Chapter III: Front Matter (3)

For a' the talk and loud reports,
That ever gaed against her,
Meg proves a true and carefu' wife,
As ever was in Anster;
And since the marriage-knot was tied,
Rob swears he coudna want her;
For he loves Maggie as his life,
And Meg loves Rob the Ranter.

[21] These stanzas are an appropriate addition to the well-known song of "Maggie Lauder," composed by Francis Semple, about 1660.

[22] The _East Green_ of Anstruther is now a low street connecting the town with the adjoining village of Cellardyke. The site of Maggie Lauder's house,--which is said to have been a cot of one storey,--is pointed out in a small garden opposite a tannery, and on the north side of the street. Maggie Lauder is the heroine of Dr Tennant's poem of "Anster Fair."

CHARLIE IS MY DARLING.

O Charlie is my darling,
My darling, my darling;
O Charlie is my darling,
The young Chevalier!

When first his standard caught the eye,
His pibroch met the ear,
Our hearts were light, our hopes were high
For the young Chevalier.
O Charlie is my darling, &c.

The plaided chiefs cam frae afar,
Nae doubts their bosoms steir;
They nobly drew the sword for war
And the young Chevalier!
O Charlie is my darling, &c.

But he wha trusts to fortune's smile
Has meikle cause to fear;
She blinket blithe but to beguile
The young Chevalier!
O Charlie is my darling, &c.

O dark Culloden--fatal field!
Fell source o' mony a tear;
There Albyn tint her sword and shield,
And the young Chevalier!
O Charlie is my darling, &c.

Now Scotland's "flowers are wede away;"
Her forest trees are sere;
Her Royal Oak is gane for aye,
The young Chevalier!
O Charlie is my darling,
My darling, my darling;
O Charlie is my darling,
The young Chevalier.

THE BLACK-E'ED LASSIE.[23]

AIR--_"My only Jo and Dearie O!"_

Wi' heart sincere I love thee, Bell,
But dinna ye be saucy, O!
Or a' my love I winna tell
To thee, my black-e'ed lassie, O!
It 's no thy cheek o' rosy hue,
It 's no thy little cherrie mou';
Its a' because thy heart 's sae true,
My bonnie black-e'ed lassie, O!

It 's no the witch-glance o' thy e'e,
Though few for that surpass ye, O!
That maks ye aye sae dear to me,
My bonnie black-e'ed lassie, O!
It 's no the whiteness o' thy skin,
It 's no love's dimple on thy chin;
Its a' thy modest worth within,
My bonnie black-e'ed lassie, O!

Ye smile sae sweet, ye look sae kind,
That a' wish to caress ye, O!
But O! how I admire thy mind,
My bonnie black-e'ed lassie, O!
I 've seen thine e'en like crystal clear,
Shine dimly through soft pity's tear;
These are the charms that mak thee dear,
To me, my black-e'ed lassie, O!

[23] The heroine of this song subsequently became the author's wife.

GRIM WINTER WAS HOWLIN'.

AIR--_"Bonnie Dundee."_

Grim winter was howlin' owre muir and owre mountain,
And bleak blew the wind on the wild stormy sea;
The cauld frost had lock'd up each riv'let and fountain,
As I took the dreich road that leads north to Dundee.
Though a' round was dreary, my heart was fu' cheerie,
And cantie I sung as the bird on the tree;
For when the heart 's light, the feet winna soon weary,
Though ane should gang further than bonnie Dundee!

Arrived at the banks o' sweet Tay's flowin' river,
I look'd, as it rapidly row'd to the sea;
And fancy, whose fond dream still pleases me ever,
Beguiled the lone passage to bonnie Dundee.
There, glowrin' about, I saw in his station
Ilk bodie as eydent as midsummer bee;
When fair stood a mark, on the face o' creation,
The lovely young Peggy, the pride o' Dundee!

O! aye since the time I first saw this sweet lassie,
I 'm listless, I 'm restless, wherever I be;
I 'm dowie, and donnart, and aften ca'd saucy;
They kenna its a' for the lass o' Dundee!
O! lang may her guardians be virtue and honour;
Though anither may wed her, yet well may she be;
And blessin's in plenty be shower'd down upon her--
The lovely young Peggie, the pride o' Dundee!

JOHN FINLAY.

John Finlay, a short-lived poet of much promise, was born at Glasgow in 1782. His parents were in humble circumstances, but they contrived to afford him the advantages of a good education. From the academy of Mr Hall, an efficient teacher in the city, he was sent, in his fourteenth year, to the University. There he distinguished himself both in the literary and philosophical classes; he became intimately acquainted with the Latin and Greek classics, and wrote elegant essays on the subjects prescribed. His poetical talents first appeared in the composition of odes on classical subjects, which were distinguished alike by power of thought and smoothness of versification. In 1802, while still pursuing his studies at college, he published a volume entitled "Wallace, or the Vale of Ellerslie, with other Poems," of which a second edition[24] appeared, with considerable additions. Soon after, he published an edition of Blair's "Grave," with many excellent notes; produced a learned life of Cervantes; and superintended the publication of a new edition of Smith's "Wealth of Nations." In the hope of procuring a situation in one of the public offices, he proceeded to London in 1807, where he contributed many learned articles, particularly on antiquarian subjects, to different periodicals. Disappointed in obtaining a suitable post in the metropolis, he returned to Glasgow in 1808; and the same year published, in two duodecimo volumes, a collection of "Scottish Historical and Romantic Ballads." This work is chiefly valuable from some interesting notes, and an ingenious preliminary dissertation on early romantic composition in Scotland. About this period, Professor Richardson, of Glasgow, himself an elegant poet, offered him the advance of sufficient capital to enable him to obtain a share in a printing establishment, and undertook to secure for the firm the appointment of printers to the University; he declined, however, to undergo the risk implied in this adventure. Again entertaining the hope of procuring a situation in London, he left Glasgow towards the close of 1810, with the intention of visiting his college friend, Mr Wilson, at Elleray, in Cumberland, to consult with him on the subject of his views. He only reached the distance of Moffat; he was there struck with an apoplectic seizure, which, after a brief illness, terminated his hopeful career, in the 28th year of his age. His remains were interred in the churchyard of Moffat. Possessed of a fine genius, extensive scholarship, and an amiable heart, John Finlay, had he been spared, would have adorned the literature of his country. He entertained worthy aspirations, and was amply qualified for success; for his energies were co-extensive with his intellectual gifts. At the period of his death, he was meditating a continuation of Warton's History of Poetry. His best production is the poem of "Wallace," written in his nineteenth year; though not free from defects, it contains many admirable descriptions of external nature, and displays much vigour of versification. His lyrics are few, but these merit a place in the minstrelsy of his country.

[24] A third edition was published at Glasgow, by R. Chapman, in 1817.

O! COME WITH ME.

TUNE--_"Roslin Castle."_

O! come with me, for the queen of night
Is throned on high in her beauty bright:
'Tis now the silent hour of even,
When all is still in earth an' heaven;
The cold flowers which the valleys strew
Are sparking bright wi' pearly dew,
And hush'd is e'en the bee's soft hum,
Then come with me, sweet Mary, come.

The opening blue-bell--Scotland's pride--
In heaven's pure azure deeply dyed;
The daisy meek frae the dewy dale,
The wild thyme, and the primrose pale,
Wi' the lily frae the glassy lake,
Of these a fragrant wreath I 'll make,
And bind them 'mid the locks that flow
In rich luxuriance from thy brow.

O, love, without thee, what were life?
A bustling scene of care and strife;
A waste, where no green flowery glade
Is found for shelter or for shade.
But cheer'd by thee, the griefs we share
We can with calm composure bear;
For the darkest nicht o' care and toil.
Is bricht when blest by woman's smile.

'TIS NOT THE ROSE UPON THE CHEEK.

'Tis not the rose upon the cheek,
Nor eyes in langour soft that roll,
That fix the lover's timid glance,
And fire his wilder'd soul.

But 'tis the eye that swims in tears,
Diffusing soft a joy all holy;
So soothing to the heart of love,
And yet so melancholy.

The note that falters on the tongue,
Sweet as the dying voice of eve,
That calms the throbbing breast of pain,
Yet makes it love to grieve!

The hand, alternate fiery warm
And icy cold, the bursting sigh,
The look that hopes, yet seems to fear,
Pale cheek and burning eye.

These, these the magic circle twine,
The lover's thoughts and feelings seize;
'Till scarce a son of earth he seems,
But lives in what he sees.