—; ! —

416 HELEN D. STEWART.

Shall feeble gait, or gently stroke lute's string, aid thy Perch on my remaining , Thy suu-bleach'd head and downy cheek. And sweetly of sweet summer sing.

But go, a mother waits thy homeward steps That note, that summer note, I know; In vain her eyes dwell on the sacred page, It wakes at once, and soothes my woe;

; 'tis alone, Her thoughts are in the grave thou I see those woods, I see that stream, Her first-born child, canst rouse that statue gaze I .see, — ah, still prolong the dream ! profound. Haste to the widow'd arms Of woe ; Still with thy song those scenes renew, Look with thy father's look, speak with his Though through my tears they reach niy vi voice. else will break with grief. And melt a heart that No more now, at my lonely meal, Wiiile thou art by, alone I'll feel; For soon, devoid of all distrust, Thou'lt nibbling share my humble crust; TO A REDBREAST THAT FLEW IN Or on my finger, pert and spruce, Thou'lt learn to sip the sparkling juice; AT MY WINDOAV. And Avhen (our short collation o'er) Some favourite volume I explore,

From snowy plains and icj' sprays, Be't work of poet or of sage, From moonless nights and sunless days, Safe thou shalt hop across the page; shalt flit o'er Virgil's groves, Welcome, poor bird ! I'll cherish thee; Uncheck'd, I love thee, for thou trustest me. Or flutter 'mid Tibullus' loves. Thrice welcome, helpless, panting guest Thus, heedless of the raving blast, Fondly FU warm thee iu my breast: Tliou'it dwell Avith me till winter's past; How quick thy little heart is beating! And when tlie primrose tells 'tis spring, As if its brother fiutterer greeting. And when tlie thrush begins to sing, Thou need'st not dread a captive'.s doom; Soon as I hear the woodland song, Nol freely flutter round my room; Freed, thou shalt join the vocal throng.

HELEN D. STEAVAET.

Born 1765 — Died 1838.

Mrs. Dl'gald Stewart, thesecond wifeof the and other young titled gentlemen were in- celebrated professor of moral philosophy in the mates of lier mansion, writes to us in the University of Edinburgh, was born in the year highest terms of the beauty and accomplish- 1765. Her maiden name was Helen D'Arcy ments of "the Lady Stewart—for she was a Cranstoun, third daughter of the Hon. George lady j)e'r se." Professor Thomas Brown, the Cranstoun, youngest son of William, fifth Lord eminent successorof herdistinguished husband, Cranstoun. She became the wife of Dugald addressed the beautiful lines to her entitled Stewart—a benevolent, upright, and liberal "The Nondescript." Mrs. S. also inspired the man of undoubted talent— one of the most pastoral song of " Afton Water" by Burns. polished writers of his day, and as fascinating Both of the subjoined songs Avere first pub- a teacher as ever occupied a university chair lislied in Johnson's Musical Museum. The July 26, 1790. Having survived her distin second Avas adapted to an air by John Barret, guished husband ten years, she died at War- an old English composer, called " lanthe the riston House, in tiie neighbourhood of Edin- Lovely." The same air was also selected by burgh, July 28, 1838. Mrs. Stewart was a CJay for one of his songs in TIlp, Be

HELEN D. STEWART. 417

The glowing tints of Fancy fade, RETURNING SPRING, WITH GLAD- Life's distant prospects charm no more; Alas! are all my hopes betray 'd? SOME RAY. Can nought my happiness restore?

Returning spring, witii gladsome ray, Relentless power! at length be just. Adorns tlie earth and smootlis tlie deep Thy better skill alone impart; All nature smiles, serene and gay. Give Caution, but withhold Distrust, It smiles, and yet, alas! I weep. •And guard, but harden not, my heart!

But why, why flows the sudden tear, Since Heaven such precious boons has lent, The lives of those who life endear. THE TEARS I SHED MUST EVER And, though scarce competence, content ? FALL.1

Sui'e, when no other bliss was mine Tlie tears I shed must ever fall Than that which still kind Heaven bestows. Yet then could peace and hope combine I weep not for an absent swain. For time may happier hours recall, To promise joy and give repose. And parted lovers meet again.

Then have I wander'd o'er the plain, I weep not for the silent dead. And blessed each flower that met my view; Their pains are past, their sorrows o'er, Thought Fancy's power would ever reign, And those they loved their steps And Nature's charms be ever new. shall tread, And death shall join to part no more.

I fondly thought where Virtue dwelt Though boundless oceans roll between. That happy bosom knew no ill If certain that his heart is near, That those who scorn'd me, time would melt. A conscious transport glads each scene, And those I loved be faultless still. Soft is the sigh and sweet the tear. Enchanting dreams! kind was your art E'en when death's cold removed, That bliss bestow'd without alloy; by hand We mourn the tenant of the tomb. Or if soft sadness claim'd a part, To think that e'en in death he loved. 'Twas sadness sweeter still than joy. Can gild the horrors of the gloom. Oh! whence the change that now alarms, Fills this sad heart and tearful eye, But bitter, bitter are the tears And conquers the once powerful charms Of her who slighted love bewails; her prospect cheers. Of youth, of hope, of novelty ? No hope dreary No pleasing melancholy hails. 'Tis sad Experience, fatal power! That clouds the once illumined sky. Hers are the pangs of wounded pride. That darkens life's meridian hour. Of blasted hope, of witiier'd joy;

And bids each fairy vision fly. The flattering veil is rent aside. The flame of love burns to destroy. She paints the scene—how different far From that which youthful fancy drew! In vain does memory renew Shows joy and freedom oft at war, The hours once tinged in transport's dye; Our woes increased, our comforts few. The sad rever.se soon starts to view, And turns the past to agony. And when, perhaps, on some loved friend Our treasured fondness we bestow. 1 Scott made use of two stanzas of this song, wliicli Oh! can she not, with ruthless hand. lias been called "The Song of Genius," as a motto fur Change even that friend into a foe? a' chapter of The Talisman, with the addition of the following Hues—his own composition: See in her train cold Foresight move. "But worse than absence, worse than death, Shunning the rose to 'scape the thorn; She wept her lover's sullied fame, Prudence every fear approve, And And, fired with all the pride of birth. And Pitv harden into scoru! She wept a soldier's injured name." —A'rf. 27 418 ALEXANDER WILSON.

E'en time itself despairs to cure No pause the dire extremes between, Those pangs to every feeling due: He made me blest— and broke my heart; Ungenerous youtli! tiiy boast liow poor, To win a heart —and break it too' From hope, the wretched's anchor, torn, Neglected and neglecting all; No cold approach, no alter'd mien, Friendless, forsaken, and forlorn. Just what would make suspicion start; The tears I shed must ever fall.

ALEXANDER WILSON.

Born 1766 — Di-jd 1813.

Alexander Wilson, the first to claim and Scotland, digressing from his route to visit win the proud title of the American Ornitholo- places of literary or romantic interest. In gist, was born July 6, 1766, at Paisley, a place 1789 he added to his other commodities a that has been so prolific of poets. His father prospectus of a volume of poems, trusting, as carried on a small distillery, and early destined he said, his son for a minister of the gospel, but his " If the pedlar should fail to be favoured with sale. wife's Alexander was ten years of death when Then I hope you'll encourage the poet." age, and his re-marriage not long after, pro- bably prevented the carrying out of the plan. The book was published in July of the year The boy, whose mind was by his father's care- following, and the author again made his ful superintendence imbued with a love of rounds to deliver copies to the few subscribers nature and a passion for books, attributed in he had obtained, and to sell to those who were after life all his success to these facts: "The not. Unsuccessful both as pedlar and poet, publication of my Ornithology, though it has he returned to the loom at Paisley. His as-

swallowed up all the little I had saved, has pirations for poetical distinction were not how- procured me the honour of many friends, emi- ever subdued. Hearing of a proposed discussion nent in this country, and the esteem of the at an Edinburgh debating society, composed

public at large; for which I have to thank the of the city literati, as to "whether have the goodness of a kind father, whose attention to exertions of Allan Kamsay or Robert Fergusson

my education in early life, as well as the books done more honour to Scottish poetry?" he bor- then put into my hands, first gave my mind a rowed the poems of the latter poet, and, by bias towards relishing the paths of literature doubling his labours with theobnoxious shuttle, and the charms and magnificence of nature. procured the means of defraying his travel-

These, it is true, particularly the latter, have ling expenses to Edinburgh. Arriving there

made me a wanderer in life: but they have in season for the debate in the Forum, he re- also enabled me to support an honest and re- peated a poem which he had prepared entitled spectable situation in tiie world, and have been "The Laurel Disputed." The audience did the sources of almost all my enjoyments." not agree with him in his preference of Fergus- Thus wrote the grateful j)oet in a letter dated son, but the merits of the performance gained February, 1811. him many friends —among others. Dr. Ander- Alexander was brought up to the trade of a son, for whose periodical of the Bee he became weaver, but afterwards preferred that of a ped- a contributor. lar, as an occupation much more appropriate In 1792 he issued anonymously his best for a "mortal with legs." Three years of his poem, "'Watty and Meg," one hundred thou- life were employed in this manner, during sand copies being sold in a few weeks. The

which period he visited various portions of author was much gratified with its great sue- —

ALEXANDER WILSON. 4V.) cess, but still more by bearing it attributed to clemency of the reader, " relates the following: Burns, for whom he entertained the highest "In one of my late visits to a friend in the regard. A personal satire, entitled "The Shark, country, I found their youngest son, a fine boy or Long Mills Detected," and a not very wise of eight or nine years of age, who usually re- admiration of the principles of equality dis- sides in town for his education, just returning seminated at the time of the French Revolu- from a ramble through the neighbouring woods tion, drove Wilson to the United States. He and fields, where he had collected a large and landed at Newcastle, Delaware, July 14, 1794. very handsome bunch of wild flowers, of a During the voyage he had slept on deck, and great many different colours, and, presenting when he landed his finances consisted only of them to his mother, said, 'Look, my dear a few shillings, yet with a cheerful heart lie mamma, what beautiful flowers I have found walked to Philadelphia, a distance of thirty- growing on our place! Why, all the woods are three miles, shooting a red-headed woodpecker full of them, red, orange, and blue, and 'most on the way, the commencement of his ornitho- every colour. Oh! I can gather you a whole logical pursuits. For a time he worked at parcel of them, much handsomer than these, copperplate printing, but returned to his former all growing in our woods! Shall I, mamma? vocation of weaving and peddling. In 1794 Sliall I go and bring you more?' The good he commenced school-keeping, a profession woman received the bunch of flowers with a which he has celebrated in one of his poems, smile of affectionate complacency; and, after and was successively employed in this vocation admiring for some time the beautiful simplicity at Frankford and other places. of nature, gave her willing consent, and the

In 1801 he accepted a position in a seminary little fellow went off" on the wings of ecstasy to on the river Schuylkill near Philadelphia, execute his delightful commission. where he formed the acquaintance of William " The similarity of the little boy's enthusiasm Bartram, the naturalist, and Alexander Law- to my own struck me, and the reader will need son, an engraver, who initiated him in the art no explanations of mine to make the applica- of etching, colouring, and engraving. He tion. Should my country receive with the same very soon began the study of ornithology, with gracious indulgence the specimens which I here which he became so deeply interested, that he humbly present her; should she express a desire projected a work, with drawings of all the for me to go and bring her more, the highest birds of the United States. In 1804 Wilson, wishes of my ambition will be gratified; for, accompanied by two friends, made a pedestrian in the language of my little friend, our whole tour to Niagai'a Falls, and on his return he woods are full of them, and I can collect hun- published a poetical narrative of his journey, dreds more, much handsomer than these!" I entitled "The Foresters." Disappointed in need hardly add that the ambition of the author obtaining pecuniary assistance from President was fully gratified. A^olume ii. appeared in Jefferson, also in failing to obtain the co-oper- 1810, others followed quickly, and in the early ation of his friend Lawson, he yet persevered part of 1813 the seventh was published. Wil- in tiie preparation of his 7naijnum opus. In son's anxiety to complete his work led him 1806 he obtained employment as assistant- to deprive himself of his necessary rest, and editor of a new edition of Pees' Ci/dopcedia, by the unavoidable result was impaired health. Samuel Bradford, bookseller, of Philadelphia, Friends remonstrated, but with no avail. " Life who gave him a liberal salary, and what de- is short," said he, "and without exertion no- lighted Wilson still more, undertook the pub- thing can be performed." In his last letter he lication of his Ornithology. says, "I am myself far from being in good In September, 1808, the first volume was health. Intense application to study has hurt issued, and obtained a wide circulation, as me much, ily eighth volume is now in press, well as the highest praise from the press. It and will be publisiied in November. One vol- excelled in its illustrations any work that had ume more will complete the whole." AVhile his appeared up to that time in the country, and health was thus impaired he one day noticed a exhibited descriptive powers of a high order. bird of some rare species of which he had long By way of preface the poet, "to invoke the been in search, and, snatching his gun, ran out —

420 ALEXANDER WILSON. and swam a river in pursuit of his specimen, claims as a poet. In his humour and feeling whicli he secured, but caught a cold which soon he resembles Burns, to whom, as already men- after caused his death, on the 23d of August, tioned, one of his poems was generally attri- 1813. He was interred with public honours buted. Of this ballad, "Watty and Meg," in the Swedish burial-ground, Southwark, Allan Cunningham says: "It has been excelled Philadelphia. The great lover and delineator by none in lively, graphic fidelity of touch; of nature sleeps in the quaint old graveyard, whatever was present to his eye and manifest to by the side of his attached friend Bernard his ear, he could paint with a life and a humour Dahlgren, father of the late Admiral Dahlgren which Burns seems alone to excel." Science of the United States navj-. Some time before and poetry are not supposed to be congenial Wilson's decease he had expressed a wish that to the same mind, yet in the subject of this he might be buried "where the birds might notice, as in the case of a much greater man sing over his grave." In the year 1841 a the author of Faust —we find the two combined memorial tablet was placed in tlie walls of the in such a high development that the mixture house where the poet was born. This, however, of these supposed opposites is clearly proved was felt to be inadequate. Something more to be possible. in keeping with the fame and worth of the Charles Robert Leslie, the eminent painter, man was soon after determined upon, and his in 1855 favoured me with many pleasant remi- townsmen erected in October, 1874, in the niscences of his gifted Scottish contemporary, recently improved portion of the Paisley Abbey and in his A utohioyraphical Recollections re- burial-ground, a noble bronze statue, which, marks: "Mr. Bradford, the same liberal patron with the granite pedestal, is seventeen feet in Avho enabled me to study painting, enabled height. The figure is full length, and represents AVilson to publish the most interesting account Wilson following his favourite ornithological of birds, and to illustrate it with the best pursuits in the wilderness of the New World. representations of their forms and colours, that The ninth and last volume of American has ever appeared. Wilson was engaged by Oniithologi/ appeared the year following the Mr. Bradford as tutor to his sons, and as editor poet's death, the letter-press having been of the American edition of Rees' Cyclopcedia, written by his friend George Ord; the illustra- while at the same time he was advancing his tions had been all finished under Wilson's Ornithology for publication. I assisted him supervision jjrior to his decease. In 1825 Mi*. to colour some of its first plates. We worked Ord prepared new edition of the last three from birds which he had shot and stuffed a ; volumes of the Ornitliolony, and in 1828 four and I well remember the extreme accuracy of supplementary volumes by Charles Lucien his drawings, and how carefully he had counted Bonaparte, uncle of the late Emperor of the the number of scales on the tiny legs and feet French, were published. The entire work of his subject. He looked like a bird: his was reprinted in four volumes in 1831, and eyes were piercing, dark, and luminou.s, and issued in Constable's Miscellany, with a life his nose shaped like a beak. He was of a of the author by W. M. Hetherington the spare bony form, very erect in his carriage, poet, subsequently professor of theology in inclining to be tall: and Avith a light elastic the Free Church College, Glasgow ; and the step, he seemed qualified by nature for his year following another edition of Wilson's extraordinary pedestrian achievements." The American Ornithology, with illustrative notes eminent lawyer, Horace Binney, of Phila- and a life of the author by Sir William Jar- delphia, who is still living at the age of ninety- dine, was published in London in three vol- six, writes to us under date of February 8th, umes. A collective edition of his poems, with 1873:— "I had no personal acquaintance with an account of his life, was published at Paisley Alexander AVilson the poet, though probably ill 1816: another edition, with an extended me- we knew each other by name and sight. I moir of his life and writings, was issued in .saw him not unfrequently in the book-store of

IS.*)'/ at Belfast, also in a single Vlmo volume. Samuel Bradford in this city, when the Orni- Wilson's extraordinary merit as a naturalist thology of Wilson was in course of publication has caused us in a measure to overlook his — 1811 or 1812. His personal appearance was • —

ALEXANDEE WILSON. 4^1 that of a modest, rather retiring man, of good He was held in great esteem for probity, gen lie countenance, not decidedly Scotch, but still manners, and accomplishments in his special with a cast of it, rather more like a New branch of natural science. I possess his great England Congregational clergyman in his black work, as men acquainted with its merits call dress than any other description I can give. it, but am no ornithologist myself."

WATTY AND MEG, OR THE WIFE REFORMED.^

A TALE.

We dreum in courtship, but in weJlock wake..—Pope.

Keen the fro.sty winds were blawiiig, "Ay," (|uo' Watty, "things arc alter'd. Deep the snaw had wreathed the ploughs, But it's past redemption now:

Watty, wearied a' day sawing, L— (1 ! 1 wish I had been lialter'd Daunert down to Mungo Blue's. AVlicn 1 married JIaggy Howe!

Dryster .Jock was sitting cracky, "I've been poor, and ve.\ed, and raggy, \Vi" Pate Tamson o' tlie Hill: Try'd wi' troubles no that snia';

"Come awa'," quo' Johnny, "Watty ! Them I bore —but marrying Maggy Haith Ave'se hae anither gill." Laid the cap stane o' tiiem a'.

Watty, glad to see Jock Jabos, "Night and day slie's ever yelping, And sae mony neighbours roun', With the weans she ne'er can gree: Kicket frae his shoon tiie stiawbas, Wiien she's tired with perfect skel['iiig. Syne ayont the fire sat down. Then she flees like fire on me.

Owre a broad, wi' bannocks heapet, "See ye, Mungo ! when slie'll clash on Cheese, and stoups, and glasses stood; With her everlasting clack, neive in pa.-^sion Some were roaring, ithers sleepit, Whiles I've had my 1" Ithers quietly chewt their cude. Liftet up to break her back

"0, for gudesake, keep frae cuffets !" Jock was selling Pate some tallow, Mungo shook his head and said, A' the rest a racket hel', "Weel 1 ken what sort of life it's; A' but Watty, wha, poor fallow ! Ken ye, Watty, how I did?— Sat and smoket by liimsel'.

"After Bess and I were kippled. Mungo fiU'd him up a tootlifu', Soon she grew like ony bear, Dratik his health and Meg's in ane; Brak' my shins, and when I tippled, Watty, puffing out a moutiifu', Harl't out my very hair. Pledg'd liiin wi' a dreary grane.

"For a wee I quietly knui-kled. "What's the matter, Watty, wi' you? But whan naethina: would prevail,

Trouth your chafts are fa'ing in ! Up my claes and cash I buckled, Sometliing's wrang I'm vex'd to see you— — 'Bess, for ever fare-ye-weel.' !" Gudesake J but ye're desp'rate thin

"Then her

a lee, Andrew, but I would make your plack a bawbee this, you see her if it were mine." This we heard Mrs. Burns, the jioet's "Try AVatty— When widow, relate.— J9c. Rob it Chambers. Itaging like a roaring flood. : ! —

422 ALEXANDER WILSON.

Swear that moment that ve'll lea' hev,- Sad his wee drap brose he sippet, 'J'hat's the way to keep her good." Maggy's tongue gaed like a bell, Quietly to his bed he slippet, Laughing, sangs, and lasses' skirls Sigliing aften to himsel' Echo'd now cut-thro" the roof; "Done !" quo' Pate, and syne his erls "Nane are free frae some vexation, Nail'd the Dryster's wauked loot'. Ilk ane has his ills to dree; But tiirough a" the hale creation

In the tlirang of stories telling. Is a mortal vext like me?' Shaking hauns, and ither clieer, A' night lang he rowt and gaunted. Swith ! a chap comes on the halian, Sleep or rest he cou'dna' tak; "ilungo, is our Watty here?" Maggy aft wi' horror haunted, Mum"ling started at his back. Maggy's weel kent tongue and hurry Darted thro" him like a knife, Soon as e'er the morning peepit, Up the door flew— like a fury Up raise Watty, waefu' chiel, In came Watty's scawling Avife. Kist his weanies, while they sleepet, Wauken'd Meg, and sought farewell. "Nasty, gude-for-naething being! ye snuffy, drucken sow! "Farewell, Meg!—and, 0! may Ileav'n Bringing wife and weans to ruin, Keep you aye within his care: Drinking here wi' sic a crew ! Watty's heart ye've lang been grievin', Now he'll never fash you mair. "Devil nor your legs were broken, Sic a life nae flesh endures, "Happy cou'd I been beside you, Toiling like a slave to sloken Hapj»y baith at morn and e'en: You, ye dyvor, and your whores. A' the ills did e'er betide you, Watty aye turned out your frien'.

"Rise, yc drucken beast o' Bethel ! Drink's your night and day's desire: "But ye ever like to see me

Rise, this precious hour ! or faith I'll Yext and sighing, late and air: !" Fling your whiskey i' the fire Farewell, I\Icg ! I've sworn to lea' thee. So thou'U never see me mair." AVatty heard her tongue unhallow'd, Pay'd his groat wi' little din. Meg, a' sabbing, sae to lose him. Left the house, while JIaggy fallow'd, Sic a change had never wist,

Flyting a' the road behin'. Held bis hand close to her bosom, AVhile her heart was like to burst. Fowk frae every door came lamping, "0 my Watty, will ye lea' me, Magg3' curst them ane and a'; Frien'less, helpless, to despair Clappet wi' iier hands, and stamping, 0! for this ae time forgi'e me: Lost her bauchles i' the sna'. Never will I vex you mair."

Hame, at length, she turned the gavel, "Ay! ye've aft said that, and broken Wi' a face as white's a clout, A' your vows ten times a Aveek. Racing like a very devil. No, no, Meg ! see, there's a token Kicking stools and chaii-s about. Glittering on my bonnet cheek.

"Ye'll sit wi' ! your limmers round you "Owre the seas I march this morning.

you, sir ! I'll your death ! Hang be Listed, tested, sworn and a', Little liauds my hands, confound you. Forc'd by your confotinded girning But rU cleave you to tiie teeth." Farewell, Meg! for I'm awa'."

Watty, wha, 'midst this oration, Then poor JIaggy's tears and clamour Ey'd her whiles l)ut dnrstna speak, Gush'd afresh, and louder grew, Sat like jjatient Resignation, AVhile the weans, wi' mournfu' yaumour. Trem'ling bv the ingle ciicck. Round their sabbing mother flew. —— — , : ;

ALEXANDER WILSOX. 423

"Tlirougli the yiitli I'll wauner wi' you Thi-ough many a lone cottage and farm-house I Stay, Watty! stay at hame; steered,

Here, upon my knees, I'll gi'e you Took their money, and off with my budget [ Ony vow you like to name. slieered The road I explored out without form or rule, "See your poor young Irmmies pleadin', Still asking the nearest to old Auchtertool. Will ye gang and break our heart? A clown I accosted, inquiring the road, No a house to put our head in ! !" He stared like an idiot, then roared out "Gude No a friend to take our part G—d, Gin ye're gaun there for quarters ye're surely a Ilka word came like a bullet; fool, Watty's heart begoud to shake; For there's nought but starvation in old Auchter- a kist he laid his wallet, On tool." Dighted baith his een and spake. Unminding his nonsense, my march I pursued, "If ance mair I cou'd by writing Till I came to a hill-top, where joyful I viewed. Lea' the sogers and stay still, Surrounded with mountains, and many a white Wad you swear to drap your flyting?" pool

"Yes, Watty, yes, I will." The small smoky village of old Auchtertool.

"Then," quo' Watty, "mind, be honest; At length I arrived at the edge of the town. As Phoebus behind a high mountain went down; Aye to keep your temper strive; The clouds gathered dreary, and weather blew Gin ye break this dreadfu' promise. foul. Never mair expect to thrive. And I hugged myself safe now in old Auchtertool.

this "Marget Howe, hour ye solemn An inn I inquired out, a lodging desired. Swear by every thing that's gude, But thelandladj''s pertness seemed instantlj' fired; Ne'er again your spouse to seal' him, For she saucy replied, as she sat carding wool, While life warms your heart and blood. "I ne'er keep sic lodgers in auld Auchtertool."

"That ye'U ne'er in Mungo's seek me^ With scorn I soon left her to live on her pride, Ne'er put drucken to my name But asking, was told there was none else beside. Never out at e'ening steek me— Except an old weaver who now kept a school, N^ver gloom when I come hame. And these were the whole that were in Auchter- tool. "That ye'U ne'er, like Bessy Miller, To his mansion I scampered, and rapt at the door; Kick my shins or rug my hair He op'd, but as soon as I dared to implore. Lastly, I'm to keep the siller. He shvit it like thunder, and uttered a howl This npon your saul you swear?" That rung through each corner of old Auchtertool.

!" "0—h quo' Meg; "Aweel," quo' Watty, Provoked now to fury, the dominie I curst. "Farewell! faith I'll try the seas." And offered to cudgel the wretch, if he durst; "'0 stand still," quo' Meg, and grat aye; But the door he fast bolted, though Boreas blew "Ony, ony way ye please." cool, And left me all friendless in old Auchtertool. Maggy syne, because he prest her. Deprived of all shelter, through darkness I trod. Swore to a' thing owre again: Till I came to a ruined old house by the road; Watty lap, and danced, and kist her; Here the night I will spend, and, inspired by the Wow! but he was won'rous fain. owl,

I'll send up some prayers for old Auchtertool.

AUCHTEETOOL. MATILDA.

From the village of Lessly, with a head full of glee. Yj dark rugged rocks, that rechne o'er the deep, And a pack on my shoulders, I rambled out free; Ye breezes, that sigh o'er the main, Resolved that same evening, as Luna was frill, Here shelter me under your cliffs, while I xrecp. To lodge ten miles distant, in old Auchtertool. And cease while ye hoar me complain ! , ! : ——; ; ;;

424 ALEXANDEE WILSON.

For distant, alas ! from my dear native shores, And far from each friend now I be; THE SCHOOLMASTER. And wide is the merciless ocean, that roars Between my Matilda and me. Of all professions that this world has knowTi, From clowns and cobblers upwards to the throne How blest were the times when together we stray'd While Phcebe shone silent above; From the great architects of Greece and Rome, to the framer of farthing Or leaned by the border of Cartha's green side, Down a broom. And talked the whole evening of love! The worst for care and undeserved abuse, The first in real dignity and use, Around us all nature lay wrapt up in peace, (If skilled to teach diligent Nor noise could our pleasures annoy, and to rule) Save Cartha's hoarse brawling conveyed by the Is the learned master of a little school. the fits breeze. Not he who guides legs, or the clown That soothed us to love and to joy. To square his fists, and knock his fellow down; Not he who shows the still more barbarous art If haply some youth had his passion exprest. To parry thrusts, and pierce th' unguarded heart And praised the bright charms of her face. But that good man, who, faithful to his charge. What horrors unceasing revolved through my Still toils the opening reason to enlarge; breast. And leads the growing mind, through eveiy stage. While, sighing, I stole from the place. From humble A B C to God's own page For where is the eye that could view her alone. From black, rough pothooks, horrid to the sight. The ear that could list to her strain, To fairest lines that float o'er purest white Nor wish the adorable nymph for his own. From numei"ation, through an opening way. Nor double the pangs I sustain? Till dark annuities seem clear as day Pours o'er the mind a flood of mental light,

! brightens those regions Thou moon that now Expands its wings, and gives it powers for flight. above. Till earth's remotest bounds, and heaven's bright How oft hast thou witness'd my bliss, train While breathing my tender expressions of love, He trace, weigh, measure, picture and explain. I seal'd each kind vow with a kiss Ah! then, how I joyed as I gazed on her charms! If such his toils, sure honour What transports flew swift through my heart! and regard. And wealth and fame will be his dear reward; I pressed the dear, beautiful maid in my arms. Sure every tongue will utter forth his praise. Nor dreamed that we ever should part. And blessings gild the evening of his days! But now from the dear, from the tenderest maid, Yes—blest indeed—by cold ungrateful scorn. By Fortune unfeelingly torn; With study pale, by daily crosses worn; 'Midst strangers, who wonder to see me so sad. Despised by those who to his labour owe In secret I wander forlorn; All that they read, and almost all they know. And oft, while drear Midnight assembles he "shades Condemned, each tedious day, such cares to bear And Silence pours sleep from her throne. As well might drive e'en Patience to despair Pale, lonely and pensive, I steal through the glades The partial parent's taunt—the idler dull And sigh, 'midst the darkness, my moan. The blockhead's dark impenetrable skull The endless round of A B C's whole train, In vain to the town I retreat for relief; Repeated o'er ten thousand times in vain. In vain to the groves I complain; Placed on a point, the object of each sneer. Belles, coxcombs and uproar, can ne'er soothe His faults enlarge —his merits disappear. my grief, If mild—"Our lazy master loves his ease. And solitude nurses my pain. The boys at school do anything they please." Still absent from her whom my bosom loves best, If rigid— "He's a stern hard-hearted wretch. 1 languish in mi.s'ry and care; He drives the children stupid with his birch. Her presence could banish each woe frommy heart. My child, with gentle means, will mind a breath;

But her absence, alas ! is despair. But frowns and flogging frighten him to death." Do as he will his conduct is arraigned. Ye dark rugged rocks, that recline o'er the deep. And dear the little that he gets is gained; Ye breezes, that sigh o'er the main, E'en that is given him on the quarter-day, Oh ! shelter me under your cliffs, while I weep. With looks that call it —money thrown away. And cease, while ye hear me complain. Far distant, alas! from my dear native shores, Just Heaven! who knows the unremitting care And far from each friend now I be; And deep solicitude that teachers share. And wide is the inerciless ocean, that roars If such their fate, by thy divine control, Between my Matilda and me. give them health and fortitude of soul! : ;—! — : ! —; ; ! ! !

ALEXANDER WILSON. 425

Souls that disdain the murderous tongue of Fame, Ilk breath I drew was like to be my last; And strength to make the sturdiest of them tame; For aye the mair I warslod roun' and roun', Grant this, ye powers! to dominies distrest, I fand mysel aye stick the deeper down; Their sharp-tailed hickories will do the rest. Till ance, at length, wi' a prodigious pull, I drew my puir cauUl carcass frae the hole. Lang, laiig I sought and graped for my pack, Till night and hunger forced me to come back. A PEDLAR'S STORY. 1 For three lang hours I wandered up and down, Til' chance at last conveyed me to a town; 'There, wi' a trembling hand, I wrote Kate I wha stand here in this bare scowry coat, my A sad account of a' my luckless fate. Was ance a packman, worth mony a groat; But bade her aye be kind, and no despair. I've carried packs as big's your meikle table; Since life was left, I soon would gather mair, I've scarted pats and sleepit in a stable Wi' whilk I hoped, within a towmont's date Sax pounds I wadna for my pack ance taen. To be at hame, and share it a' wi' Kate. And I could bauldly brag 'twas a' mine ain. Fool that I was! how little did I think Ay I thae were days indeed that gar'd me hope, That love would soon be lost for faut o' clink Aiblins, through time to warsle up a shop; The loss o' fair-won wealth, though hard to l)car, And as a wife aye in my noddle ran, Afore this — ne'er had power to force a tear. I kenia'd my Kate wad grapple at me than. I trusted time would bring things round again. Oh, Kate was past compare! sic cheeks! sic een! And Kate, dear Kate! would then be a' mine ain: Sic smiling looks! were never, never seen. Consoled my mind in hopes o' better luck Dear, dear I lo'ed her, and whene'er we met,

But, oh! what sad reverse! how thunderstruck ! Pleaded to have the bridal day but set; When ae black day brought word frae Rab my Stapped her pouches fu' o' preens and laces. brither, And thought myself weel paid wi' twa three That Kate was cried and marned on anither! kisses: Though a' my friends, and ilka comrade sweet, Yet still she put it aff frae day to day. At ance hail drapped cauld dead at my feet And aften kindly in my lug would say, Or though I'd heard the last day's dreadful ca', " Ae half-year langer's no nae unco stop, Nae deeper horror ower my heart could fa' We'll marry then, and syne set up a shop." I cursed mysel, I cursed my luckless fate. Oh, sir, but lasses' words are saft and fair, And grat and sabbing cried. Oh Kate! oh Kate! They soothe our griefs and banish ilka care: — Frae that day forth I never mair did weel. Wha wadna toil to please the lass he loes ? But drank, and ran head foremost to the dcil A lover true minds t/tis in all he does. vanished, far frae I pined. Finding her mind was thus sae firmly bent. My siller hame But Kate for ever ran across my mind And that I couldna get her to relent. In l(er were a' hopes these hopes were vain. There was nought left but quietly to resign, my — now I'll never see her Uke again. To heeze my pack for ae lang, hard campaign And And as the Highlands was the place for meat, I ventured there in spite o' wind and weet.

Cauld now the winter blew, and deep the snaw E.A.B AND RINGAN.2 For three hale days incessantly did fa'; Far in a muir, amang the whirling drift, Where nought was seen but mountains and the lift, Introduction. I lost my road, and wander'd mony a mile, Hcch ! but its awfu' like to rise up here, Maist dead wi' hunger, cauld, and fright, and toil. Where sic a sight o' learned folks' pows appear Thus wandering, east or west, I kenned na where, Sae mony piercing een a' fi.xed on ane My mind o'ercome wi' gloom and black despair, Is maist enough to freeze me to a stane Wi' a fell ringe I plunged at once, forsooth, But it's a mercy—mony thanks to fate, Down thi'ough a wreath o' snaw up to my mouth Pedlars are poor, but unco seldom blate. Clean ower my head my precious wallet flew. to President.) But whar it gaed. Lord kens— I never knew! (Speal-tn

426 ALEXANDEE WILSON.

Chiels, that precisely to the point can speak, Sae meikle learning wi' sae little pride. And gallop o'er lang blauds of kittle Greek, Soon gained the love o' a' the kintra side Hae sent frae ilka side their sharp opinion. And Death, at that time, hajjpening to nip afif And peeled it up as ane wad peel an ingon^. The parish minister—a poor, dull calf, Ringan was sought—he couldna' say them nay, I winna plague you lang wi' my poor spale, And there he's preaching at this very day. But only crave your patience to a tale By which ye'll ken on whatna side I'm stanin' Moral. As I perceive your hindmost minute's rinnin'.

Now, Mr. President, I think 'tis plain, The Tale. That youthfu' diffidence is certain gain. There lived in Fife an auld, stout, vs^orldly chiel, Instead of blocking up the road to knowledge, Wha's stomach ken'd nae fare but milk and meal; It guides alike, in commerce or at college; A wife he had, I think they ca'd her Bell, Struggles the bursts of passion to control, And twa big sons, amaist as heigh's himsel'. Feeds all the finer feelings of the soul Eab was a gleg, smart cock, with powdered pash; Defies the deep-laid stratagems of guile. Eingan, a slow, feared, bashfu', simple hash. And gives even innocence a sweeter smile Ennobles all the little worth we have. first spruce Baith to the college gaed. At Rab And shields our virtue even to the grave.

At Greek and Latin grew a very dab : He beat a' round about him, fair and clean. How vast the difference, then, between the twain. And ilk ane courted him to be their f rien' Since pleasure ever is pursued by pain. Frae house to house they harled him to dinner. Pleasure's a sj'ren, with inviting arms. But cursed poor Ringan for a hum-drum sinner. Sweet is her voice and powerful are her charms; Lured by her call we tread her flowery ground, talked now in sic a lofty strain. Rab Joy wings our steps and music warbles round, As though braid Scotland had been a' his ain Lulled in her arms we lose the flying hours. He ca'd the kirk the church, the yirth the globe, And lie embosomed 'midst her blooming bowers. And changed his name, forsooth, frae Rab to Bob. Till —armed with death, she watches our undoing. Whare'er ye met him flourishing his rung. Stabs while she sings, and triumphs in our ruin. The haill discourse was mtirdered wi' his tongue. On friends and faes wi' impudence he set. And rammed his nose in everything he met. The college now to Rab grew douf and dull. THE AMERICAN BLUE-BIRD. He scorned wi' books to stupify his skull But whirled to plays and balls, and sic like places, When winter's cold tempests and winds ai'e no And roared awa at fairs and kintra races more. Sent hame for siller frae his mother Bell Green meadows and brown-furrowed fields re- And caf t a horse, and rade a race himsel' appearing. Drank day and night, and syne, when mortal fu'. The fishermen hauling their shad to the shore. Rowed on the floor, and snored like ony sow And cloud-cleaving geese to the lakes are a Lost a' his siller wi' some gambling sparks. steering And pawned, for punch, his Bible and his sarks When first the lone butterfly flits on the wing. Till driven at last to own he had enough, When red grows the maple, so fresh and so Gaed hame a' rags to hand his father's plough. pleasing, Oh then comes the blue-bird, the herald of spring, Poor hum-drum Ringan played anither part, And hails with his warblings the chai-ms of the For Ringan wanted neither wit nor ar ; season. Of mony a far-aff place ho kent the gate decj), but unco, blate. Was deep learned, imco The loud piping frogs make the marshes to ring kend how mony mile 'twas to the moon. He Then warm glows the sunshine, and fine is the How mony rake wad lave the ocean toom weather, a' swallows Where the gaed in time of snaw Then blue woodland flowers just beginning to What gars the thunders roar, and tempests blaw; spring. lumps o' siller grow the grun' Where aneath And spice wood and sassafras budding together; How a' this yirth rows round about the sun Oh then to your gardens, ye housewives, repair; In short, on books sae meikle time he spent. Your walks border up, sow and plant at your couldna' Ye speak o' aught, but Ringan kent. leisure; The blue-bird will chant from his box such an air. 1 Tlie fjiiestion liad been Bi)(>keii uiion liotli sides before thiH tiilo was recited, wliicli was the last opiiuoii given That all your hard toils will seem truly a jjlea- on the debate. sure. — ; —

CAROLINA NAIRNE. 427

He flits through the orchard, he visits each tree, While spring's lovely season, soft, dewy, and The red glowing peach, and the apple's sweet warm. blossoms; The green face of earth, and the pure Ijlue of He snaps up destroyers whatever they be. heaven. And seizes the caitiffs that lurk in their bosoms; Or love's native music have influence to charm, He ch'aws the vile grub from the corn it devours, Or sympathy's glov.' to our feehngs arc given The worms from their webs where they riot and Still dear to each bosom the blue-bu-d shall be; welter. His voice, Uke the slirilling of hope, is a trea- His song and his services freely are ours, sure; And all that he asks is, in summer, a shelter. For through bleakest storms, if a calm he but see. The ploughman is pleased when he gleans in his He comes to remind us of sunshine and plea- train, sure. Now searching the furrows, now mounting to cheer him; The gardener delights in his sweet simple strain, And leans on his spade to survey and to hear COXNEL AND FLORA. him; The slow lingering schoolboys forget thej''ll be chid, Dark lowers the night o'er the wide stormy main, While gazing intent as he warbles before them, Till mild rosy morning rise cheerful again

Alas ! In mantle of sky-blue and bosom so red, morn returns to revisit the shore, But C'onnel returns That each little loitei'er seems to adore him. to his Flora no more.

When all the gay scenes of the summer are o'er, For see, on yon mountain, the dark cloud of death, And autumn slow enters so silent and sallow, O'er Connel's lone cottage, lies low on the heath; And millions of warblers, that charmed us before, While bloody and pale, on a far distant shore, Have fled in the tread of the sun-seeking swal- He lies, to return to his Flora no more. low;

The blue-bird, forsaken, yet true to his home, Ye light fleeting spii-its, that glide o'er the steep. Still lingers, and looks for a milder to-morrow. Oh, would ye but waft me across the wild deep I Till forced by the horrors of winter to roam. There fearless I'd mix in the battle's loud roar, He sings the adieu in a lone note of sorrow. I'd die with my Connel, and leave him no more.

CAEOLINA NAIENE,

Born 17C6 — Died 18i5.

Carolina Oliphant, a Cliristian lady alike named in honour of Prince Charles Edward, lovely in mind and person, who was from her attended the unfortunate Stuart during liis great beauty known in her native district as disastrous campaign of 1745-46; and his wife "The Flower of Strathearn," was born at the indicated her sympathy in the cause by cutting family mansion of Gask, in the county of off a lock of the Prince's hair, on the occasion Perth, July 16, 1766. The Oliphants of Gask of his accepting their iiospitallty. The sou- were cadets of the formerly noble house of venir is still preserved in the family. Our Oliphant, whose ancestor, Sir William of Aber- authoress has thus celebrated tlie incident in dalgie, acquired distinction in the early part her song of "The Auld House:" of the fourteenth century, by defending the " The leddy too, sae geiity. castle of Stirling against a formidable siege. There shelter'd Scotland'.s lieir. An' dipt a lock wi' lier aiii liand carried on under the eyes of Edward I. of Frae his laiig jellow hair." England. Her ancestors were devoted Jacob- ites. The paternal grandfather of Carolina, Carolina Oliphant, whose beauty was equalled 428 CAEOLINA NAIRNE. by her intellectual attainments and her great sound morality, yet that the love of those sweet love of music, was married to AVilliam Murray and wild airs made the people tenacious of the Nairne of the British army, who, in 1824, words to which they were wedded. Her prin- received the family title of Baron Nairne. The cipal, if not her .sole object, was to disjoin act of Parliament removing the attainder of these, and to supplant the impurer strains. the family was passed owing to the recommen- Doubtless that capacity of geniuswhich enabled dation of George IV., who learned, during his her to write as she has done might, as an in- visit to Scotland in 1822, that the song of herent stimulus, urge her to seek gratification "The Attainted Scottish Nobles" was the in the exercise of it; but even in this case, composition of Lady Nairne. On the 9th of the virtue of her main motive underwent no July, 1830, she lost her husband, and seven diminution. She was well aware how deeply years later her only son died in Brussels, where the Scottish heart imbibed the sentiments of he had gone in company with the baroness for song, so tiiat these became a portion of its na- his health. Deprived of both husband and turCj or of the principles upon which the indi- son—the latter a young gentleman of great viduals acted, however unconsciously, amid promise —Lady Nairne, though submitting to the intercourse of life. Lessons could thus be the dispensation of Heaven with becoming re- tanght which could not, perhaps, be commu- signation, did not regain her usual buoyancy nicated with the same effect by any other of spirit. She was rapidly falling into "the means. This pleasing agency of education in sere, the yellow leaf" —those years in which the school of moral refinement Ladj' Nairne the words of the inspired sage, "I have no has exercised with genial tact and great beauty; pleasure in them," are too often called forth and liberally as she bestowed benefactions by mental trials and bodily infirmities. But on her fellow-kind in many other respects, she bore up nobly. In one of her letters, dated it may be said no gifts conferred could bear 1840, she says: "I sometimes say to myself, in their beneficial effects a comparison to the

' This is no me,' so greatly have my feelings songs which she has written. Her strains and trains of thought changed since 'auld lang tlirilled along the chords of a common nature, ; ruder thoughts into a more tender syne ' and though I am made to know assuredly beguiling that all is well, I scarcely dare to allow my and generous tone, and lifting up the lower mind to settle on the past." towards the loftier feeling." To this period of her life we owe the ode, The benevolence of Lady Nairne was not " Would you be young again?" and several of confined to the purification of the national her compositions breathing a deeply devotional minstrelsy, but extended towards the support spirit; "The Laird o' Cockpen," and other of many of the philanthropic institutions of humorous and popular songs, having been her native land, which in her judgment were written previous to her marriage in 1806. promoting the temporal comforts, or advancing Carolina Baroness Nairne died in the same the spiritual interests of the Scottish people. mansion in which she was born, on the 26th Her contributions to public as v/ell as private of October, 1845, at the advanced age of charities were very liberal. In an address seventy-nine. delivered by Dr. Chalmers a few weeks after Lady Nairne was a prolific writer of Scottish her death, referring to the exertions which had Bongs and ballads, and in her later years wrote been made for the supply of religious instruc- poems expressive of the pious resignation and tion in a certain district of Edinburgh, known Christian hope of the author, which, however, astiie West Port, he made the following remarks appeared anonymously, as her extreme diffi- regarding Lady Nairne:— " Let me speak now dence and modesty shrank from all publicity. as to the countenance we have received. I am She neither wrote for gain or fame, but from now at liberty to mention a very noble bene- a far higher motive. A Scottish writer says: faction •which I received about a year ago. "She knew that the minstrels of ruder times Inquiry was made of me by a lady, mentioning had composed, and, througii the aid of the that she liad a sum at her disposal, and that national melodies, transmitted to posterity she wislied to apply it to charitable purposes; strains ill fitted to promote the interests of and she wanted me to enumerate a list of chari- ; — ! ;

CAROLINA NAIRNE. 4-29

table objects in proportion to the estimate I got a site in the very heart of the locality, with had of their value. Accordingly I furnished a very considerable extent of ground for a her with a scale of five or six charitable washing-green, a washing-house, and a play- objects. The highest in the scale were those ground for the children, so that we are a good institutions which had for their design the step in advance towards the completion of our Christianizing of the people at home; and I pai"Ochial economy." also mentioned to her, in connection with the Some years after Lady Xairne's death, the Christianizing at home, what we were doing relations and literary friends of the deceased,

at the West Port ; and there came to me from thinking verj' correctly that thei-e was no lier, in the course of a day or two, no less a longer any reason for withholding from the

sum than £300. She is now dead ; she is now public the secret of the authorship of her in her grave, and her works do follow her. numerous charming compositions, published an When she gave me this noble benefaction, she elegant volume, entitled " Lays from Strath- laid me under strict injunctions of secrecy, earn; by Carolina Baroness Nairne," containing and, accordingly, I did not mention her name about one hundred of her songs and ballads, to any person; but after she was dead, I the most popular of which are, " The Land o' begged of her nearest heir that I might be the Leal;" "The Laird o' Cockpen" — lays allowed to proclaim it, because I thought that that the world will not willingly let die. In lier example, so worthy to be followed, might 1869 another volume appeared, called, "Life influence others in imitating her; and I am and Somjs of the Baroness Xairne; with a happy to say that I am now at liberty to state Memoir and Poems of Carolina Oliphant, the that it was Lady Nairne of Perthshire. It Younger, edited by I?ev. Charles Rogers, enabled us, at an expense of £330, to pui'chase LL.D., F.S. A. Scot.;" accompanied by a por- sites for schools and a church: and we have trait and other illustrations.

THE PLEUGHMAK CALLER HERRm'.i

There's high and low, there's rich and poor. Wha'U buy caller herrin'? There's trades and crafts enew, man They're bonnie fish and halesome farin' But, east and west, his trade's the best Wha'll buy caller herrin'. That kens to guide the pleugh, man. New drawn frae the Forth? Then come weel speed my pleughman hu! And hey my merry pleughman; AVhen ye were sleepin' on yotir pillowa, Of a' the trades that I do ken. Dream'd ye ought o' our puir fellows, Commend me to the pleughman. Darkling as they faced the billows,

A' to fill the woven willows. His dreams are sweet upon his bed. Buy my caller herrin'. His cares are light and fen-, man; New drawn frae the Forth. His mother's blessing's on his head, That tents her weel, the pleughman. Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? Then come weel speed, c&c. They're no brought here without brave daring; Buy my caller herrin', The lark sae sweet, that starts to meet Haul'd thro' Avind and rain.

The morning fresh ; and new, man Wha'll buy caller herrin'? &c. Blythe though she be, as blythe is he That sings as sweet, the pleughman. Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? Then come weel speed, &c. Oh, ye may ca' them vulgar farin' Wives and mithers, maist despairin', All fresh and gay, at dawn of day Ca' them lives o' men. Their labours they renew, man ; Wha'll buy caller herrin'? &c, Heaven bless the seed, and bless the soil, And Heaven bless the pleughman. I This song was written for Nathaniel Gow, son of tlie Then come weel speed, &c. celebrated Neil Gow. Ed. — — — ! : !! !

430 CAROLINA NAIRNE.

And aften he thought, as he gaed through the When the creel o' herrin' passes, glen, Ladies, clad in silk and laces. She's daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen. Gather in their braw pelisses, Cast their heads, and screw their faces. And now that the Laird his exit had made, Wiia'U buy caller herrin' ? &c. Mistress Jean she reflected on what she had said; "Oh! for ane I'll get better, it's waur I'll get ten, Caller herrin's no got lightlie; I was daft to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen." Ye can trip the spring fu' tightlie; Spite o' tauntin', flauntin', fiingin', Next time that the Laird and the Lady were seen, Gow has set you a' a-singin'. They were gaun arm-in-arm to the kirk on the Wha'll buy caller herrin'? &c. green; Now she sits in the ha' like a weel-tappit hen, Neebour wives, now tent my tcllin', But as yet there's nae chickens appeared at When the bonnie fish ye're sellin'. Cockpen. At ae word be in yer dealin' Truth will stand wlien a" thing's failin', Wha'll buy caller herrin'? &c. GUDE NICHT, AND JOY BE WI' YE A'!

The best o' joys maun hae an end, The best o' friends maun part, 1 trow; 0' THE LAIRD COCKPEN.i Tiie langest day will wear away,

And I maun bid farewell to you. The Laird o' Cockpen he's proud and he's great, Tiie tear will tell when hearts are fu'. His mind is ta'en up wi' the things o' the state; For words, gin they hae sense ava, He wanted a wife his braw house to keep, They're broken, faltering, and few: fashious to seek. But favour wi' wooin' was Gude nicht, and joy be wi' ye a'

Down by the dyke-side a lady did dwell, Oh, we hae wander'd far and wide, At his table-head he thought she'd look well; O'er Scotia's lands o' frith and fell M'Clish's ae daughter o' Claverse-ha' Lee, And mony a simple flower we've pu'd, A penniless lass wi' a lang pedigree. And twined it wi' the heather-bell. His wig was weel pouther'd, and as gude as new, AVe've ranged the dingle and the dell, baron's His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue; The cot house, and the ha"; He put on a ring, a sword, and cock'd hat, Now we maun tak a last farewell

And wha' could refuse the Laird wi' a' that ? Gude nicht, and joy be wi' ye a'

took the gray mare, and rade cannily He Jly harp faiewell ! thy strains are past, And rapp'd at the yett o' Claverse-ha' Lee; Of gleefu' mirth, and heartfelt care; ' ' speedily ben, Gae tell Mistress Jean to come The voice of song maun cease at last, to speak to the Laird o' Cockpen." She's wanted And minstrelsy itsel' decay.

But, oh ! whar sorrow canna win, Mistress Jean was makin' the elder-flower wine, Nor parting tears are shed ava', "And what brings the Laird at sic a like time?" May we meet neighbor, kith, and kin, She put aff her apron and on her silk gown, And joy for aye be wi" us a' Her mutch wi' red ribbons, and gaed awa' down.

And when she cam' ben, ho bowed fu' low, And what was his errand he soon let her know; Amazed was the Laird when the lady said " Na;" THE HUNDRED BIPERS. And wi' a laigh cui'tsie she turned awa'. Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a', Dumbfounder'd he was, nae sigh did he gie; Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a'; We'll gie them a blaw, a blaw, Ho mounted his mare—he rade cannily; up and Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a'. Oh! it's owre the Border awa', awa', ' The two last stanzas were added, to complete the It's owre the Border awa', awa'; song, by Miss Mary Feri-ier, authoress of Marnofie, we'll to Carlisle ha' litherUance, and Destimi, — novels that were greatly We'll on and march admired by Sir Walter Scott. Ed. Wi' its yetts, its castell, an' a', an' a'. — — ——; ; ;

CAROLINA NAIRNE. 431

Oh ! our iodger lads looked braw, looked braw, Our bonnie bairn's there, John : Wi' their tartans, kilts an a', an' a', She wa.s buith gude and fair, John ; Wi' their bonnets, an' feathers, an' glittering geai', And, oh I we grudged iier sair An' pibrochs sounding sweet and clear. To the land o' the leal. Will they a' return to their ain dear glen ? But sorrow's .sel' wears pa.st, John, WiU they a' return, our Hieland men { And joy's a-comin' fa.st, John Second-sighted Sandy locked fu' wae. The joy that's aye to last And mothers grat when they marched away. In the land o' the leal. Wi' a hundred pipers, &c.

Sae dear's that joy was bought, John, Oh wha is foremost o' a', o' a' ? Sae free the battle fought, John, Oh wha does follow the blaw, the blaw ? That sinfu' man e'er brought Bonnie Charlie the king o' us a', hurra! To the land o" the leal. Wi' his hundred pipers an' a', an' a'. Oh, His bonnet and feather, he's wavin' high, dry your glist'ning ec, John ! His prancin' steed maist seems to fly. I\Iy sauI langs to be free, John The nor' wind plays wi' his curly hair. And angels beckon me While the pipers blaw in an' unco flare. To the land o' the leal. Wi' a hundred pipers, &c.

Oh, haud ye leal and true, Jolin ! swollen deep. Your day it's wearin' thro', .The Esk was sae red and sae John ; But shouther to shouther the brave lads keep: And I'll welcome you

Twa thousand swam owre to fill English ground. To the land o' the leal. And danced themselves dry to the pibroch's Now fare ye weel, my ain Jolin, sound. Tiiis warld's cares are vain, John; Dumfounder'd the English saw—they saw We'll meet, and we'll be fain. Dumfounder'd they heard the blaw, the blaw, In the land o' the leal. Dimifounder'd they ran awa', awa. From the hundred pipers an' a', an' a. Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a',

Wi' hundred pipers an' a', an' a'; a SAW YE NAE TEGGY? We'll up and gie them a blaw, a blaw, MY Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a'. Saw ve nae my Peggy? Saw ye nae my Peggy? Saw ye nae my Peggy comin' Through TillibeUon's broom? THE LAXD 0' THE LEAL.i I'm frae Aheniagie, Ower the crafts o' Craigie,

For aught I ken o' Peggy, I'm wearin' awa', Jolin, She's ayont the moon. Ivike .siiaw Avreaths in thaw, John: I'm wearin' awa' There's nae sorrow there. Jean To the land o' the leal. There's neither cauld nor care, Jean; There's nae sorrow there, John; The day is aye fair Tiiere's neither cauld nor care, John In the land o' the leal. The day's aye fair Our bonnie bairn's there, Jean; o' leal. r the land the She was baith gude and fair, Jean And oh! we grudged her sair 1 This beautiful Ijric appeared in print soon after the To the land o' the leal. death of Burns, and in its more popular veraion was But sorrow's sel' wears past, Jean, supposed to express his dying thoughts, although in Atid joy is coming f;ist, Jeau joy that's aye to last its original form there is no trace of such an intention The In the land o' the leal. on the part of Lady Xairne. Dr. Rcgei-s states that it W!is written in 1~9S, on the death of the eldest child of Ye were aye leal and true. Jean, lier friends Mr. and Mrs. Colqiihoun of Killermont. Your task's ended now, Jean, The foUowiinr is the popular, and iierhaps improved, And I'll welcome you version: Ed. To the land o' the leal. I'm wearin' awa', Jean, Now fare you well, my ain Jean; Like snaw wlien it's thaw, Jean, This warld's care is vain, Jean; I'm wearin' awa' Well meet and will be fain To the land o' the leal. In the land o' the leal. ! — : !— — ;

432 CAROLINA NAIRNE.

'Twas but at the dawin', He's reelin' liame ae winter's nicht, Clear the cock was crawin', Some later than the gloamin';

I saw Peggy caAvin' He's ta'en the rig, he's missed the brig, Hawkie by the brier. And Bogie's ower him foamin'. Early bells were lungin', Wi' broken banes, out ower the stane«. Blythest birds were singin', He creepit up Strabogie; Sweetest flowers were springin', And a' the nicht he pray'd wi' micht,. A' her heart to cheer. To keep him frae the cogie.

'Now the tempest's blawin', Now Mary's heart is light again Almond water's flowin' She's neither sick nor silly; Deep and ford unknowin', For auld or young, nae sinfu' tongue, She maun cross the day. Could e'er entice her Willie; Almond waters, spare her, And aye the sang through Bogie rang "0 baud ye frae tlie cogie; Safe to Lynedoch bear her 1 Its braes ne'er saw a fairer, The weary gill's the .sairest ill Bess Bell nor Mary Gray. On braes o' fair Strabogie."

Oh, now to be wi' her Or but ance to see her ARE GANE. Skaithless, far or near, HERE'S TO THEM THAT

I'd gie Scotland's crown. Here's to them, to them that are gane; Byeword, blind's a lover Here's to them, to them that are gane; Wha's yon I discover? Here's to them that were here, the faithful and Just yer ain fair rover, dear. Stately stappin' down. That will never be here again—no, never. But where are they now that arc gane '<

Oh, where are the faithful and true ? They're gane to the light that fears not the night, An' their day of rejoicing shall end—no, never. CAULD KAIL IN ABERDEEN. Here's to them, to them that were here; • Here's to them, to them that were here; There's cauld kail in Aberdeen, Here's a tear and a sigh to the bliss that's gane bj', There's castocks in Strabogie; But 'twas ne'er like what's coming, to last —for morn and e'en, they're blythe and bein. And ever. That hand them frae the cogie. Oh, bright was their morning sun ! Now, baud ye frae the cogie, lads; Oh, bright was their morning sun !

bide ye frae the cogie I Yet, lang ere the gloaming, in clouds it gaed down I'll tell ye true, ye' 11 never rue, But the storm and the cloud are now past—for 0' passin' by the cogie. ever.

Farewell, farewell ! parting silence is sad; Young Will was braw and weel put on Oh, how sad the last parting tear Sac blythe was he and vogie; But that silence shall break, where no tear on the And he got bonnie llary Don, cheek The flower o' a' Strabogie. Can bedim the bright vision again— no, never. Wha wad hae thocht at wooin' time, Then, speed to the wings of old Time, Ilc'd e'er forsaken ]\Iary, That waft us where pilgrims would be; And ta'en him to the tipplin' trade, To the regions of rest, to the shores of the blest. Wi' boozin Rob and Harry? Where the full tide of glory shall flow—for ever.

Sair Mary wrought, sair Mary grat,

She scarce could lift the ladle ; Wi' pithless feet, 'tween ilka greet. THE LASS 0' GOWRIE. She'd rock tiie b'>rrow'd cradle. Her wcddin' jilcnishiu' was ganc, 'Twas on a summer's afternoon, She never thocht to borrow: A wee afore the sun gaed down, Her bonnie face was waxin' wan — A lassie, wi' a braw new gown, And Will wrought a' the sorrow. Cam ower the hills to Gowric. ! — ;

CAROLINA NAIRNE. 4:33

The rosebud, washed in summer's shower, What lads e'er did our laddies will do;

Bloom'd fresh within the sunny bower; Were I a laddie, I'd follow him too. But Kitty was the fairest flower He's ower the hills, &c. Tiiut e'er was seen iu Gowrie. Sae noble a look, sae princely an air, Tj see her cousin slie cam there. Sae gallant and bold, sae young and sac fair: An', oh, tlie scene was passing fairl Oh, did ye but see him, ye'd do as we've done! For what in Scotland can compare Hear him but ance, to his standard you'll run.

A\'i' the Carse o' Gowrie? He's ower the hills, &c. The sun was setting on tiie Tay, Then draw the claymore, for Cliarlie then fight The blue hills melting into gray; The mavis and the blackbird's lay For your country, religion, and a' that is right: AVere Were sweetly heard in Gowrie. ten thousand lives now given to me, I'd die as aft for ane o' the three. He's ower the hills, &c. Oh, lang the lassie I had woo'd An' trutli and constancy had vow'd.

But cam' nae speed wi' her I lo'ed, Until she saw fair Gowrie. I pointed to my father's ha'. THE ATTAINTED SCOTTISH NOBLES. Yon bonnie bield ayont tlie shaw, Oil, will tune their mournfu' strains. Sae joun' that there nae blast could blaw; some tell 0' hame-made sorrow. Wad she no bide in Gowrie? To And if they cheat you 0' your tears, They'll dry upon the morrow. Her faither was baitJi glad and wae; will sing their airy dreams, Her mither she wad naething say; Oil, some verity they're sportin'; The bairnies tliocht they wad get play In sang's o' sic tiiievcless themes, If Kitty gaed to Gowrie. My nae But wakin' true misfortune. She whiles did smile, slie whiles did greet, Tiie l)Iusli and tear w'ere on her cheek; Ye Scottish nobles, ane and a', She naething said, an' hung her head: For loyalty attainted, But now she's Lady Gowrie. A nameless bardie's wae to see Your sorrows unlam.ented; For if your fathers ne'er had fought For heirs of ancient royalty, Ye're down the day that niiglit hac been HE'S OWER THE HILLS THAT I At the top 0' honour's tree a'.

LO'E WEEL. For old hereditary right,

For conscience' sake they stoutly stood ; He's ower the hills that I lo'e weel. And for the crown their valiant sons He's ower the hills we daurna name; Themselves have shed their injured blood He's ower the hills ayont Dunblane, And if their fathers ne'er had fought Wlia soon will his get welcome liame. For heirs of ancient royalty. They're down the day that might hac been

My father's gane to fight for him, At the toi) o' honour's tree a' My brithers winna bide at liaTue: My mitlier greets and prays for tliem, And 'deed she thinks they're no to blame. He's ower the hills, &c. WOULD YOU BE YOUNG AGAIN?

The Whigs may scoflT, the Whigs may jeer; Would you be young again? But, ah! that love maun be sincere So would not I AV'hich still keeps true whate'er betide. One tear to memory given, An' for his sake leaves a' beside. Onward I'd hie. He's ower tiie hills, &c. Life's dark flood forded o'er, All but at rest on .-hore, His right these hills, his right these plains; Say, would you plunge once more, Ower llieland hearts secure he reigns; With home so nigh? 28 ——

434 ALEXANDER BALFOUR.

If you might, would jou now Gin my soul be blest, Retrace your way? I'll meet him again. "Wander through stormy Avilds, Fault and astray? Oh, to meet him again, Where hearts ne'er were sair Night's gloomy watclies fled, Oh, to meet Iiim again, ^lorning all beaming red, part never Hope's smiles around us shed, To mair! H eaven ward—away.

Where, then, are those dear ones. Our joy and delight? REST IS NOT HERE. Dear, and more dear, though now Hidden from sight. What's this vain world to me? Where they rejoice to he. Rest is not liere; There is the land for me; False are the smiles I see, Fly, time, fly speedily: The mirth I hear. Come, life and light. Where is youth's joyful glee? Where all once dear to me? Gone, as the shadows flee Rest is not here. FAREWELL, FAREWELL! Why did the moi'ning fshine Farewell, farewell! Blythely and fair? did those tints .so fine My heart it is sair; Why Farewell, farewell! Vanish in air? Does not the vision say, I'll .see him nae mair. Faint, lingering heart, away, Lang, lang was he mine, Why in this desert stay Lang, lang— but nae mair Dark land of care? I mauna repine. But my heart it is sair. Where souls angelic soar, Thither repair; His staff's at the wa', Let this vain world no more Toom, toom is his chair! Lull and ensnare. His bannet, an' a'! That heaven I love so well .\n' I maun he here! Still in my heart shall dwell;

Lilt oh ! lie's at rest. All things around me tell

Why sud I complain? Rest is found there.

ALEXANDER BALFOUE.

Born 1767 — Dikd 1829.

Alexander Balfour, the author of four 1814 he removed to the vicinity of Dundee, volumes of poetry and sixteen of prose, besides to superintend a branch of a London house, contributions to periodicals which would fill with which he had long transacted business on an e(pial number, was born in the parish of a large scale; but in the disastrous summer of jMonikie, Forfarshire, March 1, 1767. From 1815 it was suddenly involved in bankruptcy, his native place, where he learned weaving, Balfour sharing, from the unfortunate extent and latterly taught a school, he removed in 1793 of his connection with the house, the same fate. to Arbroath. He was first employed as a From a position of affluence he was plunged into clerk, and afterwards carried on business as a state o(| extreme poverty. In the autumn a merchant and munufactiirer. In tiic vcar of the same year he obtained the situation of —

ALEXANDER BALFOUR. 43;-) overseer of the Balgonie Spinning Mills in periodicals which would fill an equal number." Fifeshire, from whence he removed with his Two of his poetical volumes, entitled, Contem- family to Edinburgh in October, 1818, to enter plation and other Poems, and Characters ui)on the uncertain career of a man of letters. Omitted in Crahbe's Pariah lieyister, were From his earliest youth Balfour displayed respectively published in 1820 and 182.5. A a talent for composition, by occasionally con- few months after his death a selection appeared tributing to the papers and periodicals of the of his fugitive pieces in prose and verse, under daj'. Several of his poems were transmitted t'ne title of Weeds and Wild Floicers. The to James Sibbald, and by him published in volume was enriched by a tastefully written the Edinhunjh Magazine, of which he was the memoir from the pen of Dr. Moir, the Delta of editor and proprietor. His first attempts were Blackwood's Magazine, which concludes witli made at the age of twelve, tlic period of life the following just and beautiful triljute to his when Pope and Cowley began to indite verses, laborious literary life: "To his grave Mr. Bal- and when almost all men of genius seem to four carried the admiration of many—the show sparklings of what they are afterwards respect of all who knew him; and of his writ- to be. From the date of his arriv^al in the ings, it may be aflii-med with equal truth as of Scottish capital until his death, September 12, those of Thomson, that he left 'no line, whicii " 1829, his time was Avholly devoted to literary dying he could wish to blot.' pursuits. "During that period," says his In conclusion, it is pleasant to record that, biographer, "when palsy had deprived him of in consequence of an earnest application made liis locomotive powers, crippled his hand- writ- in Balfour's behalf by Joseph Hume, M. ]'., ing, and nearly deprived him of speech, he Canning conferred on the poet a treasury composed four volumes of poetry, and sixteen donation of one hundred pound.s, in considera- volumes of prose, besides pieces in a variety of tion of his genius, industry, and misfortunes.

TO A CANARY BIED.

Poor, reckless bird! you'll rue the hour You've ta'en your flight; You rashly left your wiry bower; Left a' your friends wi' hearts fu' sair, Unfit on feckless wing to scour AVithout Good-night! Alang the sky; Though, like the lark, you hope to tower. Frae morn to e'en you blitiiely sang, And mount on high. Till a' the room around you rang; Your bosom never felt the pang I ferly sair you thought na shame O' want or fear: To leave that snug and cosie hame, Xor greedy glede, nor pussy's fang.

Wi" comforts mair tiian I can name. Were e\er near. Wiiere friends caress'd you , To phiy the ma'lly losing game. When leeting out, in wanton i)lay.

What freak possess'd you ? Some bonnie, calm, and cloudles.-, day, You cast your ee o'er gardens gay. On .Vnna's lap you sat to rest, And skies sae clear, And sometimes fondly made your nest And deem'd that ilka month was May In gentle Mary's virgin breast Tiu-oughout the year: E'en dared to sip Sweets, might have made a monarch ble^t, When gay green leaves the woods adorn, Frae Emma's lip. .\nd fields are fair wi' springing corn. To brush the pearly dews of morn. Your comfort was their daily care. And spread your plumes, They fed you wi' the daintiest fare; Where sweetly smiles the sna'-white thorn. And now, through fields of trackless aii Or primrose blooms; 436 ALEXANDER BALFOUR.

On gowany braes to sit and sing, Leave Albion's fair and fruitful plain "Wliile biulding birks their odours fling, Wi' scornfu' ee, And blooming flowers around you spring, To search beyond the western main To glad your ee, For bliss to be: To hap the wild rose wi' your wing,— The thought was glee. And in Columbia's forests deep, Where Indians prowl and serpents creep. Poor, fligliter'd thing! you little ken He dream'd of Scotia in his sleep, What passes in the flowery glen; Still fondly dear; When you can neither flee nor fen', Or waking, turn'd to sigh and weep You'll wish fu' fain The bootless tear. That you were in your cage again; But wish in vain. 'Tis naething .strange for folks to think, If Pleasure for a moment blink. noon-tide sun will never Nae doubt you think your freedom sweet: Her sink; And birds and You'll change your mind when blashy weet, men She leads to dark destruction's brink Keen pirling hail, or chilling sleet. Before they ken. Your feathers daidle:

'Twad ill befit your slender feet In dubs to paidle!

Though summer blooms in beauty rare, THE BONNIE LASS 0' LEVEN WATER.

1 fear you'll dine but bauchly there; You canna feed when fields are bare, Though siller Tweed rin o'er the lea. On haps and haws. An' dark the Dee 'mang Highland heather. Or seart and scrape for coarser fare, Yet siller Tweed an' drumly Dee Like corbie craws. Are not sae dear as Leven Water. When nature form'd our favourite isle. November winds will nip the flower, An' a' her sweets began to scatter, Then comes the cauld and pelting shower, She look'd with fond approving smile And shivering in the leafless bower, Alang the banks o' Leven Water. Wi' droukit wing. You, while the dark clouds round you lower. On flowery braes, at gloamin' gray, Forget to sing. 'Tis sweet to scent the primrose springin'; Or through the woodlands green to stray, When freezing winds around you bla', In ilka buss the mavis singin'; O'er glittering wreaths o' drifted sna", But sweeter than the woodlands green. And robin hides in sheltering ha', Or primrose painted fail' by Nature, Wi' hardy form, Is she wha smiles, a rural queen,

I fear your chance, poor bird, is sma'. The bonnie lass o' Leven Water.

To bang the storm I The sunbeam in the siller dew. Hut you will never see that day. That hangs upon the hawthorn's blossom, Ne'er shiver on the naked spray, Shines faint beside her een sae blue; P'or lang before the leaves decay, An' purer is her spotless bosom. Some hapless morn, Her smile wad thaw a hermit's breast; To rutiiless hawk you'll fall a prey, There's love an' truth in ilka feature; Your plumage torn! For her I'm past baith Avark an' rest, The bonnie lass o' Leven Water! Was't Freedom, say, or Pleasure's name, That lured you frac your cozic hame? But I'm a lad o' laigh degree, Whichever, I can hardly blame, Her purse-proud daddy's dour an' saucy;

Though you'll repeat it; An' sair the carle wad scowl on mq For wiser folk have done the same, For speakin' to his dawtit lassie; And sair lamentit. But were I laird o' Leven's glen. An' she a humble shepherd's daughter, I've keiit the rich, but restless swain, I'd kneel, an' court her for my ain. For l^iiberty, or sordid gain, The Itonnie lass o' Leven Water! — — ! !

ALEXANDER BALFOUR. 437

Reader, does youth light up thine eye? STANZAS. It sparkled once as bright in mine; And though the days are long gone by,

( Written at mldnifjht, Z\st December, 1828.) ily heart was once as light as thine.

Hark! Time has .struck the midnight bell, Perhaps the cup of love and joy, Another year ha.s pas.sed away; Thy raptured heart delights to sip; Ili.s re(iuiem .sung—his parting knell But fate may soon that bliss destroy, And, hark! again!—that wild hurrah! Untimely snatch it from thy lip.

Is it becau.se the sire's deposed .\rt thou the child of many woes. That til us they liail the new-born son? Long wandering in life's dreary gloom? Or, that life's lease is nearer closed. The hour is near that brings repose. Their ebbing sands still nearer run? The dreamless slumber of the tomb.

wildly' lift their Just now they voice If young, the lengthen'd train of year.s, In welcome to a puny ciiild; The boundless landscape, spread before. A.s gladly will that crowd rejoice, An endless vista now appears Some twelve months hence, when he's exiled. A halcyon sea, without a shore.

And some will laud, and some revile, If old, perhaps you look behind, The name of the departed year: And pensive, muse on what has been; Some o'er his grave exulting smile, Though not without surprise, to find And on his turf some drop a tear. How time has changed the fairy scene.

For some will .sigh, of friends bereaved. The prospect, once so fair and vast, Those long po.ssessed and dearly loved; Now dwindled to a point will seem; While others mourn o'er hopes deceived; And you, like me, will feel at least. And some rejoice, their fears removed. That life is but a morning dream.

And .some, with retrospective eye. Behind a lingering look will cast; AVill fondly gaze on scenes gone by. And vainly sigh for pleasures past. SLIGHTED LOVE. Others will calmly look before, Long to.ssed on life's tempestuous wave; The rosebud blushing to the morn, IJy faith and hope will view the shore. The sna'-white flower that scents the thorn. The haven of rest, beyond the grave. When on thj- gentle bosom worn. Were ne'er sae fair as thee, ^lary And some will glide along the stream. How blest was I, a little while. Insensible to joy or care: To deem that bosom free frae guile: To eat and drink, and doze and dream, When, fondly sighing, thou wouldst smile- The higliest bliss their souls can share.

Yes, sweetly smile on me, Mary I

Fntiring, many will pursue The pleasures wealth and power impart; Though gear was scant, an' friends were few, true; By day and night their toils renew, My heart was leal, my love was blue, And clasp tiiem closer to the heart. I blest your een of heavenly Tiiat glanced sae .saft on me, Mary! But wealth has won your heart frae me; Alas ! it is a bootless chase, .\ud vainly we with time contend; Yet I maun ever think of thee; We shall be distanced in the race, ilay a' the bliss that gowd can gie, And breathless to the grave descend. For ever wait on thee, Mary

The hand that pens this simple rhyme For me, nae mair on earth I crave. Already wants its wonted skill; But that yon drooping willow wave Enfeebled now by age and time. Its branches o'er my early grave.

Shall soon in death lie cold and still. Forgot my love, an' thee, JIary ! ! !!:; ! — ! — ;—!!

438 ALEXANDER BALFOUR.

An' when that hallow'd spot yon tread, But shame to the coward, the traitor false-hearted Wliere wild-flowers bloom above my head, And barren the black sod be aj'e on his grave !

! Weep, Caledonia weep for the fallen ! () look not on my grassy bed, —

Lest thou sliouldst sigh for me, Mary !

TO THE LAUREL. CULLODEN. A LAMENT FOR Bewitching tree ! what magic in thy name ! Yet what thy secret and seductive charms, Alas! for the land of the heath-cover'd mountains, To lure the great in song, the brave in arms. Where raves the loud tempest, anfl rolls the Who deem thy verdant wreath the badge of dark flood fame, crystal fountains, Alas ! for the land of the smooth And while they listen to her loud acclaim. The sword of the slayer has stain'd them with Life's purple tide with quicker motion waniis

blood Full oft, alas ! the hero and the bard in story, Ah, me ! for the nation, so famous Find thee their only meed—their sole reward Where valour, and freedom, and loyalty, shone And like the rainbow in a summer shower. They gather'd around the bright star of their Or gaudy poppy, of fugacious bloom, glory; 'Tis thine to flourish for a transient hour.

But faded their laurels, their glory is gone ! Then, wither'd, sink in dark oblivion's womb;

Weep, Caledonia ! —mourn for the fallen ! Thy greenest leaves, thy rich perennial flower, Bud in thy votary's life, but blossom on his tomb. His banner, unfurl'd, in splendour was streaming, The sons of the mighty were gather'd around; Their bucklers and broadswords in brightness were gleaming. TO THE MEMORY OF GRAY. And high beat each heart at the loud pibroch's

sound ' ;" Sweet Bard ! who sung ' the rosy-bosom'd hours They came to Culloden, the dark field of danger. Who loved thy retrospective eye to fling efl'ace; Oh ! why will not memory the record O'er classic Eton's "spires and antique towers," Alas! for their leader, the gallant young stranger! While former days "waved fresh their glad- And woe to the traitors who wrought the dis- some wing;" grace ! WTio sung "Adversity, resistless power!" ! Weep, Caledonia —mourn for the fallen ! Poetic "thoughts that breathe, and words that burn;"

Alas ! for the heroes whom death has enshrouded ! Whose "Bard" sublime coidd "life indignant Yet not for the valiant and mighty I weep; spurn," When darkness was lowering, their sun set un- And "Cambria's curse" hurl in the "arrowy clouded, shower." And loud was the war-shout that lull'd them But chief, "who, mindful of the iniiionour'il asleep; dead," spring with rich verdure Their turf the gay shall Could pensively thy twilight vigils keep: cover, And musing sigh above the "lowly bed," The sweet flower of summer in fragrance shall Where "rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep;" bloom Thy name shall live, on Fame's broad pinions In the mist from the mountains bright siiirits borne.

shall hover, ' And on thy grave shall smile the ' incense-breath- 'J'iie shades of their fathers shall glide o'er the ing morn." tomb

Weep, Caledonia ! —mourn for the fallen !

Alas ! for the stranger, by fortune forsaken, ELEGY TO THE MEMORY OF Who pillows his head on the hcath-blossom'd hill; ROBERT BURNS. Ki-oui dreams of delight with the day to ar:aken, His cheek pale and wet with the night-dew so Tiie lingering sun's last parting beam chill On mountain tops liad died away. Alas! for my country-- her glory's dci)arted And night, the friend of Fancy's dream, No shall thistle its Stole o'er the fields in dusky gray; more the purple bloom wave ! — : —

ALEXANDER BALFOUR. 439

Tired of the busy, biif^tling throng, "The warblings of my Harp have won

I forth along the vale A mitred Son from Holy See; wandered ; To list the widowed blackbird's song, Who oft from morn to setting sun, And breathe the balmy evening gale. Would hold a Carnival with me;

I leaned by Brothock's limitid tide, "But chief of all the tuneful train, The green birch waving o'er my head; Was BuRxs—my latest — fondest care! AVliile night winds through the willows sighed, I nursed him on his native plain; That wept above their watery bed; And now, his absence is— despair!

" I hailed his happy natal hour. 'Twas there, the JIuse without control, And o'er his infant cradle hung; Essayed on fluttering wing to rise; Ere Fancy's wild, unbounded power. When listless languor seized my soul. Or Reason's earliest bud was sj)rung. And drowsy slumbers sealed my eyes:

" I saw the young ideas rise In J[orpheus' arms supinely laid, Successive, in his youthful mind; My vagrant Fancy roved astray; Nor could the peasant's garb disguise When lol in radiant robes arrayed, The kindling flame, that lay confined. A spirit Avinged its airy way.

"Oft have I met him on the dale. In surprise, solemn awe, dumb and Companion of the thoughtless throng; I wondering gazed, when by side my And led him down the dewy vale. A maid of matchless grace I saw. To carol o'er some artless song. Arrayed in more than mortal pride;

"Unseen by all, but him alone,

Her eye was like the lightning's gleam. I cheered his labours through the day; That can through boundless space pervade. And when the rural task was done. But sorrow seemed to shade its beam. We sought some wild sequestered way; And pallid grief her cheek o'erspread "'Midst Coila's hills, or woodlands Avikl, A flowery wreath, with bays entwined. By Stinchar's banks, or Lugar's stream. Fresh blooming from her girdle hung; There would I place my darling child. And on the daisied bank reclined, And soothe him with some pleasing dream. She touched a Harp, for sadness strung:

"These haunts, to him Avere blissful bowers, The trembling strings —the murmuring rill — Where all the soul was uncontined; The hollow breeze that breathed between And Fancy culled her choicest flowers. Responsive echo from the hill To warm her youthful poet's mind. All joined to swell the solemn seenel

"'Nursed on the healthful happy plains. The maid, in accents sadly sweet. Where Love's first blusii from Virtue springs, To sorrow gave unbounded sway: "Twas Nature taught the heartfelt strains, My fluttering heart forgot to beat, That o'er the vassaled Cot he sings. While thus she poured the plaintive lay.

with withered arms. " I am the Muse of Caledon, "Keen Poverty From earliest ages aye admired; Compressed him in her cold embrace; Through her most distant corners known. And mental grief's ungracious harms Oft has my voice her sons inspired. Had furrowed o'er his youthful face.

'• Jfy charms have fired a royal breast. "Yet there, the dear delightful flame A King who Scotia's sceptre bore; Which rules the breast with boundless sway; frame. I soothed his soul, with troulde pressed. Resistless, fired his melting When captive on a hostile shore: And taught the love-lamenting lay.

"My bays have on a Soldier's brow. "A friend to Mirth, and foe to Care,

Amidst his verdant laurels twined; Yet formed to feel for ivortli ojipressed ; Inspired his soul with martial glow. His sympathetic soul could share And called his country's wrongs to mind: The woes that wrung a brother's breast. ! ! ! —

440 ALEXANDER BALFOUR.

"Ah! gentle Bard! thy tenderest tear "There, virgin Spring shall first be seen. bed; Was o'er a hapless Orphan shed To deck with flowers thy dewy But Avho shall thy sweet prattlers cheer, And Summer, robed in richest green. roses o'er thy head. Now that a green-turf wraps thy head ] Shall hang her

" He who can still the raven's voice, "When Autumn calls thy fellow swains And deck the lily's breast like snow, (Companions now, alas! no more!) Can make thy orphan train rejoice, To 'reap the plenty of their plains,' And soothe thy widow's song of woe. Their mingling sighs shall thee deplore.

"Ye souls of sympathetic mind. "0 pour a tear of tenderest woe. Whom smiling Plenty deigns to crown. Ye bards who boast congenial fire; Yours be the task, their wounds to bind, Let sympathetic wailings flow. And make their happiness your own. And Sorrow'.s song attune the lyre.

Want, and pale-faced Care, "To banish "Ye warblers, flitting on the wind, Misery's To wipe the tear from eye. Cliaunt forth your saddest plaintive strain; Is such bliss as Angels share. a And weep— (for ye have lost a friend), tell with joy above the sky! And Ye little wanderers of the plain

" Where are the thrilling strains of woe " This garland, for my bard entwined. That echoed o'er Glencairn's sad urn? No brow but his shall ever wear; And wliere is now Oppression's foe, Around his turf these flowers I'll bind. Who tiuight, that "Mamvas made to mourn?' And wet them nightly with a tear!

'• Wliy when his morning calmly smiled, "While dews descend upon his tomb, Did Hope forbode a lengthened day? So long the Muse shall love his name; beguiled. My promised joys are now Nor shall this wreath forget to bloom, darling's clay! Since darkness hides my Till latest ages sing his fame.

rest in peace, thou gentle shade! "Yet "But still, officious friends, beware! Although tiie 'narrow-house' be thine; Nor rashly wound my favourite's fame; rite shall pass unpaid. No pious watch it with parental care! No hands unhallowed stain thy shrine. Stain not the hapless Minstrel's name.

"The blighting breath of venomed Scorn "Seek not, amidst his wi-eath to twine SiuiU liarniless round tiiy mansion rave; One verse that he himself suppressed; Tliougii Envy pi;int lier poignant thorn. His offerings made at folly's shrine. It ne'er shall bud above thy grave. Let them in dark oblivion rest!

"The stagnant soul, unmoved, may hear "Ye wanderers in the wilds of song,

Of worth it ne'er was formed to feel; On whom 1 have not smiled in vain, Tlie seltisli iieart, with haughty .sneer, Would you the blissful hours prolong, Unblusliing, boast a breast of steel: shun seductive Pleasure's train

"Yet sympathy, tliat loves to sigh, "The bays that flourish round her bowers. And Pity, sweet celestial maid, Are venomed o'er with noxious dews; And (Jenius, with her eagle eye. The thorns that lurk amidst her flowers, Shall liover round thy hallowed shade. A rankling poison oft infuse.

"The torrent dashing down the steep, "Though Luxury's lap seem softly spread, The wild wave foaming far below, The couch of Joy, and sweet repose, In Nature's notes for thee shall weep, Yet hissing Furies haunt her bed, With all the majesty of woe! And rack the mind with keenest woes.

"When winter howls across the plain, "The hedge-rowed plain, the flowery vale, And spreads a thick obscuring gloom, Where rosy Health delighted roves, HIh winds on Coila shall comi)lain. Where Labour tells his jocund tale, And hoarsely murmur o'er thy tomb! And village maidens sing their loves, —

JAMES NICOL. 441

"'Tis there the Muse unfolds her charms; 1 waked —and wished again to sleep — From thence her sons sliould never stray But ahl the pleasing dream was o'er. Ye souls whom boundless Fancy warms, Still keep this calm sequestered way; The rustic Muse, untaught to sing, Has marred the Vision's solemn strain; "So may such never-dying praise, Too harshly touched the pensive string, As echoes o'er my darling's tomb. To soothe thy shade, lamented swain! Congenial bloom, amidst your bays, And Heaven bestow a happier doom I" Unskilled to frame the venal lay That flows not from a heart .

JAMES NICOL

BoRX 1769 — Died 1819.

AMES NicoL was born at Innerleithen, the Nature and Design of Scripture Sacrifices, Peeblesshire, Ssptember 28, 1769. After was published four years after his death, which acquiring from the parochial schoolmaster the occurred after a short illness, Xovember 5, elements of classical knowledge, he entered 1819. It is to be regretted that the Rev. Mr. the University of Edinburgh, where he pursued Xicol's deep admiration of Scotland's greatest his studies with great success, and, on complet- poet should have led him into a somewhat ing his course of preparation for the ministry, senile imitation of that immortal singer. was licensed as a probationer by the Presbytery Xotwithstanding tliis fault, he is entitled to of Peebles, and afterwards became minister of occupy a place among the minor poets of his the adjoining parish of Traquair. In 1802 he native land. Dr. Pogers remarks that he married Agnes AValker, a nativeof Glasgow, who "was much respected for his sound discern- had for a long period possessed a place in his ment in matters of business: every dispute affections, and been the heroine of his lyrical in the vicinity was submitted to his arbitra- effusions, which he contributed to the Edin- tion. He was regularly consulted as a phy- burgh Magazine. In 1805 he published a sician, for he had studied medicine at the collection of Poems, chieflij in the Scottish university. From his own medicine chest he Dialect, in two vols. 12mo. Mr. Nicol con- dispensed gratuitously to the indigent sick, tributed a number of articles to the Edinlmrgh and without fee he vaccinated all the chil- Encyclopedia, and left several prose works in dren of the neighbourhood who were brought MSS. His posthumous work, An Essay on to him."

HALUCKIT MEG.

Jleg. muckin' at Geordie's byre. "My neel)Ours." she sang, "aften jeer me. Wrought as gin her judgment was wrang; An' ca' me daft haluckit Meg, Ilk daud o' the scarlle strake tire. An' say they e.xpect soon to hear me, While loud as a lavrock she sang. r the kirk, for my fun, get a fleg. Her Geordie had promised to marry. An' now, "bout my marriage they'll clatter, An' ^leg, a sworn fae to despair. An' Geordie. puir fallow, they c.V Not dreamin' the job could miscarry. An auld doited hav'rel,— nae matter. Already seem'd mistress an' mair. He'll keep me aye brankin an' braw. ! ;

442 JAMES NICOL.

•' I grant ye, his face is kenspeckle, 'Tis true I ha'e na muckle gear; That the white o' his e'e is turned out. Jly stock it's unco sma', la.ssie; That his black beard is rougli as a heckle, Xae fine spun foreign claes I wear, That his mou' to his lug's rax'd about; Nor servants 'tend my ca', lassie. But they needna let on that he's crazie, His pikestaff will ne'er let him fa"; But had I heir'd the British croun, Nor that his hair's white as a daisy, And thou o' low degree, lassie, IJut fient a hair has he ava'. A rustic lad I wad ha'e grown, Or shared that croun wi' thee, lassie. "But a weel-plenished mailin has Geordie. An' routh o' gude gowd in his kist, Whenever absent from thy sight, An' if siller comes at my wordie. Nae pleasure smiles on me, lassie;

His beauty I never will miss't. I climb tlie mountain's towering height, Daft gowks, wha catch fire like tinder. And cast a look to thee, lassie.

Think love-raptures ever will burn I

But wi' poortith, hearts het as a cinder, . I blame the blast blaws on thy cheek; Will cauld as an iceshugle turn. The flower that decks thy hair, lassie. The gales that steal thy breath sae sweet. just be ae bar to pleasures, "There'll my My love and envy share, lassie. A bar that's aft filled me wi' fear, He's sic a hard ne'er-be-gawn mi.ser. If for a heart that glows for thee, He likes his saul less than his gear. Tiiou wilt thy heart resign, lassie, But though I now flatter his failin'. Then come, my Nancy, come to me— An' swear nought wi' gowd can compare, That glowing heart is mine, lassie. Gude sooth! it shall soon get a scailin', His bags shall be mouldie nae mair! Where Quair rins sweet amang the flowers, Down by yon woody glen, lassie,

" [ dreamt that I rode in a chariot, My cottage stands— it shall be yours. A fiunkie ahint me in green; Gin ye will be my ain, lassie. While Geordie cried out he was harriet. An' the saut tear was blindin' his een. 15ut though 'gainst my spendin' he swear aye,

I'll hae frae him what ser's my turn MURMURIN' ; BY YON HOARSE het him slip awa' when he grows weary: STREAM. " Shame fa' me, gin lang I wad mourn! By yon hoarse murmurin' stream, 'neath the But Geordie, while Meg was haranguiii'. moon's chilly beam,

Was cloutin' his breeks i' the banks; Sadly musin' I wander, an' the tear fills my e'e; An' whan a' his failin's she brang in. Recollection, pensive power, brings back the His Strang hazel pikestaff he taks; mournfu' hour, Dcsignin' to rax her a lounder. When the laddie gaed awa' that is dear, dear He chanced on the latlier to shift, to me. An' down frae the banks, flat's a fiounder, The tender words he said, an' the faithful vows Flew like shot starn frae the lift! a he made, W^hen we parted, to my bosom a mournfu' pleasure gie; An' I lo'e to pass the daj' where we fondly used WHERE QUAIR RINS SWEET. to stray, An' repeat the laddie's name that is dear, dear to me. Where Quair rins sweet amang the flower.- Down by yon moody glen, lassie, Though the flow'rets gem the vales, an' scent the cottage it shall be yours. J[y stands— whisperin' gales, Gin yc will be my ain, lassie. An' the birds fill wi' music the sweetly-blooniin' tree I'll watch yc wi' a lover's care. Though nature bid rejoice, yet sorrow tunes my And wi' a lover's e'e, lassie; voice I'll weary Heaven wi' moiiy a [iraycr. For the laddie's far awa' that is dear, dear to And ilka prayer for thee, lassie. me ! ; :

EBENEZER PICKEN. 443

When the gloamin' brings alang the time o' nairth Since here life's a desert, an' pleasure's a dream, and sang, Bear me swift to those banks which are ever my An' the dance kindles joy in ilka youthfu' e'e, theme.

My neebours aftenspeir, why fa's the hidden tear ? Where, mild as the moniin' at .simmer's returnin', But they kenna he's awa' that is denr, dear to Bloom's the sweet lovely rosebud on Quair's me. windin' stream.

Oh, for the happy hour, when I shall hae the power,

To the darlin' o' my soul, on wings o' love, to flee I Or that the day wad come, when fortune shall MY DEAR LITTLE LASSIE. bring home, that is dear, dear to me. The laddie to my anns My dear little lassie, why, what's a' the matter? My heart it gangs pittypat, winnie lie still; But if for I fear that day will ne'er ap- — much — I've waited, and waited, an' a' to grow better. pear, Yet, lassie, believe me, I'm aye growing ill conceal in darkness the cruel stem Frae me My heart's turned quite dizzy, an' aft when I'm decree; speaking For life would be a' vain, were I ne'er to meet I sigh, an' am breathless, an' fearfu'to speak, again I gaze aye for something I fain would l)e seeking. Wi' the laddie far awa' that is dear, dear to me. Yet, lassie, I kenna weel what I would -seek.

Thy praise, bonnie Ias.sie, I ever could hear of; BLAW SAFTLY, YE BREEZES. And yet when to ruse you the neebour lads try. Though it's a' true they tell ye, j'et never sae far Blaw saftly, ye breezes, ye streams, smoothly off murmur, I could see 'em ilk ane, an' I canna tell why. Ye sweet-scented blossoms, deck every green When we tedded the hay-field, I raked ilka rig o't, tree; And never grew wearie, the lang simmer day; 'Mong yon wild scatter'd flow'rets aft wanders The rucks that ye wrought at were easiest liiggit. my charmer, And I fand sweeter scented aroun' ye the hay. The sweet lovely lass wi' the black rollin' e'e. But round me let nature a wilderness seem. In har'st, whan the kirn-supper joj-s mak' us Blast each flow'ret that catches the sun's earlj' cbeerie, beam. 'Mang the lave of the lasses I pried ye're sweet For pensive I ponder, and languishin' wander. mou' I Far frae the sweet rosebud on Quair's windin' Dear save us 1 how queer I felt when cam" near stream ye. My breast thrill'd in rapture, I couldna tell Why, Heaven, wring my heart wi' the hard heart how. o' anguish? Wlian we dance at the gloamin', it's you I aye Why torture my bosom 'tween hope and de- pitch on.

spair ? And gin ye gang by me how dowie I be; bewitcli- When absent frae Nanc}% I ever maun langaiish I There's something, dear lassie, about ye That dear angel smile, shall it chai-m me nae ing, mair ? That tells me my happiness centres in thee.

EBENEZEE PICKEN.

Born 1769 — Dild 1810.

Ebenezek Picken, tlie friend of Alexander several sessions, intending to enter the minis- Wilson, and the author of several excellent try, but the passion for poetry and his love songs, was born in Paisley in the year 1769. of verse making seriously interfered with liis He attended the Universitv of Edinburgh for progress in learning. During his college days, ; — ! : :

444 EBENEZER PICKEN, while in his nineteenth year, he, contrary to removed to Edinburgh, where he found em- the advice of his family, published at Paisley ployment as manager of a mercantile establish- a small 8vo volume of poems. In 1791 Picken ment, and at a later date began business on accepted the position of schoolmaster at Fal- his own account. We next hear of the un- kirk, and, on April 14th of the same year, prosperous poet as a teacher of languages, and delivered at the Pantheon, Edinburgh, an always struggling against extreme poverty. oration in blank verse, on the comparative In 1813 Picken published by subscription two merits of Fergusson and Ramsay, giving pre- volumes of Poems and Sonys, in which he in- eminence to the latter, while Wilson, the author cluded the contents of the brochure issued in of "Watty and Meg," advocated in rhyme the 1788. Before his death, which occurcpd in merits of the unfortunate Fergusson. 1816, he prepared a Dictionary of Scottish In accepting the situation of schoolmaster at Wo7rls, on which he had been occupied for Falkirk Picken expected to raise funds to aid several years. It was published in the year him in the prosecution of his theological 1818, and proved of great service to Dr. studies; but his social habits, and the circum- Jamieson, author of the Dictionary of the stance of his marrying, involving him in the Scottish Language, in preparing a supplement expenses of a family, proved fatal to his aspira- to that valuable work. Picken is commemor- tions. His wife Avas Robina, daughter of the ated in a lengthy poetical epistle from the pen Rev. John Belfrage, and sister to the Rev. Dr. of hisearly friend Alexander Wilson, the Ameri- Henry Belfrage, of Falkirk, the Christian can ornithologist. Two of his children inhe- author and philanthropist, and the friend of rited his taste for poetrj', and to a very consider- Robert Pollok. From Falkirk Picken re- able degree his talent for writing verse—And- moved to Carron, to accept the position of rew, who died at Montreal in 1849, and Joanna, teacher in an endowed school. In 1796 he who died in the same Canadian city in 1859.

NAN OF LOG IE GREEN. No more the town delights me, For iove's sweet ardour smites me, By pleasure long infected. I'll go where he invites me Heaven, Avhen least Kind expected, To Nan of Logie Green devious path directed My Jly heart shall ne'er deceive her, To Nan of Logie Green ; 1 ne'er in life shall leave her; Where thousand sweets repose 'em In love and peace for ever In quiet's unruffled bosom, We'll live at Logie Green. 1 found my peerless blossom Adorning Logie Green.

The city belle declaiming. My fancy may be blaming, AVOO ME AGAIN. But still I'll pride in naming Whan Jamie first woo'd me, he was but a youth Sweet Nan of Logic Green. Frae his lips flow'd the strains o' persuasion and Her cheek the vermeil rose is, truth Her smile a heav'n discloses, His suit I rejected wi' pride an' disdain, No lily leaf that blows is But, oh ! wad he offer to woo me again .So fair on Logie Green.

He aft wad hae tauld me his love was sincere, Ye town bred dames, forgive me, And e'en wad ha'e ventured to ca' me his dear; Your arms must ne'er receive me; My heart to his tale was as hard as a stane; Your charms are all, believe me, But, oh ! wad he offer to woo nie again ! Eclips'd on Logic Green. Forgive passion tender; my Ho said that he hoped I would yield and be kind, Heav'n so much grace did lend her, I'ut I counted liis proffers as light as the wind; A.S Jie.-trt made my surrender I laugh'd at liis grief, whan I heard him complain; To X.'ui of Logie Green. But, oh I wad he offer to woo me again ; , — — —

EBENEZER PICKEN. 445

He flatter'd my locks, that war black as a slae, Then fill about, my winsome duels. And praised my tine shape, frae the tap to the The sparkling glass will banish pine; tae; Nae pain the happy bosom feels, I flate, an' desired he would let me alane; Sae free o' care as yours and mine.

But, oh ! wad he offer to woo me again ! Blythe are we, &c.

Repulsed, he forsook me, an' left me to grieve, An' mourn the sad hour that my swain took his leave; PEGGY Wr THE GLANCIN' E'E. Now, since I despised, an' was deaf to his maen,

I fear he'll ne'er offer to woo me again ! Walkin' out ae mornin' early Ken ye wiia I chanced to see?

Oh ! wad he but now to his Jean be inclined But my lassie gay and frisky, My heart in a moment would yield to his mind; Peggie wi' the glancin' e'e. But I fear wi' some ither my laddie is taen, Phoebus, left the lap o' Thetis, An' sae he'll ne'er offer to woo me again. Fast was lickiu' up the dew. Whan, ayont a risin' hilloc, Ye bonny young lasses, be wani'd by my fate, First my Peggie came in view. Despise not the heart you may value too late; Improve the sweet sunshine that now gilds the Hark ye, I gaed up to meet her; plain. But whane'er my face she saw, With you it ne'er may be sunshine again. Up her plaidin' coat she kiltit. And in daflin' scour'd awa'.

The simmer o' life, ah ! it soon flits awa', Weel kent I that thougli my Peggie An' the bloom on your cheek will soon dow in the Pan sae fast out owre the mead. snaw She was wantin' me to follow

Oh ! think, ere you treat a foTid youth wi' disdain, Yes, ye swains, an' sae I did. That, in age, the sweet flowers never blossom again. At yon burnie I o'ertook her, Whare the shinin' pebbles lie: Where the flowers, that fringe the bonier. Soup the .stream, that Avimples by. BLYTHE ARE WE SET. While wi' her I sat reclinin', Fi-ae her lips I staw a kiss; While she blush'd, I took anither, Blythe are Ave set Avi' ither; Shepherd.s, was there ill in this? Fling care ayont the moon; Nae sae aft we meet thegitlierl Could a lass, sae sweet and comely, Wha wad think o' parting soon? Ever bless a lover's arms? Thougli anaw bend.s down the forest trees. Could the bonnie wife o' Vulcan And burn and river cease to flow; Ever boast o' hauf the charms? Tiiough nature's tide has shor'd to freeze, While the zephyrs fan the meadows, And winter witliers a' below. While the flow'rets croAvn the lea. Blythe are we, &c. While they paint the gowden simnur, Wha sae blest as her and me? Now, round the ingle cheerjy met, We'll scog the blast and dread nae harm, Wi' jows o' toddy reeking Iiet We'll keep the genial current warm. REFLECTION. The friendly crack, the cheerfu' sang,

Shall cheat the happy iiours awa". Where is my Morn of early youth, pleasure reign the Gar eening lang, When blythe I stray'd by glen and burn? And laugh at biting frost and snaw. Wliei'e the fair visions of my dream? are we, Blythe &e. Ah, vanish'd never to return I

The cares tiuit cluster round tlie heart. The verdant hills o'er which I rang'd,

And gar the bosom stound wi' pain, The green where I was wont to play Shall get a fright afore we part, Those hills, and lovely green remain; Will gar them fear to come again. But youth, alas: hath pass'd away. —

446 JAMES HOGG.

The sweetlj'-blooming hawthorn bush, The tide of health, that swell'd my veins, That shadow'd from the summer shower, Tlie tire with which my bosom glow'd. Its bowering branches still I see: But wither'd is the hawthorn flowei-. Tho' doom'd, like these, to pass away, Some care the lingering eye detains; Wiiere are my sire and mother now? And, tho' life's latest ember burns, Sweet brothers, charming sisters, where? Fond memory of our bliss remains. Gone, gone to heaven—my heart be still

I lost them here, to find them there. Alas! 'tis all —vain is the wish. The eager hope, the ardent sigh; Youth promis'd fair at early dawn; What can the drooping heart sustain! Has man no cheering comfort nigh! Alas I what does my manhood know? That youth was but a pleasing dream.

And now I wake to find it so. Yes I tho' the heart should faint and fail,

And faint and fail I ween it will; Sweet scenes! tho' past, I still recall Faith can the sick-bed pillow smooth, The thrilling raptures you bestow'd; And, even in death, can comfort still.

JAMES HOGG

BoEN 1770 — Died 1835.

Tf his own testimony could be accepted as he tells us, of his parents being "turned out trustworthy, the peasant poet James Hogg, of doors," without "a farthing in the world." commonly called the Ettrick Shepherd, was At the early age of seven he Avas hired to herd born in Ettrick Forest, Selkirkshire, January cows, his wages being a ewe lamb and a pair 25, 1772, the same day of the same month of shoes every six months. that, thirteen years earlier, gave birth to Kobert After a year spent in tliis kind of servitude Burns: but so completely did he live out of the he was sent once more to school, where he learned world as a young man, that he never even heard to read the Bible, and write what was called of the Ayrshire Bard until the year after he "big text," every letter of which was at least died. Tlie date of his birth, as given by the an inch long. A quarter of a year spent at his poet, was probably a slip of memory, the parisli second school completed his education; for register recording his baptism as having taken whatever he subsequently acquired he Mas in- place December 9th, 1770. Hogg's ancestors debted to his own exertions. He recoi-ds with as far back as he could trace them had been pleasure the time when he was promoted from shepherds. His father, who followed the same herding cows to the more honourable employ-

Jiumble calling, had been so successful in it as ment of tending sheep. The shepherd having to save some money, which he invested in a reached the age of fourteen, he laid out the farming speculation soon after James was born. sum of five sliillings which he had saved from The young poet, the second of four sons, was his wages in the purchase of an old violin, on sent to the parish school, and would probably which he learned to play many Scotch airs; liave received the usual amount of education and often, after all the people on the place had bestowed upon the children of the Scottish gone to bed, he would be heard in his only peasantry, had it not been for his father, dormitory, which was a small stable or slied, Robert Hogg's, reverse of fortune, by which addressing the drowsy ear of night. He ever he was stripped of all his earnings. This afterwards retained his love of music, and ulti- liappened when James was six years old, and mately became a good violinist. Who can he was taken fi-om school in consequence, as read his poems and lyrics without feeling that