THE LOVELY MAID OF ORMADALE.

AIR—"Highland Lassie."

When sets the sun o'er Lomond's height, To blaze upon the western wave; When peace and love possess the grove, And echo sleeps within the cave; Led by love's soft endearing charms, I stray the pathless winding vale, And hail the hour that gives to me The lovely maid of Ormadale.

Her eyes outshine the star of night, Her cheeks the morning's rosy hue; And pure as flower in summer shade, Low bending in the pearly dew: Nor flower sae fair and lovely pure, Shall fate's dark wintry winds assail; As angel-smile she aye will be Dear to the bowers of Ormadale.

Let fortune soothe the heart of care, And wealth to all its votaries give; Be mine the rosy smile of love, And in its blissful arms to live. I would resign fair India's wealth, And sweet Arabia's spicy gale, For balmy eve and Scotian bower, With thee, loved maid of Ormadale.



A LASSIE CAM' TO OUR GATE.

A lassie cam' to our gate yestreen, An' low she curtsied doun; She was lovelier far, an' fairer to see, Then a' our ladies roun'.

Oh, whare do ye wend, my sweet winsome doo? An' whare may your dwelling be? But her heart, I trow, was liken to break, An' the tear-drap dimm'd her e'e.

I haena a hame, quo' the bonnie lassie— I haena a hame, nor ha'; Fain here wad I rest my weary feet, For the night begins to fa'.

I took her into our tapestry ha', An' we drank the ruddy wine; An' aye I strave, but fand my heart Fast bound wi' Love's silken twine.

I ween'd she might be the fairies' queen She was sae jimp and sma'; And the tear that dimm'd her bonnie blue e'e Fell ower twa heaps o' snaw.

Oh, whare do ye wend, my sweet winsome doo? An' whare may your dwelling be? Can the winter's rain an' the winter's wind Blaw cauld on sic as ye?

I haena a hame, quo' the bonnie lassie— I haena a ha' nor hame; My father was ane o' "Charlie's" men, An' him I daurna name.

Whate'er be your kith, whate'er be your kin, Frae this ye mauna gae; An' gin ye 'll consent to be my ain, Nae marrow ye shall hae.

Sweet maiden, tak' the siller cup, Sae fu' o' the damask wine, An' press it to your cherrie lip, For ye shall aye be mine.

An' drink, sweet doo, young Charlie's health, An' a' your kin sae dear; Culloden has dimm'd mony an e'e Wi' mony a saut, saut tear.



THE THISTLE AND THE ROSE.

There grew in bonnie Scotland A thistle and a brier, And aye they twined and clasp'd, Like sisters, kind and dear. The rose it was sae bonnie, It could ilk bosom charm; The thistle spread its thorny leaf, To keep the rose frae harm.

A bonnie laddie tended The rose baith ear' and late; He water'd it, and fann'd it, And wove it with his fate; And the leal hearts of Scotland Pray'd it might never fa', The thistle was sae bonny green, The rose sae like the snaw.

But the weird sisters sat Where Hope's fair emblems grew; They drapt a drap upon the rose O' bitter, blasting dew; And aye they twined the mystic thread,— But ere their task was done, The snaw-white shade it disappear'd, And wither'd in the sun!

A bonnie laddie tended The rose baith ear' an' late; He water'd it, and fann'd it, And wove it with his fate; But the thistle tap it wither'd, Winds bore it far awa', And Scotland's heart was broken, For the rose sae like the snaw!



THE COVENANTER'S LAMENT.

TUNE—"The Martyr's Grave."

There 's nae Covenant now, lassie! There 's nae Covenant now! The Solemn League and Covenant Are a' broken through! There 's nae Renwick now, lassie, There 's nae gude Cargill, Nor holy Sabbath preaching Upon the Martyrs' Hill!

It 's naething but a sword, lassie! A bluidy, bluidy ane! Waving owre poor Scotland, For her rebellious sin. Scotland 's a' wrang, lassie, Scotland 's a' wrang— It 's neither to the hill nor glen, Lassie, we daur gang.

The Martyrs' Hill 's forsaken, In simmer's dusk sae calm; There 's nae gathering now, lassie, To sing the e'ening psalm! But the martyr's grave will rise, lassie, Aboon the warrior's cairn; An' the martyr soun' will sleep, lassie, Aneath the waving fern!



BONNIE LASSIE.

Bonnie lassie, blythesome lassie, Sweet 's the sparkling o' thine e'e; Aye sae wyling, aye beguiling, Ye hae stown my heart frae me.

Fondly wooing, fondly sueing, Let me love, nor love in vain; Fate shall never fond hearts sever, Hearts still bound by true love's chain.

Fancy dreaming, hope bright beaming, Shall each day life's feast renew; Ours the treasure, ours the pleasure, Still to live and love more true.

Mirth and folly, joys unholy, Never shall our thoughts employ; Smiles inviting, hearts uniting, Love and bliss without alloy.

Bonnie lassie, blythesome lassie, Sweet 's the sparkling o' thine e'e; Aye sae wyling, aye beguiling, Ye hae stown my heart frae me.



ANDREW MERCER.

Andrew Mercer was born at Selkirk, in 1775. By his father, who was a respectable tradesman, he was destined for the pulpit of the United Secession Church. He became a student in the University of Edinburgh, in 1790, and was the class-fellow and friend of John Leyden, and of Dr Alexander Murray, the future philologist. At the house of Dr Robert Anderson, he formed the intimacy of Thomas Campbell; he also numbered among his early associates Thomas Brown and Mungo Park. Abandoning theological study, he cultivated a taste for the fine arts; and he endeavoured to establish himself in the capital in the twofold capacity of a miniature-painter, and a man of letters. With respect to both avocations, he proved unfortunate. In 1804, a periodical entitled the North British Magazine was originated and supported by his friends, on his behalf; but the publication terminated at the end of thirteen months. At a subsequent period, he removed to Dunfermline, where he was engaged in teaching, and in drawing patterns for the manufacturers. In 1828, he published a "History of Dunfermline," in a duodecimo volume; and, at an interval of ten years, a volume of poems, entitled "Summer Months among the Mountains." A man of considerable ingenuity and scholarship, he lacked industry and steadiness of application. His latter years were clouded by poverty. He died at Dunfermline on the 11th of June 1842, in his 67th year.



THE HOUR OF LOVE.

When the fair one and the dear one— Her lover by her side— Strays or sits as fancy flits, Where yellow streamlets glide; Gleams illuming—flowers perfuming Where'er her footsteps rove; Time beguiling with her smiling, Oh! that 's the hour of love.

When the fair one and the dear one, Amid a moonlight scene, Where grove and glade, and light and shade, Are all around serene; Heaves the soft sigh of ecstasy, While coos the turtle-dove, And in soft strains appeals—complains, Oh! that 's the hour of love.

Should the fair one and the dear one The sigh of pity lend For human woe, that presses low A stranger, or a friend, Tears descending, sweetly blending, As down her cheeks they rove; Beauty's charms in pity's arms— Oh! that 's the hour of love.

When the fair one and the dear one Appears in morning dreams, In flowing vest by fancy drest, And all the angel beams; The heavenly mien, and look serene, Confess her from above; While rising sighs and dewy eyes Say, that 's the hour of love!



JOHN LEYDEN, M.D.

John Leyden was born on the 8th September 1775, at Denholm, a hamlet in the parish of Cavers, Roxburghshire. His ancestors, for several generations, were farmers, but his father followed the humble occupation of a shepherd. Of four brothers and two sisters, John was the eldest. About a year after his birth, his father removed to Henlawshiel, a solitary cottage,[94] about three miles from Denholm, on the margin of the heath stretching down from the "stormy Ruberslaw." He received the rudiments of knowledge from his paternal grandmother; and discovering a remarkable aptitude for learning, his father determined to afford him the advantages of a liberal education. He was sent to the parish school of Kirkton, and afterwards placed under the tutorship of a Cameronian clergyman, in Denholm, reputed as a classical scholar. In 1790, he entered the University of Edinburgh, where he soon acquired distinction for his classical attainments and devotedness to general learning. His last session of college attendance was spent at St Andrews, where he became a tutor. By the Presbytery of St Andrews, in May 1798, he was licensed as a probationer of the Scottish Church. On obtaining his licence, he returned to the capital, where his reputation as a scholar had secured him many friends. He now accepted the editorship of the Scots Magazine, to which he had formerly been a contributor, and otherwise employed himself in literary pursuits. In 1799, he published, in a duodecimo volume, "An Historical and Philosophical Sketch of the Discoveries and Settlements of the Europeans in Northern and Central Africa, at the Close of the Eighteenth Century." "The Complaynt of Scotland," a curious political treatise of the sixteenth century, next appeared under his editorial care, with an ingenious introduction, and notes. In 1801, he contributed the ballad of "The Elf-king," to Lewis' "Tales of Wonder;" and, about the same period, wrote several ballads for the "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border." The dissertation on "Fairy Superstition," in the second volume of the latter work, slightly altered by Scott, proceeded from his pen. In 1802, he edited a small volume, entitled, "Scottish Descriptive Poems," consisting of a new edition of Wilson's "Clyde," and a reprint of "Albania,"—a curious poem, in blank verse, by an anonymous writer of the beginning of the eighteenth century.

A wide circle of influential friends were earnestly desirous of his promotion. In 1800, the opposition of the aged incumbent prevented his appointment as assistant and successor in the ministerial charge of his native parish. A proposal to appoint him Professor of Rhetoric in the University of Edinburgh also failed. He now resolved to proceed to Africa, to explore the interior, under the auspices of the African Association; but some of his friends meanwhile procured him an appointment as a surgeon in the East India Company's establishment at Madras. During his course at the University, he had attended some of the medical classes; and he now resumed the study of medicine, with such an amount of success, that in six weeks he qualified himself for a surgeon's diploma. About the same time, the degree of M.D. was conferred on him by the University of St Andrews.

Before his departure for the East, Leyden finished his longest poem, the "Scenes of Infancy," the publication of which he entrusted to his friend, Dr Thomas Brown. His last winter in Britain he passed in London, enjoying the society of many distinguished men of letters, to whom he was introduced by his former friend, Mr Richard Heber. He sailed for India[95] on the 7th April 1803, and arrived at Madras on the 19th August. In Hindostan, his talents and extraordinary capabilities in forming an acquaintance with the native tongues gained him numerous friends. He was successively appointed surgeon to the commissioners for surveying the provinces in Mysore, recently conquered from Tippoo Sultan; professor of Hindostan in the College of Calcutta; judge of the twenty-four pargunnahs of Calcutta; a commissioner of the Court of Requests in Calcutta; and assay-master of the mint. His literary services being required by the Governor-General, he left Calcutta for Madras, and afterwards proceeded along with the army in the expedition against Java. On the capture of the town of Batavia, having gone to examine the library of the place, in which he expected to find some curious Indian MSS., he caught a malignant fever from the tainted air of the apartment. He survived only three days, terminating a life of much promise, on the 28th of August 1811, in the thirty-sixth year of his age.

In John Leyden an unconquerable perseverance was united to remarkable native genius, and a memory of singular retentiveness. Eminent as a linguist, he was an able and accurate philologist; in a knowledge of the many languages of India he stood unrivalled. During his residence in the East, he published a "Dissertation on the Languages and Literature of the Indo-Chinese Nations," in the tenth volume of the "Asiatic Researches," and he left numerous MSS. on subjects connected with oriental learning. He was early a votary of the Muse; and, in youth, was familiar with the older Scottish bards. In April 1795, he appeared in the Edinburgh Literary Magazine as author of an elegy "On the Death of a Sister;" and subsequently became a regular contributor of verses to the periodicals of the capital. His more esteemed poetical productions are the "Scenes of Infancy," and the ballads which he composed for the "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border." Of the latter, the supernatural machinery is singularly striking; in the former poem, much smooth and elegant versification is combined with powerful and vigorous description. There are, indeed, occasional repetitions and numerous digressions; but amidst these marks of hasty composition, every sentence bears evidence of a masculine intellect and powerful imagination. His lyrical effusions are pervaded with simplicity and tenderness.

Like some other sons of genius, Leyden was of rather eccentric habits. He affected to despise artificial manners; and, though frequenting polished circles in Edinburgh, then in London, and afterwards in Madras and Calcutta, he persevered in an indomitable aversion to the use of the English tongue, which he so well knew how to write with precision and power. He spoke the broadest provincial Scotch with singular pertinacity. His voice was extremely dissonant, but, seemingly unconscious of the defect, he talked loud; and if engaged in argument, raised his voice to a pitch which frequently proved more powerful than the strength of his reasoning. He was dogmatical in maintaining his opinions, and prone to monopolise conversation; his gesticulations were awkward and even offensive. Peculiar as were his habits, few of the distinguished persons who sought his acquaintance ever desired to renounce his friendship.[96] In his domestic habits, he was temperate often to abstinence; he was frugal, but not mean—careful, but not penurious. He was generous towards his aged parents; was deeply imbued with a sense of religion, and was the foe of vice in every form. He was of a slight figure, and of middle stature; his countenance was peculiarly expressive of intelligence. His hair was auburn, his eyes dark, and his complexion clear and sanguine. He was considerably robust, and took delight in practising gymnastics; he desired fame, not less for feats of running and leaping, than in the sedate pursuits of literature. His premature death was the subject of general lamentation; in the "Lord of the Isles," Scott introduced the following stanza in tribute to his memory:—

"His bright and brief career is o'er, And mute his tuneful strain; Quench'd is his lamp of varied lore, That loved the light of song to pour; A distant and a deadly shore Has Leyden's cold remains."



[94] We lately visited the spot. Not a vestige of the cottage remains. A wilder and more desolate locality hardly ever nourished the youthful imagination of a poet.

[95] Leyden was assisted in his outfit for India by Sir Walter Scott and Sydney Smith, the latter contributing forty pounds. (See "Memoir of the Rev. Sydney Smith," by his daughter, Lady Holland, vol. i. p. 21. London: 1855. 2 vols. 8vo.)

[96] Thomas Campbell was one of Leyden's early literary friends; they had quarrelled, but continued to respect each other's talents. The following anecdote is recorded by Sir Walter Scott in his diary:—"When I repeated 'Hohenlinden' to Leyden, he said, 'Dash it, man, tell the fellow that I hate him; but, dash him, he has written the finest verses that have been published these fifty years.' I did mine errand as faithful as one of Homer's messengers, and had for answer:—'Tell Leyden that I detest him, but I know the value of his critical approbation.'"—Lockhart's Life of Scott.



ODE TO THE EVENING STAR.

How sweet thy modest light to view, Fair star! to love and lovers dear; While trembling on the falling dew, Like beauty shining through a tear.

Or hanging o'er that mirror-stream, To mark that image trembling there, Thou seem'st to smile with softer gleam, To see thy lovely face so fair.

Though, blazing o'er the arch of night, The moon thy timid beams outshine As far as thine each starry light, Her rays can never vie with thine.

Thine are the soft, enchanting hours When twilight lingers on the plain, And whispers to the closing flowers That soon the sun will rise again.

Thine is the breeze that, murmuring bland As music, wafts the lover's sigh, And bids the yielding heart expand In love's delicious ecstasy.

Fair star! though I be doom'd to prove That rapture's tears are mix'd with pain, Ah, still I feel 'tis sweet to love— But sweeter to be loved again.



THE RETURN AFTER ABSENCE.

Oh! the breeze of the mountain is soothing and sweet, Warm breathing of love, and the friends we shall meet; And the rocks of the desert, so rough when we roam, Seem soft, soft as silk, on the dear path of home; The white waves of the Jeikon, that foam through their speed, Seem scarcely to reach to the girth of my steed.

Rejoice, O Bokhara, and flourish for aye! Thy King comes to meet thee, and long shall he stay. Our King is our moon, and Bokhara our skies, Where soon that fair light of the heavens shall arise— Bokhara our orchard, the cypress our king, In Bokhara's fair orchard soon destined to spring.



LAMENT FOR RAMA.

FROM THE BENGALI.

I warn you, fair maidens, to wail and to sigh, For Rama, our Rama, to greenwood must fly; Then hasten, come hasten, to see his array, Ayud'hya is dark when our chief goes away.

All the people are flocking to see him pass by; They are silent and sad, with the tear in their eye: From the fish in the streamlets a broken sigh heaves, And the birds of the forest lament from the leaves.

His fine locks are matted, no raiment has he For the wood, save a girdle of bark from the tree; And of all his gay splendour, you nought may behold, Save his bow and his quiver, and ear-rings of gold.

Oh! we thought to have seen him in royal array Before his proud squadrons his banners display, And the voice of the people exulting to own Their sovereign assuming the purple and crown; But the time has gone by, my hope is despair,— One maiden perfidious has wrought all my care.

Our light is departing, and darkness returns, Like a lamp half-extinguished, and lonely it burns; Faith fades from the age, nor can honour remain, And fame is delusive, and glory is vain.



JAMES SCADLOCK.

James Scadlock, a poet of considerable power, and an associate of Tannahill, was born at Paisley on the 7th October 1775. His father, an operative weaver, was a person of considerable shrewdness; and the poet M'Laren, who became his biographer, was his uterine brother. Apprenticed to the loom, he renounced weaving in the course of a year, and thereafter was employed in the establishment of a bookbinder. At the age of nineteen he entered on an indenture of seven years to a firm of copperplate engravers at Ferenize. He had early been inclined to verse-making, and, having formed the acquaintance of Tannahill, he was led to cultivate with ardour his native predilection. He likewise stimulated his ingenious friend to higher and more ambitious efforts in poetry. Accomplished in the elegant arts of drawing and painting, Scadlock began the study of classical literature and the modern languages. A general stagnation of trade, which threw him out of employment, checked his aspirations in learning. After an interval attended with some privations, he heard of a professional opening at Perth, which he proceeded to occupy. He returned to Paisley, after the absence of one year; and having married in 1808, his attention became more concentrated in domestic concerns. He died of fever on the 4th July 1818, leaving a family of four children.

Scadlock was an upright member of society, a sincere friend, a benevolent neighbour, and an intelligent companion. In the performance of his religious duties he was regular and exemplary. Desirious of excelling in conversation, he was prone to evince an undue formality of expression. His poetry, occasionally deficient in power, is uniformly distinguished for smoothness of versification.



ALONG BY LEVERN STREAM SO CLEAR.[97]

Along by Levern stream so clear, When Spring adorns the infant year, And music charms the list'ning ear, I 'll wander with my Mary, My bonny blooming Mary; Not Spring itself to me is dear, When absent from my Mary.

When Summer's sun pours on my head His sultry rays, I 'll seek the shade, Unseen upon a primrose bed I 'll sit with little Mary, My bonny blooming Mary, Where fragrant flowers around are spread, To charm my little Mary.

She 's mild 's the sun through April shower That glances on the leafy bower, She 's sweet as Flora's fav'rite flower, My bonny little Mary, My blooming little Mary; Give me but her, no other dower I 'll ask with little Mary.

Should fickle fortune frown on me, And leave me bare 's the naked tree, Possess'd of her, how rich I 'd be, My lovely little Mary, My bonny blooming Mary; From gloomy care and sorrow free, I 'd ever keep my Mary.



[97] Set to music by R. A. Smith.



HARK, HARK, THE SKYLARK SINGING.

WELSH AIR—"The rising of the Lark."

Hark, hark the skylark singing, While the early clouds are bringing Fragrance on their wings; Still, still on high he 's soaring, Through the liquid haze exploring, Fainter now he sings. Where the purple dawn is breaking, Fast approaches morning's ray, From his wings the dew he 's shaking, As he joyful hails the day, While echo, from his slumbers waking, Imitates his lay.

See, see the ruddy morning, With his blushing locks adorning Mountain, wood, and vale; Clear, clear the dew-drop 's glancing, As the rising sun 's advancing O'er the eastern hill; Now the distant summits clearing, As the vapours steal their way, And his heath-clad breast 's appearing, Tinged with Phoebus' golden ray, Far down the glen the blackbird 's cheering Morning with her lay.

Come, then, let us be straying, Where the hazel boughs are playing, O'er yon summits gray; Mild now the breeze is blowing, And the crystal streamlet 's flowing Gently on its way. On its banks the wild rose springing Welcomes in the sunny ray, Wet with dew its head is hinging, Bending low the prickly spray; Then haste, my love, while birds are singing, To the newborn day.



OCTOBER WINDS.

AIR—"Oh, my love's bonnie."

October winds, wi' biting breath, Now nip the leaves that 's yellow fading; Nae gowans glint upon the green, Alas! they 're co'er'd wi' winter's cleading. As through the woods I musing gang, Nae birdies cheer me frae the bushes, Save little robin's lanely sang, Wild warbling where the burnie gushes.

The sun is jogging down the brae, Dimly through the mist he 's shining, And cranreugh hoar creeps o'er the grass, As Day resigns his throne to E'ening. Oft let me walk at twilight gray, To view the face of dying nature, Till Spring again, wi' mantle green, Delights the heart o' ilka creature.



SIR ALEXANDER BOSWELL, BART.

Alexander Boswell was the eldest son of James Boswell, the celebrated biographer of Dr Johnson, and grandson of Lord Auchinleck, one of the senators of the College of Justice. He was born on the 9th October 1775. His mother, a daughter of Sir Walter Montgomery, Bart., of Lainshaw, was a woman of superior intelligence, and of agreeable and dignified manners. Along with his only brother James, he received his education at Westminster School and the University of Oxford. In 1795, on the death of his father, he succeeded to the paternal estate of Auchinleck. He now made the tour of Europe, and on his return took up his residence in the family mansion.

Inheriting his father's love of literature, and deriving from his mother a taste for elegant accomplishments, Alexander Boswell diligently applied himself to the cultivation of his mind, by an examination of the stores of the famous "Auchinleck Library." From his youth he had been ardent in his admiration of Burns, and had written verses for the amusement of his friends. A wooer of the lyric Muse, many of his lays rapidly obtained circulation, and were sung with a gusto not inferior to that inspired by the songs of the Bard of Coila. In 1803 he published, without his name, in a thin octavo volume, "Songs, chiefly in the Scottish Dialect," and subsequently contributed a number of lyrics of various merit to the Musical Collection of Mr George Thomson, and Campbell's "Albyn's Anthology." Several other poetical works proceeded from his pen. In 1803, shortly after the appearance of his songs, he published a ballad entitled "The Spirit of Tintoc; or, Johnnie Bell and the Kelpie," with notes, 16 pp. 8vo: Mundell and Son, Edinburgh. This performance, in which are humorously related the adventures of a drunken tailor with the brownies and other denizens of the unseen world, on the summit of Tintoc Hill, was followed in 1810 by another amusing poem, bearing the title of "Edinburgh, or the Ancient Royalty, a Sketch of Former Manners, with Notes by Simon Gray." In this poem, the changes which had occurred in the habits of the citizens of Edinburgh are pourtrayed in a colloquy between an old farmer and his city friend. In 1811 appeared "Clan-Alpin's Vow, a Fragment," with the author's name prefixed. This production, founded upon a horrible tragedy connected with the history of the Clan Macgregor, proved one of the most popular of the author's works; it was reprinted in 1817, by Bentley and Son, London. His future publications may be simply enumerated; they were generally issued from a printing press which he established in the mansion of Auchinleck. In 1812 he printed, for private circulation, a poetical fragment entitled "Sir Albon," intended to burlesque the peculiar style and rhythm of Sir Walter Scott; in 1815, "The Tyrant's Fall," a poem on the battle of Waterloo; in 1816, "Skeldon Haughs, or the Sow is Flitted," a tale in verse founded on an old Ayrshire tradition; and in the same year another poetical tale, after the manner of Allan Ramsay's "Monk and Miller's Wife," entitled, "The Woo'-creel, or the Bull o' Bashun." From his printing office at Auchinleck, besides his poetical tales and pasquinades, he issued many curious and interesting works, chiefly reprints of scarce tracts on different subjects, preserved in the Auchinleck Library. Of these the most remarkable was the disputation between John Knox and Quentin Kennedy, at Maybole, in 1562, of which the only copy then known to exist was deposited in his paternal library.[98]

Amidst his devotedness to the pursuits of elegant literature, Mr Boswell bestowed much attention on public affairs. He was M.P. for the county of Ayr; and though silent in the House of Commons, was otherwise indefatigable in maintaining his political sentiments. He supported strict conservative principles, and was not without the apprehension of civil disturbance through the impetuosity of the advocates of reform. As Lieutenant-Colonel of the Ayrshire Yeomanry Cavalry, he was painstaking in the training of his troops; the corps afterwards acknowledging his services by the presentation of a testimonial. In 1821, his zeal for the public interest was rewarded by his receiving the honour of a Baronetcy.

One of the most substantial of Sir Alexander's patriotic achievements was the erection of an elegant monument to Robert Burns on the banks of the Doon. The mode in which the object was accomplished is sufficiently interesting. Along with a friend who warmly approved of the design, Sir Alexander advertised in the public prints that a meeting would be held at Ayr, on a particular day, to take into consideration the proposal of rearing a monument to the great national bard. The day and hour arrived, but, save the projectors, not a single individual attended. Nothing disheartened, Sir Alexander took the chair, and his friend proceeded to act as clerk; resolutions were proposed, seconded, and recorded, thanks were voted to the chairman, and the meeting separated. These resolutions being printed and circulated, were the means of raising by public subscription the sum of nearly two thousand pounds for the erection of the monument. Sir Alexander laid the foundation stone on the 25th of January 1820.

The literary and patriotic career of Sir Alexander Boswell was brought to a sudden termination. Prone to indulge a strong natural tendency for sarcasm, especially against his political opponents, he published, in a Glasgow newspaper, a severe poetical pasquinade against Mr James Stuart, younger of Dunearn, a leading member of the Liberal party in Edinburgh. The discovery of the authorship was followed by a challenge from Mr Stuart, which being accepted, the hostile parties met near the village of Auchtertool, in Fife. Sir Alexander fell, the ball from the pistol of his antagonist having entered near the root of his neck on the right side. He was immediately carried to Balmuto, a seat of his ancestors in the vicinity, where he expired the following day. The duel took place on the 26th March 1822.

The remains of the deceased Baronet were solemnly deposited in the family vault of Auchinleck. In personal appearance, Sir Alexander presented a powerful muscular figure; in society, he was fond of anecdote and humour. In his youth he was keen on the turf and in field sports; he subsequently found his chief entertainment in literary avocations. As a poet, he had been better known if his efforts had been of a less fragmentary character. The general tendency of his Muse was drollery, but some of his lyrics are sufficiently touching.

[98] Another copy has since been discovered.



JENNY'S BAWBEE.

I met four chaps yon birks amang, Wi' hanging lugs and faces lang; I spier'd at neighbour Bauldy Strang, Wha 's they I see? Quoth he, Ilk cream-faced, pawky chiel' Thinks himsel' cunnin' as the deil, And here they cam awa' to steal Jenny's bawbee.

The first, a Captain to his trade, Wi' ill-lined skull, but back weel clade, March'd round the barn, and by the shed, And papped on his knee: Quoth he, My goddess, nymph, and queen, Your beauty 's dazzled baith my e'en! Though ne'er a beauty he had seen But Jenny's bawbee.

A Norland Laird neist trotted up, Wi' bawsint naig and siller whup; Cried—There 's my beast, lad, haud the grup, Or tie it to a tree. What 's gowd to me? I 've wealth o' lan', Bestow on ane o' worth your han': He thought to pay what he was awn Wi' Jenny's bawbee.

A Lawyer neist, wi' bleth'rin' gab, Wha speeches wove like ony wab; O' ilk ane's corn aye took a dab, And a' for a fee; Accounts he owed through a' the toun, And tradesmen's tongues nae mair could drown; But now he thought to clout his goun Wi' Jenny's bawbee.

Quite spruce, just frae the washin' tubs, A fool came neist; but life has rubs; Foul were the roads, and fu' the dubs, And jaupit a' was he: He danced up, squintin' through a glass, And grinn'd, i' faith, a bonnie lass! He thought to win, wi' front o' brass, Jenny's bawbee.

She bade the laird gae kaim his wig, The sodger not to strut sae big, The lawyer not to be a prig; The fool he cried, Te-hee! I kenn'd that I could never fail! But she pinn'd the dishclout to his tail, And soused him frae the water-pail, And kept her bawbee.

Then Johnnie came, a lad o' sense, Although he had na mony pence; And took young Jenny to the spence, Wi' her to crack a wee. Now Johnnie was a clever chiel', And here his suit he press'd sae weel That Jenny's heart grew saft as jeel, And she birl'd her bawbee.[99]



[99] The last stanza does not appear in the original version of the song; it is here added from Allan Cunningham's collection. The idea of the song, Cunningham remarks, was probably suggested to the author by an old fragment, which still lives among the peasantry:—

"And a' that e'er my Jenny had, My Jenny had, my Jenny had, A' that e'er my Jenny had, Was ae bawbee. There 's your plack and my plack, And your plack and my plack, And my plack and your plack, And Jenny's bawbee.

We 'll put it in the pint stoup, The pint stoup, the pint stoup, We 'll put it in the pint stoup, And birl 't a' three."



JENNY DANG THE WEAVER.[100]

At Willie's weddin' o' the green, The lasses, bonnie witches, Were busked out in aprons clean, And snaw-white Sunday mutches; Auld Mysie bade the lads tak' tent, But Jock wad na believe her; But soon the fool his folly kent, For Jenny dang the weaver.

In ilka country dance and reel Wi' her he wad be babbin'; When she sat down, then he sat down, And till her wad be gabbin'; Where'er she gaed, or butt or ben, The coof wad never leave her, Aye cacklin' like a clockin' hen, But Jenny dang the weaver.

Quoth he, My lass, to speak my mind, In troth I needna swither, Ye 've bonnie e'en, and, gif ye 're kind, I needna court anither! He humm'd and haw'd, the lass cried "pheugh," And bade the coof no deave her, Syne crack'd her thumb, and lap and leugh, And dang the silly weaver.

[100] The origin of the air is somewhat amusing. The Rev. Mr Gardner, minister of Birse, in Aberdeenshire, known for his humour and musical talents, was one evening playing over on his Cremona the notes of an air he had previously jotted down, when a curious scene arrested his attention in the courtyard of the manse. His man "Jock," who had lately been a weaver in the neighbouring village, had rudely declined to wipe the minister's shoes, as requested by Mrs Gardner, when the enraged matron, snatching a culinary utensil, administered a hearty drubbing to the shoulders of the impudent boor, and compelled him to execute her orders. The minister witnessing the proceeding from the window, was highly diverted, and gave the air he had just completed the title of "Jenny Dang the Weaver." This incident is said to have occurred in the year 1746.



THE LASS O' ISLA.

"Ah, Mary, sweetest maid, farewell! My hopes are flown, for a 's to wreck; Heaven guard you, love, and heal your heart, Though mine, alas, alas! maun break."

"Dearest lad, what ills betide? Is Willie to his love untrue? Engaged the morn to be his bride, Ah! hae ye, hae ye, ta'en the rue?"

"Ye canna wear a ragged gown, Or beggar wed wi' nought ava; My kye are drown'd, my house is down, My last sheep lies aneath the snaw."

"Tell na me o' storm or flood, Or sheep a' smoor'd ayont the hill; For Willie's sake I Willie lo'ed, Though poor, ye are my Willie still."

"Ye canna thole the wind and rain, Or wander friendless far frae hame; Cheer, cheer your heart, some other swain Will soon blot out lost Willie's name."

"I 'll tak my bundle in my hand, An' wipe the dew-drop frae my e'e; I 'll wander wi' ye ower the land; I 'll venture wi' ye ower the sea."

"Forgi'e me, love, 'twas all a snare, My flocks are safe, we needna part; I 'd forfeit them and ten times mair To clasp thee, Mary, to my heart."

"How could ye wi' my feelings sport, Or doubt a heart sae warm and true? I maist could wish ye mischief for 't, But canna wish ought ill to you."



TASTE LIFE'S GLAD MOMENTS.[101]

Taste life's glad moments, Whilst the wasting taper glows; Pluck, ere it withers, The quickly-fading rose.

Man blindly follows grief and care, He seeks for thorns, and finds his share, Whilst violets to the passing air Unheeded shed their blossoms. Taste life's, &c.

When tim'rous Nature veils her form, And rolling thunder spreads alarm, Then, ah! how sweet, when lull'd the storm, The sun shines forth at even. Taste life's, &c.

How spleen and envy anxious flies, And meek content, in humble guise, Improves the shrub, a tree shall rise, Which golden fruits shall yield him. Taste life's, &c.

Who fosters faith in upright breast, And freely gives to the distress'd, There sweet contentment builds her nest, And flutters round his bosom. Taste life's, &c.

And when life's path grows dark and strait, And pressing ills on ills await, Then friendship, sorrow to abate, The helping hand will offer. Taste life's, &c.

She dries his tears, she strews his way, E'en to the grave, with flow'rets gay, Turns night to morn, and morn to day, And pleasure still increases. Taste life's, &c.

Of life she is the fairest band, Joins brothers truly hand in hand, Thus, onward to a better land, Man journeys light and cheerly. Taste life's, &c.

[101] These verses, which form a translation of Freut euch des Libens, were written at Leipsig in 1795, when the author was on his continental tour. He was then in his twentieth year.



GOOD NIGHT, AND JOY BE WI' YE A'.

Good night, and joy be wi' ye a', Your harmless mirth has cheer'd my heart; May life's fell blasts out o'er ye blaw; In sorrow may ye never part! My spirit lives, but strength is gone, The mountain-fires now blaze in vain; Remember, sons, the deeds I 've done, And in your deeds I 'll live again!

When on yon muir our gallant clan, Frae boasting foes their banners tore; Wha shew'd himself a better man, Or fiercer waved the red claymore? But when in peace—then mark me there— When through the glen the wand'rer came, I gave him of our lordly fare, I gave him here a welcome hame.

The auld will speak, the young maun hear; Be cantie, but be gude and leal; Your ain ills aye hae heart to bear, Anither's aye hae heart to feel. So, ere I set, I 'll see ye shine; I 'll see ye triumph ere I fa'; My parting breath shall boast you mine— Good night, and joy be wi' ye a'!



OLD AND NEW TIMES.[102]

AIR—"Kellyburn Braes."

Hech! what a change hae we now in this town! The lads a' sae braw, the lasses sae glancin', Folk maun be dizzie gaun aye in the roun' For deil a haet 's done now but feastin' and dancin'.

Gowd 's no that scanty in ilk siller pock, When ilka bit laddie maun hae his bit staigie; But I kent the day when there was nae a Jock, But trotted about upon honest shank's naigie.

Little was stown then, and less gaed to waste, Barely a mullin for mice or for rattens; The thrifty housewife to the flesh-market paced, Her equipage a'—just a gude pair o' pattens.

Folk were as good then, and friends were as leal, Though coaches were scant, wi' their cattle a-cantrin'; Right air we were tell 't by the housemaid or chiel', Sir, an' ye please, here 's your lass and a lantern.

The town may be clouted and pieced, till it meets A' neebours benorth and besouth, without haltin'; Brigs may be biggit ower lums and ower streets, The Nor' Loch itsel' heaped heigh as the Calton.

But whar is true friendship, and whar will you see, A' that is gude, honest, modest, and thrifty? Tak' gray hairs and wrinkles, and hirple wi' me, And think on the seventeen hundred and fifty.

[102] Contributed to the fourth volume of Mr George Thomson's Collection.



BANNOCKS O' BARLEY MEAL.[103]

AIR—"Bannocks o' Barley Meal."

Argyle is my name, and you may think it strange To live at a court, and yet never to change; To faction, or tyranny, equally foe, The good of the land 's the sole motive I know. The foes of my country and king I have faced, In city or battle I ne'er was disgraced; I 've done what I could for my country's weal, Now I 'll feast upon bannocks o' barley meal.

Ye riots and revels of London, adieu! And folly, ye foplings, I leave her to you! For Scotland, I mingled in bustle and strife; For myself, I seek peace and an innocent life: I 'll haste to the Highlands, and visit each scene, With Maggie, my love, in her rockley o' green; On the banks of Glenary what pleasure I 'll feel, While she shares my bannock o' barley meal!

And if it chance Maggie should bring me a son, He shall fight for his king, as his father has done; I 'll hang up my sword with an old soldier's pride— O! may he be worthy to wear 't on his side. I pant for the breeze of my loved native place; I long for the smile of each welcoming face; I 'll aff to the Highlands as fast 's I can reel, And feast upon bannocks o' barley meal.

[103] This song was contributed by Sir Alexander Boswell to the third volume of Thomson's Collection. It is not wholly original, but an improved version of former words to the same air, which are understood to be the composition of John Campbell, the celebrated Duke of Argyle and Greenwich, who died on the 4th October 1743.



WILLIAM GILLESPIE.

William Gillespie was born in the manse of Kells, in Galloway, on the 18th February 1776. His father, John Gillespie, minister of Kells, was the intimate friend of Robert Burns; and likewise an early patron of John Low, the ingenious, but unfortunate author of "Mary's Dream." Receiving the rudiments of education at the parish school, William proceeded, in 1792, to the University of Edinburgh, to prosecute his studies for the Church. Obtaining licence as a probationer, he was, in 1801, ordained assistant and successor to his father, on whose death, in 1806, he succeeded to the full benefits of the charge. Inheriting from his father an elegant turn of mind and a devotedness to literary composition, he was induced to publish, in his twenty-ninth year, an allegorical poem, entitled "The Progress of Refinement." A higher effort from his pen appeared in 1815, under the title of "Consolation, and other Poems." This volume, which abounds in vigorous sentiment and rich poetical description, evincing on the part of the author a high appreciation of the beauties of nature, considerably extended his reputation. He formed habits of intimacy with many of his poetical contemporaries, by whom he was beloved for the amenity of his disposition. He largely contributed to various periodicals, especially the agricultural journals; and was a zealous member of the Highland Society of Scotland.

In July 1825, Mr Gillespie espoused Miss Charlotte Hoggan. Soon after this event, he was attacked with erysipelas,—a complaint which, resulting in general inflammation, terminated his promising career on the 15th of October, in his fiftieth year. The following lyrics evince fancy and deep pathos, causing a regret that the author did not more amply devote himself to the composition of songs.



THE HIGHLANDER.[104]

From the climes of the sun, all war-worn and weary, The Highlander sped to his youthful abode; Fair visions of home cheer'd the desert so dreary, Though fierce was the noon-beam, and steep was the road.

Till spent with the march that still lengthen'd before him, He stopp'd by the way in a sylvan retreat; The light shady boughs of the birch-tree waved o'er him, The stream of the mountain fell soft at his feet.

He sunk to repose where the red heaths are blended, On dreams of his childhood his fancy past o'er; But his battles are fought, and his march it is ended, The sound of the bagpipes shall wake him no more.

No arm in the day of the conflict could wound him, Though war launch'd her thunder in fury to kill; Now the Angel of Death in the desert has found him, And stretch'd him in peace by the stream of the hill.

Pale Autumn spreads o'er him the leaves of the forest, The fays of the wild chant the dirge of his rest; And thou, little brook, still the sleeper deplorest, And moistens the heath-bell that weeps on his breast.



[104] Many years ago, a poor Highland soldier, on his return to his native hills, fatigued, as was supposed, by the length of the march and the heat of the weather, sat down under the shade of a birch tree on the solitary road of Lowran, that winds along the margin of Loch Ken, in Galloway. Here he was found dead; and this incident forms the subject of these verses.—Note by the Author. "The Highlander" is set to a Gaelic air in the fifth volume of R. A. Smith's "Scottish Minstrel."



ELLEN.

The moon shone in fits, And the tempest was roaring, The Storm Spirit shriek'd, And the fierce rain was pouring; Alone in her chamber, Fair Ellen sat sighing, The tapers burn'd dim, And the embers were dying.

"The drawbridge is down, That spans the wide river; Can tempests divide, Whom death cannot sever? Unclosed is the gate, And those arms long to fold thee, 'Tis midnight, my love; O say, what can hold thee?"

But scarce flew her words, When the bridge reft asunder, The horseman was crossing, 'Mid lightning and thunder, And loud was the yell, As he plunged in the billow, The maid knew it well, As she sprang from her pillow.

She scream'd o'er the wall, But no help was beside her; And thrice to her view Rose the horse and his rider. She gazed at the moon, But the dark cloud pass'd over; She plunged in the stream, And she sunk to her lover.

Say, what is that flame, O'er the midnight deep beaming? And whose are those forms, In the wan moonlight gleaming? That flame gilds the wave, Which their pale corses cover; And those forms are the ghosts Of the maid and her lover.



THOMAS MOUNSEY CUNNINGHAM.

Thomas Mounsey Cunningham, an elder brother of Allan Cunningham, is entitled to commemoration among the modern song-writers of his country. His ancestors were lords of that district of Ayrshire which still bears their family name; and a small inheritance in that county, which belonged to his more immediate progenitors, was lost to the name and race by the head of the family having espoused the cause and joined the army of the Duke of Montrose. For several generations his forefathers were farmers at Gogar, in the parish of Ratho, Midlothian. John Cunningham, his father, was born at Gogar on the 26th March 1743, whence he removed in his twenty-third year to fill the situation of land-steward on the estate of Lumley, in the parish of Chester, and county of Durham. He next became overseer on the property of Mr Mounsey of Ramerscales, near Lochmaben, Dumfriesshire. He married Elizabeth Harley, a lady of good connexions and of elegant personal accomplishments, and with the view of acquiring a more decided independence in his new condition, took in lease the farm of Culfaud, in the stewartry of Kirkcudbright. Of a family of ten, Thomas was the second son; he was born at Culfaud on the 25th June 1776. During his infancy the farming speculations of his father proved unfortunate, and the lease of Culfaud was abandoned. Returning to his former occupation as a land-steward, John Cunningham was employed in succession by the proprietors of Barncaillie and Collieston, and latterly by the ingenious Mr Miller of Dalswinton.

Thomas was educated at the village-school of Kellieston, and subsequently at the academy of Dumfries. The circumstances of his parents required that he should choose a manual profession; and he was apprenticed by his own desire to a neighbouring mill-wright. It was during his intervals of leisure, while acquiring a knowledge of this laborious occupation, that he first essayed the composition of verses; he submitted his poems to his father, who mingled judicious criticism with words of encouragement. "The Har'st Home," one of his earliest pieces of merit, was privileged with insertion in the series of "Poetry, Original and Selected," published by Brash & Reid, booksellers in Glasgow. Proceeding to England in 1797, he entered the workshop of a mill-wright in Rotherham. Under the same employer he afterwards pursued his craft at King's Lynn; in 1800 he removed to Wiltshire, and soon after to the neighbourhood of Cambridge. He next received employment at Dover, and thence proceeded to London, where he occupied a situation in the establishment of Rennie, the celebrated engineer. He afterwards became foreman to one Dickson, an engineer, and superintendent of Fowler's chain-cable manufactory. In 1812 he returned to Rennie's establishment as a clerk, with a liberal salary. On leaving his father's house to seek his fortune in the south, he had been strongly counselled by Mr Miller of Dalswinton to abjure the gratification of his poetical tendencies, and he seems to have resolved on the faithful observance of this injunction. For a period of nine years his muse was silent; at length, in 1806, he appeared in the Scots Magazine as the contributor of some of the best verses which had ever adorned the pages of that periodical. The editor was eloquent in his commendations; and the Ettrick Shepherd, who was already a contributor to the magazine, took pains to discover the author, and addressed him a lengthened poetical epistle, expressive of his admiration. A private intimacy ensued between the two rising poets; and when the Shepherd, in 1809, planned the "Forest Minstrel," he made application to his ingenious friend for contributions. Cunningham sanctioned the republication of such of his lyrics as had appeared in the Scots Magazine, and these proved the best ornaments of the work.

Impatient of criticism, and of a whimsical turn of mind, Cunningham was incapable of steadfastly pursuing the career of a man of letters. Just as his name was becoming known by his verses in the Scots Magazine, he took offence at some incidental allusions to his style, and suddenly stopped his contributions. Silent for a second period of nine years, the circumstance of the appropriation of one of his songs in the "Nithsdale Minstrel," a provincial collection of poetry, published at Dumfries, again aroused him to authorship. He made the publishers the subject of a satirical poem in the Scots Magazine of 1815. On the origin of the Edinburgh Magazine, in 1817, he became a contributor, and under the title of the "Literary Legacy," wrote many curious snatches of antiquities, sketches of modern society, and scraps of song and ballad, which imparted a racy interest to the pages of the new periodical. A slight difference with the editor at length induced him to relapse into silence. Fitful and unsettled as a cultivator of literature, he was in the business of life a model of regularity and perseverance. He was much esteemed by his employer, and was ultimately promoted to the chief clerkship in his establishment. He fell a victim to the Asiatic cholera on the 28th October 1834, in the 58th year of his age. During his latter years he was in the habit of examining at certain intervals the MSS. of prose and poetry, which at a former period he had accumulated. On those occasions he uniformly destroyed some which he deemed unworthy of further preservation. During one of these purgations, he hastily committed to the flames a poem on which he had bestowed much labour, and which contained a humorous description of scenes and characters familiar to him in youth. The poem was entitled "Braken Fell;" and his ingenious brother Allan, in a memoir of the author, has referred to its destruction in terms of regret.[105] The style of Thomas Cunningham seems, however, to have been lyrical, and it may be presumed that his songs afford the best evidence of his power. In private life he was much cherished by a circle of friends, and his society was gay and animated. He was rather above the middle height, and latterly was corpulent. He married in 1804, and has left a family.

[105] See Scottish Monthly Magazine, August 1836.



ADOWN THE BURNIE'S FLOWERY BANK.[106]

Adown the burnie's flowery bank, Or through the shady grove, Or 'mang the bonnie scroggie braes, Come, Peggy, let us rove. See where the stream out ower the linn Deep headlong foamin' pours, There let us gang and stray amang The bloomin' hawthorn bowers.

We 'll pu' the rose frae aff the brier, The lily frae the brae; We 'll hear the birdies blithely sing, As up the glen we gae. His yellow haughs o' wavin' grain The farmer likes to see, But my ain Peggy's artless smile Is far mair dear to me.

[106] Written when the author was quite a youth.



THE HILLS O' GALLOWA'.[107]

TUNE—"The Lea Rig."

Amang the birks sae blithe an' gay, I met my Julia hameward gaun; The linties chantit on the spray, The lammies loupit on the lawn; On ilka swaird the hay was mawn, The braes wi' gowans buskit bra', An' ev'ning's plaid o' gray was thrawn Out ower the hills o' Gallowa'.

Wi' music wild the woodlands rang, An' fragrance wing'd alang the lea, As down we sat the flowers amang, Upon the banks o' stately Dee. My Julia's arms encircled me, An' saftly slade the hours awa', Till dawning coost a glimm'rin' e'e Upon the hills o' Gallowa'.

It isna owsen, sheep, an' kye, It isna gowd, it isna gear, This lifted e'e wad hae, quo' I, The warld's drumlie gloom to cheer; But gie to me my Julia dear, Ye powers wha rowe this yirthen ba', An' oh, sae blithe through life I 'll steer, Amang the hills o' Gallowa'.

When gloamin' daunders up the hill, An' our gudeman ca's hame the yowes, Wi' her I 'll trace the mossy rill That through the muir meand'ring rowes; Or tint amang the scroggie knowes, My birken pipe I 'll sweetly blaw, An' sing the streams, the straths, and howes, The hills an' dales o' Gallowa'.

An' when auld Scotland's heathy hills, Her rural nymphs an' jovial swains, Her flowery wilds an' wimpling rills, Awake nae mair my canty strains; Where friendship dwells an' freedom reigns, Where heather blooms an' muircocks craw, Oh, dig my grave, and lay my banes Amang the hills o' Gallowa'.

[107] Like many other Scottish songs composed early in the century, and which at the time of publication were unacknowledged by their authors, the "Hills o' Gallowa'" came to be attributed to Burns. It is included among his songs in Orphoot's edition of his poetical works, which was published at Edinburgh in 1820. In the "Harp of Caledonia," the editor, Mr Struthers, assigns it to the Ettrick Shepherd. Along with those which follow, the song appeared in the "Forest Minstrel." The heroine was Julia Curtis, a maiden in Galloway, to whom Cunningham was early attached. She is also celebrated by the poet in the "Braes of Ballahun," and her early demise is lamented in the tender stanzas of "Julia's Grave." The latter composition first appeared in the Scots Magazine for 1807, p. 448.



THE BRAES OF BALLAHUN.[108]

TUNE—"Roslin Castle."

Now smiling summer's balmy breeze, Soft whispering, fans the leafy trees; The linnet greets the rosy morn, Sweet in yon fragrant flowery thorn; The bee hums round the woodbine bower, Collecting sweets from every flower; And pure the crystal streamlets run Among the braes of Ballahun.

Oh, blissful days, for ever fled, When wand'ring wild, as fancy led, I ranged the bushy bosom'd glen, The scroggie shaw, the rugged linn, And mark'd each blooming hawthorn bush, Where nestling sat the speckled thrush; Or, careless roaming, wander'd on Among the braes of Ballahun.

Why starts the tear, why bursts the sigh, When hills and dales rebound with joy? The flowery glen and lilied lea, In vain display their charms to me. I joyless roam the heathy waste, To soothe this sad, this troubled breast; And seek the haunts of men to shun, Among the braes of Ballahun.

The virgin blush of lovely youth, The angel smile of artless truth, This breast illumed with heavenly joy, Which lyart time can ne'er destroy. Oh, Julia dear! the parting look, The sad farewell we sorrowing took, Still haunt me as I stray alone, Among the braes of Ballahun.

[108] Ballahun is a romantic glen, near Blackwood House, on the river Nith.



THE UNCO GRAVE.[109]

TUNE—"Crazy Jane."

Bonnie Clouden, as ye wander Hills, an' haughs, an' muirs amang, Ilka knowe an' green meander, Learn my sad, my dulefu' sang! Braes o' breckan, hills o' heather, Howms whare rows the gowden wave; Blissful scenes, fareweel for ever! I maun seek an unco grave.

Sair I pled, though fate, unfriendly, Stang'd my heart wi' waes and dules, That some faithfu' hand might kindly Lay 't among my native mools. Cronies dear, wha late an' early Aye to soothe my sorrows strave, Think on ane wha lo'es ye dearly, Doom'd to seek an unco grave.

Torn awa' frae Scotia's mountains, Far frae a' that 's dear to dwall, Mak's my e'en twa gushin' fountains, Dings a dirk in my puir saul. Braes o' breckan, hills o' heather, Howms whare rows the gowden wave, Blissful scenes, fareweel for ever! I maun seek an unco grave.

[109] The Clouden is a stream which flows into the Nith, at Lincluden College, near Dumfries.



JULIA'S GRAVE.

TUNE—"Logan Water."

Ye briery bields, where roses blaw! Ye flowery fells, and sunny braes, Whase scroggie bosoms foster'd a' The pleasures o' my youthfu' days! Amang your leafy simmer claes, And blushing blooms, the zephyr flies, Syne wings awa', and wanton plays Around the grave whare Julia lies.

Nae mair your bonnie birken bowers, Your streamlets fair, and woodlands gay, Can cheer the weary winged hours, As up the glen I joyless stray; For a' my hopes hae flown away, And when they reach'd their native skies, Left me amid the world o' wae, To weet the grave where Julia lies.

It is na beauty's fairest bloom, It is na maiden charms consign'd, And hurried to an early tomb, That wrings my heart and clouds my mind; But sparkling wit, and sense refined, And spotless truth, without disguise, Make me with sighs enrich the wind That fans the grave whare Julia lies.



FAREWEEL, YE STREAMS.

AIR—"Lassie wi' the Yellow Coatie."

Fareweel, ye streams sae dear to me, My bonnie Clouden, Kith, and Dee; Ye burns that row sae bonnily, Your siller waves nae mair I 'll see. Yet though frae your green banks I 'm driven, My saul away could ne'er be riven; For still she lifts her e'en to heaven, An' sighs to be again wi' thee.

Ye canty bards ayont the Tweed, Your skins wi' claes o' tartan cleed, An' lilt alang the verdant mead, Or blithely on your whistles blaw, An' sing auld Scotia's barns an ha's, Her bourtree dykes an mossy wa's, Her faulds, her bughts, an' birken shaws, Whare love an' freedom sweeten a'.

Sing o' her carles teuch an' auld, Her carlines grim that flyte an' scauld, Her wabsters blithe, an' souters bauld, Her flocks an' herds sae fair to see. Sing o' her mountains bleak an high; Her fords, whare neigh'rin' kelpies ply; Her glens, the haunts o' rural joy; Her lasses lilting o'er the lea.

To you the darling theme belangs, That frae my heart exulting spangs; Oh, mind, amang your bonnie sangs, The lads that bled for liberty. Think o' our auld forbears o' yore, Wha dyed the muir wi' hostile gore; Wha slavery's bands indignant tore, An' bravely fell for you an' me.

My gallant brithers, brave an' bauld, Wha haud the pleugh, or wake the fauld, Until your dearest bluid rin cauld, Aye true unto your country be. Wi' daring look her dirk she drew, An' coost a mither's e'e on you; Then let na ony spulzien crew Her dear-bought freedom wrest frae thee.



JOHN STRUTHERS.

John Struthers, whose name is familiar as the author of "The Poor Man's Sabbath," was born on the 18th July 1776, in the parish of East Kilbride, Lanarkshire. His parents were of the humbler rank, and were unable to send him to school; but his mother, a woman of superior intelligence, was unremitting in her efforts to teach him at home. She was aided in her good work by a benevolent lady of the neighbourhood, who, interested by the boy's precocity, often sent for him to read to her. This kind-hearted individual was Mrs Baillie, widow of the Rev. Dr Baillie of Hamilton, who was then resident at Longcalderwood, and whose celebrated daughter, Joanna Baillie, afterwards took a warm interest in the fame and fortunes of her mother's protege. From the age of eight to fourteen, young Struthers was engaged as a cowherd and in general work about a farm; he then apprenticed himself to a shoemaker. On the completion of his indenture, he practised his craft several years in his native village till September 1801, when he sought a wider field of business in Glasgow. In 1804, he produced his first and most celebrated poem, "The Poor Man's Sabbath," which, printed at his own risk, was well received, and rapidly passed through two editions. On the recommendation of Sir Walter Scott, to whom the poem was made known by Joanna Baillie, Constable published a third edition in 1808, handing the author thirty pounds for the copyright. Actively employed in his trade, Struthers continued to devote his leisure hours to composition. In 1816 he published a pamphlet "On the State of the Labouring Poor." A more ambitious literary effort was carried out in 1819; he edited a collection of the national songs, which was published at Glasgow, under the title of "The Harp of Caledonia," in three vols. 18mo. To this work Joanna Baillie, Mrs John Hunter, and Mr William Smyth of Cambridge contributed songs, while Scott and others permitted the re-publication of such of their lyrics as the author chose to select.

Struthers married early in life. About the year 1818 his wife and two of his children were snatched from him by death, and these bereavements so affected him, as to render him unable to prosecute his labours as a tradesman. He now procured employment as a corrector of the press, in the printing-office of Khull, Blackie, & Co. During his connexion with this establishment he assisted in preparing an edition of "Wodrow's History," and produced a "History of Scotland" from the political Union in 1707 to the year 1827, the date of its publication. These works—the latter extending to two octavo volumes—were published by his employers. On a dissolution of their co-partnership, in 1827, Struthers was thrown out of employment till his appointment, in 1832, to the Keepership of Stirling's Library, a respectable institution in Glasgow. This situation, which yielded him a salary of about L50 a-year, he retained till 1847, when he was led to tender his resignation. In his seventy-first year he returned to his original trade, after being thirty years occupied with literary concerns. He died suddenly on the 30th July 1853, at the advanced age of seventy-seven.

A man of strong intellect and vigorous imagination, John Struthers was industrious in his trade, and persevering as an author, yet he failed to obtain a competency for the winter of life; his wants, however, were few, and he never sought to complain. Inheriting pious dispositions from his parents, he excelled in familiarity with the text of Scripture, and held strong opinions on the subject of morality. Educated in the communion of the Original Secession Church, he afterwards joined the Establishment, and ultimately retired from it at the Disruption in 1843. He was a zealous member of the Free Church, and being admitted to the eldership, was on two occasions sent as a representative to the General Assembly of that body. An enthusiast respecting the beauties of external nature, he was in the habit of undertaking lengthened pedestrian excursions into the country, and took especial delight in rambling by the sea-shore, or climbing the mountain-tops. His person was tall and slight, though abundantly muscular, and capable of undergoing the toil of extended journeys. Three times married, he left a widow, who has lately emigrated to America; of his children two sons and two daughters survive.

Besides the works already enumerated, Struthers was the author of other compositions, both in prose and verse. He wrote an octavo pamphlet of 96 pages in favour of National Church Establishments; contributed memoirs of James Hogg, minister of Carnock, and Principal Robertson to the Christian Instructor, and prepared various lives of deceased worthies, which were included in the "Illustrious and Distinguished Scotsmen," edited by Mr Robert Chambers. At the period of his death, he was engaged in preparing a continuation of his "History of Scotland," to the era of the Disruption; he also meditated the publication of a volume of essays. His poetical works, which appeared at various intervals, were re-published in 1850, in two duodecimo volumes, with an interesting autobiographical sketch. Of his poems those most deserving of notice, next to the "Sabbath," are "The House of Mourning, or the Peasant's Death," and "The Plough," both evincing grave and elevated sentiment, expressed in correct poetical language. The following songs are favourable specimens of his lyrical compositions.



ADMIRING NATURE'S SIMPLE CHARMS.

TUNE—"Gramachre."

Admiring Nature's simple charms, I left my humble home, Awhile my country's peaceful plains With pilgrim step to roam. I mark'd the leafy summer wave On flowing Irvine's side, But richer far 's the robe she wears Within the vale of Clyde.

I roam'd the braes o' bonnie Doon, The winding banks o' Ayr, Where flutters many a small bird gay, Blooms many a flow'ret fair. But dearer far to me the stem That once was Calder's pride, And blossoms now the fairest flower Within the vale of Clyde.

Avaunt, thou life-repressing north, Ye withering east winds too; But come, thou all-reviving west, Breathe soft thy genial dew. Till at the last, in peaceful age, This lovely flow'ret shed Its last green leaf upon my grave, Within the vale of Clyde.



OH, BONNIE BUDS YON BIRCHEN TREE.

TUNE—"The mill, mill, O."

Oh, bonnie buds yon birchen tree, The western breeze perfuming; And softly smiles yon sunny brae, Wi' gowans gaily blooming. But sweeter than yon birchen tree, Or gowans gaily blooming, Is she, in blushing modesty, Wha meets me there at gloaming.

Oh, happy, happy there yestreen, In mutual transport ranging, Among these lovely scenes, unseen, Our vows of love exchanging. The moon, with clear, unclouded face, Seem'd bending to behold us; And breathing birks, with soft embrace, Most kindly to enfold us.

We bade each tree record our vows, And each surrounding mountain, With every star on high that glows From light's o'erflowing fountain. But gloaming gray bedims the vale, On day's bright beam encroaching; With rapture once again I hail The trysting hour approaching.



RICHARD GALL.

Richard Gall was born in December 1776, at Linkhouse, near Dunbar. His father was a notary; but, being in poor circumstances, he apprenticed his son, in his eleventh year, to a relative, who followed the conjoined business of a builder and house-carpenter. The drudgery of heavy manual labour proved very uncongenial; and the apprentice suddenly took his departure, walking a long distance to Edinburgh, whither his parents had removed their residence. He now selected the profession of a printer, and entered on an indenture to Mr David Ramsay of the Edinburgh Evening Courant. At the close of his apprenticeship, he became Mr Ramsay's travelling clerk.

In the ordinary branches of education, young Gall had been instructed in a school at Haddington; he took lessons in the more advanced departments from a private tutor during his apprenticeship. He wrote verses from his youth, and several of his songs became popular, and were set to music. His poetical talents attracted the attention of Robert Burns and Hector Macneill, both of whom cherished his friendship,—the former becoming his correspondent. He also shared the intimacy of Thomas Campbell, and of Dr Alexander Murray, the distinguished philologist.

His promising career was brief; an abscess broke out in his breast, which medical skill could not subdue. After a lingering illness, he died on the 10th of May 1801, in his twenty-fifth year. He had joined a Highland volunteer regiment; and his remains were accompanied by his companions-in-arms to the Calton burial-ground, and there interred with military honours.

Possessed of a lively and vigorous fancy, a generous warmth of temperament, and feelings of extreme sensibility, Richard Gall gave promise of adorning the poetical literature of his country. Patriotism and the beauties of external nature were the favourite subjects of his muse, which, as if premonished of his early fate, loved to sing in plaintive strains. Gall occasionally lacks power, but is always pleasing; in his songs (two of which have frequently been assigned to Burns) he is uniformly graceful. He loved poetry with the ardour of an enthusiast; during his last illness he inscribed verses with a pencil, when no longer able to wield the pen. He was thoroughly devoid of personal vanity, and sought to advance the poetical reputation of his country rather than his own. In his lifetime, his pieces were printed separately; a selection of his poems and songs, with a memoir by Alexander Balfour, was published in 1819.



HOW SWEET IS THE SCENE.

How sweet is the scene at the waking o' morning! How fair ilka object that lives in the view! Dame Nature the valley an' hillock adorning, The wild-rose an' blue-bell yet wet wi' the dew. How sweet in the morning o' life is my Anna! Her smiles like the sunbeam that glints on the lea; To wander an' leave the dear lassie, I canna; Frae Truth, Love, an' Beauty, I never can flee.

O lang hae I lo'ed her, and lo'ed her fu' dearly, For saft is the smile o' her bonny sweet mou'; An' aft hae I read in her e'en, glancing clearly, A language that bade me be constant an' true. Then ithers may doat on their gowd an' their treasure; For pelf, silly pelf, they may brave the rude sea; To lo'e my sweet lassie, be mine the dear pleasure; Wi' her let me live, an' wi' her let me die.



CAPTAIN O'KAIN.

Flow saftly, thou stream, through the wild spangled valley; Oh green be thy banks, ever bonny an' fair! Sing sweetly, ye birds, as ye wanton fu' gaily, Yet strangers to sorrow, untroubled by care. The weary day lang I list to your sang, An' waste ilka moment, sad, cheerless, alane; Each sweet little treasure O' heart-cheering pleasure, Far fled frae my bosom wi' Captain O'Kain.

Fu' aft on thy banks hae we pu'd the wild gowan, An' twisted a garland beneath the hawthorn; Ah! then each fond moment wi' pleasure was glowing, Sweet days o' delight, which can never return! Now ever, wae's me! The tear fills my e'e, An sair is my heart wi' the rigour o' pain; Nae prospect returning, To gladden life's morning, For green waves the willow o'er Captain O'Kain.



MY ONLY JO AND DEARIE, O'.

Thy cheek is o' the rose's hue, My only jo an' dearie, O; Thy neck is like the siller dew Upon the banks sae briery, O; Thy teeth are o' the ivory, O, sweet 's the twinkle o' thine e'e! Nae joy, nae pleasure, blinks on me, My only jo an' dearie, O.

The birdie sings upon the thorn, Its sang o' joy, fu' cheerie, O, Rejoicing in the simmer morn, Nae care to make it eerie, O; But little kens the sangster sweet, Ought o' the care I hae to meet, That gars my restless bosom beat, My only jo an' dearie, O.

Whan we were bairnies on yon brae, An' youth was blinking bonny, O, Aft we wad daff the lee lang day, Our joys fu' sweet an' mony, O; Aft I wad chase thee o'er the lea, An' round about the thorny tree; Or pu' the wild flowers a' for thee, My only jo an' dearie, O.

I hae a wish I canna tine, 'Mang a' the cares that grieve me, O; I wish that thou wert ever mine, An' never mair to leave me, O; Then I wad dawt thee night an' day, Nae ither warldly care wad hae, Till life's warm stream forgat to play, My only jo an' dearie, O.



THE BONNIE BLINK O' MARY'S E'E.[110]

Now bank an' brae are clad in green, An' scatter'd cowslips sweetly spring; By Girvan's fairy-haunted stream, The birdies flit on wanton wing; By Cassillis' banks, when e'ening fa's, There let my Mary meet wi' me, There catch her ilka glance o' love, The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e.

The chiel' wha boasts o' warld's wealth Is aften laird o' meikle care; But Mary she is a' my ain, An' Fortune canna gie me mair. Then let me stray by Cassillis' banks, Wi' her, the lassie dear to me, An' catch her ilka glance o' love, The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e.

[110] Cromeck in his "Reliques," erroneously attributes this song to Burns.



THE BRAES O' DRUMLEE.

Ere eild wi' his blatters had warsled me down, Or reft me o' life's youthfu' bloom, How aft hae I gane, wi' a heart louping light, To the knowes yellow tappit wi' broom! How aft hae I sat i' the beild o' the knowe, While the laverock mounted sae hie, An' the mavis sang sweet in the plantings around, On the bonnie green braes o' Drumlee.

But, ah! while we daff in the sunshine of youth, We see na' the blasts that destroy; We count na' upon the fell waes that may come, An eithly o'ercloud a' our joy. I saw na the fause face that fortune can wear, Till forced from my country to flee; Wi' a heart like to burst, while I sobbed, "Farewell, To the bonnie green braes o' Drumlee!

"Fareweel, ye dear haunts o' the days o' my youth, Ye woods and ye valleys sae fair; Ye 'll bloom whan I wander abroad like a ghaist, Sair nidder'd wi' sorrow an' care. Ye woods an' ye valleys, I part wi' a sigh, While the flood gushes down frae my e'e; For never again shall the tear weet my cheek, On the bonnie green braes o' Drumlee.

"O Time, could I tether your hours for a wee! Na, na, for they flit like the wind!"— Sae I took my departure, an' saunter'd awa', Yet aften look'd wistfu' behind. Oh, sair is the heart of the mither to twin, Wi' the baby that sits on her knee; But sairer the pang, when I took a last peep, O' the bonnie green braes o' Drumlee.

I heftit 'mang strangers years thretty-an'-twa, But naething could banish my care; An' aften I sigh'd when I thought on the past, Whare a' was sae pleasant an' fair. But now, wae 's my heart! whan I 'm lyart an' auld, An' fu' lint-white my haffet-locks flee, I 'm hamewards return'd wi' a remnant o' life, To the bonnie green braes o' Drumlee.

Poor body! bewilder'd, I scarcely do ken The haunts that were dear ance to me; I yirded a plant in the days o' my youth, An' the mavis now sings on the tree. But, haith! there 's nae scenes I wad niffer wi' thae; For it fills my fond heart fu' o' glee, To think how at last my auld banes they will rest, Near the bonnie green braes o' Drumlee.



I WINNA GANG BACK TO MY MAMMY AGAIN.

I winna gang back to my mammy again, I 'll never gae back to my mammy again; I 've held by her apron these aught years an' ten, But I 'll never gang back to my mammy again. I 've held by her apron, &c.

Young Johnnie cam' down i' the gloamin' to woo, Wi' plaidie sae bonny, an' bannet sae blue: "O come awa, lassie, ne'er let mammy ken;" An' I flew wi' my laddie o'er meadow an' glen. "O come awa, lassie," &c.

He ca'd me his dawtie, his dearie, his doo, An' press'd hame his words wi' a smack o' my mou'; While I fell on his bosom heart-flicher'd an' fain, An' sigh'd out, "O Johnnie, I 'll aye be your ain!" While I fell on his bosom, &c.

Some lasses will talk to their lads wi' their e'e, Yet hanker to tell what their hearts really dree; Wi' Johnnie I stood upon nae stapping-stane, Sae I 'll never gae back to my mammy again. Wi' Johnnie I stood, &c.

For many lang year sin' I play'd on the lea, My mammy was kind as a mither could be; I 've held by her apron these aught years an' ten, But I 'll never gang back to my mammy again. I 've held by her apron, &c.



THE BARD.

IRISH AIR—"The Brown Maid."

The Bard strikes his harp the wild valleys amang, Whare the tall aiken trees spreading leafy appear; While the murmuring breeze mingles sweet wi' his sang, An' wafts the saft notes till they die on the ear; But Mary, whase presence sic transport conveys, Whase beauties my moments o' pleasure control, On the strings o' my heart ever wantonly plays, An' each languishing note is a sigh frae my soul!

Her breath is as sweet as the sweet-scented brier, That blossoms and blaws in yon wild lanely glen; When I view her fair form which nae mortal can peer, A something o'erpowers me I dinna weel ken. What sweetness her snawy white bosom displays! The blink o' her bonny black e'e wha' can thole! On the strings o' my heart she bewitchingly plays, An' each languishing note is a sigh frae my soul!



LOUISA IN LOCHABER.

Can ought be constant as the sun, That makes the world sae cheerie? Yes, a' the powers can witness be, The love I bear my dearie. But what can make the hours seem lang, An' rin sae wondrous dreary? What but the space that lies between Me an' my only dearie.

Then fare ye weel, wha saw me aft, Sae blythe, baith late and early; An' fareweel scenes o' former joys, That cherish life sae rarely; Baith love an' beauty bid me flee, Nor linger lang an' eerie, But haste, an' in my arms enfauld, My only pride an' dearie.

I 'll hail Lochaber's valleys green, Where many a rill meanders; I 'll hail wi' joy, its birken bowers, For there Louisa wanders. There will I clasp her to my breast, An' tent her smile fu' cheerie; An' thus, without a wish or want, Live happy wi' my dearie.



THE HAZELWOOD WITCH.

For mony lang year I hae heard frae my grannie Of brownies an' bogles by yon castle wa', Of auld wither'd hags that were never thought cannie, An' fairies that danced till they heard the cock caw. I leugh at her tales; an' last owk, i' the gloamin', I daunder'd, alane, down the hazelwood green; Alas! I was reckless, and rue sair my roamin', For I met a young witch, wi' twa bonnie black e'en.

I thought o' the starns in a frosty night glancing, Whan a' the lift round them is cloudless an' blue; I looked again, an' my heart fell a-dancing, When I wad hae spoken, she glamour'd my mou'. O wae to her cantrips! for dumpish I wander, At kirk or at market there 's nought to be seen; For she dances afore me wherever I daunder, The hazelwood witch wi' the bonnie black e'en.



FAREWELL TO AYRSHIRE.[111]

Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, Scenes that former thoughts renew; Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, Now a sad and last adieu! Bonny Doon, sae sweet at gloamin', Fare thee weel before I gang; Bonny Doon, whare, early roamin', First I weaved the rustic sang.

Bowers, adieu! where, love decoying, First enthrall'd this heart o' mine; There the saftest sweets enjoying, Sweets that memory ne'er shall tine. Friends sae near my bosom ever, Ye hae render'd moments dear; But, alas! when forced to sever, Then the stroke, O how severe!

Friends, that parting tear reserve it, Though 'tis doubly dear to me; Could I think I did deserve it, How much happier would I be. Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, Scenes that former thoughts renew; Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, Now a sad and last adieu!

[111] This is another song of Richard Gall which has been assigned to Burns; it has even been included in Dr Currie's edition of his works. It was communicated anonymously by Gall to the publisher of the "Scots Musical Museum," and first appeared in that work. The original MS. of the song was in the possession of Mr Stark, the author of a memoir of Gall in the "Biographia Scotica."



GEORGE SCOTT.

George Scott was the son of a small landowner in Roxburghshire. He was born at Dingleton, near Melrose, in 1777; and after attending the parish-schools of Melrose and Galashiels, became a student in the University of Edinburgh. On completing a curriculum of classical study, he was in his twenty-second year appointed parochial schoolmaster of Livingstone, West Lothian; and in six years afterwards was preferred to the parish-school of Lilliesleaf, in his native county. He was an accomplished scholar, and had the honour of educating many individuals who afterwards attained distinction. With Sir Walter Scott, who appreciated his scholarship, he maintained a friendly correspondence. In 1820, he published a small volume of poems, entitled, "Heath Flowers; or, Mountain Melodies," which exhibits considerable poetical talent. Having discharged the duties of an instructor of youth for half a century, he retired from his public avocations in November 1850. He survived till the 23d of February 1853, having attained his seventy-sixth year.



THE FLOWER OF THE TYNE.

AIR—"Bonnie Dundee."

Now rests the red sun in his caves of the ocean, Now closed every eye but of misery and mine; While, led by the moonbeam, in fondest devotion, I doat on her image, the Flower of the Tyne. Her cheek far outrivals the rose's rich blossom, Her eyes the bright gems of Golconda outshine; The snow-drop and lily are lost on her bosom, For beauty unmatched is the Flower of the Tyne.

So charming each feature, so guileless her nature, A thousand fond voices pronounce her divine; So witchingly pretty, so modestly witty, That sweet is thy thraldom, fair Flower of the Tyne! Thine aspect so noble, yet sweetly inviting, The loves and the graces thy temples entwine; In manners the saint and the syren uniting, Bloom on, dear Louisa, the Flower of the Tyne.

Though fair, Caledonia, the nymphs of thy mountains, And graceful and straight as thine own silver pine, Though fresh as thy breezes, and pure as thy fountains, Yet fairer to me is the Flower of the Tyne. This poor throbbing heart as an offering I give her, A temple to love is this bosom of mine; Then smile on thy victim, Louisa, for ever, I 'll kneel at thine altar, sweet Flower of the Tyne.



THOMAS CAMPBELL.

Thomas Campbell, author of the "Pleasures of Hope," was descended from a race of landed proprietors in Argyleshire, who claimed ancestry in Macallummore, the great head of clan Campbell, and consequent propinquity to the noble House of Argyle. Alexander Campbell, the poet's father, had carried on a prosperous trade as a Virginian merchant, but had suffered unhappy embarrassments, at the outbreak of the American war. Of his eleven children, Thomas was the youngest. He was born on the 27th July 1777, in his father's house, High Street, Glasgow, and was baptised by the celebrated Dr Thomas Reid, after whom he received his Christian name. The favourite child of his parents, peculiar care was bestowed upon his upbringing; he was taught to read by his eldest sister, who was nineteen years his senior, and had an example of energy set before him by his mother, a woman of remarkable decision. He afforded early indication of genius; as a child, he was fond of ballad poetry, and in his tenth year he wrote verses. At the age of eight he became a pupil in the grammar school, having already made some proficiency in classical learning. During the first session of attendance at the University, he gained two prizes and a bursary on Archbishop Leighton's foundation. As a classical scholar, he acquired rapid distinction; he took especial delight in the dramatic literature of Greece, and his metrical translations from the Greek plays were pronounced excellent specimens of poetical composition. He invoked the muse on many themes, and occasionally printed verses, which were purchased by his comrades. From the commencement of his curriculum he chiefly supported himself by teaching; at the close of his fourth session, he accepted a tutorship in the island of Mull. There he prosecuted verse-making, and continued his translations from the Greek dramatists. He conducted a poetical correspondence with Hamilton Paul; and the following lines addressed to this early friend, and entitled "An Elegy written in Mull," may be quoted in evidence of his poetical talent in his seventeenth year. These lines do not occur in any edition of his works:

"The tempest blackens on the dusky moor, And billows lash the long-resounding shore; In pensive mood I roam the desert ground, And vainly sigh for scenes no longer found. Oh, whither fled the pleasurable hours That chased each care, and fired the muse's powers; The classic haunts of youth, for ever gay Where mirth and friendship cheer'd the close of day, The well-known valleys where I wont to roam, The native sports, the nameless joys of home? Far different scenes allure my wondering eye: The white wave foaming to the distant sky; The cloudy heavens, unblest by summer's smile; The sounding storm that sweeps the rugged isle, The chill, bleak summit of eternal snow, The wide, wild glen, the pathless plains below, The dark blue rocks, in barren grandeur piled, The cuckoo sighing to the pensive wild! Far different these from all that charm'd before, The grassy banks of Clutha's winding shore: The sloping vales, with waving forests lined; Her smooth blue lakes, unruffled by the wind. Hail, happy Clutha! glad shall I survey Thy gilded turrets from the distant way! Thy sight shall cheer the weary traveller's toil, And joy shall hail me to my native soil." He remained at Mull five months; and subsequently became tutor in the family of Sir William Napier, at Downie, near Loch Fyne. On completing a fifth session at the University, he experienced anxiety regarding the choice of a profession, chiefly with the desire of being able speedily to aid in the support of his necessitous parents. He first thought of a mercantile life, and then weighed the respective advantages of the clerical, medical, and legal professions. For a period, he attempted law, but soon tired of the drudgery which it threatened to impose. In Edinburgh, during a brief period of legal study, he formed the acquaintance of Dr Robert Anderson, through whose favour he became known to the rising wits of the capital. Among his earlier friends he reckoned the names of Francis Jeffrey, Henry Brougham, Thomas Brown, James Graham, and David Irving.

In 1798, Campbell induced his parents to remove to Edinburgh, where he calculated on literary employment. He had already composed the draught of the "Pleasures of Hope," but he did not hazard its publication till he had exhausted every effort in its improvement. His care was well repaid; his poem produced one universal outburst of admiration, and one edition after another rapidly sold. He had not completed his twenty-second year when he gained a place among the most distinguished poets of his country. For the copyright Mundell and Company allowed him only two hundred copies in quires, which yielded him about fifty pounds; but they presented him with twenty-five pounds on the appearance of each successive edition. He was afterwards permitted to publish an edition on his own account,—a privilege which brought him the sum of six hundred pounds. Resolving to follow literature as a profession, he was desirous of becoming personally acquainted with the distinguished men of letters in Germany; in June 1800 he embarked at Leith for Hamburg. He visited Ratisbon, Munich, and Leipsic; had an interview with the poet Klopstock, then in his seventy-seventh year, and witnessed a battle between the French and Germans, near Ratisbon. At Hamburg he formed the acquaintance of Anthony M'Cann, who had been driven into exile by the Irish Government in 1798, on the accusation of being a leader in the rebellion. Of this individual he formed a favourable opinion, and his condition suggested the exquisite poem, "The Exile of Erin." After some months' residence at Altona, he sailed for England; the vessel narrowly escaping capture by a privateer, landed him at Yarmouth, whence he proceeded to London. He had been in correspondence with Perry of the Morning Chronicle, who introduced him to Lord Holland, Sir James Macintosh, and Samuel Rogers. Receiving tidings of his father's death, he returned to Edinburgh. Not a little to his concern, he found that warrants had been issued for his apprehension on the charge of high treason; he was accused of attending Jacobin clubs at Hamburg, and of conspiring with General Moreau and the Irish exiles to land troops in Ireland! The seizure of his travelling trunk led to the ample vindication of his loyalty; it was found to contain the first draught of the "Mariners of England." Besides a magnificent quarto edition of the "Pleasures of Hope," he now prepared a work in three volumes, entitled "Annals of Great Britain;" for which the sum of three hundred pounds was paid him by Mundell and Company. Through Professor Dugald Stewart, he obtained the friendship of Lord Minto, who invited him to London, and afterwards entertained him at Minto.

In 1803, Campbell resolved to settle in London; in his progress to the metropolis he visited his friends Roscoe and Currie, at Liverpool. On the 10th September, 1803, he espoused his fair cousin, Matilda Sinclair, and established his residence in Upper Eaton Street, Pimlico. In the following year, he sought refuge from the noise of the busy world in London, by renting a house at Sydenham. His reputation readily secured him a sufficiency of literary employment; he translated for the Star, with a salary of two hundred pounds per annum, and became a contributor to the Philosophical Magazine. He declined the offer of the Regent's chair in the University of Wilna, in Russian-Poland; but shortly after had conferred on him, by the premier, Charles Fox, a civil-list pension of two hundred pounds. In 1809, he published his poem, "Gertrude of Wyoming," along with the "Battle of the Baltic," the "Mariners of England," "Hohenlinden," "Glenara," and others of his best lyrics. This volume was well received, and added largely to his laurels. In 1811, he delivered five lectures on poetry, in the Royal Institution.

Campbell was now a visitor in the first literary circles, and was welcomed at the tables of persons of opulence. From the commencement of his residence in London, he had known John Kemble, and his accomplished sister, Mrs Siddons. He became intimate with Lord Byron and Thomas Moore; and had the honour of frequent invitations to the residence of the Princess of Wales, at Blackheath. In 1814, he visited Paris, where he was introduced to the Duke of Wellington; dined with Humboldt and Schlegel, and met his former friend and correspondent, Madame de Stael. A proposal of Sir Walter Scott, in 1816, to secure him a chair in the University of Edinburgh, was not attended with success. The "Specimens of the British Poets," a work he had undertaken for Mr Murray, appeared in 1819. In 1820, he accepted the editorship of the New Monthly Magazine, with a salary of six hundred pounds per annum. A second visit to Germany, which he accomplished immediately after the commencement of his editorial duties, suggested to him the idea of the London University; and this scheme, warmly supported by his literary friends, and advocated by Lord Brougham, led in 1825 to the establishment of the institution. In the year subsequent to this happy consummation of his exertions on behalf of learning in the south, he received intelligence of his having been elected Lord Rector of the University of Glasgow. This honour was the most valued of his life; it was afterwards enhanced by his re-election to office for the third time,—a rare occurrence in the history of the College.

The future career of the poet was not remarkable for any decided achievements in literature or poetry. In 1831, he allowed his name to be used as the conductor of the Metropolitan, a short-lived periodical. He published in 1834 a "Life of Mrs Siddons," in two volumes, but this performance did not prove equal to public expectation. One of his last efforts was the preparation of an edition of the "Pleasures of Hope," which was illustrated with engravings from drawings by Turner. Subsequent to the death of Mrs Campbell, which took place in May 1828, he became unsettled in his domestic habits, evincing a mania for change of residence. In 1834, he proceeded to Algiers, in Africa; and returning by Paris, was presented to King Louis Philippe. On his health failing, some years afterwards, he tried the baths of Wiesbaden, and latterly established his residence at Boulogne. After a prostrating illness of several months, he expired at Boulogne, on the 15th of June 1844, in his 67th year.

Of the poetry of Thomas Campbell, "The Pleasures of Hope" is one of the most finished epics in the language; it is alike faultless in respect of conception and versification. His lyrics are equally sustained in power of thought and loftiness of diction; they have been more frequently quoted than the poems of any other modern author, and are translated into various European languages. Few men evinced more jealousy in regard to their reputation; he was keenly sensitive to criticism, and fastidious in judging of his own composition. As a prose writer, though he wrote with elegance, he is less likely to be remembered. Latterly a native unsteadiness of purpose degenerated into inaction; during the period of his unabated vigour, it prevented his carrying out many literary schemes. A bad money manager, he had under no circumstances become rich; at one period he was in the receipt of fifteen hundred pounds per annum, yet he felt poverty. He had a strong feeling of independence, and he never received a favour without considering whether he might be able to repay it. He was abundantly charitable, and could not resist the solicitations of indigence. Of slavery and oppression in every form he entertained an abhorrence; his zeal in the cause of liberty led him while a youth to be present in Edinburgh at the trial of Gerard and others, for maintaining liberal opinions, and to support in his maturer years the cause of the Polish refugees. Naturally cheerful, he was subject to moods of despondency, and his temper was ardent in circumstances of provocation. In personal appearance he was rather under the middle height, and he dressed with precision and neatness. His countenance was pleasing, but was only expressive of power when lit up by congenial conversation. He was fond of society and talked with fluency. His remains rest close by the ashes of Sheridan, in Westminster Abbey, and over them a handsome monument has lately been erected to his memory.



YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.

Ye mariners of England, That guard our native seas; Whose flag has braved a thousand years The battle and the breeze! Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe; And sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.

The spirit of your fathers Shall start from every wave; For the deck it was their field of fame, And ocean was their grave: Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.

Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak, She quells the floods below,— As they roar on the shore, When the stormy winds do blow; When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow.

The meteor flag of England Shall yet terrific burn; Till danger's troubled night depart, And the star of peace return. Then, then, ye ocean warriors! Our song and feast shall flow, To the fame of your name, When the storm has ceased to blow; When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm has ceased to blow.



GLENARA.

Oh! heard ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale, Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and wail? 'Tis the chief of Glenara laments for his dear; And her sire, and the people, are call'd to her bier.

Glenara came first, with the mourners and shroud; Her kinsmen they follow'd, but mourn'd not aloud: Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around; They march'd all in silence, they look'd on the ground.

In silence they reach'd, over mountain and moor, To a heath where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar. "Now here let us place the gray stone of her cairn; Why speak ye no word?" said Glenara the stern.

"And tell me, I charge you, ye clan of my spouse! Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your brows?" So spake the rude chieftain. No answer is made, But each mantle unfolding, a dagger display'd.

"I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud," Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud; "And empty that shroud and that coffin did seem. Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream."

Oh! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween, When the shroud was unclosed, and no lady was seen; When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn— 'Twas the youth who had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn:

"I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief, I dreamt that her lord was a barbarous chief; On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem. Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!"

In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground, And the desert reveal'd where his lady was found; From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne— Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn!