— ; ; —!

APPENDIX.^

And so let my spirit calml}' rise, THE LAST WISH. From the loved upon earth, to the blest in the skies, William Lindsay Alexander, D.D., a minister of lose I liave loved so long, theScottish Congregational Cliurch; born at Edinburgh. And the sweet tones August 24, ISOS. In 1S54 he was appointed professor of In the glorious burst of the heavenly song. theology to his denomination in Scotland, and iu ISTO was chosen one of the Old Testament Revision Com- pany. Dr. Alexander is the author of Anglo-Cat lio- licisiii net A/'Ostnlical, Christ and Clu-islianity , Life of Dr. Wardlaio, &c. THE FOUXTAIX OF LIFE.

No more, no more of the cares of time! John Anderson, D.D., minister of the parish of Speak to me now of that happy cUme, Kinnoull; born at Newburgh in Fifeshire. lie is the Where the ear never lists to the sufferer's author of two poetical volumes entitled The Pl-afwes moan, of Home and The Lffiend of Gmicjc, and a contributor to the periodicals of the day. And sorrow and care are all unknown: Now when my pulse beats faint and slow. And my moments are numbered here below, 'Mid the hot desert, where the pilgiim pines With thy soft, sweet voice, my sister, tell For the cool shadow and the streamlet clear, Of that land where my spirit longs to dwell. Seeking his weary way t j Zion's shrines, A fountain murmm-s comfort in his ear. Oh! yes, let me hear of its blissful bowers, that source of bliss. And its trees of life, and its fadeless flowers Stem winter seals not up drinks it dry; Of its crystal streets, and its radiant throng. The eastern sunbeam never With their harps of gold, and their endless Fresh flowers and greenest grass its waters kiss. song; And whispering palms defend it from the sky. Of its glorious palms and its raiment white. And its streamlets all lucid with living light; There men of every clime refreshment seek; And its emerald plains, where the ransomed All sins and sorrows meet securely there; stray, These waves have kiss'd remorse's haggard cheek, 'Mid the bloom and the bliss of a changeless And smoothed the wrinkles on the brow of care. day. The lip of passion there hath quenched its flame, And tell me of those who are resting there, While pale contrition s;idly hung its head Far from sorrow and free from care That fount hath mirror'd back the blush of shame. The loved of my soul, who passed away And wash'd the savage hand, with murder red In the roseate bloom of their early day; Oh! are they not bending around me now, Sinner, for thee a purer fountain flows, Light in each eye and joy on each brow, To soothe the sorrowful, to help the weak; Waiting until my spirit fly, To wash the reddest crimes, like spotless snows To herald me home to my rest on high ? That gleam on Lebanon's untrodden peak.

Thus, thus, sweet sister, let me hear Come, men of every clime and everj' care, Thy loved voice fall on my hstening ear. Behold the words upon that fountain's brink Like the murmur of streams in that happy grove "If any sigh in sin, to me repair; That circles the home of our early love; Or thirst in sorrow, come to mc and drink!"

The word of God is that unfailing foimt. ' The dates of birth being in some cases uncertain, Life is the desert where its waters flow; the names of the authors in the Appendix have been if hope to win the holy mount. aiTanged, not chronologically, but in alphabetical order. Drink, you —Ed. Where Zion's shrines in hght eternal glow. : —

512 APPENDIX.

Within this week her pigeons have Eat up a peck of peas at least. UNGRATEFUL XAKNIE. Her little pigeons kiss; but she Would never take a kiss from me. Charles Hamilton, Lord Binning, eldest son of Tlionms, sixth Earl of Hailciingtoii; born in 1696, Jied Must Robin always Nannie woo? at Naples in 17:3:.'. This was a popular song during still the eiirly part of last century, and may be nuoted as a And Nannie on Robin frown? fivourable specimen of the fasliioiiable pastoral which Alas, poor wretch! what shall I do then prevailed. Allan Cunningham says;— "It is a If Nannie does not love me soon? and may be jueserved as the failure of an curious song, If no relief to me she'll bring, experiment to inflict conventional wit and the smart- I'll hang me in her apron string. ness and conceit of a town life on country pursuits and rural mannera."

Did ever swain a nymph adore A.S I ungrateful Nannie do] MY MAMMY. Was ever shepherd's heart so sore ? Was ever broken heart so true ] Walter Graham Blackie, Ph D., F.R.G S., born in My cheeks are swell'd witii tears; but she Glasgow, 1816. Educated privately, and at the univer- Has never shed a tear for me. sity of his native city. Wliilst stutlying in Germany lie obtained the degree of Doctor of Philosophy from the University of Jen.a. He lias written seveial songs and If Nannie call'd, did IJobin stay, translations of poetry and prose; but his principal Or linger wlien she bade me run? work is the Imperivl Gazetteer, a Dictionary of General She only had a word to say, Geography, on which he was engaged about ten years. And all she ask'd was quickly done. I always thought on her; but she Ilk ane now-a-days brags awa' 'b^ut his dear. Would ne'er bestow a thought on mc. And praises her ripe lips and bright een sae clear; But neither the ripe lip nor boiniie blue e'e blink o' To let her cows my clover taste, Can compai'e wi' the my mammy to me. Have I not rose by break of day? When did her heifers ever fast, A baini in her bosom I lay a' the night, there, bogies nor ghaists could If Robin in liis yard had hay? When neither me Though to my fields they welcome were, fright; yamm'rin', she hushed me to sleep on her I never welcome was to her. When knee

0! wha e'er can compare wi' my mammy to mc ? If Nannie ever lost a sheep, I cheerfully did give her two. Fu' aft in her face I ha'e look'd up fu' fain. Did not her lambs in safety sleep While fondly she clasp'd me and croon'd seme Within my folds in frost and snow? auld strain, Have they not there from cold been free? And aften the saut tear wad start to my e'e: But Nannie still is cold to me. They were waesomo, the sangs o' my mammy, to me. Whene'er I climb'd our orchard trees, Tiie ripest fruit was kept for Nan: 0! yes, I ha'e grat for the twa bonnie weans Oh, how these hands that drown'd her bees The wee robins cover'd wi' leaves wi' sic pains: AVcre stung! I'll ne'er forget the pain: And still, like a sunbeam that glints o'er the sea, to Sweet were tlic combs as sweet could be; The auld sangs o' my mammy return back me. But Nannie ne'er look'd sweet on mc. When sickness o'ercam' me, she watch'd late and air, If Nannie to the well did come, If opcn'd my dull e'e I aye saw her there; 'Twas I that did her pitchers fill; When roses my pale cheeks o'ersjircad, blytho Full as tlicy were, I brought them home; was she Her corn I carried to the mill; 0! whae'er was sac kind as my mammy to me? My back did l)car licr sacks; but she Could never bear the sight o' me. Lang, lang I'll remember the days that are gane, Since first I could lisp mam' and toddle my lane; To Nannie's poultry oats I gave; Though sair I be toss'd upon life's troubled sea. I'm sure they always had the best; Yet my heart will aye cling wi' affection to thee. APPENDIX. 513

By break of day the lark can sny, LEADER HAUGHS AND YARROW. I'll bid you a good morrow;

In the Roxburghe Ballads this song is signed "the I'll .stretch my wing, and, mounting, sing words of Buiiie the Violer," supposed to be Nicol O'er Leader Haughs and Yarrow. Burne, a wandering minstrel of the seventeenth cen- Although little more tlian a string of names tury. Park, Wanton-wa's, and Wooden-deuch, of places dear to the author, it is so full of melody The Last and Wester ilainses, and tender mournful simplicity that it Inis been for two centuries dear to the Iiearts of the old minstrel's The wood of Lauder 's fair eneuch, countrymen in the south of Scotland, and has long kept The corns are good in the Blainslics; its place in collections of Scottish song. There aits are fine, and said by kind. That if ye search all thorough AVhen Phoebus bright the azure skies Mcarns, Buchan, ilarr, nane better are AVith golden rays enlight'neth, Than Leader Haughs and Yarrow. He makes all nature's beauties rise, Herbs, trees, and flowers he quick'neth; In Burn-mill Bog, and AVhit.

Roll among your sunny brae.s, SWEET JESSIE 0' THE DELL. 'Mid hazel buds and blooming slaes; Where the housewife's linens bleach William Cameron, bom in parish of Dunipace, Stir- By the bits of silver beach. school- lingshire, Dec. 3, ISOl. He was for some time Bathgate, and afterwards iiiji^ter at Armadale iievr Roll away through moss and moor. Glasgow. He is the author of some popular removed to Where the rains in torrents pour; songs, which have been set to excellent music. In 1874 Then the crowflower's gentle bell Mr. Cameron was presented with a jmrse of one hun- dred guineas by his numerous friends and admirers. Floats upon your muddy swell.

bright tlie beaming queen o' night Mountain thyme and heather grow. Shines in yon flow'ry vale, Bending o'er your gleesome flow; And .softly sheds her silver light Moorland trout, in rainbow sheen, O'er mountain, path, and dale. In your amber floods are seen.

Short i.s the way, when light's the heart

That's bound in love's soft spell; ! little rill with many a crook. onward to the brook; Sae I'll awa' to Armadale, Twisting in your motion ever. To Jessie o' the Dell, Singing to join the river. To Jessie o' the Dell, Making haste Sweet Jessie o' the Dell, You with trailing fragments play. The bonnie lass o' Armadale, Flowing on your watery way; Sweet Jessie o' the Dell. To wimple, dimple, day and night. We've pu'd the primrose on the braes O'er your bed of pebbles bright. Beside my Jessie's cot, laughing thing. We've gather'd nuts, we've gather'd slaes. Precious are you, still you sing and ring; In that sweet rural spot. Onward clear and cold, The wee short hours danced merrily, Gushing, rushing, better far than gold. Like lambkins on the fell; You are As if they join'd in joy wi' me You wash the braes in winter time; And Jessie o' the Dell. Up the banks your wavelets climb; in their beds so deep, There's nane to me wi' her can vie, Rocking, All the finny tribes to sleep. I'll love her till I dee; For she's sae sweet and bonnie aye, Charming rill, the Avater elves And kind as kind can be. Rest upon your tiny shelves; This night in mutual kind embrace. "With shining scale and flashing fin, Oh, wha our joys may tell; Merrily pop they out and in. Then I'll awa' to Armadale, To Jessie o' the Dell. Where clinging cresses tightly clasp Reeds and roots within their grasp. Are palaces of elf-kings, where They may feast on regal fare: WILLIE MILL'S BUR^^. Then doffing boots and spurs of gold, Mrs. Elizabeth Campbell, a poetess in humble life; AVhen the day is getting old bom Feb. H, 1S04, in the parish of Tannadice, Forfar- To the hidden nooks they creep. hliire; now resident at Lochee, Dundee. She is entirely happily to sleep. self-taught, and has found song a tme solace in a Safe and life marked by no common afflictions. The following simple description of the wanderings of a Scottish bum At the dawn starts many a fin, —in its way quite eipial, says a critic, to Tennyson's Leaping light in loch and linn, " Brook"— is from her volume entitled Soni/s of hn> Underneath the swinging rooks Pihidiiwgc, published in 187(5, and very favourably their bread is in the brooks. noticed by the press. Where

Koll away, you shining rill, Dancing down the rushy glen, OfF-^pring of a heath-clad hill, Flowing on tiirough field and fen. Through tlie moors and mossy bogs. Piping to the clouds and stars,

Turn the mills and fill the cogs. Overleaping rocky bars. — i —

APPENDIX. 515

Sighing: 'mong the sand and stones, She's backit like a peacock, In the meadows green it moans; Siic's breisted like a swan. Murmuring in silent shades, She's jimp about the middle, Whistling through the forest glades. Iler waist ye wcel micht span; llcr waist ye wcel micht span.

Tumbling, rumbling, on it wheels, And she has a rolling eye, Into lovers' corners reels; And for bonnie Annie Laurie AVith a hearty tireless will I'd lay doun my head and die. Onward bounds the busy rill.

Flash and flow where roses throng. Where birds lengthen out their song; Pipe you time into their ears. THE MAID OF ISLAY. As you shed your crystal tears. William Dunbar, D.D., bom at Dumfries in 1TS1; Ajiple- Leap and run and gaily dance; died Dec. 6, Istil. He was parish minister of Bright the sunbeams on you glance; garth in Dumfriesshire for upwards of fifty years. His " Maid of Islay," has by mistake been Dashing down through dale and dingle. popular song The ascribed to Joseph Train. Till you with the salt sea mingle.

Eising o'er the heaving billow, Evening gilds the ocean's swell, While with thee, on grassy pillow. love to dwell. ANNIE LAURIE. Solitude! I Lonely to the sea-breeze blowing, Oft I chaunt my love-lorn strain, tender verses were written about the close Tliese two To the streamlet sweetly flawing. of the seventeenth century by William Douglasuf Fms;- Murmur oft a lover's pain. land, in Kirkcudbriglitshire. The fiiir lady, however, was deaf to his passionate appeal, preferring Alexander Fergusson of Craigdearroch, to whom she was eventually 'Twas for her, the maid of Islay, refused by Annie he married. Though Douglas was Time flew o'er me winged with joy; did not pine away in single blessedness, but made a 'Twas for her, the cheering smile aye runaway marriage with Miss Elizabeth Clerk of Glen- with rapture in my eye. boig in Galloway, by wlioni he had four sons and two Beamed daughters. He was one of the best swordsmen of his Not the tempest raving round me, time, and his son Archibald rose to the rank of lieu- Lightning's flash or thunder's roll. an tenant-general in the British army. We give below Not the ocean's rage could wound me. anonymous and more popular version of this lyric, wUicli While her image filled my soul. is known and sung in all quartei-s of the globe.

purest pleasure. Maxwelton's banks are bonnie. Farewell days of your loss my heart shall mourn! Where early fa's the dew! Long Farewell, hours of bliss the measure. Where I and Annie Laurie can return. Made up the promise true, Bliss tiiat never heath wand'ring, Made up the promise true, Cheerless o'er the wild Cheerless o'er the wave-worn shore. And never forget will I, the past with sadness pond'ring, And for bonnie Annie Laurie On fair visions cliarm no more. I'd lay doun my head and die. Hope's

That e'er the sun shone on • Maxw«lton brae? are bonnie, And dark blue is her e'e; Where early fa's the dew. And for bonnie Annie liaurle And it's there that Annie Laurie I'd lay me doun and dee. Gie'd me her promise true; Gie'd me her promise true, Like dew oti the gowan lying, Which ne'er forgot will be; Is the fa" o' her fairy feet, And for bonnie Annie Laurie And like winds in summer sighing, Id lay me doun and dee. Her voice is low and sweet. voice is low and sweet, Her brow is like the snaw-drift Her she's a' the world to me; Her throat is like the swan. And for bonnie Annie Laurie Her face it is the fairest And dee. Tliat e'er the sun shone on — I'd lay me douu and ; !

516 APPENDIX.

weel may the boatie row. on, DINNA ASK ME. And better may she speed! And weel may the boatie row. Laiiarksliir=i Nov- John Dunlop, born at Cavmyle, That wins the bairns' bread! ember, IVoo; died October, lS2i>. He began life as a The boatie rows, the boatie rows, merchant in Glasgow, and rose to be lord provost of The boatie rows indeed; that city. Dr. Rogers states that j\Ir. Dunlop left be- hind him fjur manuscript volumes of poetry, contain- And happy be the lot of a' ing many, compositions worthy of being presented to That wishes her to speed! the public.

1 cuist my line in Largo Bay, Oil! dinna a.sk mc gin I lo'e thee; And fishes I caught nine; Trotli, I daurna tell; There's three to boil, and three to fry, Dinna ask me gin I lo'e ye; And three to bait the line. Ask it o' yersel. The boatie rows, the boatie rows. 01 dinna look sae sair at me, The boatie rows indeed For weel ye ken me true; And happy be the lot of a' 0, gin ye look sae sair at me, That wishes her to speed I daurna look at you. weel may the boatie row, When ye gang to yon braw biaw town, That fills a heavy creel. And bonnier lasses see, And cleads us a' I'rae head to feet, 0, dinna, Jamie, look at them, And buys our parriteh meal. Lest you should mind na nie. The boatie rows, the boatie rows. The boatie rows indeed; For I could never bide the lass And happy be the lot of a' That ye'd lo'e mair than me; That wish the boatie speed. And 0, I'm sure, my heart would break, Gin ye'd prove false to me. When Jamie vow'd he would be mine. And wan frae me my heart, muckle lighter grew my creel! He swore we'd never part. now SWEET THIS LONE VALE. The boatie rows, the boatie rows. The boatie rows fu' weel; Hon. Andrew Erskine, author of " Town Eclogues" And muckle lighter is the lade and other iiieces. He was acquainted with Burns, who When love bears up the cretl. said "Mr. Erskine's verses are all pretty, but his 'Lone Vale' is divine." He died in 179^. My kurtcli I put upon my head, And dres.s'd mysel' fu' braw; How sweet this lone vale, and how sacred to feeling 1 trow my heart was dowf and wae. Yon nightingale's notes in sweet melody melt; When Jamie gaed awa': Oblivion of woe o'er the mind gently .stealing, But weel may the boatie row, A pause from keen anguish a moment is felt. And lucky be her part;

The moon's yellow light o'er the .still lake is And lightsome be the lassie's care sleeping. That yields an honest heart! Ah! near the sad spot Mary sleeps in her tomb. Again the heart swells, the eye flows with weep- When Sawnie, .Jock, and Janctic, ing, Are up, and gotten Icar, And the sweets of the vale arc o'ershadow'd They'll help to gar the boatie row, with gloom. And lighten a' our care. The boatie rows, the boatie rows. The boatie rows fu' weel; And lightsome be her heart that tears WEEL MAY THE BO.VTIE IJOW. The murlain and tiie creel!

John Ewen, bom dii-il at Montrose in 1741: in Aber- x\nd when wi' age we arc worn down, deen, October, 1821. Rin-ns says of this song, *• It is And hiri)ling round tiie door, a cliarming display of wimianly affection mingling witli They'll row to us tlie concerns and iiccupatinns of life. It is nearly equal keep hale and warm. to There's nae Luck about the House.'" As we did them before: APPENDIX. 5i:

Then, wocl may the boatie row And it was ncitlicr late nor air, That wins the bairns' bread; Wliun they did try the roail for hame, And happy be the lot of a' Up through the muir, they war na lame. Tliat wish the boat to speedl Whan they had fairly left the town, The ale began to warm their crown: For ale, my friends, can mak us kind, And bring forgotten tilings to mind; THE TWA LAIRDS OF LESMAHAGOW. Can gi'e advice whar nane is Avanted, And finish deeds wad ne'er been granted. A TALE. JOSKPH. Galloway, a native of Stirling. lie was tlie Robert Quo" Joseph, now, for he was auldcst, author of a volume bearing the following title: " Poems, And pith o' maut had made him bauldest, Epistles, and Songs, chiefly in the Scotti-sli Dialect. To which are addetl a brief Acaiunt of the Revolution in We lang iia'e toil'd and won togither. 168S, and a Narrative of the Rebellion in 1745-4(3, con- And mickle done by ane anither: tinued to the death of Prince Charles in 1788. By Whan first ye play'd the stock and horn, Galloway. Glasgow: Printed by W. Bell for Robert To keep the kye frae 'mang the corn, the Author: 178S." Before ye learn'd to dance a reel, I thought you aye a canny chiel. Ye batchelors wha lo'e a chapin, fit to lead happy life; And marry'd men that stand by pap-in; And a I therefore advise a wife. Ye wha wad rather hear a droll wad Than mak in neighbour's name a hole, ROBI.V. Gi'e ear until I tell a tale. A wife! hegh man, ye' re farther seen That may syne down a cap o' ale; Into that tale, for I am green; My nibour John, wha sells a gill. What pleasure matrimony brings And is nae huckster o' his mill. To counterbalance a' its stings, He tauld it me, and ca'd it true, To pay for a' tlieir plaids and gowns. And as I gat, I gie't to you. To dress them out vji' queans in towns, To hide tlieir fauts and keep their tid. In Lesmahagow liyed twa lairds, And, whan they're ill, to ca' them gudc. Baith had a house, and baith kail-yards; Under ae roof was baith their dwallin', JOSEPH. only sep'rate by a liallan; And Now, Robin, this I'll no admit, baith they had between them, Ae niailin' Sae sair against my shins to hit: to chagrin them; And nane was suffer'd Women were for our use created; held the pleugh, the other caw'd it. Ane When life is wersh they help to saut it, 'twas baith their horse that draw'd it; Meanwhile To gi'e advice whan things are kittle. marry'd, Eobin single. Joseph was And aftentimes to try our mettle. And ev'ry man burnt his ain ingle; Their stocks were equal, but the wife, ROBIN.

And she did comfort Jo.sepli's life. A' that is true, as ye ha'c tauld it. Seven years did pass without a word And I ha'e neither bann'd nor scauldet; That cou'd the least offence afford; And then, wha can be sure of keeping The wife was happy, men did toil. These happy helps frae aftcn weeping In short, the wark ran smootli as oil: For things they want, nor can they get it, Joseph did think him.sel' respecket, Nor do they mind how ill they'd set it. And never in the least ncglecket. They'll wish for men, and whan they get them, While Jenns still thouglit hersel' at ease They'll wish them dead gif they but pet them; Because she could her Joseph please; And whan they're widows, then they'll marry, And liobin was right weel content A month they'll scarcely wish to tarry: Because nae wife made him repent. Accept the first good match they meet, Ae iMartinmas, when stacks were happet. Though e'er so soon or indiscreet. And the meal kist was bienly stappet, JOSEPH. Nae scant o' gear, nor fash't ivi' weans. The twa lairds took a jaunt for ance Stap, Ivobin, shure ye're wrang in part. To Hamilton, to sell their barley, For Jenns at hame, my ain sweetheart, And wi' the ale to try a parley. Wad ne'er forget me, nor yet marry, Thev did their bus'ness, saw the fair, But ten lang years I'm sure she'd tarry; —

518 APPENDIX.

So dinna think sac aften wrang, That very thought came in my head; Or else on you I'll ride the stang. So there's my hand, I've nae objection, AVhan I think on your ca'm reflection. EOBIN.

Now, Joseph, shure ye're no your lane, The charm is o'er, the ivager's won, Or else for you I'd mak a mane; Rise, Joseph, break the supper scon. But Jenns is just like ither fo'k, And learn a lesson frae this joke, And, if ye'U help to try a joke, Nae woman's patience to provoke. I'll prove this night what I ha'e said, Joseph rose up, the wife was glad. Or else a hunder marks be paid. But yet thought shame of what was said. Quo' Joseph, Never mind, my dear, JOSEPH. Of what you said, or I did hear:

What is the joke, gif ane may spier it. Back frae this date to Abigail, And there's my hand in part I'll bear it; I see tliat women are on trial; But my gudewife, I'm shure, wad keep They keep the grip while they are able.— Lang towmonths twa, at least, to weep. And here I choose to end the fable.

ROBI>f.

AVe're near han' hanie; now feign ye've fainted. OWER THE MUIR. And that ye're dead I'll ha'e it painted; Jean Glover, born at Kilmarnock in 175S; died at for your wife, I winna steer her, And Litteikeiiny, Ireland, in ISOl. The world is indebted Wi' hand nor fit, nor ought come near her; for the preservation of Jean's song to Robert Burns, But for yoursel', ye dar na stir, who took it down from lier singing. Tliere is another set of the song, written by Stewart Lewis, wlio claimei Xae mair than if a log of fir: priority for his verses. And for the outcome o' the story, Just trust it to your ni'bour tory. Comin' through the craigs o' Kyle, Amang the bonnie bloomin' heather, Joseph lay stiff on Eobin's back. There I met a bonnie lassie, Then wi' his fit he ga'e a crack. Keepin' a' her flocks tlicgithcr. Wha's there? cries Jenns Quo' Eobin, Me: — Ower the muir amang the heather, But be nae fear'd at what ye see: Ower the muir amang the heather. Slie open'd doors, and in he went, There I met a bonnie lassie, And then the wife made this lament Keepin' a' her flocks thegithei". Ah! wae is me! is Joseph dead!

Tiie man that brought me daily bread; Says I, ]\ry dear, where is thy hame? "Whar shall I lay my lonely head? In muir or dale, pray tell me whether?

"Whist I liaud your peace, quo' cunnin' Rubin, Says she, I tent the fleecy flocks Or do you mean to bring a mob in; That feed amang the bloomin' heather. Tlie man is gone, be is at peace; Some time, we're shure, 'twill be our case. We laid us doAvn upon a bank, Quo' Janet, Shure, I'll ne'er forget him! Sae warm and sunnie was the weather; For ev'rything he did it set him: She left her flocks at large to rove

No man, I'm shure, can fill his place. Amang the bonnie bloomin' heather. For I'm resolv'd 'twill be the case. Slie charm'd heart, and aye sinsyne Quo' Ilobin, Mak nae aiths, I pray, my Nor do you think, wiien that you say; I could nae think on ony ither: sea and sky! .she shall be mine, Dinna ye ken I lia'f the inailin', By heather. And our twa lia'ves wad mak a hale ane: Tiie bonnie lass amang the What do we ken of ane anither, But that us twa may join togithcr? "Were Joseph decently interred, I do insist to be preferr'd. CAULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN. (iiio' Janet, smoothing up her looks, Alexander, fourth Duke of Gordon; bom in 1743, 1 never read tliroiigii mony books; died in IS'J". Burns was "charmed" with this song. But as I live, and am a sinner, Other vei-aions of it by AVilliam Ueid and Lady Nairne I wadna been the first beginner; are given at p. 402 and 4:i2, vol. i. Dr. K. Chambei-s, in Soon as I saw that he was dead. Biieaking of the duke's vereion, rem.irksthat it does not APPENDIX. 519 refer to any "miss connected witli the ancient city, Ilensell pe IIiu:liland shcntleman, but a niet;vi)lK)rical allusion to the faded love-favours Pe auld as rotliwcll Prig, man; who, in spite of yeara, was pre- of an aged nobleman, And many alterations seen suming to pay his addresses to a young lady." Amang tc Lawland Whig, man. dra, diddle, diddle dee, &c. There's cauld kail in Aberdeen, Fa a And custocks in Stra'bogie, First when she to tc Lawlands came Gin I ha'e but a bonnie lass, Nainsell was driving cows, man. Ye're welcome to your cogie. There was na laws about liim's nerse. And ye may sit up a' the night, About te prceks or trews, man. And drink till it be braid daylight; Gi'e me a lass baith clean and tight, Xain.sell did wear te philabeg, dance the reel o' Bogie. To Te plaid prick'd on her shouder; Tc gude claymore hung py her pelt; In cotillions the French excel, Her pistol sharged with powder. John Bull loves country dances; Spaniards dance fandangoes well. The But for whereas these cursed preeks, an allemande prances; Mynheer Wherewith her legs pe lockit; foursome reels the Scots delight, In Ohon that ere she saw the day! At threesome's they dance wondrous light, For a' her houghs pe prockit. But twasome's ding a' out o' sight, Danc'd to the reel o' Bogie. Everything in te Highlands now Pe turn'd to alteration; view your partners weel. Come, lads, and Te sodger dwall at our door check, each a blythesome rogie; Wale And tat pe great vexation. I'll tak' this lassie to mysel', She looks sae keen and vogie: Scotland pe turn'd a Ningland now, Now, piper lad, bang up the spring; The laws pring in tc cawdger; The country fashion is the thing, Nainsell wad dirk him for his deeds. To prie their mou's ere we begin But, oh! she fears tc sodger. To dance the reel o' Bogie. Anither law came after tat. Now ilka lad has got a las.s, Me never saw the like, man, Save yon auld doited fogie, They mak' a lang road on te crund, And ta'en a fling npon the grass. And ca' him Turnimspikc, man. As they do in Stra'bogie; But a" the lasses look .

Now a' the lads ha'e done their best, They charge a penny for ilka horse. Like true men o' Stra'bogie; In troth she'll no be sheaper. We'll stop a while and tak' a rest. For naught but gaun upon the ground, And tipple out a cogie. And they gi'e her a paper. Come now, my lads, and tak' your glass. te head, And try ilk other to surpass They take the horse then py In wishing health to ev'ry lass, And there they make him stand, man; she seen the day To dance the reel o' Bogie. She tell them had They had nae sic command, man.

Xae doubt nainsell maun draw her pur.se. And pay him what him like, man; TUnXIMSriKE. She'll .see a shudgemcnt on his toor. That filtiiy turnimspikc, man. Dougald Graham, the Glasgow bellman; born near In addition to Stirling iu 1724; died July 'JO, 1779. But she'll awa' to ta Highland hills, this song, which, according to Sir Walter Scott, was Where deil a ane dare turn her. sufficient of itself to " entitle its author to immortal- no come near te turnimspikc. ity," Graham wrote numerous ballad.s, songs, and And stories, also a metrical history of the rebellion of 1745. Unless it pe to purn her. ——

520 APPENDIX.

If doughtj' deeds my lady please, THE WAYWARD WIFE. liight soon I'll mount my steed: And strong his arm, and fast his seat. Janet Graham, a now forgotten iwetess; bom near That bears frae me the meed. Lockeibie, Dumfiiesshire, in 1724. Her later years were I'll wear thy colours in my cap. where she died, April, spent principally in Edinburgh, Thy picture in my heart; 1S05. Miss Graham composed many other verses, but And he that bends not to thine eye. the following alone escaped from her hand into popu- Shall rue it to his smart. larity. An anecdote is told of lier in reference to a remark of John, second Lord Hopetoun, who was so Then tell me how to avoo thee, love, charmed by her graceful movements in the dance much tell me how to woo thee I that he inquired in what school she was taught. " In For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take. my mother's washing tub,'' she replied; but in after Though ne'er another trow me. times used to say, "Guid forgie me for saying sae! 1 was never in a washiug-tub in my life." If gay attire delight thine eye, Alas! my son, you little know I'll dight me in array; The sorrows which from wedlock flow: I'll tend thy chamber door all night. Farewell sweet hours of mirth and ease, And squire thee all the day. AVhen you have gotten a wife to jDleasc. If sweetest sounds can win thine ear. These sounds I'll strive to catch; Your hopes are high, your wisdom small, Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysell, Woe has not had you in its thrall; That voice that nane can match. The black cow on your foot ne'er trod, AVhich makes you sing along the I'oad. But if fond love thy heart can gain, I never broke a vow; Stay Solway's tide, rule Criffel's wind, Kae maiden lays her skaith to me; Turn night to day, and cure the blind; I never loved but you. JIake apples grow on alder-trees. For you alone I ride the ring, But never hope a wife to please. For you I wear the blue; For you alone 1 strive to sing Wliate'er you love she'll mock and scorn, tell me how to avoo! Weep when you sing, sing when you mourn; H«r nimble tongue and fearless hand Are ensigns of her high command.

When I, like you, Avas young and free, ROY'S WIFE OF ALDIVALLOCH. I valued not the proudest she;

Like you, my boast was bold and vain. Mrs. Grant of Carron, a single-song poetess; born in That men alone were born to reign. 1745, died about 1814. This exceedingly iwpular song has been sometimes erroneously attributed to Mrs. Anne Laggan. Both Burns and Allan Cunningham Great Hercules and Samson too Grant of admired and praised it. The former said on one occa- Were stronger far than 1 or you, sion, after listening to the song, " Dinna let him despair Yet they were baflfled by their dears, that way, let Johnnie sing this," and he at once re- And felt the distaff and the shears. peated the following additional stanza:

" But Roy's years are three times mine, Stout gates of brass, and well-built walls, I'm sure his days can no be nionie; Are proof 'gainst sAvords and cannon-balls; And when that lie is dead and gane, But nought is found, by sea or land, She may repent and tak' her Johnnie." Tliat can a wavward wife withstand. Eoy's Avife of Aldivalloch, Eoy's Avife of Aldivalloch, Wat ye how she cheated me, As I cam' o'er the braes of Balloch? TELL ME now TO WOO THEE. She voAv'd, she sAvore she Avad be mine; Robert Graham of Gartmore: born 1750, died 1707. She said she lo'ed me best of onie; The song was first piiblislied in the " Minstrelsy of the But ahl the fickle, faithless quean, Scottish Border," IS'il. Sir Walter Scott at one time She's ta'en the carle, and left her Johnnie. snpjviscd it to have been the comixjsition of the great Marquis of Montrose. Roy's Avife, &c. —

APPENDIX. 521

0, she was a cantic quean, Weel could .she dance the Highland walloch; LOGIE 0' BUCHAX. How happy I, had she been mine, Or 1 been Roy of Aldivalloch. Attributed to George Halket. an Aberdeenshire was a great Jaco- IJoy's wife, &c. schoolmaster, who died in ITiS. He bite, and wrote various songs in support of his party, one of tlie best known of whicli is " Whirrv Whigs, Her hair sae fair, her een sae clear, a«a', man." Her wee bit mou' sae sweet and bonnie; To me she ever will be dear, Logie o' Buchan, Logic the laird, Though she's for ever left her Johnnie. They ha'c ta'en awa' Jamie, that delved in the Rov's wife, &c. yard, Wlia play'd on the pipe and the viol sae sma'; They ha'e ta'en awa' Jamie, the flower o' them a'. He said, Think na lang lassie tho' I gang awa'; He said, Think na lang lassie tho' I gang awa'; 'TWAS SUMMER TIDE. For simmer is coming, canld winter's awa', And I'll come and see thee in spite o' them a'.

John Grieve, born at Dunfermline in 1781, died in Tho' Sandy has ousan, has gear, and has kye; Edinburgh in 1836. He was the author of several j>opu- hadden, and siller forbye: lar songs, and will long be leraerabered as the generous A house and a friend of the Ettrick Shepherd, who dedicated his Yet I'd tak' mine ain lad, wi' his staff in his hand, "Mador of the Moor" to hira, and also introduced him Before I'd ha'e him, wi' the houses and land. "Queen's as one of the competing minstrels in the He said, Think nae lang, &c. Wake." My daddy looks sulky, my minnic looks sour, 'Twas summer tide; the cushat sang They frown upon Jamie because he is poor: His am'rous roundelay; Tho' I lo'c them as weel as a daughter should do, clustered diamonds, hang And dews, like They're nae hauf sae dear to me, Jamie, as you. flower and leafy spray. On He said, Think nae lang, kc. The coverlet of gloaming gray On everything was seen, 1 sit on my creepie, I spin at my wheel, When lads and Tas.ses took their way And think on the laddie that lo'ed me sae weel; To Polwarth on the green. He had but ae saxpence, he brak it in twa, And gied me the hauf o't when he gade awa'. The spirit-moving dance went on, Then haste ye back, Jamie, and bide na awa'. And harmless revelry Then haste ye back, Jamie, and bide na awa', Of young hearts all in unison, The simmer is coming, cauld winter's awa', Wi' love's soft witcherie; And ye'U come and see me in spite o' them a'. Their hall the open-daisied lea, While frae the welkin sheen The moon shone brightly on the glee At Polwarth on the green. MUCKLE-MOU'ED MEG.

Dark een and raven curls were there, G. Bachanan Hall. And cheeks of rosy hue, tower, And finer forms, without compare. Lived a knicht in Than jiencil ever drew; Tweedside nigh, dour; But ane, wi' een of bonnie blue, Gripsome, greedy, A' hearts confes.s'd the queen. Reivers drave his kic. And pride of grace and beauty too, Knicht's lads were nigh, At Polwarth on the green. Catched a squire sae free, Harled him aft" to tower, The miser hoards his golden store. " Hangit sail he be?" And kings dominion gain; Auld knicht says, "Aye! While others in the battle's roar Hangit let him be." For honour's trifles .strain. Away, such pleasures! false and vain; Gudewife she spake owcr, " Far dearer mine have been. 111 mought ye be. Among the lowly rural train, Hang a lad like that. At Polwarth on the green. Us Avi' dochtcrs throe! — ;

522 APPENDIX.

were tried. Gar him marry Meg, Of a' roads to happiness ever There's nane half so sure as ane's ain fireside. Meiklc-mouthcd .she be; My ain fireside, my ain fireside, Better wared on her, there's nought to compare wi' ane's ain Tliau tuckit up to tree." fireside. Auld knicht says, "Aye, agree." Gif he and she When I draw in my stool on my cozy hearthstane. My heart loups sae light I scarce ken't for my ain squire was dour, Young Care's down on the wind, it is clean out o' sight, Winsome hxd was he, Past troubles they seem but as dreams of the Nae meikle-mou's for him night. Trailed him aff to tree. I hear but kend voices, kend faces I see. Meg -she glinted ower, And mark saft affection glint fond frae ilk e'e; The tear was in her e'e. Nae fleetchings o' flattery, nae boastings of pride, Squire melteth— " Meg, Ich swear 'Tis heart speaks to heart at ane's ain fireside. Ye sail not murn for me." My ain fireside, my ain fireside, Auld knicht says, "Aye? there's nought to compare wi' ane's ain Gar tak him doon frae tree." fireside.

Then passed they into bower, Bride and maidens three; Kindred marching a'. FAITH AND HOPE. And meikle revelry; Trumpets loud did blaw. Lady Flora Hastings, eldest daughter of the Marquis Clarions on hie, of Hastings, born in Edinburgh, February 11, IsOO; Eang the rair on Tweed died July 5, 18.39. A volume of her poems, edited by Marchioness of Bute, Wiis published Of their minstrelsy. her sister the late in 1841. Auld knicht sang aye, "Merry let us be," thou, vfho for our fallen race Didst lay thy crown of glory by; And quit thy heavenly dwelling-place, To clothe thee in mortality.

MY AIN FIRESIDE. By whom our vesture of decay, Its frailty and its pains, were worn; Mrs. Elizabeth Hamilton, author of "The Cottagers Who, sinles.s, of our sinful clay of Gleubuniie," ami various otlier vohimes; born 175S, burden and the griefs hast borne. died 1S16. "My ain Fireside" has shared tlie plague The of ixjpularity, numerous versions of it having appeared since tlie time of its author. Who, stainless, bore our guilty doom; Upon the cross to save us bled; I ha'e seen great anes, and sat in great ha's, And who, triumphant from the tomb, ladies a' coverVi wi' braws; Mang lords and fine Captivity hast captive led; At feasts made for princes, wi' princes I've been, dazzled Whare the grand shine o' splendour has teach thy ransom'd ones to know my een; Thy love who diedst to set them free; But a sight sae delightfu' I trow I ne'er .spied, And bid their torpid .spirits glow As the boimie blytho lilink o' my ain fireside. With love which centres all in thee. My ain fireside, my ain fireside, cheery's the blink o' my ain fireside. And come, triumphant victim, come, ain fireside, my ain fireside, My In the brightness of thy holy love: there's nought to compare wi' ane's ain And make this earth, our purchased home, fireside. The image of thy courts above. Anco mair, gude be thankit, round my ain heart- Dimly, Lord, our feeble eyes some ingle, The dawning rays of glory see: Wi' the friends o' my youth I cordially mingle; the morning rise, Nae forms to compel me to seem wae or glad, But brightly shall bids creation bend to thee. 1 may laugh when I'm merry, and sigh when I'm Which .sad. Righteousness, and shed Nae faLsehood to dread, and nae malice to fear. Ivise, Sun of abroad. But truth to delight me, and fricndshij) to cheer; Thy beams of searching light APPENDIX. 5^3

That earth maj- know (licr darkness fled) following pieces Owtb hitherto unpublis)ied) was ad- Her King in tliee, incarnate God! dressed in 17'.»j to Miss Mary Grant, the eldest daughter of Mrs. Grant of Laggan, and was written apparently for the purpose of reconciling her feelings to the And oh, wliile yet tliy mercy speaks, advice and anticipations contained in some verses sent to So may the words of love prevail, her the year previous. The second j ieco was written That when the morn of judgment breaks, in the same year, and was addressed to his cousin Miss Jlany may tliine appearing haill Margaret Loudoun. These pieces may not be considered of great jx)etical merit, but they are interesting as mementoes of the author's early years.

Perish the love that deadens young desire, AVHEN AUTUMN" COMES. And ever curs'd be th:it ungentle hand That aims to dump the fond enthusiast's fire, Robert Hogg, a nephew of the Ettrick Sliepherd, Or disenchant the scenes of fairy land. born in parish of Stobo, Peeblesshire, Dec. 2, 1799; died in 1S34. He was educated for the ministry, but aban- And if my hands with such disastrous doned that intention, and became press-reader with the aim Messrs. Ballantyne of Edinburgh. He afterwards acted Have hurt, sweet maid, thy gentle, timid breast. as literary assistant to John Gibson Lockliait, and as That careless hand no better doom .shall claim. amanuensis to Sir Walter Scott. Mr. Hogg contributed Which has so ill my pensive soul expi-cst. largely to the press both in poetry and jirose. His songs and ballads liave never been published in a col- For, 0! believe that my admiring mind lected form ; they are to be found scattered the among Melted in love while it foretold decay, periodicals of the day, and some remain in manuscript. And bending o'er the fairy scenes, repined To think how soon their sweets would pass When autumn comes, an' heather bells away. Bloom bonnic ower yon moorland fells. An' corn that waves on lowland dales And sure my sighs their fading .should have stay'd.

Is yellow ripe appearing; Not hasted on the doom at which I grieved. Since ever as 1 blessed their charms I praj'ed Bonnie lassie, will ye gang To have my fond foreboding fears deceived. Shear wi' me the hale day lang; An' love will mak' us eithly bang The tears of pity, whose romantic .shower The weary toil o' shearing? Falls on the short-lived lil}''s o])ening breast. May kill perchance the soft and tender flower; An' if the lasses should envy, But meant not, sure, its vernal bloom to waste. Or say we love, then you an' I Will pass ilk ither slyly by. Therefore, blest child! let thy soft hand again Awake thy deep and wildly sounding shell, As if we werna caring. And tune once more that rude romantic strain.

But aye I wi' my heuk will whang Whose soothing piow'r my bosom knows so well! The thistles, if in prickles Strang Nor fear, sweet innocence, that e'er the muse Your bonnie milk-white hands they wrang, Can lead thy steps from virtue's paths astray; AVhen we gang to the shearing. In flower}^ vales of indolence amu.se, Or check thy course in duty's rugged way. An' aye we'll hand our rig afore. An' ply to hae the shearing o'er, The fire that kindles in the poet's strain, Syne you will soon forget you bore And that which glows in virtue's ardent breast, Your neighbours' jibes and jeering. From the same hallow'd source at first were drawn. For then, my lassie, we'll be wed, And still each other's energy assist. When we hae proof o' ither had. nae to wiiat's said An' mair need mind As loveliest shines the landscape wdiose survey, When we're thegither shearing. With scenes of humble joy, enchants the sight. And beauty triumphs with the widest sway, When health and innocence their charms unite;

PEKISH THE LOYE. So from the breast where sovereign reigns the love

Lord Francis Jeffrey, the eminent jurist and still Of \-irtue most the poet's fancies play; more distinguished critic; born at Edinburgh, October As sainted spirits ever hymn above, -3, 1773; died January "0, 1S50. The iirst of the two And angels tune their golden harps for ay. !

524 APPENDIX.

Ask of thyself, when from thy melting heart At every note a clearer lustre steals Flow'd in sweet melody thy simple lay, O'er the dim landscape of my early days. Was any virtue so severe as start Till full restor'd my faithful bosom feels Indignant from the lovely tones away ? Its youthful ijleasures in thy simple lays.

No—raptur'd with the heavenly sounds that Again I seem to tread the enchanted grove, glowed Where first the mvise enflamed my youthful \Vith tenfold ardour in thy spotless breast, breast. And blessed the magic song that kindling flowed, And bend again before that dawn of love, With all their fire and jjurity possest. Whose pure mild rays my trembUng soul pos- sest. Amid the calm of closing eve retired, I see thee sit, and in thy sainted frame But, ah! my stream of life that sweetly rose I read the motions of thy soul inspired In these delightful scenes, and long while By pensive genius and young virtue's flame. stray'd Thi"o' temperate vales, now dark and troubled Thy soft heart burns with love to humankind, flows. Thy sweet eyes gleam with pity's dewj' light, Or stagnates idly in the joyless shade. There forth proceeds the simple song refined,

SubUmed by virtue to celestial height. From troublous scenes of care, and toil, and noise, And painful bustling in ambition's ways. Yet 0! beware—and hei-e my song again Scarce even this hour I steal, with hurried voice. Resumes its boding, do not urge the flame Sweet maid, to thank thee for thy lavish praise. Beyond where pleasure prompts the happy strain. In hopes to win the high rewards of fame. My grateful thanks, blest hannonist, receive, For much thy song has soothed my pensive Sweet is its dfiwning ray when half displayed. breast. First on our startled, timid eyes it falls, And howsoe'er my hand have err'd, believe And gilds with checkered light the lovely shade. That still my heart that gentle song has blest. Where blooming childhood yet delighted dwells.

But, ah! if, won by this deceitful blaze, Thou leav'st the shade yon shining ridge to WHILE YET MY BREAST. gain, \\'hence from afar the streaming glory plays, While yet my breast with fond remembrance What long, long toils and weary v.-ays remain! bums Of all the joys that late with thee I know, Th' imperious glare will hurt thy modest eye. My vacant fancy pensively returns And beam oppressive on thy giddy head. At thy command their image to review. While tainted blasts from envious rivalry Shall oft thy steep ascending path invade. As western clouds that on some summit drear Lean their loose breasts, and drink the purple Thus baffled, harassed, injured, and afraid, beams How shalt thou pour those rude romantic lays Which the sun pours through the still summer air. That flow'd before as careless pleasure bade. Just as he sinks amid the ocean's streams. And pleased the more because they sought not praise ? Their towering piles are bright with golden dyes. Their fleecy folds embalm'd with many a stain. Ah, me! that lay the voice of joy no more And tho' the sun have left the darksome skies. Ambition's rules to method shall restrain. Their glittering skirts his gathered light retain. And these wild airs that won our hearts before, Shall never soothe our mindful ears again So tho' mj' sun behind the western hills Has long since sunk from my sad eyes away, Like native music heard on foreign hills, Yet still my breast its trcasur'd lustre fills, Deep on my heart thy melting numbers fall; Nor in my heart the secret fires decay. My pensive breast with sad remembrance fill. And many a simple childish joy recall. The sweet reflected light of memory Such as thou art, when in her first essay Yet gilds those lovely forms with tenderest Impatient fancy lifts the tow'ring strain, beams, Such was I once—and as I read thy lay, Wliich still enchant my fond regretful eye. I fondly seem to be so once again. And cheat my fancy with deUghtful dreams. APPENDIX. 525

But thee, sweet maid, the loving scenes surround. Hope not for greater happiness—the days Whose pale remembrance warms my lonely Of future years may see thee yet possest heart; Of greater beautj' or of wisdom's praise, half blest! And near thee still those lovely forms are found, But not more lovely—No! nor so From which my lingei-ing feet were forced to pensive gloom part, And yet forgive tho muse whose Has stained the brightness of a soul so gay, long-loved scenes! objects long adored! And chilled awhile thy youth's unfolding bloom, Could I so soon have bade you all adieu, With the dull maxims of the serious lay. Had not remembrance faithfully restored Yom- shadow'd beauties to my soften'd view. Believe that fancy's sportive shadows fly Where true affection lifts her solemn strain; Yes, fond remembrance oft on you shall dwell, And rarely frolic in her pensive eye Tho' I, perhaps, am (|uite forgotten there. The playful shapes that grace the muse's strain. And oft my heart with warm emotion swell, Tho' no soft heart that warm emotion share. Nor will T mix the monitory strain, To thee w hose soul is pure as those mild airs With fond regret my melting soul reviews That fanned the flowers in Eden, which in vain The simjile scenes which cheered its happy My praise would reach, but trembles as it dares. morn, When, waked with love and innocence, my muse And now, farewell, sweet maid! my artless hand Amid the roses of the spring was born. For thee a rude unseemly wreath has twined. And in obedience to thy dear command There too, accomplished maid, my wandering The glaring tints of flattery declined. eyes Saw beauty dawning in thine infant cheek. And I believe that not with idle show, Saw day by day some riper charm arise. To please thine eyes, or win delusive praise And softer meaning in each dimple speak. For courtly sounds, thus negligently flow From my full heart these harsh unpolished lays. With what delight I saw thy beauties rise Like vernal buds, that thro' the glittering dew The only merit of my simple lines Slow bursting show their soft and tender dyes, Is that their author felt the scenes he drew; And opening kindle in the enchanting view. And all reward he steadfastly declines. But that you hold his painting to be true. With what delight even now returns my mind To those blest days that flew so fast away. As if it hoped in memory to find The living image of those scenes so gay. OF A As one who wanders sadly by the roar LINES TO THE MEMORY Of some broad stream whose public waters glow BELOVED WIFE. With swarming keels from many a distant shore, heart his blood enlightened flow; Feels from his Ellen Johnston, the "Factory Girl," born in Hamil- ton, Lanarkshire, wliere lier father worked as a mason. scene he leaves, When far behind that sordid She became well known llirougliout Scotlaml by lier And winding upwards sees the peaceful groves, poetical efi'usions, which appeareil in several of the Low bending o'er the clear sequester'd stream. weekly newspapers. Along with Janet Hamilton the And grots and shadows that his fancy loves: Coatbridge poetess, she received a gift of £.iO from the royal bonuty fund. A volume of her "Poems and jniblished in ISOO, containing some pieces So as I backward cast my weaiy eye. Songs" was merit. Miss Johnston was unfortunate Along the stream of time with bursting tears, of considerable in life, and latterly became an inmate of the Barony These lovely vales of childhood I espy. poorhouse, Glasgow, where she ilied in 1.S73, at an early unstained it flowed in other years. Thro' which age. Rev. George Gilfillan says: — "Her rhymes are highly creditable to her heart and head too: they are delights to dwell, And there, where memory most written always with fluency, and often with sweetness." The sweetest scene of all her pilgrimage; foretell Thine infant graces open to Thou art gone, my loved and loving, of thy riper age! The higher beauties Tiiou hast vanished from this earth Like an angel spirit moving O lovely child, whose pure accomplished frame Through the glory of its worth. Is as the shrine of innocence, whose breast each coming morrow bringeth Suspicion never chilled, whose cheek dark shame Though o'er my doom, Has never flushed—nor care thine eyes deprest. Dark shadows ——

526 APPENDIX.

Thy hallow'd memory flingetli . A sunshine o'er my gloom. ANNAN'S WINDING STREAM.

Stuart Lewis, born in Ecclesfechan, Dumfriesshire, st dreamless slumber Thou sleep' thy about 1756; died Sept. '2'2, 1S18. He was the author of In the gloomy vale of death, a small volume entitled " The African Slave, with otlier My sighs thou canst not number, I'oems and Songs." He led a strangely chequered life, and for many yeais before his death was a wanderer For still's thy balmy breath over the country, partly supporting himself by the sale That oft came stealing o'er me. of his poems, but mainly dependent on the casual rejoice; And made my heart assistance of the benevolent. When care-clouds lowered before me, Tliou dispelled them witli thy voice. On Annan's banks, in life's gay morn, I tuned "my wood-notes wild;" I sung of flocks and floAv'ry plains, The sun awakes in gladness, Like nature's simple child. And hails the dark blue sea; Some talked of wealth— I heard of fam?, But he cannot cheer my sadness. But thought 'twas all a dream, Nor bring each joy to me. For dear I loved a village maid His golden crest is blazing By Annan's winding stream. On sweet Clutha's silvery Avave, Whilst sadly I am gazing The dew-bespangled blushing rose. Ou my Mary's silent grave. The garden's joy and pride. Was ne'er so fragrant nor so fair In fancy I behold thee As her I wish'd ni}' bride. .Still blooming in thy pride. The sparkling radiance of her eye As when first I did enfold thee, Was bright as Phoebus' beam; My lovely chosen bride, Each grace adorn'd my village maid When I led thee from the altar By Annan's winding stream. In the happy long-ago. But war's shrill clarion fiercely blew With love that ne'er did falter. The sound alarm'd mine ear; Still the same in joy or woe. My country's wrongs call'd for redress Could I my aid forbear? All in vain now I deplore thee. No; soon, in warlike garb array'd, And heave the burning sigh, AVith arms tiiat bright did gleam, For I never can restore tiiee I sigh'd, and left my village maid From thy home beyond the sky. By Annan's winding stream. I knoAv thou'rt there, my Mary, Thy spirit beckons me, Perhaps blest peace may soon return. And bids me not to tarr\-, With all her smiling train; 13ut haste and come to tliec. For Britain's conquests still proclaim Her sovereign of the main. Wlicn my last sad task is ended Whene'er that wish'd event appears, In tliis world of busy strife; I'll hail the auspicious gleam, Wlien my dust with thine is blended, And haste to clasp my village maid My dear, beloved wife; Near xVnnan's winding stream. Tiie world siiall tell my story Wlien death this form enfolds In literary glory, Where my name was long enrolled. XEIL GOW'S FAREWELL TO WHISKY.

Mrs. Agnes Lyon, bom at Dundee in 17G2; died Fare-thee-well, my gentle Mary, Sept. 14, 1810. She wrote this song at the request of I'll sec thy form no more the celebrated Neil Gow, to accompany an air composed relative four Glide past me like a i'airy by him. Mrs. Lyon bccjiieathed to a manu- volumes of her poetry, which have nut been Of dreamland's sunny shore. script published. When life's silver links arc riven. Oh may we meet on liigh. You've surely beard of famous Neil, In the bright realms of Heaven, The man who play'd the fiddle wcel; IJeyond tiie starry sky, He was a heartsome merry chicl. Where love can never die. And wecl he lo'ed the whisky, 0! —

APPENDIX. 517

is not that the fig- tree grows, For e'er tiince he wore the tartan hose It thy soft air, He dearly liket Atkole hrose.'^ And palms, in fair and bleeding Rose And grievfed was, you may suppose, But that Sharon's fragrance there. To bid " Farewell to whisky," 0! Once spread its

Graceful around thee the mountains meet, Alas! says Xeil, Fm frail and auld, Thou calm reposing sea; And whiles my hame is unco cauld; But ah! far more the beautiful feet I think it makes me blythe and bauld, walked o'er there. A wee drap Highland whisky, 0! Of Jesus But a the doctors do agree These days are past: Bethsaida, where \ That whisky's no the drink for me; Chorazin, whei'e art thou ? fley'd they'll gar me tyne my glee, Fm His tent the wild Arab pitches there. parting me and whisky, 0! By The wild reed shades thy brow.

should mind on "auld langsyne," But I Tell me, ye mouldering fragments, tell, our friends did tyne, How paradise AVas the Saviour's city here? something ran in their mind Because Lifted to heaven, has it sunk to hell, Highland whisky, 0! Forbid— like \Vith none to shed a tear? AVhilst I can get good wine and ale, And find my heart and fingers hale, Ah! would my flock from thee might learn ril be content, though legs should fail, How days of grace will flee; And though forbidden whisky, ! How all an off'ered Christ who spurn, Shall mourn at last like thee. Fll tak' my fiddle in my hand. And screw its strings whilst they can stand, And was it beside this very sea And mak' a lamentation grand The new-risen Saviour said For guid auld Highland whisky, 01 Three times to Simon, " Lovest thou me? Oh! all ye powers of music, come. My lambs and sheep then feed?" For, 'deed, I think Fm mighty glum, Saviour! gone to God's right hand. My fiddle-strings will hardly bum. the same Saviour still; To say " Farewell to whisky," 0! Yet Graved on thy heart is this lovely strand. And every fragrant bill.

0! give me, Lord, by this sacred wave. divine, THE SEA OF GALILEE. Threefold thy love That I may feed, till I find my grave, Thy flock— both thine and mine. Rev. Roloert Murray MCheyne, bom in Eilin- St. Peter's, burgh, May '21, 1S13; became minister of Dundee, where he died, after a short illness, March 25, religious poems, and 1 843. He was the author of various one of the most earnest of modern Scottish preachers. ISABELLE: A LEGEND OF FROYENCE. How pleasant to me thy deep-blue wave, Alexander Macduff of Bonhard, Perthshire; died Sea of Galilee! Edinburgh 180(5, aged forty nine. He studied at to save. in For the glorious One, who came in Univei-sity, and was distinguished for proficiency ma- Hath often stood by thee. thematics and the physical sciences. Jlr. Macduff choso business the profession of a writer to the signet. His Fair are the lakes in the land I love, talents were combined witli many other accomplish- Where pine and heather grow; ments, and his acquaintance with general literature fallowing lines (extracted hast loveliness far above was very considerable. Tlie But thou at his among othei-s from a man\iscript volume found AVhat nature can bestow. deatlCand which have been transcril.eil by his brother " of Praise"), the Rev. J. R. Macduff, D.D., in his Gates is not that the wild gazelle the jioetic It will testify that he i»ssessed some share of tide; from a life Comes down to drink thy gift. Shortly before his prematiire removal was elected a But He that was pierced to save from bell of influence and usefulness, Mr. Macduff Edinburgh. Oft wandered by thy side. Fellow of the Royal Society of An aged man, with tresses gray, 1 mixture of whisky and honey, of which the poor A AVhose eyes bespoke familiar tears, violinist was somewhat too fond.— Ed. — ——

528 APPENDIX.

'With trembling lips poured forth this lay And she alone is left, to tend To sympathizing ears: Her aged father's head:

"Oh! many a sweet beguiles the bee "The angel of my closing years. In gay Pi-ovence's lovely bowers, In undeserved mercy given. And roses garland many a tree To guide, amid this vale of tears, Entwined with fragrant fljwers. My feeble steps— to heaven!"

In light festoons, the clustering vine Oft I recall the guileless jo_y O'ercauopies the sylvan glade, In which that summer glided by! And countless flow'rets gaily shine As cloudless as the canopy Beneath its graceful shade. Of fair Provence's sky.

The hum of glittering insect Aving The hour of prayer together spent. AVakes music in these fairy groves, Adoring Him in accents meet, And nightingales delight to sing, When Avith united hearts we bent In silvery notes, their loves.' Before the Mercy-seat!

I've seen that land of beauty dressed Who can describe the hymn of praise. In radiant summer's mantle green, Its soft and silvery sweetness tell. And oft does pensive memory rest Poured from her lips in holiest lays Upon each witching scene! As evening shadows fell.

But sacred above all the themes, ITow shall I paint the thornless bliss On which in lonely hours I dwell, In which the fleeting hours went past. Is she whose image haunts my dreams Mid joys— in such a world as this — The gentle Isabelle! Too exquisite to last]

Oft had I blessed the path I took Methinks I see the trembling tear That led me to her cottage door; Which stole from eyes unused to sorrow. ^Methought it wore a hallowed look When first I whispered in her ear, I ne'er had seen before. " We part— upon the morrow!"

The aged father welcomed me The old man raised his withered head. Within his humble, peaceful cot, And gazed upon the azure sky: And bade his duteous daughter see Then — "Fare thee well awhile," he said, My wants were not forgot. " We yet shall meet—on high!"

"Oh yes," she answered, "father dear, "Kay—speak not thus, my father dear. I'll make a fragrant flowery bed. But one short yea?' away"— and then, And welcome is the stranger here "Make promise— thou wilt wander here, To rest his weary head." And visit us again.

Away slie tripped, with noiseless tread, "Daily I'll watch thy favourite vine As if some Heavenly Being fair Put forth its verdant shade of leaves. Had left the regions of the dead And train its tendrils to entAvine To dwell with mortals there. And trellis all the eaves.

I gazed upon the spot, where she "Fondly I'll note, when budding flowers Had nimbly vanished from my sight. O'erhang thy favourite Avindow-scat; — The old man marked my ecstasy And eager count the passing hours And smiled with fond delight. Until, at length, we meet!

"Thou'rt right," he said, in accents mild "Oh, quickly speed thee back again! "Yes, by my troth, thou Judgest Avcll, And noAv," she cried, "a fond farewell!

She is indeed a blessed child Soon Avill a year elapse :^— till then My darling Isabelle! Remember Isabelle!"

"She is my sole surviving friend, Even noAv, methinks, her parting words. All other joys from me are fled; As if prolonged by magic spell. : — — —— ——

APPENDIX. 529

holy precincts, where Still vibrate on my spirit's chords I passed the "Remember Isabelle!" I!er sainted mother's ashes lay: The moonlight cold was shaded there, Across my grave-strewn way. The tedious years at length went past: new-laid turf, with daisies fair. Again I reached a foreign shore On moonbeams gently fell: AVith joyful steps, I trode at last The chilly ijraven there! Trovence's soil once more. But what: oh: what was "Kemembek Isabelle!"

I stood upon a vine-clad spot O'erhauging yon romantic dell, AVhere stands the lone sequestered cot That sheltered Isabelle. OX THE DEATH OF WELLINGTON. The balmy breath of summer eve (Exhaled from many a fragrant flower), Hugh Buchanan MacPhail, bom in Glasgow July .it Old •2t). 1S17. He was brought up ami educated Seemed to my fancy to receive Kilpatrick, on the bunks of the Clyde; afterwards held sweetness in that hour. Fresh various situations throughout the country, and tinally settled in liis native city. A love attachment in early With eager steps, I culled a flower, life first inspired his muse, the fruit* of which appeared and MuhI;/ And quickly cleared the briery brake, in a volume entitled Lyrics: Luve, Fretihim, IndeiienJence. published in ISoti. Mr. MacPhail is also "And here," said I, "we'll form a bower the author of the Suprtmucy of IVomtin, .and is well Beside that fairy lake." known for his advocacy of the rightj of the fair sex.

the gathering clouds at lat \Vhat though Wail for the dead! the mighty 's gone, all the sunset sky. Were shrouding At last by death was forced to yield; hues were yielding fast And evenings A brighter star hath never shone fair moon on high 1 To the Upon this world in battle-field.

former days, I knew the scenes of The conqueror of conquerors be Familiar every nook to me; High was the mission to him given all the friendly fays The names of Xot to enslave, but make man free. That owned each haunted tree ! That was the voice to him from heaven:

Each blooming plant that smiled around, As brave have fought, and bled, and died, Each ivied root— each grassy swell; Their country from oppression save. "For oft I've trode the hallowed ground And all the tyrant's power defied. With her I loved so well. And welcomed freedom or the grave;

"The rose-slip on the churchyard wall But for his like we look in vain. Has now become a verdant tree, No equal his on history's page The orange-plants are now grown tall, The chief of chiefs, the man of men, Can time have altered thee? As warrior, statesman, saint, and sage.

claim "Oh yes," methought, "thine eye will show Sweet Erin! England cannot A deeper shade of heavenly blue. This matchless one, nor Scotia's shore Thy cheek will have a ruddier glow- While living an unbounded fame. Tinged with a brighter hue. And now, till time shall be no more!

with Nelson lie, "Thy hair in richer tresses shine, Sleep, warrior, sleep: nerve our inmost heart, Thy voice have lost its childish tone; Your names will e'er renewed the battle cry But still, thy faithful heart is mine Should impart: My beautiful: my own!" For freedom: and new life

names; a spell on field or main, I trode the path along the dell, Your unfurled. Down by the spreading churchyard tree, Wiiere'er the British flag's reign. Beneath whose shade my Isabelle Till universal i)eace shall war be banished from the world. First pledged her troth to me I And Vol. II. —L l —— — — — ! !—! ! ! — —! ;:

530 APPENDIX.

MAGGY MACLANE. A CHRISTMAS REVERIE.

James Mayne, a native of Glasgow, and nephew of Lieut. John Malcolm, born in the Orkneys, Dec. 30, the author of "The Siller Gun." He died in 1S42, in 1795; died Sept. 1S:'5. He served as a volunteer in the the island of Trinidad, where he had gone some years Peninsular war, and was severely wounded at the battle lireviously to edit a newspaper. Tins admirable song was of Toulouse. On leaving the army he took up his resi- first published in 1S35 in the Glasgow Journal of Gene- dence in Edinburgh, and became a constant contributor ral Ldcrature, of verse and prose to the Edinburgli )y'eekii/ Journal, Literary Journal, CoiistaOle's Miscdlany, and the An- Doon i' the glen by the lown o' the trees, nuals so common in those days. From 1831 till his Lies a wee theeket bield, like a bike for the bees; death he was editor of the Edinhnrfjh Observer news- the hinnie there skepp'd ye're paper. In 182S he published Scenes of War and other But —gin no dour Poems, followed by the Buccaneer and other Potms. to please Lieut. Malcolm was remarkable for his gentle and un- It's virgin Miss Maggy Maclane! assuming manners, and was a very general favourite in There's few seek Meg's shed noo, the simmer sun the literary circles of Edinburgh. jookin'; It's aye the dry floor, Meg's—the day e'er sae The knell of night—the chime drookin' Deep, dreamy, and sublime, But the heather-blabs hing whare the red blude's Far sounding, like the boom of ocean waves been shooken Seems unto Fancy's ear I' bruilzies for Maggy Maclane Of the departing year The farewell, pealing from the place of graves. Doon by Meg's howf-tree the gowk comes to woo But the corncraik's aye fiey'd at her hallan-door There— all that wake shall sleep joo! A hundred years shall sweep An' the redbreast ne'er cheeps but the weird's at Into the land of silence and of shade his mou'. All li\nng things that dwell For the last o' the roses that's gane! In this fail' day—to swell Nae trj-stin' at Meg's noo — nae Hallowe'en The cold pale generations of the dead. rockins! Nae howtowdie guttlens — nae mart-puddin' yockins A hundred years shall close i' the blast's teeth blaws snell Glen- All present joys and woes; Nae bane up Lay kings and conquerors down, with banners dock ens! furl'd— Clean bickers wi' Maggy Maclane Earth's pageantry and pride. i' the And power and glory hide Meg's auld lyart gutcher swarf'd dead shawe; And blench the beauteous roses of the world. Her bein, fouthy minnie,— she's aff an' awa'! The gray on her pow but a simmerly snaw! All voices now that fill The couth}', cosh Widow Maclane! The sky, shall then be still titties be tentie! though air i' the day wi' ye, An awful hush succeed the mighty hum — Think that the green grass may ae day be haj- All sounds of moan and mirth. wi' ye!— Now ringing o'er the earth Think o' the leal minnie—mayna be aye wi' ye In one vast mingled chorus, shall be dumb. When sabbin' for Maggy Maclane.

Tlie cloud .shall then sit deep Lallan' joes—Hielan' joes —Meg ance had wale; Upon the dreamless sleep Fo'k wi' the siller, and chiefs wi' the tail I Of all the race of beauty's radiant forms The yaud left the burn to drink out o' Meg's pail The smiles be dimm'd and gone. The sheltie braw kcnt " the ]Maclane." And closed the eyes that shone Awa' owre the muir they cam' stottin' an' To light our spirits o'er this land of storms. stoicherin' Tramper an' traveller, a' beakin' an' broicherin'! And peace shall balm each breast, Cadgers an' cuddj'-creels, oigherin'! —hoigherin'! And universal rest " The lanlowpers!"—quo' Maggj' Maclane. This mo\-iiig scene shall close, and that dark bourn, Life's final goal, be gain'd. Cowtes were to fother : —Meg owre the bum flang! Its cup of trembling drain'd Nowte were to tether:—Meg through the wood By all that now beneath the sun sojourn. rang! ! —! ! —! ! ! ! — — ;

APPENDIX. 531

The widow she kenn'd-na to bless or to bann ! ' associate of Dr. John Leyden, and Dr. A. Murray Sic waste o' glide wooers to hain afterwjirdi profe-ssor of oriental languages, and contri- Yet, aye at the souter, Meg grumph'd her! an' buted like them various essays in jirose and vei-se to Edinljurgk and Scots Muffaziuts. To liis liter- grumph'd her! the ary jiursuits lie conjoined a love of art., and devoted The loot-shouther'd wabster, she humph'd her! himself to drawing and jainting miniatures, but and humph'd her! never attained to great eminence. Mr. Mercer wjis a The lamiter tailor, she stump'd her! an' stump'd man of gentle and amiable manners and uiKiuestioned her! talent. He ultimately settled at Dunfermline, where for Her minnie might groo or graac! many years he lived by teaching, a id drawing patterns for the damask manufacturers. He imblisheil a history of Du7ifermline and of its celebrated abbey in 1S2S, and The tailor he likit cockleckie broo; ten years later a small coUectiou of poems entitled An' doon he cam' wi' a beck an' a boo: SuiMiier Months araong the Mountains. Quo' Meg—" We'se sune tak' the clecken aff you;"- The hair.st now is owre. An' plump i' the burn he's gane An' the stacks are a' theckit; The widow's cheek redden'd; her heart it play'd thud! aye; The barn-yard is fu". the vett's fairly steekit. Her garters she cuist roun' his neck like a wuddie! An' She linkit him oot; but wi' wringin' his duddies. The potatoes are np. Her weed-ring it's burst in twain An' are a' snugly pitted The crap o' the puir man Wowf was the widow—to haud nor to bing! For winter fare fitted. The tailor he's aff, an' he's coft a new ring! deil squeeze his craig's no wordy the string ! The how happy the hynd He's waddet auld Widow Maclane Wha's laid in for the winter, Auld?—an' a bride! Na, ye'd pitied the tea-pat! Wi' his eldin an' meal. O saut were the skadyens! but balm's in Glen- His cow an' bit grantor. livat! Though he toil a' tlie day, The haggis was bockiu' oot bluters o' bree-fat. Tlirough the cauld sleety weather, An' hotch'd to the piper its lane! By his ingle at e'en forgot a' tbcgithcr. Doon the burnside, i' the lown o' the glen, It's

Meg reists her bird-lane, i' a but-au'-a-ben: Steal doon when ye dow, —i' the dearth, gentle- Sync the bairns are drappin' in men,— Frae the neist farm-steadins, Ye'se be awmous to Jlaggy Maclane To claver owre the new.s, banks the virgin nae white pows now Lane — Or speak o' new cleadins: keekin' Ilk ane tells his tale. Through key-hole an' cranny; nae cash blade The day's simple story; Stan's sleekin' An' the cottar's fireside His nicherin' naigie, his gaudaraous seekin'! Is a' in its glory! Alack for the days that are gane!

Lame's fa'n the souter! —some steek i' his thie! The Jofkics and Jennies The cooper's clean gyte, wi' a hoopin' coughee! Are joking and jeering, The smith's got sae blin'— wi' a spunk i' his e'e! An' proud o' the braws He's tyned glint o' Maggy Maclane Tiiey ha'e won at the shearing. Meg brake the kirk pew-door —Auld Bcukie An' courtsliip is rife, leuk'd near-na her! An' ilk look has a meaning, Sneckie ne'er She dunkled her pattie—Young As an e'e meets an e'e. speir'd for her In the edge o' the e'ening. But the warst's when the wee mouse leuks out, wi' a tear to her, There's love in ilka lane, Frae the meal-kist o' Maggy Maclane! In ilka fine gloamin'; An' bridals there will be At Martinmas coining. Their minds are a' made up, THE COTTAR'S SAXG. An' a' thing looks chcerie; last, Andrew Mercer, born at Selkirk in 1775; died in lang may it Duufermline, June 11, 1842. He was the ultimate Ilk lad wi' his dearie. —— : ! ; —

532 APPENDIX.

That one should see his dearest prospects die. ALWYN: A ROMANCE OF STUDY. Full oft the failures which our hopes deny Are forces of deep verity and right, A barren confidence to mortify (extracts. ) To drive tlie ploughsliare, with relentless might, James C. Moffat, born in Glencree, Gallowayshire, Through hfe, and bring its best fertility to light. >Iay 30, ISll; professor of church history in the Tlieo- logical Seminary at Princeton, New Jersey. Dr. Moffat To height sublime a stately fabric rose. is the author of a small volume of miscellaneous poems Solemn, yet light, and in its grandeur fair. and several volumes of prose. " Alwyn" is a poem in seven cantos, published in New York in 1ST6. It Where studious art had laboured to dispose describes the )jrogress of the mind of a Scottish shep- Her ponderous masses with the subtlest care, herd-boy from its earliest unfoldings: its searchings That all might seem to rise and none to bear, after truth; the dawning of the true light, and at In lightly sjiringing arches, to the eye length its satisfaction and peaceful rest. Like gossamer suspended in mid air. And lines and spires all pointing to the sky, Or when the angry winds raved through the glen, As if to guide the soul to its true home on high. Driving the stormy legions in their wrath, On some high cliff, far from the abodes of men, Vast mullioned windows on the assembly threw Would he delight to watch the tempest's path, A sober light, like the departing ray As it swept on, o'er mountain, lake, and strath. Of summer's eve, in many-tinted hue, With all its cloudy train in long arraj'. Saddening the lively biilliancy of day; And the wild grace which Nature's fury hath. And from the walls stood forth, in long array, Till he would long to leave his form of clay, Full many a sculptured form of snowy white. Rise on the warring winds, and mingle with the Like angels hovering on their heavenly way, fray. And dwelling fondly on the pleasing sight. Ere back to holier scenes they urge their upward drops fall far apart slow, And heavy and flight. Each on the sand a momentary stain: The winds leap forth—an ambuscade—and lo Self-humbled Son of God, atoning Lamb, The forest writhes and tosses as with pain. Who once for men descended from thy throne, The dust is swept in clouds along the plain; How shall I praise thee, sinful as I am, Again the thunders issue their command, All holy as thou art? Through thee alone And freely falls the cool refreshing rain. Is God to man in love and mercy known. Copious but gentle, and with teeming hand In thy commands all duty lies enshrined. Poui's down new stores of life uj^on the fainting From beauty's full perfection hast thou shown land. Thyself more fair than form of human kind; And thou alone hast peace to calm the troubled And then on Plato's bolder wing he rose mind. To loftier flight and more extensive view, Where rays of purer intellect disclose A fairer world, uncircumscribed and new, And strains of eloquence the air imbue, The faultless labours of the sacred Nine, THE FLITTIN' 0' AULD AUNTY Whose harmonics the willing soul subdue GARTLEY. How would lie dwell upon the graceful line In dalliance with truth, and reveries divine: Alexander G. Murdoch, born in Glasgow, April, 184.!. He is by trade a working engineer; and, Jiot- Now plajnng with a web of gossamer. withstanding the disadvantage of a scanty education in To which the breath of zephyr were a shock; youth, has become known to the public as the author Now soaring giddily to regions where of many meritorious Scotch pieces. In 1S70 he con- tributed to tlie Wce.hh) Mail newspaper a humorous The golden rays his waxen pinions mock; poem, "The Brae o' Life," which was followed in rapid Then slowly, surely, as on living rock, succession by others of a simil.ir kin

'Tis sometimes well that weeping clouds should Auld Aunty Gartlcy, rest lier bancs! spread Tlie niclit she slip't awa', Their gloomy jiall across the burning sky. AVas c'liair'd beside oor auld lum-clicck 'Tis sometimes well, with aching heart and head, A wreath o' winter suaw; " ——! ;

APPENDIX. 533

The Book o' God lay on her knee, An' when we turned aboot ance mair, An' frae the haly Psalnir* To catch her pairtin' sigh. Slie waled a canny verse or twa, The licht o' heaven lay on her face To soothe her moral qualms; The Lord himsel' stood bye! It wisna that she feared the blow, For in her young days t\\iee"t She'd been at death's untimely door, But lippen'd aye to Christ. THE POET'S GRAVE. '.•'An' noo, guid freens, I howp an' tru>t I binna be to blame. William Nicoll, a younger Ijiother of Robert ami a grave But, an' the Lord wad hear my prayer, genuine lyric poet. He was biirieil in the same with his gifted brother, in North Le;th chun-hyanl. I'm wearying for hame. Their niotlier, now (Feb. ISTO) in her eighty eighth year, is living in New Zealand. The subject of ihe^e When just as she had spak the words, elegiac lines is Eobert Nicoli's last resting ijlace. Oct on the laigh door-stap

An oorie fit was heard to fa'; Is the poet's grave in some lonely spot, An' syne a solemn chap. Is his requiem sung by the wild bird's throat, Owre to the auld door-cheek I gaed; Where the forest flowers are first in bloom, But when the sneck I drew, Is this the place of the poet's tomb? A flowlf o' wander'd win' cam' in, bones repose in his native hills. An' wail'd the haill hoose through. Do his spirit soothed by their dashing rills, An' sowfF'd roun' aunty's pillow'd held, Is his the heather waves and the free winds Syne rumbl'd up the lum. Where come. Quo' she, " That weird win' warns me Is this the place of the poet's tomb? Jly time is near-hau' come; wi' death, Yon candle lowe is film'd Is his last long sleep made in hallowed mould, flame; An' burns a dredgie Where the bones of his fathers rest of old ? But, an' it please the Lord, this nicht Does the same gray stone record his doom ?

I'd flit, an' e'en gang hame." Is this the place of the poet's tomb ? ,

Then a' the mair to comfort her, No! alas, bright thoughts of a deathless name An' stey her heartie up, With o'ermastering power on his spirit came; "We wailed some verse that airted her And his childhood's home, and his father's hearth, To haud the blessed grup. He forsook for the busy haunts of earth When a' at ance the waukrife cock, He had dreamed a dream in the moorland glen. Oot in the auld kailyard. Of oppression and pain 'mongst his fellowmen; Ere yet the dawn had toueh'd tlie hills, He buckled his helmet with clasps of gold, Untimeously was heard. But fell ere half his tale was told. "Ay, ay," quo' Aunty, "deed I'll come; Noo, lay me in my bed. Nor tree, nor flower o'er his lonely bed, The waukit cord o' life wears thin. Their bright spring tears, or sere leaves shed, The riddle's near- ban' read. For 'mid countless graves and a city's gloom. For when the cock, at twal' o' nicht, Sleeps Nature's child, in a nameless tomb.i Erects its scarlet kame, Tak' ye nae fear, there's some lane soul Gaun to its lang, lang hame. THE ANNUITY. "Then read me yet anither verse, snuflf the crusie licht. An' Gsorga Outram, born at Glasgow, March 25, 1S0'> The death-yirm gathers in my throat. di-id there in 1850. He was called to the bar in 18--'7; An' bleerit grows my sicht;" became part proprietor and editor of the fi-'/cw/oic //('rc(f(/, of humorous .-iiid satirical verses. An' as the chap o' twal' Avas heard. and wrote a number A collection of his poems was published by Blackwood Quo' she, " It's maybe wrang, & Sons. But I weary for His coming, .\n' his coming's lang, lang." I gaed to spend a week in Fife AVhen, sudden, on oor hearts an' ears xVn unco week it proved to be A noise amang the delf

Gard ilk ane cast a speerin' e'e 1 A tablet was afterwards placed over his brother's Up to the binmost shelf. grave by Williatu Nicoll. —Eu. — ——————— — —

534 APPENDIX.

I'm a broken man mysel' For there I met a wacsome wife But Lament! n' her viduity. Wi' her and her annuity. Her grief brak out sae fierce and fell, Her broozled flesh and broken banes I tiiought her lieart wad burst the shell; Are weel as flesh and banes can be; ^\nd — I was sae left to mysel' She beats the taeds that live in stanes I sell't her an annuity. And fatten in vacuity. They die when they're exposed to air The bargain lookit fair eneugh— They canna thole the atmosphere; Slie just was turn'd saxty-three But her! — expose her onywhere. I couldna guess'd she'd prove sae teugh She lives for lier annuity. By human ingenuity. But years have come, and years have gane, If mortal means could nick her thread And there she's yet as stieve's a stane Sma' crime it wad appear to me: The limmer's growin' young again. Ca't murder, or ca't homicide, Since she got her annuity. I'd justify't — and do it tae. But how to fell a wither'd wife She's crined awa' to bane and skin; That's carved out o' the tree o' life! But that it seems is naught to me. The timmer limmer daurs the knife She's like to live—although she's in To settle her annuity. The last stage of tenuity. She munches wi' her wizen'd gums, I'd try a shot ; but whar's the mark ? An' stumps about on legs o' thrums, Her vital parts are hid frae me; comes as sure as Christmas comes But Her backbane wanders through her sark, ca' her annuity. To for In an unkenn'd cork-screwity. She's palsified, and shakes her head I read the tables drawn wi' care Sae fast about, ye scarce can see't: For an Insurance Company: It's past the power o' steel or lead Ilcr chance o' life was stated there To settle her annuity. Wi' perfect perspicuity. But tables here, or tables there. She might be drown'd; but go she'll not her share, She's lived ten years beyond Within a mile o' loch or sea; dozen mair. An's like to live a Or hang'd—if cord could grip a throat To ca' for her annuity. 0' siccan exiguity. It's fitter far to hang the rope fearfu' hoast Last Yule she had a It draws out like a telescope: might set me free I thought a kink 'Twad tak a dreadfu' length o' drop and frost, I led her out, 'mang snaw To settle her annuity. Wi' constant assiduity. But deil may care! the blast gacd by, Will puzion do't?— It has been tried. And miss'd the auld anatomy; But be't in hash or fricassee, It just cost me a tooth, forbye That's just the dish she can't abide, Discharging her annuity. Whatever kind o' gout it hae. It's needless to assail her doubts: If thcre'.s a sough of cholera. She gangs by instinct, like the brutes, Or typhus—wha sae gleg as she! And only eats and drinks what suits She buys up baths, and drugs an' a'. Hersel' and her annuity. In siccan superfluity! She doesna need— she's fever proof: The Bible says the age o' man The pest walk'd o'er her very roof Threescore and ten perchance may be; She tauM me sae— and then her loof She's ninety-four. —Let them wha can Held out for her annuity. Explain the incongruity. She should hae lived afore the flood; Ac day she fell—her arm she brak— She's come o' patriarchal blood: A compound fracture as could be; She's some auld Pagan mummified, Xac leech the cure wad undcrtak, Alive for her annuity. Wliatc'cr was the gratuity. It's cured!—she handles't like a flail She's been enibalm'd inside and out: It docs as wecl in bits as hale: She's sauted to the last degree; ——^ —— ! —

APPENDIX. 535

Tlierc's pickle in licr very snout, Sae caper-like and cruety. DEAR ISLAY. Lot's wife was fresh compared to her:

They've kyanized the useless knir (witch); Thomas Pattison, a native of Islay, whose early She cauna decompose—nae mair death disappointed the fair promise of high poetic fame. " Tiian her accurs'd annuity. He wiis the avitlior of Selections from the Gaelic Uards, Metrically Translated, with liiograi)liical Prefaces and Explanatory Notes, also Original Poems," an Svo vol- The water-drap weai's out the rock, ume published in 1SG6. As this eternal jaud wears me. single I could Avithstand the shock, Islay! sweet Islay! continuity. But not the Thou green, grassy Islay! It's pay me here, and pay me there. AViu', why art thou lying And pay me, pay me, evermair; So far o'er the sea? I'll gang demented wi' despair Islay! dear Islay! I'm charged for her annuity. The daylight is dying, And here am I longing, And longing for thee! 1 At a dinner given by Dr. Robert Chambers in

Edinburgh to Outram and a select party of liis friends, the following verses were sung in character Ijy Mrs. Islay! fair Islay!

R. C. , after "Tlie Annuity" had been sung by Peter Thou dear mother l.-lay! Fraser. The " lionest Maurice" mentioned in the last Where my spirit awaking stanza is the late Maurice Lothian of Edinburgh: — First look'd on the day. Islay! dear Islay! THE ANNUITANT'S ANSWER. That link of God"s making My certy! but it sets him weel Must last till I wing me Sae vile a tale to tell o' me; Away, and away I never could suspect the chiel' O' sic disingenuity. Dear Islay! good Islay! I'll no be ninety-four for lang, Jly liealth is far frae being Strang, Thou holy-soU'd Islay! And he'll mak' profit, riclit or wrang, My fathers are sleeping Ye' 11 see, by this annuity. Beneath thy green sod. My friends, ye weel can undei-stand Islay! kind Islay! This world is fu' o' roguery; Well, well be thou keeping Anil ane meets fo'.k on ilka hand To rug, and rive, and pu' at ye. I thought that this same man o' law He only meant to gie a check. Wad save my siller frae them a', Not for, but to, the annuity. And sae I gave the whilliewha Said ance to me an honest man, The note for the annuity. "Try an insurance comjiany; He says the bargain lookit fair. Ye'll find it an eifective plan And sae to him, I'm sure 'twad be; Protection to secure to you. I got my hundred pounds a year. Ten pounds a year! — ye weel can sfare't! An' he could well allow it tae. Be that wi' Peter Fr.aser wareil; And does he think —the deevii's limb His office syne will be a guard Although I lookit auld and grim, For you aiid your annuity." I was to die to pleasure him. I gaed at ance an' spak' to Pats And squash my braw annuity. O' a five hundred policy. The year had scarcely turned its back And "Faith!" says he, "ye are n.ae blate; When he was irking to be free — I maist could clamahewit ye, A fule the thing to undertak', Wi' that duel's fingers at the knife, And then sae sune to me it ye. What chance liae ye o' length o' life? I've never been at peace sin' syne Sae to tlie door, ye silly wife, Nae wonder that sae sair I coyne Wi' you and your annuity." It's jist through terror that I tyne The procurator fiscal's now My life for my annuity. The only friend that 1 can see; He's twice had pushion in my kail, And it's snia' thing that he can do And sax times in my cup o' tea; To end this sair ankshiwity. I could unfauld a shocking tale But honest Maurice has agreed O' something in a cruet, tae. That if the villain does the deed, His arms he ance flang round my neck He'll swing at Libberton Wyndhead I thought it was to sliow res^eck; For me and mv annuitv. — —; —

536 APPENDIX.

That dear dust awaiting Tiae great day of God. THE TOOil MEAL POCK.

John Robertson, born in Paisley, Nov. 30, 1707; died Old Islay! God bless tliee, at Portsmouth in April, 1810. He was well educated, Thou good mother, Islay! and intended for one of the learned professions ; but Bless thy wide ocean! family misfortune obliged him to become a salesman, And bless tliy sweet lea! and he finally enli.-ited in the local militia, where he And Islay! dear Islay! was employed as regimental schoolmaster. Robertson Jly heart's best emotion, was a man of some ability and scholarship, and with ordinary carefulness might have attained a good posi- For ever and ever tion in life; but he became dissipated in his habits, in thee! Shall centre and ended his life by suicide. His verses display con- siderable merit. In the following song, which has long been popular in the w est of Scotland, he half-jocularly describes a time of dull trade in his native town.

THE FAIRY DAXCE. Preserve us a'! what shall we do, Tliir dark unhallowed times? surely dreeing penance Mrs. Caroline E. Scott Richardson, born .at Forse We're now in Dumfriessliire, Nov. 24, 1777; died there Nov. 9, For some most awfu' crimes.

1 853. Slie received a liberal education, and ".vas brought Sedition daurna now appear. Border song and story. When uxianiid the scenes of In reality or joke. young she went out to India, vriiere she married her For ilka cliiel maun mourn Avi' me coujin Gilbert G. Richardson, captain of au East InUia- 0' pock. man. Early left a widow, Mrs. Richardson returned a hinging toom meal with her children to Scotland, and devoted herself to And sing. Oh waes me! their education. In 1S28 and again in 1834 she published a volume of poetry, botli of w liich were well received. AYhen lasses braw gaed out at e'en, She also wrote a novel entitled Adoiiia, and numerous For sport and pastime free, tales and essays. I seem'd like ane in paradise, The moments quick did flee. The fairies are dancing—how nimbly they bound! Like Yeuuses they a' appeared, They flit o'er the grass tops, they touch not the poutliered their locks, gi-ound; AVeel was at their Their kii-tles of gi-een are with diamonds bedight, 'Twas easy dune, when hame, All glittering and sparkling beneath the moon- AVi' the shaking o' tlieir pocks. light. And sing. Oh waes me!

IIow happy past my former days, Hark, hark to their music ! how silvery and clear 'Tis surely the flower-bells that ringing I hear; Wi' merry heartsome glee. The lazy-wing'd moth with the gi-asshopper When smiling fortune held the cup, wakes, And peace sat on my knee; And the field-mouse peeps out, and their revels Nae wants had I but were supplied, partakes. Jly heart wi' joy did knock. When in the neuk I smiling saw How featly they trip it! how happy are they A gaucie weel-fill'd pock.

Who pass all their moments in frolic and play; And sing. Oh waes me I Who rove where they list, without sorrows or cares. Speak no ae word about reform, And laugh at the fetters mortality wears! Nor petition parliament, A wi.ser scheme I'll now propose, But where have they vanish'd?—a cloud's o'er I'm sure ye'll gi'e consent the moon; Send up a cliiel or twa like me, I'll hie to—the spot—they'll be .';een again soon; As a sample o' the Hock, I hiusten 'tis lighter, and what do I view ? Wiiase hollow cheeks will be sure proof fairies The were grasses, the diamonds were dew 1 O' a hinging toom meal pock. And sing. Oh waes me! And thus do the sparkling illusions of j-outh Deceive and allure, and we take them for truth An

APPENDIX. 537

learning of me, your tii-ed soul shall what a contrast will yc sliaw, Come, and find rest." To the glowriu' Lunnun folk,

ill St. James' ye tak' your stand, When What songs of rejoicing are rising above, toom meal pock! \\i a hinging From the blest who repose on the bosom of Love! ivacs me! And sing, Oh 'Tis the voice of the ransom'd; ho'.v joyful the strain^ hand, and glowr, and stare, Then rear your "Glory, blessing and power to the Lamb that heef, Before yon hills o' was slain; come, Tell them ye are frae Scotland For He suffered for us, and with him we shall For Scotia's relief; reign." Tell them ye are the vera best, Wal'd frae the fattest flock. display Then raise your arms, and oh ! A hinging toom meal pock. WIIEX THOU AKT XE.VR ME. And sing, Oh waes me! Lady John Scott Spottiswoode, of Spottiswoode, Berwicksliire, widow of I.ord Jolin Douglas Scott, Tell them ye're wearied o' the chain brother of the Duke of Buccleuch. Dr. Brown remarks state Ihegither, That hands the in Hnrw Snbsccirce, after quoting the song, "Can the not be For Scotland wishes just to tak' gifted author of these lines and of their mvisic the world, as Gude nicht wi' ane anither. prevailed on to give them and odiei-s to her friends?" We canna thole, wc canna bide, well as to yoke. This hard unwieldy When thou art near mo but ill agree, For wark and want Sorrow seems to fly. "\Vi' hinging toom meal pock. a And then I think, as well I may. sing, Oh waes me! And That on this earth there is no one More blest than I.

But when thou leav'st me. TOICES FKOM HEAVEN. Doubts and fears arise, And darkness reigns Rev. James G. Small, born in Edinburgh in 1817, Where all before was light. the Free Churcli, and fornearly thirty years minister of The sunshine of my soul Kinc'ardinesliire. He is the autlior of several Bervie, those eyes. "

538 APPENDIX.

At the foot of a rock, where the wild rose was I've a house on yonder muir, growing, Lass gin ye lo'e me tell me now! I sat myself down on the banks of the Dee. Three sparrows may dance upon the floor, Flow on, lovely Dee, flow on, thou sweet river. An' I canna come ilka day to woo. Thy banks, purest stream, shall be dear to me I ha'e a but an' ever: I ha'e a ben, Lass gin ye lo'e me tell For there first I gain'd the affection and favour me now! I ha'e three chickens Of Jamie, the glory and pride of the Dee. an' a fat hen. An' I canna come ony mair to avoo. But now he's gone from me, and left me thus mourning, I've a hen wi' a happity leg, To quell the proud rebels—for valiant is he; La.ss gin ye lo'e me tak' me now!

And ah I there's no hope of his speedy returning, Which ilka day lays me an egg, To wander again on the banks of the Dee. An' I canna come ilka day to woo. He's gone, hapless youth, o'er the loud roaring I ha'e a kebbuck upon my shelf, billows. Lass gin ye lo'e me tak' me now! The kindest and sweetest of all the gay fellows. I downa eat it a' mysel'; And left me to stray 'mongst the once loved An' I winna come ony mair to woo. willows, The loneliest maid on the banks of the Dee.

But time and my prayers may perhaps yet restore him. Blest peace may restore my dear shepherd to me GRIZELL COCHRANE; OR, THE he And when returns, with such care I'll watch DAUGHTER DEAR.i o'er him, He never shall leave the sweet banks of the Dee. Charlotte, Lady Wake, born 1801; second daughter The Dee then shall flow, all its beauties displaying. of Crawford Tait. Esq. of Harvieston, Clackmannan- shire, and sister The lambs on its banks shall again be seen playing. of the Archbishop of Canterbury. Her mother was a daughter of Sir Islay Campbell, While I with my Jamie am carelessly straying. Bart., Lord-president of the Court of Session, son of tlie only And tasting again all the sweets of the Dee. daughter of John Wallace of EUerslie, lineal descend- ant of the eldest brotherof Sir William Wallace. Miss Charlotte Tait married in 1S2-2 Charles Wake, eldest son of Sir William Wake, Bart, of Courteen Hall, Xorth.amptonshire, foimerly of Clevedon, Somerset- I IIA'E LAID A HERRING IX SAUT. .shire, who succeeded to his fatlier's title and estate in 1846, and died in 1804. Lady Wake informs the Editor James Tytler, born at Brechin in 1747; died in that"Grizell Cochrane; or the Daughter Dear," was Jlassachusettrf, North America, in 1S05. Though ed\i- written when she was only fifteen, to please her father, cated fii-st for the Clmrcli, ;xnd afterwards for the medi- in whose family (on the mother's side) the circumstances cal profession, he was mainly employed through life in related in the ballad took place. literary and chemical speculations. He was commonly c-Uled liuUooH Tijtler, from having been the first in Frae morning clouds, wi' gladsome ray, Scotland who ascended in a fire balloon upon the plan The sun shone bright and cheery; of Alontgolfier. Uurns describes him .as "a mortal An' glittered o'er the prison wall. «ho, though he drudges about Edinburgh as a common printer, with leaky shoes, a sky-lighted hat, and knee- An' thro' the grate sae dreary. buckles as unlike as George-by-the-graco of-God and 8olomon-the-son-of- David, yet that same unknown " Keep up your heart, my father dear, drunken mortal is author and compiler of three fourths Tlie morning sun shines sweet and fair" of Elliofs pompous Encyclopedia Jiri'annica, which he " It weel may shine this day, my bairn. comiioseil at half a-guinea a week !" Mr. Mack.ny of the For it maun .shine for me nae mair. Edinburgh theatre used to sing this song \dtl. pawkie glee, and was instrumental in rendering it IKJimlar. ' The intiepid act of filial devotion which is the sub- ject of this b;illad took place in July, 1685. The heroine I ha'e laid a herring in saut, was a daughter of Sir John Cochrane of Ochiltree, who Lass gin lo'e ye mo tell me now! was found guilty of high treason for accession to the I ha'e l)rew'd a forpct o' maut, l]lot entered into towards theend of Charles II. 's reign, An' I canna come ilka day to woo. cliietly for the purpose of excliuling the Duke of York (James II.) from I lia'c a calf will soon I)c a cow, succeeding to the throne. It was for their alleged connection with the same La.-s gin yc lo'e mc tell mo now! plot that Lord Willi.im Russell and Algernon Siilney were executed I ha'e a pig will .soon be a sow, in lOS:!; and it was afterwards followed by the rising An' I canna come i!ka day to woo. of Argyle in Scotland. — ————

APPENDIX. 539

"Tliis day the fatal warrant comes, She gave her gudc steed to the wind. That takes from me my breath; An' dashed away the tear; lovely check But oil! the thought of thee, my dear, 'Twas joy that wet her Is sharper far than death. She's saved her father dearl

wi' gladsome ray. '• When I maun yield my hoary head Frae morning cloud:*, Unto the axeman stern, The sun slione bright an' cheery; They'll lay the rebel in his grave, An' glittered o'er the prison walls. But wha will shield his bairn?" An' thro' the grate sac dreary

fell an empty cell. "With playful hand slie smoothed his hair. But the sunbeam on prisoner gray; Syne slie kissed his foreliead gray; It held no countr'.c "My breast shall be thy resting-place, For tliey've fled o'er the sea to a far bide a blyther day. I ween for mony a day." To

bonnieblue hills! tho' shadowed with ills. About his neck her lily arm Oh, Have trust in thy daughters dear; She threw Avi' maiden grace Heaven has care for the maiden's prayer, " Be this my father's only bond. For maiden's tear. His daughter's fond embrace. And blesses the

"An' now farewell, my father dear. For surely I maun go; For Heaven has breathed into my heart OUR MITHER TOXGUE. To ward the coming blow." Andrew Wanless, of Detroit. Michigan; born in She's buckled a horseman's cloak Berwickshire, Jlay ia, 1S:;4. He is the author of Poems Atour her slender waist; and So'iips, second edition, Detroit, 1S73. She's doffed her maiden robes sae gay. monie a day since first we left Her feet in buskins laced. It's Auld Scotland's rugged liills braes and gow'ny glens, She's doffed awhile her silken snood. Her heath'ry An' braided back her hair; Her bonnie winding rills. time, An' deeply slouched her warrior cap, AVe lo'ed her in the bygane hope were young, To hide her forehead fair. AVhcn life and We lo'e her still, wi' right guid will, She's mounted on a mettled steed. And glory in her tongue! Her lily hands the pistols bear; the summer days An' wha that met this knight could guess Can we forget Whan Ave got leave frae scliulc, It was a maiden fair? How we gaed birrin' down the braes daidlc in the pool? An' if she struggled wi' a sob, To glen Ave'd slip aAva', Or felt a maiden fear, Or to the hung, She drew a lang, lang breath, an' thought Where hazel clusters the hills Upon her father dear. And wake the echoes o' AVi' our auld mither tongue. She's ta'en the road that travellers go, lonesome kirk Her heart prepared for dule and strife: Can we forget the gloomy ivies creep ? She's met the postman on his way. Where the auld kirkyard An' he maun stand or yield his life. Can Ave forget AVhere our forefathers sleep? glorious land. " Xow yield to me, ye coward loon, We'll ne'er forget the Burns sung If ye the morrow's sun wad see; Where Scott and printed on our hearts Good 'sooth this day shall be thy last Their sangs are mither tongue. If ye that packet winna gie." In our auld

Scotland! land o' mickle fame! She's clasped the warr.int to her breast, Auld land where Wallace trod, Kor heeds tlic cravjn's stare, The Avhere heartfelt i)raise ascends Whose wonder irew t'lat robber bold The laud throne of God! Should e'er ha'e form so fair. Up to the — : —

540 APPENDIX.

Land where the martyrs sleep in peace, Then in my green recesses carolled free listening woods. Where infant freedom sprung, The meiry minstrels of the Wearying sweet echcr in their solitudes, Wliere Ivnox in tones of thunder spoke "With warbling melody. In our auld mither tongue! And silvery threads, by fairy fingers drawn. Now Scotland dinna ye he hlate, At eve on my unbending twigs were hung; 'j\[ang nations crousely craw. But all unseen, till rich with pearls strung, Your callants are nae donnert sumphs, And glittering in the dawn. Your lasses hang them a'. Tlie glisks o' heaven will never fade, When the old forest hoard the pealing thunder. That hope around us flung And the rent clouds came rushing down amain, When first we breathed the tale o" love The hunter listened to the pattering rain In our auld mither tongue. My leafy covert under.

Sear autumn came, like Death in fair disguise, 0! let us ne'er forget our hame, And, as the dying dolphin, changing aye Auld Scotland's hills and cairns; Her variegated beauty of decay And let us a', where'er we he, With tints of many dyes: Aye strive "to be guid bairns!" when we meet wi' want or age And And in her withering breath my branches waved. A-hirpling ower a rung, And every twig its leafy honours shed We'll tak' their part and cheer their heart In rustling showers, until the ground was clad, Wi' our auld mither tongue. With wreck of summer paved.

Cold winter came ! I was a naked tree. Streaked with the whiteness of his hoary hair, And wild winds howling through my branches THE LOG.i bare. Like the loud moaning sea. Thomas Watson, tlie Arbroath poet, a painter by trade; born March 10, 1807; died January 2*5, 1875. And thus return the seasons, o'er and o'er, Rhpuer's Famili/, which in- In 1851 he published the In endless round, with blossom and decay; cludes his best-known poem "The Deil in Love," and But never more to me, or night or day other pieces of sterling merit. In 1S73 Mr. Watson I reckon time no more. issued a new and enlai'ged edition of his worlds, entitled lloiaely Pearls at Random Strung, consisting of poems, songs, and prose sketches. The spoilers came, the ruthless pioneers. My giant stem, that bent not to the breeze,

I was a nursling of untrodden soil; Fell by the axe : the crash of falling trees, In dim primeval forest of the West Was music to their ears. I grew, and reared aloft my leafy crest, Remote from men's turmoil. They lopped my boughs, and launched me on the river And when the spring had clad my branches bare, With many a lifeless log I floated down. I waved them in the breeze, all blossom-laden, Through mangled woods, by many a mushroom And shook my green locks like a gleesome maiden town. Whose light heart flouts at care. Leaving my home for ever.

And when, impervious to the summer heat, I gave my shade to worlds of fluttering things That stirred tlic air, beneath my brooding wings, With humming music sweet. TAK' IT, MAN, TAK' IT.

David Webster, born in Dunblane, Sept. 25, 1787; 1 The author exphiins the origin of this as song died January 22, 1837. He was apprenticed to a weaver follows: — "Chancing to be in the workshop of a young in Paisley, and continued to work at tlie loom through friend who wjis fond of writing verses, he suggested a life much chequered by misfortune. In 1835 he pub- that we should try to string together a few lines on a lished a small volume of poems entitled Oripinal Si^ot- given subject. I agreed. 'Well, what shall it be?' I Ihh Rhiihics. Many of the pieces are marked by keen inr|uircd. 'There is a log of wood lying on the floor; satire and humour. wliat Ray you to that for a subject?' In sliort, tlie log was taken >ip and done for with jiens instead of edge- When I was a miller in Fife, tools."—Ed. Losh! I thought that the sound o' the happcr — — ; —! — —!

APPENDIX. 541

Said, Tak' hame a wco flow to your wife, To help to be brose to your supper. Then my conscience was narrow and pure, KISS THE GOBLET. But someway by random it rackit; For I Hftet twa neivefu' or niair, John Wright, born in Ayrshire. Sept. 1, 1S05; died While the happor said, Tak' it, man, tak' it. in Glasgow about lSo3. lie resided for some years at Then hey for the mill and the kill; Canibnslang near Glasgow, and followed the trade of a The garLand and gear for my cogie! weaver. In ISil lie issued a jioeni entitled "The Re- trospect," wliieli was well received And hey for the whiskey and yill, by the press, and contains many beautiful passages. In 1843 tlie whole That washes the dust frae my craigie! of liis poetical pieces were published in one volume. The latter part of Wright's life was clouded by iuteni- Although it's been lang in repute, perauce. For rogues to make rich by deceiving:

Yet I see that it disna weel suit Ki.ss the goblet, and live! it is sweeter to sip, Honest men to begin to the thieving. And richer than Beauty's ambrosial lip, For my heart it gaed dnnt upon dunt, And fairer than fairyland poets have sung, O'd, I thought ilka dunt it wad crackit; 'Tis the nectar of Friendship's mellifluous tongue Sae I flang frae my neive what was in't, When clouds o'er the bright sky of young hope Still the happer said, Tak' it, man, tak' it. are driven, Then hey for the mill, kc. Fill the bowl, fill it highl— it will waft you to heaven A man that's been bred to the plough. Might be deav'd wi' its clamorous clapper; When Penury shoots his sharp frosts through the Yet there's few but would suffer the sough, blood. After kenning what's said by the happer. Or Passion would weave ns an untimely shroud, I whiles thought it scoff'd me to scorn, When Conscience starts up like a sibilant Saying, Shame, is your conscience no chac'.cit; snake, But when I grew dry for a horn. And the glory sets darkly that shone to awake—

It chang'd aye to Tak' it, man, tak' it. A fire and a feeling that must ever thrall, Tlien hey for the mill, &c. Fill the bowl, fill it highl— 'tis the Lethe of all.

The smugglers whiles cam' wi' their packs, When Obloquj- pours forth her poisonous breath, 'Cause they kent that I liked a bicker, And saddens our sky with the darkness of Sae I bartered whiles wi' the gowks, death, Gi'ed them grain for a soup o' their liquor. Wlien Friendship's sweet smile is converted for I had lang been accustomed to drink, aye

And aye when I purposed to quat it, To the frown of contempt ami the glance of di.-5- That thing wi' its clapertie clink, may;

Said aye to me, Tak' it, man, tak' it. Though such clouds lour through life, and our Then hey for the mill, &c. ashes o'erhang. Fill the bowl, fill it high!— it will soften the pang.

But the warst thing I did in my life Nae doubt but ye'll think I was wrang o't What is life but a load lulled by languor's dull

O'd, I tauld a bit bodie in Fife chime ? A' my tale, and he made a bit sang o't. And love's a shrunk tree in the desert of time. I have aye had a voice a' my days, And only can blossom and bloom in the glow But for singin' I ne'er gat the knack o't; Of spirit that beams on its branches of woo. Yet I try whyles, just thinking to please In the tempest all shattered, leaves pallid and My frien's here, wi' Tak' it, man, tak' it. few Then hey for the mill, &c. Fill the bowl, fill it high! — and its verdure renew.

Xow miller and a' as T am. What allures but false meteors that dance on our This far I can see through the matter; way '' There's men mair notorious to fame, Our bosoms, still hea^•ing, can phantoms allay? Mair greedy than me o' the mutter. Pursuing, we wander from woe to despair For 'twad seem that the hale race o' men. We grasp, and the mockery hath vanished in Or wi' safety, the ha'f we may mak' it, air. llae some speaking happer within, I have searched— I have found out a balm for the

That says aye to them, Tak' it, man, tak' it. breast.

Then hey for the mill, &c. Fill the bowl, fill it high!—and for ever be blest. —— — ——

542 APPENDIX.

When manhood declines, and the gray hairs of age THE HAPPY LAND. Come to tell that we tread on life's last leaden Andrew Young, formerly head -master of the stage City Scliool, Edinliurgh, and late head English master of When the lights of the heart all in darkness sub- Madras College, St. Andrews; author of a volume of side, University prize poems and other poetical productions. And the gay hours no more winged with ecstacy Mr. Young's earliest hymn, " There is a Happy Land," glide composed in 1S3S, has been translated into nearly every When death's semblance rests on the spiritless modern language, though comparatively few are aware frame that its author is living, and now residing in Edin- burgh, in which city he was born early in tlie iiresent Fill the bowl, fill it high!— and rekindle the flame. century. In 1876 Mr. Young published a volume en- titled The Sc'ittifh Highlands and other Poems, which was most favourably noticed by the press, and has obtained a hirge cu'culatiou.

There is a happy land TWEEDSIDE. Far, far away, Where saints in glory stand, Lord Tester, aftenvards Marquis of Tweeddale; Bright, bright as day. born 1645, tiled 1713. The air to this soug is very Oh how they sweetly sing, beautiful, and is traditionally ascribed to the unfortun- Worthy is our Saviour ate David Rizzio. Another lyric with the same title King; appeai-s in page 135 of vol. i. Loud let his praises ring Praise, praise for aye! When Maggy and I were acquaint, Come to this happy land, I carried my noddle fu' hie, Come, come away; Kae lintwhite in a' the gay plain, Why will ye doubting stand Nae gowdspink sae bonnie as she! AVhy still delay? I whistled, I piped, and I sang; O we shall happy be. I woo'd, but I cam' nae great speed; When, from sin and sorrow free, Therefore I maun Avandcr abroad. Lord, we shall live with Thee And lay my banes far frae the Tweed. Blest, blest for aye.

To flaggy my love I did tell; Bright in that happy land My tears did my passion express; Beams every eye: Alasl for I lo'ed her ower weel, Kept by a Father's hand. And the women lo'e sic a man loss. Love cannot die. Her licart it was frozen and cauld; On then to glory run; Ilcr pride liad my ruin decreed; Be a crown and kingdom won; Therefore I maun wander abroad. And bright above the sun And lay my banes far frae the Tn-ced. Keign, reign for aye.