When, bleeding and low, on the heath she descried,
By the light of the moon, her poor wounded hussar!
From his bosom, that heaved, the last torrent was streaming,
And pale was his visage, deep mark'd with a scar,
And dim was that eye, once expressively beaming,
That melted in love, and that kindled in war!
How smit was poor Adelaide's heart at the sight!
How bitter she wept o'er the victim of war!
"Hast thou come, my fond love, this last sorrowful night,
To cheer the lone heart of your wounded hussar?"
"Thou shalt live," she replied; "Heaven's mercy relieving
Each anguishing wound shall forbid me to mourn!"
"Ah, no! the last pang of my bosom is heaving;
No light of the morn shall to Henry return!
"Thou charmer of life, ever tender and true!
Ye babes of my love, that await me afar!"
His faltering tongue scarce could murmur adieu,
When he sank in her arms--the poor wounded hussar.
BATTLE OF THE BALTIC.
Of Nelson and the North,
Sing the glorious day's renown,
When to battle fierce came forth,
All the might of Denmark's crown,
And her arms along the deep proudly shone;
By each gun the lighted brand,
In a bold determined hand,
And the Prince of all the land
Led them on.
Like leviathans afloat,
Lay their bulwarks on the brine;
While the sign of battle flew
On the lofty British line:
It was ten of April morn by the chime,
As they drifted on their path,
There was silence deep as death,
And the boldest held his breath
For a time.
But the might of England flush'd
To anticipate the scene;
And her van the fleeter rush'd
O'er the deadly space between.
"Hearts of oak!" our Captain cried; when each gun
From its adamantine lips
Spread a death-shade round the ships,
Like the hurricane eclipse
Of the sun.
Again! again! again!
And the havoc did not slack,
Till a feeble cheer the Dane
To our cheering sent us back;
Their shots along the deep slowly boom;
Then ceased, and all is wail,
As they strike the shatter'd sail,
Or in conflagration pale
Light the gloom.
Out spoke the victor then,
As he hail'd them o'er the wave--
"Ye are brothers! ye are men!
And we conquer but to save.
So peace instead of death let us bring;
But yield, proud foe! thy fleet,
With the crews, at England's feet,
And make submission meet
To our King."
Then Denmark bless'd our chief
That he gave her wounds repose;
And the sounds of joy and grief
From her people wildly rose,
As Death withdrew his shades from the day.
While the sun look'd smiling bright
O'er a wide and woeful sight,
Where the fires of funeral light
Died away.
Now joy, Old England, raise!
For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities blaze,
Whilst the wine-cup shines in light;
And yet amidst that joy and uproar,
Let us think of them that sleep,
Full many a fathom deep,
By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore!
Brave hearts! to Britain's pride,
Once so faithful and so true,
On the deck of fame that died,
With the gallant good Riou,
Soft sigh the winds of Heaven o'er their grave!
While the billow mournful rolls,
And the mermaid's song condoles,
Singing glory to the souls
Of the brave!
MEN OF ENGLAND.
Men of England, who inherit
Rights that cost your sires their blood!
Men whose undegenerate spirit
Has been proved on field and flood,
By the foes you 've fought uncounted,
By the glorious deeds ye 've done,
Trophies captured, breaches mounted,
Navies conquer'd, kingdoms won.
Yet, remember, England gathers
Hence but fruitless wreathes of fame,
If the freedom of your fathers
Glow not in your hearts the same.
What are monuments of bravery,
Whence no public virtues bloom?
What avail in lands of slavery,
Trophied temples, arch and tomb?
Pageants!--Let the world revere us
For our people's rights and laws,
And the breasts of civic heroes,
Bared in Freedom's holy cause.
Yours are Hampden's, Russell's glory,
Sidney's matchless shade is yours,
Martyrs in heroic story,
Worth a hundred Agincourts!
We 're the sons of sires that baffled
Crown'd and mitred tyranny;
They defied the field and scaffold
For their birthrights--so will we!
MRS G. G. RICHARDSON.[112]
Caroline Eliza Scott, better known as Mrs G. G. Richardson, the daughter
of a gentleman of considerable property in the south of Scotland, was
born at Forge, her father's family residence, in the parish of Canonbie,
on the 24th of November 1777, and spent her childhood and early youth
amidst Border scenes, Border traditions, and Border minstrelsy. It is
probable that these influences fostered the poetic temperament, while
they fed the imaginative element of her mind, as she very early gave
expression to her thoughts and feelings in romance and poetry. Born to a
condition of favourable circumstances, and associating with parents
themselves educated and intellectual, the young poetess enjoyed
advantages of development rarely owned by the sons and daughters of
genius. The flow of her mind was allowed to take its natural course; and
some of her early anonymous writings are quite as remarkable as any of
her acknowledged productions. Her conversational powers were lively and
entertaining, but never oppressive. She was ever ready to discern and do
homage to the merits of her contemporaries, while she never failed to
fan the faintest flame of latent poesy in the aspirations of the timid
or unknown. Affectionate and cheerful in her dispositions, she was a
loving and dutiful daughter, and shewed the tenderest attachment to a
numerous family of brothers and sisters. She was married to her cousin,
Gilbert Geddes Richardson, on the 29th of April 1799, at Fort George,
Madras; where she was then living with her uncle, General, afterwards
Lord Harris; and the connexion proved, in all respects, a suitable and
happy one. Her husband, at that time captain of an Indiaman, was one of
a number of brothers, natives of the south of Scotland, who all sought
their fortunes in India, and one of whom, Lieutenant-Colonel Richardson,
became known in literature as an able translator of Sanscrit poetry, and
contributor to the "Asiatic Researches." He was lost at sea, with his
wife and six children, on their homeward voyage; and this distressing
event, accompanied as it was by protracted suspense and anxiety, was
long and deeply deplored by his gifted sister-in-law.
Young, beautiful, and doubly attractive from the warmth of her heart,
and the fascination of her manners, Mrs Richardson was not only loved
and appreciated by her husband, and his family, but greatly admired in a
refined circle of Anglo-Indian society; and the few years of her married
life were marked by almost uninterrupted felicity. But death struck down
the husband and father in the very prime of manhood; and the widow
returned with her five children (all of whom survived her), to seek from
the scenes and friends of her early days such consolation as they might
minister to a grief which only those who have experienced it can
measure. She never brought her own peculiar sorrows before the public;
but there is a tone of gentle mournfulness pervading many of her poems,
that may be traced to this cause; and there are touching allusions to
"one of rare endowments," that no one who remembered her husband's
character could fail to recognise. Her intense love of nature happily
remained unchanged; and the green hills, the flowing river, and the
tangled wildwood, could still soothe a soul that, but for its
susceptibility to these beneficent charms, might have said in its
sadness of everything earthly, "miserable comforters are ye all."
Continuing to reside at Forge while her children were young, she devoted
herself to the direction of their education, the cultivation of her own
pure tastes, and the peaceful enjoyments of a country life; and when she
afterwards removed to London, and reappeared in brilliant and
distinguished society, she often reverted, with regret, to the bright
skies and cottage homes of Canonbie. In 1821, Mrs Richardson again
returned to Scotland, and took up her abode at Dumfries, partly from the
desire of being near her connexions, and partly for the sake of the
beautiful scenery surrounding that pretty county town. In 1828 she
published, by subscription, her first volume of miscellaneous poems,
which was well received by the public, favourably noticed by the leading
journals, and received a circulation even beyond the range of 1700
subscribers. A second edition, in a larger form, soon followed; and, in
1834, after finally settling in her native parish, she published a
second volume, dedicated to the Duchess of Buccleuch, and which was also
remarkably successful. From this time she employed her talents in the
composition of prose; she published "Adonia," a novel, in three volumes;
and various tales, essays, and fugitive pieces, forming contributions to
popular serials. Her later poems remain in manuscript. She maintained an
extensive correspondence with her literary friends, and spent much of
her time in reading and study, and in the practice of sincere and
unostentatious piety. Her faculties were vigorous and unimpared, until
the seizure of her last illness, which quickly terminated in death, on
the 9th October 1853, when she had nearly completed her seventy-sixth
year. She died at Forge, and was laid to rest in the church-yard of her
own beloved Canonbie.
[112] The memoir of Mrs G. G. Richardson has been kindly supplied by her
accomplished relative, Mrs Macarthur, Hillhead, near Glasgow.
THE FAIRY DANCE.
The fairies are dancing--how nimbly they bound!
They flit o'er the grass tops, they touch not the ground;
Their kirtles of green are with diamonds bedight,
All glittering and sparkling beneath the moonlight.
Hark, hark to their music! how silvery and clear--
'Tis surely the flower-bells that ringing I hear,--
The lazy-wing'd moth, with the grasshopper wakes,
And the field-mouse peeps out, and their revels partakes.
How featly they trip it! how happy are they
Who pass all their moments in frolic and play,
Who rove where they list, without sorrows or cares,
And laugh at the fetters mortality wears!
But where have they vanish'd?--a cloud 's o'er the moon,
I 'll hie to the spot,--they 'll be seen again soon--
I hasten--'tis lighter,--and what do I view?--
The fairies were grasses, the diamonds were dew.
And thus do the sparkling illusions of youth
Deceive and allure, and we take them for truth;
Too happy are they who the juggle unshroud,
Ere the hint to inspect them be brought by a cloud.
SUMMER MORNING.
How pleasant, how pleasant to wander away,
O'er the fresh dewy fields at the dawning of day,--
To have all this silence and lightness my own,
And revel with Nature, alone,--all alone!
What a flush of young beauty lies scatter'd around,
In this calm, holy sunshine, and stillness profound!
The myriads are sleeping, who waken to care,
And earth looks like Eden, ere Adam was there.
The herbage, the blossoms, the branches, the skies,
That shower on the river their beautiful dyes,
The far misty mountains, the wide waving fields,
What healthful enjoyment surveying them yields!
Yes, this is the hour Nature's lovers partake,
The manna that melts when Life's vapours awake;
Another, and thoughts will be busy, oh how
Unlike the pure vision they 're ranging in now!
Lo! the hare scudding forth, lo! the trout in the stream
Gently splashing, are stirring the folds of my dream,
The cattle are rising, and hark, the first bird,--
And now in full chorus the woodlands are heard.
Oh, who on the summer-clad landscape can gaze,
In the orison hour, nor break forth into praise,--
Who, through this fair garden contemplative rove,
Nor feel that the Author and Ruler is love?
I ask no hewn temple, sufficient is here;
I ask not art's anthems, the woodland is near;
The breeze is all risen, each leaf at his call
Has a tear drop of gratitude ready to fall!
THERE 'S MUSIC IN THE FLOWING TIDE.
There 's music in the flowing tide, there 's music in the air,
There 's music in the swallow's wing, that skims so lightly there,
There 's music in each waving tress of grove, and bower, and tree,
To eye and ear 'tis music all where Nature revels free.
There 's discord in the gilded halls where lordly rivals meet,
There 's discord where the harpers ring to beauty's glancing feet,
There 's discord 'neath the jewell'd robe, the wreath, the plume, the crest,
Wherever Fashion waves her wand, there discord rules the breast.
There 's music 'neath the cottage eaves, when, at the close of day,
Kind-hearted mirth and social ease the toiling hour repay;
Though coarse the fare, though rude the jest, that cheer that lowly board,
There loving hearts and honest lips sweet harmony afford!
Oh! who the music of the groves, the music of the heart,
Would barter for the city's din, the frigid tones of art?
The virtues flourish fresh and fair, where rural waters glide.
They shrink and wither, droop and die, where rolls that turbid tide.
AH! FADED IS THAT LOVELY BLOOM.
_Written to an Italian Air._
Ah! faded is that lovely bloom,
And closed in death that speaking eye,
And buried in a green grass tomb,
What once breathed life and harmony!
Surely the sky is all too dark,
And chilly blows the summer air,--
And, where 's thy song now, sprightly lark,
That used to wake my slumb'ring fair?
Ah! never shalt thou wake her more!
And thou, bright sun, shalt ne'er again,
On inland mead, or sea-girt shore,
Salute the darling of the plain.
Maiden! they bade me o'er thy fate
Numbers and strains mellifluous swell,
They knew the love I bore thee great,--
They knew not what I ne'er can tell.
The unstrung heart to others leaves
The music of a feebler woe,
Her numbers are the sighs she heaves,
Her off'ring tears that ever flow.
Where could I gather fancies now?
They 're with'ring on thy lowly tomb,--
My summer was thy cheek and brow,
And perish'd is that lovely bloom!
THOMAS BROWN, M.D.
Illustrious as a metaphysician, Dr Thomas Brown is entitled to a place
in the poetical literature of his country. He was the youngest son of
Samuel Brown, minister of Kirkmabreck, in the stewartry of
Kirkcudbright, and was born in the manse of that parish, on the 9th
January 1778. His father dying when he was only a year old, his
childhood was superintended solely by his mother, who established her
abode in Edinburgh. Evincing an uncommon aptitude for knowledge, he
could read and understand the Scriptures ere he had completed his fifth
year. At the age of seven he was committed to the charge of a maternal
uncle in London, who placed him at the schools of Camberwell and
Chiswick, and afterwards at two other classical seminaries, in all of
which he exhibited remarkable precocity in learning. On the death of his
relative he returned to Edinburgh, and in his fourteenth year entered
the University of that city. During a visit to Liverpool, in the summer
of 1793, he was introduced to Dr Currie, who, presenting him with a copy
of Dugald Stewart's "Elements of Philosophy," was the means of directing
his attention to metaphysical inquiries. The following session he became
a student in Professor Stewart's class; and differing from a theory
advanced in one of the lectures, he modestly read his sentiments on the
subject to his venerable preceptor. The philosopher and pupil were
henceforth intimate friends.
In his nineteenth year, Brown became a member of the "Academy of
Physics," a philosophical association established by the scientific
youths of the University, and afterwards known to the world as having
given origin to the _Edinburgh Review_. As a member of this society he
formed the intimacy of Brougham, Jeffrey, Leyden, Logan, Sydney Smith,
and other literary aspirants. In 1778 he published "Observations on the
Zoonomia of Dr Darwin,"--a pamphlet replete with deep philosophical
sentiment, and which so attracted the notice of his friends that they
used every effort, though unsuccessfully, to secure him the chair of
rhetoric in the University during the vacancy which soon afterwards
occurred. His professional views were originally directed to the bar,
but disgusted with the law after a twelve-month's trial, he entered on a
medical course, to qualify himself as physician, and in 1803 received
his diploma. His new profession was scarcely more congenial than that
which he had abandoned, nor did the prospects of success, on being
assumed as a partner by Dr Gregory, reconcile him to his duties. His
favourite pursuits were philosophy and poetry; he published in 1804 two
volumes of miscellaneous poems which he had chiefly written at college,
and he was among the original contributors to the _Edinburgh Review_,
the opening article in the second number, on "Kant's Philosophy,"
proceeding from his pen. An essay on Hume's "Theory of Causation," which
he produced during the struggle attendant on Mr Leslie's appointment to
the mathematical chair, established his hitherto growing reputation; and
the public in the capital afterwards learned, with more than
satisfaction, that he had consented to act as substitute for Professor
Dugald Stewart, when increasing infirmities had compelled that
distinguished individual to retire from the active business of his
chair. In this new sphere he fully realised the expectations of his
admirers; he read his own lectures, which, though hastily composed,
often during the evenings prior to their delivery, were listened to with
an overpowering interest, not only by the regular students, but by many
professional persons in the city. Such distinction had its corresponding
reward; after assisting in the moral philosophy class for two years, he
was in 1810 appointed to the joint professorship.
Successful as a philosopher, Dr Brown was desirous of establishing a
reputation as a poet. In 1814 he published anonymously the "Paradise of
Coquettes," a poem which was favourably received. "The Wanderer of
Norway," a poem, appeared in 1816, and "Agnes" and "Emily," two other
distinct volumes of poems, in the two following years. He died at
Brompton, near London, on the 2d April 1820, and his remains were
conveyed for interment to the churchyard of his native parish. Amidst a
flow of ornate and graceful language, the poetry of Dr Brown is
disfigured by a morbid sensibility and a philosophy which dims rather
than enlightens. He possessed, however, many of the mental concomitants
of a great poet; he loved rural retirement and romantic scenery; well
appreciated the beautiful both in nature and in art; was conversant with
the workings of the human heart and the history of nations; was
influenced by generous emotions, and luxuriated in a bold and lofty
imagination.[113]
[113] Margaret Brown, one of the three sisters of Dr Brown, published
"Lays of Affection." Edinburgh, 1819, 12mo. She was a woman of gentle
and unobtrusive manners and of pious disposition. Her poems constitute a
respectable memorial of her virtues.
CONSOLATION OF ALTERED FORTUNES.
Yes! the shades we must leave which my childhood has haunted,
Each charm by endearing remembrance improved;
These walks of our love, the sweet bower thou hast planted,--
We must leave them to eyes that will view them unmoved.
Oh, weep not, my Fanny! though changed be our dwelling,
We bear with us all, in the home of our mind;
In virtues will glow that heart, fondly swelling,
Affection's best treasure we leave not behind.
I shall labour, but still by thy image attended--
Can toil be severe which a smile can repay?
How glad shall we meet! every care will be ended;
And our evening of bliss will be more than a day.
Content's cheerful beam will our cottage enlighten;
New charms the new cares of thy love will inspire;
Thy smiles, 'mid the smiles of our offspring, will lighten;
I shall see it--and oh, can I feel a desire?
THE FAITHLESS MOURNER.
When thy smile was still clouded in gloom,
When the tear was still dim in thine eye,
I thought of the virtues, scarce cold in the tomb,
And I spoke not of love to thy sigh!
I spoke not of love; yet the breast,
Which mark'd thy long anguish,--deplore
The sire, whom in sickness, in age, thou hadst bless'd,
Though silent, was loving thee more!
How soon wert thou pledged to my arms,
Thou hadst vow'd, but I urged not the day;
And thine eye grateful turn'd, oh, so sweet were its charms,
That it more than atoned the delay.
I fear'd not, too slow of belief--
I fear'd not, too proud of thy heart,
That another would steal on the hour of thy grief,
That thy grief would be soft to his art.
Thou heardst--and how easy allured,
Every vow of the past to forsware;
The love, which for thee would all pangs have endured,
Thou couldst smile, as thou gav'st to despair.
Ah, think not my passion has flown!
Why say that my vows now are free?
Why say--yes! I feel that my heart is my own;
I feel it is breaking for thee.
THE LUTE.
Ah! do not bid me wake the lute,
It once was dear to Henry's ear.
Now be its voice for ever mute,
The voice which Henry ne'er can hear.
Though many a month has pass'd since Spring,
His grave's wan turf has bloom'd anew,
One whisper of those chords would bring,
In all its grief, our last adieu.
The songs he loved--'twere sure profane
To careless Pleasure's laughing brow
To breathe; and oh! what other strain
To Henry's lute could love allow?
Though not a sound thy soul hath caught,
To mine it looks, thus softly dead,
A sweeter tenderness of thought
Than all its living strings have shed.
Then ask me not--the charm was broke;
With each loved vision must I part;
If gay to every ear it spoke,
'Twould speak no longer to my heart.
Yet once too blest!--the moonlit grot,
Where last I gave its tones to swell;
Ah! the _last_ tones--thou heardst them not--
From other hands than mine they fell.
Still, silent slumbering, let it keep
That sacred touch! And oh! as dim
To life, would, would that I could sleep,
Could sleep, and only dream of _him_!
WILLIAM CHALMERS.
William Chalmers was born at Paisley in 1779. He carried on the business
of a tobacconist and grocer in his native town, and for a period enjoyed
considerable prosperity. Unfortunate reverses caused him afterwards to
abandon merchandise, and engage in a variety of occupations. At
different times he sought employment as a dentist, a drysalter, and a
book distributor; he sold small stationery as a travelling merchant, and
ultimately became keeper of the refreshment booth at the Paisley railway
station. He died at Paisley on the 3d of November 1843. Chalmers wrote
respectable verses on a number of subjects, but his muse was especially
of a humorous tendency. Possessed of a certain versatility of talent, he
published, in 1839, a curious production with the quaint title,
"Observations on the Weather in Scotland, shewing what kinds of weather
the various winds produce, and what winds are most likely to prevail in
each month of the year." His compositions in verse were chiefly
contributed to the local periodicals and newspapers.
SING ON.
AIR--_"The Pride of the Broomlands."_
Sing on, thou little bird,
Thy wild notes sae loud,
O sing, sweetly sing frae the tree;
Aft beneath thy birken bow'r
I have met at e'ening hour
My young Jamie that 's far o'er the sea.
On yon bonnie heather knowes
We pledged our mutual vows,
And dear is the spot unto me;
Though pleasure I hae nane,
While I wander alane,
And my Jamie is far o'er the sea.
But why should I mourn,
The seasons will return,
And verdure again clothe the lea;
The flow'rets shall spring,
And the saft breeze shall bring,
My dear laddie again back to me.
Thou star! give thy light,
Guide my lover aright,
Frae rocks and frae shoals keep him free;
Now gold I hae in store,
He shall wander no more,
No, no more shall he sail o'er the sea.
THE LOMOND BRAES.
"O, lassie, wilt thou go
To the Lomond wi' me?
The wild thyme 's in bloom.
And the flower 's on the lea;
Wilt thou go my dearest love?
I will ever constant prove,
I 'll range each hill and grove
On the Lomond wi' thee."
"O young men are fickle,
Nor trusted to be,
And many a native gem
Shines fair on the lea:
Thou mayst see some lovely flower,
Of a more attractive power,
And may take her to thy bower
On the Lomond wi' thee."
"The hynd shall forsake,
On the mountain the doe,
The stream of the fountain
Shall cease for to flow;
Ben-Lomond shall bend
His high brow to the sea,
Ere I take to my bower
Any flower, love, but thee."
She 's taken her mantle,
He 's taken his plaid;
He coft her a ring,
And he made her his bride:
They 're far o'er yon hills,
To spend their happy days,
And range the woody glens
'Mang the Lomond braes.
JOSEPH TRAIN.
A zealous and respectable antiquary and cultivator of historical
literature, Joseph Train is likewise worthy of a niche in the temple of
Scottish minstrelsy. His ancestors were for several generations
land-stewards on the estate of Gilmilnscroft, in the parish of Sorn, and
county of Ayr, where he was born on the 6th November 1779. When he was
eight years old, his parents removed to Ayr, where, after a short
attendance at school, he was apprenticed to a mechanical occupation. His
leisure hours were sedulously devoted to reading and mental improvement.
In 1799, he was balloted for the Ayrshire Militia; in which he served
for three years till the regiment was disbanded on the peace of Amiens.
When he was stationed at Inverness, he had commissioned through a
bookseller a copy of Currie's edition of the "Works of Burns," then sold
at three half-guineas, and this circumstance becoming incidentally known
to the Colonel of the regiment, Sir David Hunter Blair, he caused the
copy to be elegantly bound and delivered free of expense. Much pleased
with his intelligence and attainments, Sir David, on the disembodiment
of the regiment, actively sought his preferment; he procured him an
agency at Ayr for the important manufacturing house of Finlay and Co.,
Glasgow, and in 1808, secured him an appointment in the Excise. In 1810,
Train was sometime placed on service as a supernumerary in Perthshire;
he was in the year following settled as an excise officer at Largs,
from which place in 1813 he was transferred to Newton Stewart. The
latter location, from the numerous objects of interest which were
presented in the surrounding district, was highly suitable for his
inclinations and pursuits. Recovering many curious legends, he embodied
some of them in metrical tales, which, along with a few lyrical pieces,
he published in 1814, in a thin octavo volume,[114] under the title of
"Strains of the Mountain Muse." While the sheets were passing through
the press, some of them were accidentally seen by Sir Walter Scott, who,
warmly approving of the author's tastes, procured his address, and
communicated his desire to become a subscriber for the volume.