Chapter I: Hae Naebody Now (2)

"Maria, now the maid of heavenly charms,
Decreed to bliss the youthful monarch's arms;
Inflames Augustus with unwonted fires,
And in his breast awakens new desires.
In love a novice, while his bosom glows
With restless heat, the cause he scarcely knows;
The rural pastimes suited to his age,
His late delight, no more his care engage;
No more he wills to give his steed the reins
In eager chase, and urge him o'er the plains;
No more he joys to bend the twanging bow,
To hurl the javeline, or the dart to throw;
His alter'd thoughts to other objects rove,
To wounds inflicted by the god of love.
How oft, expressive of the inward smart,
Did groans convulsive issue from his heart!
How oft did blushes own the sacred flame,
How oft his hand unbidden wrote her name!
Now presents worthy of the plighted fair,
And nuptial robes his busy train prepare--
Robes wherewith Livia was herself attired,
And those bright dames that to the beds aspired
Of emperors. Yet the celestial maid
Requires no earthly ornamental aid
To give her faultless form a single grace,
Or add one charm to her bewitching face."

The circumstances of the young poets were far from affluent. Campbell particularly felt the pressure of poverty. He came hastily one morning to the lodgings of his friend to request his opinion of some verses; they were immediately printed, and the copies sold to his fellow-students for a halfpenny each. So Paul sometimes told his friends, quoting the following lines as all he could remember of the production:--

"Loud shriek'd afar the angry sprite,
That rode upon the storm of night,
And loud the waves were heard to roar
That lash'd on Jura's rocky shore."

After several sessions of attendance at college, Paul became tutor to a family in Argyleshire, and Campbell obtained a similar situation in the island of Mull. They entered into a humorous correspondence in prose and verse. "Your verses on the Unfortunate Lady," writes Campbell to his friend, "I read with sweet pleasure; for there is a joy in grief, when peace dwelleth in the breast of the sad.... Morose as I am in judging of poetry, I could find nothing inelegant in the whole piece. I hope you will in your next (since you are such a master of the plaintive) send me some verses consolatory to a hermit; for my sequestered situation sometimes stamps a firm belief on my mind that I am actually an anchorite. In return for your welcome poetical effusion, I have nothing at present but a chorus of the Jepthes of Buchanan, written soon after my arrival in Mull:--

"Glassy Jordan, smooth meandering
Jacob's grassy meads between,
Lo! thy waters, gently wandering,
Lave thy valleys rich and green.

"When the winter, keenly show'ring,
Strips fair Salem's holy shade,
Then thy current, broader flowing,
Lingers 'mid the leafless glade.

"When, O! when shall light returning
Gild the melancholy gloom,
And the golden star of morning
Jordan's solemn vault illume?

"When shall Freedom's holy charmer
Cheer my long benighted soul?
When shall Israel, proud in armour,
Burst the tyrant's base control?" &c.

"The similarity of the measure with that of your last made me think of sending you this piece. I am much hurried at present with my comedy, the 'Clouds of Aristophanes.' I have already finished my translation of the Choephoroe of AEschylus. I dreamt a dream about your being before Parnassus upon your trial for sedition and contumacy. I thought Thalia, Clio, &c. addressed you. Their speeches shall be nonsensified into rhyme, and shall be part of some other scrawl from your affectionate friend,

"THOMAS THE HERMIT."

In another epistle Campbell threatens to "send a formal message to the kind nymphs of Parnassus, telling them that, whereas Hamilton Paul, their favourite and admired laureate of the north, has been heard to express his admiration of certain nymphs in a certain place; and that the said Hamilton Paul has ungratefully and feloniously neglected to speak with due reverence of the ladies of Helicon; that said Hamilton Paul shall be deprived of all aid in future from these goddesses, and be sent to draw his inspiration from the dry fountain of earthly beauty; and that, furthermore, all the favours taken from the said Hamilton Paul shall accrue to the informer and petitioner!"

After two years' residence in the Highlands, both the poets returned to Glasgow to resume their academical studies: Campbell to qualify himself as a man of letters, and Paul to prepare for the ministry of the Scottish Church. "It would have been impossible, even during the last years of their college life," writes Mr Deans,[72] "to have predicted which of the two students would ultimately arrive at the greatest eminence. They were both excellent classical scholars; they were both ingenious poets; and Campbell does not appear to have surpassed his companion either in his original pieces or his translations; they both exhibited great versatility of talent; they were both playful and witty; and seem to have been possessed of great facilities in sport. During his latter years, when detailing the history of those joyous days, Mr Paul dwelt on them with peculiar delight, and seemed animated with youthful emotion when recalling the curious frolics and innocent and singular adventures in which Campbell and he had performed a principal part."

While resident at Inverary, Mr Paul composed several poems, which were much approved by his correspondent. Among these, a ballad entitled "The Maid of Inverary," in honour of Lady Charlotte Campbell, afterwards Lady Bury, was set to music, and made the subject of elaborate criticism. On his return to the university, he composed with redoubled ardour, contributing verses on every variety of topic to the newspapers and periodicals. Several of his pieces, attracting the notice of some of the professors, received their warm commendation.

Obtaining licence to preach, the poet returned to his native county. During a probation of thirteen years, he was assistant to six parish ministers, and tutor in five different families. He became joint-proprietor and editor of the _Ayr Advertiser_, which he conducted for a period of three years. At Ayr he was a member of every literary circle; was connected with every club; chaplain to every society; a speaker at every meeting; the poet of every curious occurrence; and the welcome guest at every table. Besides editing his newspaper, he gave private instructions in languages, and preached on Sabbath. His metrical productions became widely known, and his songs were sung at the cottage hearths of the district. His presence at the social meeting was the sure indication of a prevalent good humour.

In 1813, Mr Paul attained the summit of his professional ambition; he was ordained to the pastoral office in the united parishes of Broughton, Glenholm, and Kilbucho, in Peeblesshire. Amidst due attention to his clerical duties, he still found leisure to engage in literary pursuits, and continued to contribute to the public journals both in prose and poetry. Of the poet Burns he was an enthusiastic admirer; he was laureate of the "Burns' Allowa' Club," and of the Glasgow Ayrshire Friendly Society, whose annual meetings were held on the Bard's anniversary; and the odes which he composed for these annual assemblages attracted wide and warm admiration. He therefore recommended himself as a suitable editor of the works of Burns, when a new edition was contemplated by Messrs Wilson and M'Cormick, booksellers in Ayr. In the performance of his editorial task, he was led, in an attempt to palliate the immoralities of Burns, to make some indiscreet allusions respecting his own clerical brethren; for this imprudence he narrowly escaped censure from the ecclesiastical courts. His memoir, though commended in _Blackwood's Magazine_, conducted by Professor Wilson, was severely censured by Dr Andrew Thomson in the _Christian Instructor_.

The pastoral parish of Broughton was in many respects suited for a person of Hamilton Paul's peculiar temperament and habits; in a more conspicuous position his talents might have shone with more brilliancy; but, after the burst of enthusiasm in his youth was past, he loved seclusion, and modestly sought the shade. No man was less conscious of his powers, or attached less value to his literary performances.[73] Of his numerous poetical compositions each was the work of a sitting, or had been uttered impromptu; and, unless secured by a friend, they were commonly laid aside never to be recollected. As a clergyman, he retained, during a lengthened incumbency, the respect and affection of his flock, chiefly, it may be remarked, from the acceptability of his private services, and the warmth and kindliness of his dispositions. His pulpit discourses were elegantly composed, and largely impressed with originality and learning; but were somewhat imperfectly pervaded with those clear and evangelical views of Divine truth which are best calculated to edify a Christian audience. In private society, he was universally beloved. "His society," writes Mr Deans, "was courted by the rich and the poor, the learned and the unlearned. In every company he was alike kind, affable, and unostentatious; as a companion, he was the most engaging of men; he was the best story-teller of his day." His power of humour was unbounded; he had a joke for every occasion, a _bon-mot_ for every adventure. He had eminent power of satire when he chose to wield it; but he generally blended the complimentary with the pungent, and lessened the keenness of censure by the good-humour of its utterance. His anecdotes are familiar over a wide district, and many of his witty sayings have become proverbial. He was abundantly hospitable, and had even suffered embarrassments from its injudicious exercise; still he was always able, as he used to say--

"To invite the wanderer to the gate,
And spread the couch of rest."

It was his earnest desire that he might live to pay his liabilities, and he was spared to accomplish the wish. He died on the 28th of February 1854, in the 81st year of his age.

In appearance, Hamilton Paul presented a handsome person, tall and erect; his countenance was regular and pleasant; and his eyes, which were partially concealed by overhanging eye-lashes, beamed with humour and intelligence. In conversation he particularly excelled, evincing on every topic the fruits of extensive reading and reflection. He was readily moved by the pathetic; at the most joyous hour, a melancholy incident would move him into tears. The tenderness of his heart was frequently imparted to his verses, which are uniformly distinguished for smoothness and simplicity.

[72] We are indebted to Mr W. Deans, author of a "History of the Ottoman Empire," for much of the information contained in this memoir. Mr Deans was personally acquainted with Mr Hamilton Paul.

[73] "He never took any credit to himself," communicates his friend, Mr H. S. Riddell, "from the widely-known circumstance of his having carried off the prize from Campbell. He said that Campbell was at that period a very young man, much younger than he, and had much less experience in composition than himself."

HELEN GRAY.

Fair are the fleecy flocks that feed
On yonder heath-clad hills,
Where wild meandering crystal Tweed
Collects his glassy rills.
And sweet the buds that scent the air,
And deck the breast of May;
But none of these are sweet or fair,
Compared to Helen Gray.

You see in Helen's face so mild,
And in her bashful mien,
The winning softness of the child,
The blushes of fifteen.
The witching smile, when prone to go,
Arrests me, bids me stay;
Nor joy, nor comfort can I know,
When 'reft of Helen Gray.

I little thought the dark-brown moors,
The dusky mountain's shade,
Down which the wasting torrent pours,
Conceal'd so sweet a maid;
When sudden started from the plain
A sylvan scene and gay,
Where, pride of all the virgin train,
I first saw Helen Gray.

* * * * *

May never Envy's venom'd breath,
Blight thee, thou tender flower!
And may thy head ne'er droop beneath
Affliction's chilling shower!
Though I, the victim of distress,
Must wander far away;
Yet, till my dying hour, I 'll bless
The name of Helen Gray.

THE BONNIE LASS OF BARR.

Of streams that down the valley run,
Or through the meadow glide,
Or glitter to the summer sun,
The Stinshar[74] is the pride.
'Tis not his banks of verdant hue,
Though famed they be afar;
Nor grassy hill, nor mountain blue,
Nor flower bedropt with diamond dew;
'Tis she that chiefly charms the view,
The bonnie lass of Barr.

When rose the lark on early wing,
The vernal tide to hail;
When daisies deck'd the breast of spring,
I sought her native vale.
The beam that gilds the evening sky,
And brighter morning star,
That tells the king of day is nigh,
With mimic splendour vainly try
To reach the lustre of thine eye,
Thou bonnie lass of Barr.

The sun behind yon misty isle,
Did sweetly set yestreen;
But not his parting dewy smile
Could match the smile of Jean.
Her bosom swell'd with gentle woe,
Mine strove with tender war.
On Stinshar's banks, while wild-woods grow,
While rivers to the ocean flow,
With love of thee my heart shall glow,
Thou bonnie lass of Barr.

[74] The English pronouncing the name of this river _Stinkar_, induced the poet Burns to change it to Lugar.

ROBERT TANNAHILL.

Robert Tannahill was born at Paisley on the 3d of June 1774. His father, James Tannahill, a silk-gauze weaver, espoused Janet Pollock, daughter of Matthew Pollock, owner of the small property of Boghall, near Beith; their family consisted of six sons and one daughter, of whom the future poet was the fourth child. On his mother's side he inherited a poetical temperament; she was herself endowed with strong natural sagacity, and her maternal uncle Hugh Brodie of Langcroft, a small landowner in Lochwinnoch, evidenced poetic powers by composing "A Speech in Verse upon Husbandry."[75] When a mere youth, Tannahill wrote verses; and being unable, from a weakness in one of his limbs to join in the active sports of his school-fellows, he occasionally sought amusement by composing riddles in rhyme for their solution. As a specimen of these early compositions, we submit the following, which has been communicated to us by Mr Matthew Tannahill, the poet's surviving brother. It was composed on old grumbling Peter Anderson, the gardener of King's Street, a character still remembered in Paisley:--

"Wi' girnin' and chirmin',
His days they hae been spent;
When ither folk right thankfu' spoke,
He never was content."

Along with poetry Tannahill early cultivated the kindred arts of music and song; a mere youth, he occasionally earned the payment of ten shillings for playing on the fife at the Greenock parades; he afterwards became eminent for his skill in the use of the flute. Having completed his education at school, which consisted of instruction in the elementary branches, he became apprenticed to a cotton-weaver. Collecting old or obscure airs, he began to adapt to them suitable words, which he jotted down as they occurred, upon a rude writing-desk he had attached to his loom. His spare hours were spent in the general improvement of his mind. For a period of two years at the commencement of the century, he prosecuted his handicraft occupation at Bolton in England. Returning to Paisley in the spring of 1802, he was offered the situation of overseer of a manufacturing establishment, but he preferred to resume the labours of the loom.

Hitherto Tannahill had not dreamt of becoming known as a song-writer; he cultivated his gift to relieve the monotony of an unintellectual occupation, and the usual auditor of his lays was his younger brother Matthew, who for some years was his companion in the workshop. The acquaintance of Robert Archibald Smith, the celebrated musical composer, which he was now fortunate in forming, was the means of stimulating his Muse to higher efforts and of awakening his ambition. Smith was at this period resident in Paisley; and along with one Ross, a teacher of music from Aberdeen, he set several of Tannahill's best songs to music. In 1805 he was invited to become a poetical contributor to a leading metropolitan periodical; and two years afterwards he published a volume of "Poems and Songs." Of this work a large impression was sold, and a number of the songs soon obtained celebrity. Encouraged by R. A. Smith and others, who, attracted by his fame, came to visit him, Tannahill began to feel concerned in respect of his reputation as a song-writer; he diligently composed new songs and re-wrote with attention those which he had already published. Some of these compositions he hoped would be accepted by his correspondent, Mr George Thomson, for his collection, and the others he expected would find a publisher in the famous bookselling firm of Constable & Co. The failure of both these schemes--for Constable's hands were full, and Thomson exhibited his wonted "fastidiousness"--preyed deeply on the mind of the sensitive bard. A temporary relief to his disappointed expectations was occasioned by a visit which, in the spring of 1810, he received from James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, who made a journey to Paisley expressly to form his acquaintance. The visit is remembered by Mr Matthew Tannahill, who describes the enthusiasm with which his brother received such homage to his genius. The poets spent a night together; and in the morning Tannahill accompanied the Shepherd half-way to Glasgow. Their parting was memorable: "Farewell," said Tannahill, as he grasped the Shepherd's hand, "we shall never meet again! Farewell, I shall never see you more!"

The visit of the Ettrick Bard proved only an interlude amidst the depression which had permanently settled on the mind of poor Tannahill. The intercourse of admiring friends even became burdensome to him; and he stated to his brother Matthew his determination either to leave Paisley for a sequestered locality, or to canvass the country for subscribers to a new edition of his poems. Meanwhile, his person became emaciated, and he complained to his brother that he experienced a prickling sensation in the head. During a visit to a friend in Glasgow, he exhibited decided symptoms of insanity. On his return home, he complained of illness, and took to bed in his mother's house. He was visited by three of his brothers on the evening of the same day, and they left him about ten o'clock, when he appeared sufficiently composed. Returning about two hours afterwards to inquire for him, and for their mother, who lay sick in the next apartment, they found their brother's bed empty, and discovered that he had gone out. Arousing the neighbours, they made an immediate search, and at length they discovered the poet's lifeless body at a deep spot of the neighbouring brook. Tannahill terminated his own life on the 17th May 1810, at the age of thirty-six.

The victim of disappointments which his sensitive temperament could not endure, Tannahill was naturally of an easy and cheerful disposition. "He was happy himself," states his surviving brother, "and he wished to see every one happy around him." As a child, his brother informs us, his exemplary behaviour was so conspicuous, that mothers were satisfied of their children's safety, if they learned that they were in company with "_Bob_ Tannahill." Inoffensive in his own dispositions, he entertained every respect for the feelings of others. He enjoyed the intercourse of particular friends, but avoided general society; in company, he seldom talked, and only with a neighbour; he shunned the acquaintance of persons of rank, because he disliked patronage, and dreaded the superciliousness of pride. His conversation was simple; he possessed, but seldom used, considerable powers of satire; but he applied his keenest shafts of declamation against the votaries of cruelty. In performing acts of kindness he took delight, but he was scrupulous of accepting favours; he was strong in the love of independence, and he had saved twenty pounds at the period of his death. His general appearance did not indicate intellectual superiority; his countenance was calm and meditative, his eyes were gray, and his hair a light-brown. In person, he was under the middle size. Not ambitious of general learning, he confined his reading chiefly to poetry. His poems are much inferior to his songs; of the latter will be found admirers while the Scottish language is sung or understood. Abounding in genuine sweetness and graceful simplicity, they are pervaded by the gentlest pathos. Rich in description of beautiful landscapes, they softly tell the tale of man's affection and woman's love.[76]

[75] See Semple's "Continuation of Crawford's History of Renfrewshire," p. 116.

[76] Tannahill was believed never to have entertained particular affection towards any of the fair sex. We have ascertained that, at different periods, he paid court to two females of his own rank. The first of these was Jean King, sister of his friend John King, one of the minor poets of Paisley; she afterwards married a person of the name of Pinkerton; and her son, Mr James Pinkerton, printer, Paisley, has frequently heard her refer to the fear she had entertained lest "Rob would write a song about her." His next sweetheart was Mary Allan, sister of the poet Robert Allan. This estimable woman was a sad mourner on the poet's death, and for many years wept aloud when her deceased lover was made the subject of conversation in her presence. She still survives, and a few years since, to join some relations, she emigrated to America. Some verses addressed to her by the poet she continues to retain with the fondest affection.

JESSIE, THE FLOWER O' DUMBLANE.[77]

The sun has gane down o'er the lofty Benlomond,
And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene,
While lanely I stray in the calm simmer gloamin'
To muse on sweet Jessie, the flower o' Dumblane.
How sweet is the brier, wi' its saft faulding blossom,
And sweet is the birk, wi' its mantle o' green;
Yet sweeter and fairer, and dear to this bosom,
Is lovely young Jessie, the flower o' Dumblane.

She's modest as ony, and blithe as she 's bonny;
For guileless simplicity marks her its ain;
And far be the villain, divested of feeling,
Wha 'd blight, in its bloom, the sweet flower o' Dumblane.
Sing on, thou sweet mavis, thy hymn to the e'ening,
Thou 'rt dear to the echoes of Calderwood glen;
Sae dear to this bosom, sae artless and winning,
Is charming young Jessie, the flower o' Dumblane.

How lost were my days till I met wi' my Jessie,
The sports o' the city seem'd foolish and vain;
I ne'er saw a nymph I would ca' my dear lassie,
Till charm'd with sweet Jessie, the flower o' Dumblane.
Though mine were the station o' loftiest grandeur,
Amidst its profusion I 'd languish in pain;
And reckon as naething the height o' its splendour,
If wanting sweet Jessie, the flower o' Dumblane.

[77] "Jessie, the flower o' Dumblane" was published in 1808, and has since received an uncommon measure of popularity. The music, so suitable to the words, was composed by R. A. Smith. In the "Harp of Renfrewshire" (p. xxxvi), Mr Smith remarks that the song was at first composed in two stanzas, the third being subsequently added. "The Promethean fire," says Mr Smith, "must have been burning but _lownly_, when such commonplace ideas could be written, after the song had been so finely wound up with the beautiful apostrophe to the mavis, 'Sing on, thou sweet mavis, thy hymn to the e'ening.'" The heroine of the song was formerly a matter of speculation; many a "Jessie" had the credit assigned to her; and passengers by the old stage-coaches between Perth and the south, on passing through Dunblane, had pointed out to them, by the drivers, the house of Jessie's birth. One writer (in the _Musical Magazine_, for May 1835) records that he had actually been introduced at Dunblane to the individual Jessie, then an elderly female, of an appearance the reverse of prepossessing! Unfortunately for the curious in such inquiries, the heroine only existed in the imagination of the poet; he never was in Dunblane, which, if he had been, he would have discovered that the sun could not there be seen setting "o'er the lofty Benlomond." Mr Matthew Tannahill states that the song was composed to supplant an old one, entitled, "Bob o' Dumblane." Mr James Bowie, of Paisley, supplies the information, that in consequence of improvements suggested from time to time by R. A. Smith and William Maclaren, Tannahill wrote eighteen different versions of this song.

LOUDOUN'S BONNIE WOODS AND BRAES.[78]

AIR--_"Lord Moira's Welcome to Scotland."_

Loudoun's bonnie woods and braes,
I maun lea' them a', lassie;
Wha can thole when Britain's faes
Wald gi'e Britons law, lassie?
Wha would shun the field of danger?
Wha frae fame wad live a stranger?
Now when Freedom bids avenge her,
Wha would shun her ca', lassie?
Loudoun's bonnie woods and braes
Hae seen our happy bridal days,
And gentle Hope shall soothe thy waes,
When I am far awa', lassie.

"Hark! the swelling bugle sings,
Yielding joy to thee, laddie,
But the dolefu' bugle brings
Waefu' thoughts to me, laddie.
Lanely I may climb the mountain,
Lanely stray beside the fountain,
Still the weary moments countin',
Far frae love, and thee, laddie.
O'er the gory fields of war,
When Vengeance drives his crimson car,
Thou 'lt maybe fa', frae me afar,
And nane to close thy e'e, laddie."

O! resume thy wonted smile!
O! suppress thy fears, lassie!
Glorious honour crowns the toil
That the soldier shares, lassie;
Heaven will shield thy faithful lover,
Till the vengeful strife is over,
Then we 'll meet nae mair to sever,
Till the day we die, lassie;
'Midst our bonnie woods and braes,
We 'll spend our peaceful, happy days,
As blithe 's yon lightsome lamb that plays
On Loudoun's flowery lea, lassie.

[78] Tannahill wrote this song in honour of the Earl of Moira, afterwards Marquis of Hastings, and the Countess of Loudoun, to whom his Lordship had been shortly espoused, when he was called abroad in the service of his country.

THE LASS O' ARRANTEENIE.[79]

Far lone amang the Highland hills,
'Midst Nature's wildest grandeur,
By rocky dens, and woody glens,
With weary steps I wander.
The langsome way, the darksome day,
The mountain mist sae rainy,
Are nought to me when gaun to thee,
Sweet lass o' Arranteenie.

Yon mossy rosebud down the howe,
Just op'ning fresh and bonny,
Blinks sweetly 'neath the hazel bough,
And 's scarcely seen by ony;
Sae, sweet amidst her native hills,
Obscurely blooms my Jeanie,
Mair fair and gay than rosy May,
The flower o' Arranteenie.

Now, from the mountain's lofty brow,
I view the distant ocean,
There Av'rice guides the bounding prow,
Ambition courts promotion:--
Let Fortune pour her golden store,
Her laurell'd favours many;
Give me but this, my soul's first wish,
The lass o' Arranteenie.

[79] This song was written on a young lady, whom a friend of the author met at Ardentinny, a retired spot on the margin of Loch Long.

YON BURN SIDE.[80]

AIR--_"The Brier-bush."_

We 'll meet beside the dusky glen, on yon burn side,
Where the bushes form a cosie den, on yon burn side;
Though the broomy knowes be green,
And there we may be seen,
Yet we 'll meet--we 'll meet at e'en down by yon burn side.

I 'll lead you to the birken bower, on yon burn side,
Sae sweetly wove wi' woodbine flower, on yon burn side;
There the busy prying eye,
Ne'er disturbs the lovers' joy,
While in ither's arms they lie, down by yon burn side,
Awa', ye rude, unfeeling crew, frae yon burn side,
Those fairy scenes are no for you, by yon burn side;
There fancy smoothes her theme,
By the sweetly murm'ring stream,
And the rock-lodged echoes skim, down by yon burn side.

Now the plantin' taps are tinged wi' goud, on yon burn side,
And gloamin' draws her foggy shroud o'er yon burn side;
Far frae the noisy scene,
I 'll through the fields alane,
There we 'll meet, my ain dear Jean, down by yon burn side.

[80] The poet and one of his particular friends, Charles Marshall (whose son, the Rev. Charles Marshall, of Dunfermline, is author of a respectable volume, entitled "Lays and Lectures"), had met one evening in a tavern, kept by Tom Buchanan, near the cross of Paisley. The evening was enlivened by song-singing; and the landlord, who was present, sung the old song, beginning, "There grows a bonny brier-bush," which he did with effect. On their way home together, Marshall remarked that the words of the landlord's song were vastly inferior to the tune, and humorously suggested the following burlesque parody of the first stanza:--

"There 's mony a dainty cabbage-stock in our kail-yard,
There 's mony a dainty cabbage-stock in our kail-yard,
They were set by Charlie Marshall,
And pu'd by Nannie Laird,
Yet there 's mony a dainty cabbage-stock in our kail-yard."

He added that Tannahill would do well to compose suitable words for the music. The hint sufficed; the friends met after a fortnight's interval, when the poet produced and read the song of "Yon burn side." It immediately became popular. Marshall used to relate this anecdote with much feeling. He died in March 1851, at the age of fourscore.

THE BRAES O' GLENIFFER.[81]

AIR--_"Bonny Dundee."_

Keen blaws the wind o'er the braes o' Gleniffer,
The auld castle's turrets are cover'd wi' snaw;
How changed frae the time when I met wi' my lover,
Amang the broom bushes by Stanley-green shaw:
The wild flowers o' summer were spread a' sae bonnie,
The mavis sang sweet frae the green birken tree;
But far to the camp they hae march'd my dear Johnnie,
And now it is winter wi' nature and me.

Then ilk thing around us was blythesome and cheery,
Then ilk thing around us was bonny and braw;
Now naething is heard but the wind whistling dreary,
And naething is seen but the wide-spreading snaw.
The trees are a' bare, and the birds mute and dowie,
They shake the cauld drift frae their wings as they flee,
And chirp out their plaints, seeming wae for my Johnnie,
'Tis winter wi' them, and 'tis winter wi' me.

Yon cauld sleety cloud skiffs alang the bleak mountain,
And shakes the dark firs on the stey rocky brae;
While down the deep glen bawls the snaw-flooded fountain,
That murmur'd sae sweet to my laddie and me.

'Tis no its loud roar on the wintry winds swellin',
'Tis no the cauld blast brings the tears i' my e'e,
For, O, gin I saw but my bonny Scots callan',
The dark days o' winter were summer to me!

[81] The Braes of Gleniffer are a tract of hilly ground, to the south of Paisley. They are otherwise known as Stanley Braes.

THROUGH CROCKSTON CASTLE'S LANELY WA'S.[82]

AIR--_"Crockston Castle."_

Through Crockston Castle's lanely wa's
The wintry wind howls wild and dreary;
Though mirk the cheerless e'ening fa's,
Yet I hae vow'd to meet my Mary.
Yes, Mary, though the winds should rave
Wi' jealous spite to keep me frae thee,
The darkest stormy night I 'd brave,
For ae sweet secret moment wi' thee.

Loud o'er Cardonald's rocky steep,
Rude Cartha pours in boundless measure;
But I will ford the whirling deep,
That roars between me and my treasure.
Yes, Mary, though the torrent rave,
Wi' jealous spite, to keep me frae thee,
Its deepest flood I 'd bauldly brave,
For ae sweet secret moment wi' thee.

The watch-dog's howling loads the blast,
And makes the nightly wand'rer eerie;
But when the lonesome way is past,
I 'll to this bosom clasp my Mary!
Yes, Mary, though stern winter rave,
With a' his storms, to keep me frae thee,
The wildest dreary night I 'd brave,
For ae sweet secret moment wi' thee.

[82] The ruin of Crockston Castle is situated on the brow of a gentle eminence, about three miles south-east of Paisley. The Castle, in the twelfth century, was possessed by a Norman family, of the name of Croc; it passed, in the following century, by the marriage of the heiress, into a younger branch of the House of Stewart, who were afterwards ennobled as Earls of Lennox. According to tradition, Queen Mary and Lord Darnley occasionally resided in the castle; and it is reported that the unfortunate princess witnessed from its walls the fall of her fortunes at the battle of Langside. Crockston Castle is now the possession of Sir John Maxwell, Bart., of Pollock.

THE BRAES O' BALQUHITHER.[83]

AIR--_"The Three Carls o' Buchanan."_

Let us go, lassie, go
To the braes o' Balquhither,
Where the blaeberries grow
'Mang the bonnie Highland heather;
Where the deer and the rae,
Lightly bounding together,
Sport the lang summer day
On the braes o' Balquhither.

I will twine thee a bower
By the clear siller fountain,
And I 'll cover it o'er
Wi' the flowers o' the mountain;
I will range through the wilds,
And the deep glens sae dreary,
And return wi' their spoils
To the bower o' my dearie.

When the rude wintry win'
Idly raves round our dwelling,
And the roar of the linn
On the night breeze is swelling;
So merrily we 'll sing,
As the storm rattles o'er us,
Till the dear sheiling ring
Wi' the light lilting chorus.

Now the summer is in prime,
Wi' the flow'rs richly blooming,
And the wild mountain thyme
A' the moorlands perfuming;
To our dear native scenes
Let us journey together,
Where glad innocence reigns,
'Mang the braes o' Balquhither.

[83] A clerical friend has communicated to us the following stanza, which he heard sung by an old Highlander, as an addition to the "Braes o' Balquhither:"--

"While the lads of the south
Toil for bare worldly treasure--
To the lads of the north
Every day brings its pleasure:
Oh, blithe are the joys
That the Highlandman possesses,
He feels no annoys,
For he fears no distresses."

GLOOMY WINTER 'S NOW AWA'.

AIR--_"Lord Balgonie's Favourite."_

Gloomy winter 's now awa'
Saft the westling breezes blaw,
'Mang the birks of Stanley-shaw,
The mavis sings fu' cheery, O!
Sweet the crawflower's early bell
Decks Gleniffer's dewy dell,
Blooming like thy bonny sel',
My young, my artless dearie, O!

Come, my lassie, let us stray
O'er Glenkilloch's sunny brae,
Blithely spend the gowden day,
'Midst joys that never weary, O!
Towering o'er the Newton woods,
Laverocks fan the snaw-white clouds,
Siller saughs, wi' downy buds,
Adorn the banks sae briery, O!

Round the sylvan fairy nooks,
Feath'ry breckans fringe the rocks,
'Neath the brae the burnie jouks,
And ilka thing is cheery, O!
Trees may bud, and birds may sing,
Flowers may bloom, and verdure spring,
Joy to me they canna bring,
Unless wi' thee, my dearie, O!

O! ARE YE SLEEPING, MAGGIE?

AIR--_"Sleepy Maggie."_

O! Are ye sleeping, Maggie?
O! are ye sleeping, Maggie?
Let me in, for loud the linn
Is roaring o'er the warlock craigie.

Mirk and rainy is the night,
No a starn in a' the carry;[84]
Lightnings gleam athwart the lift,
And winds drive wi' winter's fury.
O! are ye sleeping, Maggie? &c.

Fearful soughs the bourtree bank,
The rifted wood roars wild and dreary,
Loud the iron yate does clank,
And cry of howlets makes me eerie.
O! are ye sleeping, Maggie? &c.

Aboon my breath I daurna' speak,
For fear I rouse your waukrife daddie,
Cauld 's the blast upon my cheek,
O rise, rise, my bonny lady!
O! are ye sleeping, Maggie? &c.

She opt the door, she let him in,
He cuist aside his dreeping plaidie:
"Blaw your warst, ye rain and win',
Since, Maggie, now I 'm in aside ye."

Now, since ye 're waking, Maggie!
Now, since ye 're waking, Maggie!
What care I for howlet's cry,
For bourtree bank, or warlock craigie?

[84] This expression commonly means, the direction in which the clouds are carried by the wind, but it is here used to denote the firmament.

NOW WINTER, WI' HIS CLOUDY BROW.

AIR--_"Forneth House."_

Now Winter, wi' his cloudy brow,
Is far ayont yon mountains;
And Spring beholds her azure sky
Reflected in the fountains:
Now, on the budding slaethorn bank,
She spreads her early blossom,
And wooes the mirly-breasted birds
To nestle in her bosom.

But lately a' was clad wi' snaw,
Sae darksome, dull, and dreary;
Now laverocks sing to hail the spring,
And Nature all is cheery.
Then let us leave the town, my love,
And seek our country dwelling,
Where waving woods, and spreading flowers,
On every side are smiling.

We 'll tread again the daisied green,
Where first your beauty moved me;
We 'll trace again the woodland scene,
Where first ye own'd ye loved me;
We soon will view the roses blaw
In a' the charms of fancy,
For doubly dear these pleasures a',
When shared with thee, my Nancy.

THE DEAR HIGHLAND LADDIE, O!

GAELIC AIR--_"Mor nian a Ghibarlan."_

Blithe was the time when he fee'd wi' my father, O!
Happy were the days when we herded thegither, O!
Sweet were the hours when he row'd me in his plaidie, O!
And vow'd to be mine, my dear Highland laddie, O!

But, ah! waes me! wi' their sodgering sae gaudy, O!
The laird's wys'd awa my braw Highland laddie, O!
Misty are the glens, and the dark hills sae cloudy, O!
That aye seem'd sae blythe wi' my dear Highland laddie, O!

The blaeberry banks now are lonesome and dreary, O!
Muddy are the streams that gush'd down sae clearly, O!
Silent are the rocks that echoed sae gladly, O!
The wild melting strains o' my dear Highland laddie, O!

He pu'd me the crawberry, ripe frae the boggy fen:
He pu'd me the strawberry, red frae the foggy glen;
He pu'd me the row'n frae the wild steeps sae giddy, O!
Sae loving and kind was my dear Highland laddie, O!

Fareweel, my ewes, and fareweel, my doggie, O!
Fareweel, ye knowes, now sae cheerless and scroggie, O!
Fareweel, Glenfeoch, my mammy and my daddie, O!
I will leave you a' for my dear Highland laddie, O!

THE MIDGES DANCE ABOON THE BURN.

AIR--_"The Shepherd's Son."_

The midges dance aboon the burn,
The dews begin to fa';
The pairtricks down the rushy holm,
Set up their e'ening ca'.
Now loud and clear the blackbirds' sang
Rings through the briery shaw,
While flitting, gay, the swallows play
Around the castle wa'.

Beneath the golden gloamin' sky,
The mavis mends her lay,
The redbreast pours his sweetest strains,
To charm the ling'ring day.
While weary yeldrins seem to wail,
Their little nestlings torn;
The merry wren, frae den to den,
Gaes jinking through the thorn.

The roses fauld their silken leaves,
The foxglove shuts its bell,
The honeysuckle and the birk
Spread fragrance through the dell
Let others crowd the giddy court
Of mirth and revelry--
The simple joys that Nature yields
Are dearer far to me.

BARROCHAN JEAN.[85]

AIR--_"Johnnie M'Gill."_

'Tis haena ye heard, man, o' Barrochan Jean?
And haena ye heard, man, o' Barrochan Jean?
How death and starvation came o'er the hail nation,
She wrought sic mischief wi' her twa pawky e'en.

The lads and the lasses were deeing in dizzins,
The tane kill'd wi' love and the tither wi' spleen;
The ploughing, the sawing, the shearing, the mawing,
A' wark was forgotten for Barrochan Jean!

Frae the south and the north, o'er the Tweed and the Forth,
Sic coming and ganging there never was seen;
The comers were cheerie, the gangers were blearie,
Despairing or hoping for Barrochan Jean!

The carlines at hame were a' girning and graning,
The bairns were a' greeting frae morning till e'en;
They gat naething for crowdy, but runts boil'd to sowdie,
For naething gat growing for Barrochan Jean!

The doctors declared it was past their descriving,
The ministers said 'twas a judgment for sin;
But they lookit sae blae, and their hearts were sae wae,
I was sure they were deeing for Barrochan Jean!

The burns on road-sides were a' dry wi' their drinking,
Yet a' wadna slockin' the drouth i' their skin;
A' around the peat-stacks, and alangst the dyke-backs,
E'en the winds were a' sighing, "Sweet Barrochan Jean!"

The timmer ran done wi' the making o' coffins,
Kirkyards o' their sward were a' howkit fu' clean;
Dead lovers were packit like herring in barrels,
Sic thousands were deeing for Barrochan Jean!

But mony braw thanks to the Laird o' Glen Brodie,
The grass owre their graffs is now bonnie and green,
He sta' the proud heart of our wanton young lady,
And spoil'd a' the charm o' her twa pawky e'en.

[85] Writing to his friend Barr, on the 24th December 1809, Tannahill remarks:--"You will, no doubt, have frequently observed how much some old people are given to magnify the occurrences of their young days. 'Barrochan Jean' was written on hearing an old grannie, in Lochwinnoch parish, relating a story something similar to the subject of the song; perhaps I have heightened her colouring a little."

O, ROW THEE IN MY HIGHLAND PLAID!

Lowland lassie, wilt thou go
Where the hills are clad with snow;
Where, beneath the icy steep,
The hardy shepherd tends his sheep?
Ill nor wae shall thee betide,
When row'd within my Highland plaid.

Soon the voice of cheery spring
Will gar a' our plantin's ring,
Soon our bonny heather braes
Will put on their summer claes;
On the mountain's sunny side,
We 'll lean us on my Highland plaid.

When the summer spreads the flowers,
Busks the glens in leafy bowers,
Then we 'll seek the caller shade,
Lean us on the primrose bed;
While the burning hours preside,
I 'll screen thee wi' my Highland plaid.

Then we 'll leave the sheep and goat,
I will launch the bonny boat,
Skim the loch in canty glee,
Rest the oars to pleasure thee;
When chilly breezes sweep the tide,
I 'll hap thee wi' my Highland plaid.

Lowland lads may dress mair fine,
Woo in words mair saft than mine;
Lowland lads hae mair of art,
A' my boast 's an honest heart,
Whilk shall ever be my pride;--
O, row thee in my Highland plaid!

"Bonny lad, ye 've been sae leal,
My heart would break at our fareweel;
Lang your love has made me fain;
Take me--take me for your ain!"
Across the Firth, away they glide,
Young Donald and his Lowland bride.

BONNY WOOD OF CRAIGIE LEA.[86]

Thou bonny wood of Craigie lea!
Thou bonny wood of Craigie lea!
Near thee I pass'd life's early day,
And won my Mary's heart in thee.

The broom, the brier, the birken bush,
Bloom bonny o'er thy flowery lea,
And a' the sweets that ane can wish
Frae Nature's hand, are strew'd on thee.

Far ben thy dark green plantin's shade,
The cooshat croodles am'rously,
The mavis, down thy bughted glade,
Gars echo ring frae every tree.
Thou bonny wood, &c.

Awa, ye thoughtless, murd'ring gang,
Wha tear the nestlings ere they flee!
They 'll sing you yet a canty sang,
Then, O, in pity, let them be!
Thou bonny woods, &c.

When winter blaws in sleety showers,
Frae aff the norlan' hills sae hie,
He lightly skiffs thy bonny bowers,
As laith to harm a flower in thee.
Thou bonny wood, &c.

Though Fate should drag me south the line,
Or o'er the wide Atlantic sea;
The happy hours I 'll ever mind,
That I, in youth, hae spent in thee.
Thou bonny wood, &c.

[86] Craigie Lea is situated to the north-west of Paisley.

GOOD NIGHT, AND JOY.[87]

AIR--_"Good night, and joy be wi' you a'."_

The weary sun 's gaen down the west,
The birds sit nodding on the tree;
All nature now prepares for rest,
But rest prepared there 's none for me.
The trumpet sounds to war's alarms,
The drums they beat, the fifes they play,--
Come, Mary, cheer me wi' thy charms,
For the morn I will be far away.

Good night, and joy--good night, and joy,
Good night, and joy be wi' you a';
For since its so that I must go,
Good night, and joy be wi' you a'!

I grieve to leave my comrades dear,
I mourn to leave my native shore;
To leave my aged parents here,
And the bonnie lass whom I adore.
But tender thoughts maun now be hush'd,
When danger calls I must obey.
The transport waits us on the coast,
And the morn I will be far away.
Good night, and joy, &c.

Adieu, dear Scotia's sea-beat coast!
Though bleak and drear thy mountains be,
When on the heaving ocean tost,
I 'll cast a wishful look to thee!
And now, dear Mary, fare thee well,
May Providence thy guardian be!
Or in the camp, or on the field,
I 'll heave a sigh, and think on thee!
Good night, and joy, &c.

[87] We have been favoured, by Mr Matthew Tannahill, with a copy of the above song of his late gifted brother. It is not included in any edition of his poems, but has been printed, through the favour of Mr M. Tannahill, in the "Book of Scottish Song."

HENRY DUNCAN, D.D.

Dr Henry Duncan the distinguished founder of Savings' Banks, and the promoter of various schemes of social economy, we are enabled to record among the contributors to Caledonian minstrelsy. He was descended through both parents from a succession of respectable clergymen of the Scottish Church. His father George Duncan, was minister of Lochrutton in the stewartry of Kircudbright, and the subject of this memoir was born in the manse of that parish, on the 8th October 1774. After a period of training at home under a private tutor, he was sent to the Academy of Dumfries to complete his preparation for the University. At the age of fourteen, he entered as a student the United College of St Andrews, but after an attendance of two years at that seat of learning, he was induced, on the invitation of his relative Dr Currie, to proceed to Liverpool, there to prepare himself for a mercantile profession, by occupying a situation in the banking office of Messrs Heywood. After a trial of three years, he found the avocations of business decidedly uncongenial, and firmly resolved to follow the profession of his progenitors, by studying for the ministry of the Church of Scotland. He had already afforded evidence of ability to grapple with questions of controversial theology, by printing a tract against the errors of Socinianism, which, published anonymously, attracted in the city of Liverpool much attention from the originality with which the usual arguments were illustrated and enforced. Of the concluding five years of his academical course, the first and two last were spent at the University of Edinburgh, the other two at that of Glasgow. In 1797, he was enrolled as a member of the Speculative Society of the University of Edinburgh, and there took his turn in debate with Henry Brougham, Francis Horner, Lord Henry Petty afterwards Marquis of Lansdowne, and other young men of genius, who then adorned the academic halls of the Scottish capital. With John Leyden, W. Gillespie afterwards minister of Kells, and Robert Lundie the future minister of Kelso, he formed habits of particular intimacy. From the Presbytery of Dumfries, he obtained licence as a probationer in the spring of 1798, and he thereafter accepted the situation of tutor in the family of Colonel Erskine afterwards Earl of Mar, who then resided at Dalhonzie, near Crieff. In this post he distinguished himself by inducing the inhabitants of the district to take up arms in the defence of the country, during the excitement, which then prevailed respecting an invasion. In the spring of 1799, the parishes of Lochmaben and Ruthwell, both in the gift of the Earl of Mansfield, became simultaneously vacant, and the choice of them was accorded to Mr Duncan by the noble patron. He preferred Ruthwell, and was ordained to the charge of that parish, on the 19th September.

In preferring the parish of Ruthwell to the better position and wider field of ministerial usefulness presented at Lochmaben, Mr Duncan was influenced by the consideration, that the population of the former parish was such as would enable him to extend the pastoral superintendence to every individual of his flock. In this respect he realised his wishes; but not content with efficiently discharging the more sacred duties of a parochial clergyman, he sought with devoted assiduity, the amelioration of the physical condition of his people. Relieving an immediate destitution in the parish, by a supply of Indian corn brought on his own adventure, he was led to devise means of preventing the recurrence of any similar period of depression. With this intention, he established two friendly societies in the place, and afterwards a local bank for the savings of the industrious. The latter proved the parent of those admirable institutions for the working classes, known as _Savings' Banks_, which have since become so numerous throughout Europe and the United States of America. The Ruthwell Savings' Bank was established in 1810. Numerous difficulties attended the early operation of the system, on its general adoption throughout the country, but these were obviated and removed by the skill and promptitude of the ingenious projector. At one period his correspondence on the subject cost him in postages an annual expenditure of one hundred pounds, a sum nearly equal to half the yearly emoluments of his parochial cure. The Act of Parliament establishing Savings' Banks in Scotland, which was passed in July 1819, was procured through his indomitable exertions, and likewise the Act of 1835, providing for the better regulation of these institutions.

At Ruthwell, Dr Duncan introduced the system of popular lectures on science, which has since been adopted by Mechanics' Institutes. Further to extend the benefits of popular instruction and entertainment, he edited a series of tracts entitled "The Scottish Cheap Repository," one of the first of those periodicals devoted to the moral improvement of the people. A narrative designated "The Cottager's Fireside," which he originally contributed to this series, was afterwards published separately, and commanded a wide circulation. In 1809, Dr Duncan originated the _Dumfries and Galloway Courier_, a weekly newspaper which he conducted during the first seven years of its existence. He was a frequent contributor to "The Christian Instructor," and wrote the articles "Blair" and "Blacklock" for the _Edinburgh Encyclopaedia_. At the request of Lord Brougham, he composed two treatises on Savings' Banks and Friendly Societies, for publication by the "Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge." In 1819, he published the "Young Country Weaver," a tale calculated to disseminate just political views among the manufacturing classes; and in 1826 a tale of the times of the Covenant in three volumes, with the title of "William Douglas, or the Scottish Exiles." Deeply interested in the question of Slave Emancipation, he contributed a series of letters on the subject to the _Dumfries Courier_, which, afterwards published in the form of a pamphlet, excited no inconsiderable attention. His most valuable and successful publication, the "Sacred Philosophy of the Seasons" appeared in 1836-7 in four duodecimo volumes.

As a man of science, the name of Dr Duncan is associated with the discovery of footprints of four-footed animals in the New Red-Sandstone. He made this curious geological discovery in a quarry at Corncocklemuir, about fifteen miles distant from his parochial manse. In 1823, he received the degree of D.D. from the University of St Andrews. In 1839, he was raised to the Moderator's chair in the General Assembly. In church politics, he had early espoused liberal opinions; at the Disruption in 1843, he resigned his charge and united himself to the Free Church. He continued to minister in the parish of Ruthwell, till the appointment of an assistant and successor a short time before his decease. Revisiting the scene of his ministerial labours after a brief absence, he was struck with paralysis while conducting service at a prayer-meeting, and two days afterwards expired. He died at Comlongon, the residence of his brother-in-law Mr Phillips, on the 12th February 1846, and his remains were committed to the church-yard of Ruthwell, in which he had ministered during an incumbency of upwards of forty-six years.

Dr Duncan was twice married; first in 1804, to Miss Craig, the only surviving daughter of his predecessor, and secondly in 1836, to Mrs Lundie, the relict of his friend Mr Lundie, minister of Kelso. His memoirs have been published by his son, the Rev. George John C. Duncan, minister of the Free Church, Greenwich. A man of fine intellect, extensive and varied scholarship, and highly benevolent dispositions, Dr Duncan was much cherished and beloved alike by his parishioners and his gifted contemporaries. Pious and exemplary as became his profession, he was expert in business, and was largely endowed with an inventive genius. Though hitherto scarcely known as a poet, he wrote verses so early as his eleventh year, which are described by his biographer as having "evinced a maturity of taste, a refinement of thought, and an ease of diction which astonished and delighted his friends," and the specimens of his more mature lyrical compositions, which we have been privileged to publish from his MSS. are such as to induce some regret that they were not sooner given to the public.

CURLING SONG.