Chapter V: Part II: ," Edinburgh, 1779, 12mo. He was admitted as a Writer to the (1)

Signet on the 21st of November 1781; and in July 1805 was appointed Judge of Police, on a new police system being introduced into Edinburgh. In the latter capacity he continued to officiate till July 1812, when a new Act of Parliament entrusted the settlement of police cases, as formerly, to the magistrates of the city. Mr Tait died at his house in Abercromby Place, on the 29th of August 1817.

"The Banks of the Dee," the only popular production from the pen of the author, was composed in the year 1775, on the occasion of a friend leaving Scotland to join the British forces in America, who were then vainly endeavouring to suppress that opposition to the control of the mother country which resulted in the permanent establishment of American independence. The song is set to the Irish air of "Langolee." It was printed in Wilson's Collection of Songs, which was published at Edinburgh in 1779, with four additional stanzas by a Miss Betsy B----s, of inferior merit. It was re-published in "The Goldfinch" (Edinburgh, 1782), and afterwards was inserted in Johnson's "Musical Museum." Burns, in his letter to Mr George Thomson, of 7th April 1793, writes--"'The Banks of the Dee' is, you know, literally 'Langolee' to slow time. The song is well enough, but has some false imagery in it; for instance--

"'And sweetly the nightingale sung from the tree.'

In the first place, the nightingale sings in a low bush, but never from a tree; and, in the second place, there never was a nightingale seen or heard on the banks of the Dee, or on the banks of any other river in Scotland. Creative rural imagery is always comparatively flat."

Thirty years after its first appearance, Mr Tait published a new edition of the song in Mr Thomson's Collection, vol. iv., in which he has, by alterations on the first half stanza, acknowledged the justice of the strictures of the Ayrshire bard. The stanza is altered thus:

"'Twas summer, and softly the breezes were blowing,
And sweetly the _wood-pigeon coo'd from the tree_;
At the foot of a rock, where the _wild rose was growing_,
I sat myself down on the banks of the Dee."

The song, it may be added, has in several collections been erroneously attributed to John Home, author of the tragedy of "Douglas."

THE BANKS OF THE DEE.

'Twas summer, and softly the breezes were blowing,
And sweetly the nightingale sung from the tree,
At the foot of a rock where the river was flowing,
I sat myself down on the banks of the Dee.
Flow on, lovely Dee, flow on, thou sweet river,
Thy banks' purest stream shall be dear to me ever,
For there first I gain'd the affection and favour
Of Jamie, the glory and pride of the Dee.

But now he 's gone from me, and left me thus mourning,
To quell the proud rebels--for valiant is he;
And, ah! there's no hope of his speedy returning,
To wander again on the banks of the Dee.
He 's gone, hapless youth! o'er the rude roaring billows,
The kindest and sweetest of all the gay fellows,
And left me to wander 'mongst those once loved willows,
The loneliest maid on the banks of the Dee.

But time and my prayers may perhaps yet restore him,
Blest peace may restore my dear shepherd to me;
And when he returns, with such care I 'll watch o'er him,
He never shall leave the sweet banks of the Dee.
The Dee then shall flow, all its beauties displaying,
The lambs on its banks shall again be seen playing,
While I with my Jamie am carelessly straying,
And tasting again all the sweets of the Dee.

HECTOR MACNEILL.

Hector Macneill was born on the 22d of October 1746, in the villa of Rosebank, near Roslin; and, to to use his own words, "amidst the murmur of streams and the shades of Hawthornden, may be said to have inhaled with life the atmosphere of a poet."[10] Descended from an old family, who possessed a small estate in the southern district of Argyllshire, his father, after various changes of fortune, had obtained a company in the 42d Regiment, with which he served during several campaigns in Flanders. From continued indisposition, and consequent inability to undergo the fatigues of military life, he disposed of his commission, and retired, with his wife and two children, to the villa of Rosebank, of which he became the owner. A few years after the birth of his son Hector, he felt necessitated, from straitened circumstances, to quit this beautiful residence; and he afterwards occupied a farm on the banks of Loch Lomond. Such a region of the picturesque was highly suitable for the development of those poetical talents which had already appeared in young Hector, amidst the rural amenities of Roslin. In his eleventh year, he wrote a drama, after the manner of Gay; and the respectable execution of his juvenile attempts in versification gained him the approbation of Dr Doig, the learned rector of the grammar-school of Stirling, who strongly urged his father to afford him sufficient instruction, to enable him to enter upon one of the liberal professions. Had Captain Macneill's circumstances been prosperous, this counsel might have been adopted, for the son's promising talents were not unnoticed by his father; but pecuniary difficulties opposed an unsurmountable obstacle.

An opulent relative, a West India trader, resident in Bristol, had paid the captain a visit; and, attracted by the shrewdness of the son Hector, who was his namesake, offered to retain him in his employment, and to provide for him in life. After two years' preparatory education, he was accordingly sent to Bristol, in his fourteenth year. He was destined to an adventurous career, singularly at variance with his early predilections and pursuits. By his relative he was designed to sail in a slave ship to the coast of Guinea; but the intercession of some female friends prevented his being connected with an expedition so uncongenial to his feelings. He was now despatched on board a vessel to the island of St Christopher's, with the view of his making trial of a seafaring life, but was provided with recommendatory letters, in the event of his preferring employment on land. With a son of the Bristol trader he remained twelvemonths; and, having no desire to resume his labours as a seaman, he afterwards sailed for Guadaloupe, where he continued in the employment of a merchant for three years, till 1763, when the island was ceded to the French. Dismissed by his employer, with a scanty balance of salary, he had some difficulty in obtaining the means of transport to Antigua; and there, finding himself reduced to entire dependence, he was content, without any pecuniary recompense, to become assistant to his relative, who had come to the town of St John's. From this unhappy condition he was rescued, after a short interval. He was possessed of a knowledge of the French language; a qualification which, together with his general abilities, recommended him to fill the office of assistant to the Provost-Marshal of Grenada. This appointment he held for three years, when, hearing of the death of his mother and sister, he returned to Britain. On the death of his father, eighteen months after his arrival, he succeeded to a small patrimony, which he proceeded to invest in the purchase of an annuity of £80 per annum. With this limited income, he seems to have planned a permanent settlement in his native country; but the unexpected embarrassment of the party from whom he had purchased the annuity, and an attachment of an unfortunate nature, compelled him to re-embark on the ocean of adventure. He accepted the office of assistant-secretary on board Admiral Geary's flag-ship, and made two cruises with the grand fleet. Proposing again to return to Scotland, he afterwards resigned his appointment; but he was induced, by the remonstrances of his friends, Dr Currie, and Mr Roscoe, of Liverpool, to accept a similar situation on board the flag-ship of Sir Richard Bickerton, who had been appointed to take the chief command of the naval power in India. In this post, many of the hardships incident to a seafaring life fell to his share; and being present at the last indecisive action with "Suffrein," he had likewise to encounter the perils of war. His present connexion subsisted three years; but Macneill sickened in the discharge of duties wholly unsuitable for him, and longed for the comforts of home. His resources were still limited, but he flattered himself in the expectation that he might earn a subsistence as a man of letters. He fixed his residence at a farm-house in the vicinity of Stirling; and, amidst the pursuits of literature, the composition of verses, and the cultivation of friendship, he contrived, for a time, to enjoy a considerable share of happiness. But he speedily discovered the delusion of supposing that an individual, entirely unknown in the literary world, could at once be able to establish his reputation, and inspire confidence in the bookselling trade, whose favour is so essential to men of letters. Discouraged in longer persevering in the attempt of procuring a livelihood at home, Macneill, for the fourth time, took his departure from Britain. Provided with letters of introduction to influential and wealthy persons in Jamaica, he sailed for that island on a voyage of adventure; being now in his thirty-eighth year, and nearly as unprovided for as when he had first left his native shores, twenty-four years before. On his arrival at Kingston, he was employed by the collector of customs, whose acquaintance he had formed on the voyage; but this official soon found he could dispense with his services, which he did, without aiding him in obtaining another situation. The individuals to whom he had brought letters were unable or unwilling to render him assistance, and the unfortunate adventurer was constrained, in his emergency, to accept the kind invitation of a medical friend, to make his quarters with him till some satisfactory employment might occur. He now discovered two intimate companions of his boyhood settled in the island, in very prosperous circumstances, and from these he received both pecuniary aid and the promise of future support. Through their friendly offices, his two sons, who had been sent out by a generous friend, were placed in situations of respectability and emolument. But the thoughts of the poet himself were directed towards Britain. He sailed from Jamaica, with a thousand plans and schemes hovering in his mind, equally vague and indefinite as had been his aims and designs during the past chapter of his history. A small sum given him as the pay of an inland ensigncy, now conferred on him, but antedated, sufficed to defray the expenses of the voyage.

Before leaving Scotland for Jamaica, Macneill had commenced a poem, founded on a Highland tradition; and to the completion of this production he assiduously devoted himself during his homeward voyage. It was published at Edinburgh in 1789, under the title of "The Harp, a Legendary Tale." In the previous year, he published a pamphlet in vindication of slavery, entitled, "On the Treatment of the Negroes in Jamaica." This pamphlet, written to gratify the wishes of an interested friend, rather than as the result of his own convictions, he subsequently endeavoured to suppress. For several years, Macneill persevered in his unsettled mode of life. On his return from Jamaica, he resided in the mansion of his friend, Mr Graham of Gartmore, himself a writer of verses, as well as a patron of letters; but a difference with the family caused him to quit this hospitable residence. After passing some time with his relatives in Argyllshire, he entertained a proposal of establishing himself in Glasgow, as partner of a mercantile house, but this was terminated by the dissolution of the firm; and a second attempt to succeed in the republic of letters had an equally unsuccessful issue. In Edinburgh, whither he had removed, he was seized with a severe nervous illness, which, during the six following years, rendered him incapable of sustained physical exertion. With a little money, which he contrived to raise on his annuity, he retired to a small cottage at St Ninians; but his finances again becoming reduced, he accepted of the hospitable invitation of his friends, Major Spark and his lady, to become the inmate of their residence of Viewforth House, Stirling. At this period, Macneill composed the greater number of his best songs, and produced his poem of "Scotland's Skaith, or the History of Will and Jean," which was published in 1795, and speedily gained him a wide reputation. Before the close of twelvemonths, it passed through no fewer than fourteen editions. A sequel, entitled "The Waes o' War," which appeared in 1796, attained nearly an equal popularity. The original ballad was composed during the author's solitary walks along the promenades of the King's Park, Stirling, while he was still suffering mental depression. It was completed in his own mind before any of the stanzas were committed to paper.

The hope of benefiting his enfeebled constitution in a warm climate induced him to revisit Jamaica. As a parting tribute to his friends at Stirling, he published, in 1799, immediately before his departure, a descriptive poem, entitled "The Links of Forth, or a Parting Peep at the Carse of Stirling," which, regarded as the last effort of a dying poet, obtained a reception fully equal to its merits.

On the oft-disappointed and long unfortunate poet the sun of prosperity at length arose. On his arrival in Jamaica, one of his early friends, Mr John Graham, of Three-Mile-River, settled on him an annuity of £100 a-year; and, in a few months afterwards, they sailed together for Britain, the poet's health being essentially improved. Macneill now fixed his permanent residence in Edinburgh, and, with the proceeds of several legacies bequeathed to him, together with his annuity, was enabled to live in comparative affluence. The narrative of his early adventures and hardships is supposed to form the basis of a novel, entitled "The Memoirs of Charles Macpherson, Esq.," which proceeded from his pen in 1800. In the following year, he published a complete edition of his poetical works, in two duodecimo volumes. In 1809, he published "The Pastoral, or Lyric Muse of Scotland," in a thin quarto volume; and about the same time, anonymously, two other works in verse, entitled "Town Fashions, or Modern Manners Delineated," and "Bygone Times and Late-come Changes." His last work, "The Scottish Adventurers," a novel, appeared in 1812, in two octavo volumes.

The latter productions of Hector Macneill, both in prose and verse, tended rather to diminish than increase his fame. They exhibit the sentiments of a querulous old man, inclined to cling to the habits of his youth, and to regard any improvement as an act of ruthless innovation. As the author of some excellent songs, and one of the most popular ballads in the Scottish language, his name will continue to be remembered. His songs, "Mary of Castlecary," "My boy, Tammie," "Come under my plaidie," "I lo'ed ne'er a laddie but ane," "Donald and Flora," and "Dinna think, bonnie lassie," will retain a firm hold of the popular mind. His characteristic is tenderness and pathos, combined with unity of feeling, and a simplicity always genuine and true to nature. Allan Cunningham, who forms only a humble estimate of his genius, remarks that his songs "have much softness and truth, an insinuating grace of manners, and a decorum of expression, with no small skill in the dramatic management of the stories."[11] The ballad of "Scotland's Skaith" ranks among the happiest conceptions of the Scottish Doric muse; rural life is depicted with singular force and accuracy, and the debasing consequences of the inordinate use of ardent spirits among the peasantry, are delineated with a vigour and power, admirably adapted to suit the author's benevolent intention in the suppression of intemperance.

During his latter years, Macneill was much cherished among the fashionables of the capital. He was a tall, venerable-looking old man; and although his complexion was sallow, and his countenance somewhat austere, his agreeable and fascinating conversation, full of humour and replete with anecdote, rendered him an acceptable guest in many social circles. He displayed a lively, but not a vigorous intellect, and his literary attainments were inconsiderable. Of his own character as a man of letters, he had evidently formed a high estimate. He was prone to satire, but did not unduly indulge in it. He was especially impatient of indifferent versification; and, among his friends, rather discouraged than commended poetical composition. Though long unsettled himself, he was loud in his commendations of industry; and, from the gay man of the world, he became earnest on the subject of religion. For several years, his health seems to have been unsatisfactory. In a letter to a friend, dated Edinburgh, January 30, 1813, he writes:--"Accumulating years and infirmities are beginning to operate very sensibly upon me now, and yearly do I experience their increasing influence. Both my hearing and my sight are considerably weakened, and, should I live a few years longer, I look forward to a state which, with all our love for life, is certainly not to be envied.... My pen is my chief amusement. Reading soon fatigues, and loses its zest; composition never, till over-exertion reminds me of my imprudence, by sensations which too frequently render me unpleasant during the rest of the day." On the 15th of March 1818, in his seventy-second year, the poet breathed his last, in entire composure, and full of hope.

[10] We quote from an autobiography of the poet, the original of which is in the possession of one of his surviving friends. We have likewise to acknowledge our obligations to Dr Muschet, of Birkhill, near Stirling, for communicating some interesting letters of Macneill, addressed to his late father. The late Mr John Campbell, Writer to the Signet, had undertaken to supply a memoir for this work, partly from his own recollections of his deceased friend; but, before he could fulfil his promise, he was called to rest with his fathers. We have, however, taken advantage of his reminiscences of the bard, orally communicated to us. An intelligent abridgment of the autobiography appears in _Blackwood's Magazine_, vol. iv. p. 273. See likewise the _Encyclopædia Britannica_, vol. xv. p. 307.

[11] "The Songs of Scotland, Ancient and Modern," by Allan Cunningham, vol. i. p. 242. London, 1825; 4 vols. 12mo.

MARY OF CASTLECARY.[12]

TUNE--_"Bonnie Dundee."_

"Oh, saw ye my wee thing? saw ye my ain thing?
Saw ye my true love, down on yon lee?
Cross'd she the meadow yestreen at the gloamin'?
Sought she the burnie whare flow'rs the haw-tree?
Her hair it is lint-white; her skin it is milk-white;
Dark is the blue o' her saft rolling e'e;
Red, red her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses:
Whare could my wee thing wander frae me?"

"I saw na your wee thing, I saw na your ain thing,
Nor saw I your true love, down on yon lea;
But I met my bonnie thing, late in the gloamin',
Down by the burnie whare flow'rs the haw-tree.
Her hair it was lint-white; her skin it was milk-white;
Dark was the blue o' her saft rolling e'e;
Red were her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses:
Sweet were the kisses that she ga'e to me!"

"It was na my wee thing, it was na my ain thing,
It was na my true love, ye met by the tree:
Proud is her leal heart--modest her nature;
She never lo'ed ony till ance she lo'ed me.
Her name it is Mary; she 's frae Castlecary;
Aft has she sat, when a bairn, on my knee;--
Fair as your face is, were 't fifty times fairer,
Young bragger, she ne'er would gi'e kisses to thee."

"It was, then, your Mary; she 's frae Castlecary;
It was, then, your true love I met by the tree;--
Proud as her heart is, and modest her nature,
Sweet were the kisses that she ga'e to me."
Sair gloom'd his dark brow, blood-red his cheek grew;
Wild flash'd the fire frae his red rolling e'e--
"Ye 's rue sair, this morning, your boasts and your scorning;
Defend, ye fause traitor! fu' loudly ye lie."

"Awa' wi' beguiling," cried the youth, smiling;--
Aff went the bonnet; the lint-white locks flee;
The belted plaid fa'ing, her white bosom shawing--
Fair stood the lo'ed maid wi' the dark rolling e'e.
"Is it my wee thing? is it mine ain thing?
Is it my true love here that I see?"
"Oh, Jamie, forgi'e me! your heart 's constant to me;
I 'll never mair wander, dear laddie, frae thee!"

[12] This song was first published, in May 1791, in _The Bee_, an Edinburgh periodical, conducted by Dr James Anderson.

MY BOY, TAMMY.[13]

"Whare hae ye been a' day,
My boy, Tammy?
Whare hae ye been a' day,
My boy, Tammy?"
"I 've been by burn and flow'ry brae,
Meadow green, and mountain gray,
Courting o' this young thing,
Just come frae her mammy."

"And whare got ye that young thing,
My boy, Tammy?"
"I gat her down in yonder howe,
Smiling on a broomy knowe,
Herding a wee lamb and ewe
For her poor mammy."

"What said ye to the bonnie bairn,
My boy, Tammy?"
"I praised her een, sae bonny blue,
Her dimpled cheek, and cherry mou';
I pree'd it aft, as ye may true;--
She said she 'd tell her mammy.

"I held her to my beating heart,
My young, my smiling lammie!
'I hae a house, it cost me dear;
I 've wealth o' plenishin' and gear;--
Ye 'se get it a', were 't ten times mair,
Gin ye will leave your mammy.'

"The smile gaed aff her bonnie face--
'I maunna leave my mammy;
She 's gi'en me meat, she 's gi'en me claise,
She 's been my comfort a' my days;
My father's death brought mony waes--
I canna leave my mammy.'"

"We 'll tak her hame, and mak her fain,
My ain kind-hearted lammie;
We 'll gi'e her meat, we 'll gi'e her claise,
We 'll be her comfort a' her days."
The wee thing gi'es her hand and says--
"There! gang and ask my mammy."

"Has she been to kirk wi' thee,
My boy, Tammy?"
"She has been to kirk wi' me,
And the tear was in her e'e;
But, oh! she 's but a young thing,
Just come frae her mammy."

[13] This beautiful ballad was first printed, in 1791, in _The Bee_. It is adapted to an old and sweet air, to which, however, very puerile words were attached.

OH, TELL ME HOW FOR TO WOO![14]

TUNE--_"Bonnie Dundee."_

"Oh, tell me, bonnie young lassie!
Oh, tell me how for to woo!
Oh, tell me, bonnie sweet lassie!
Oh, tell me how for to woo!
Say, maun I roose your cheeks like the morning?
Lips, like the roses, fresh moisten'd wi' dew;
Say, maun I roose your een's pawkie scorning?
Oh, tell me how for to woo!

"Far hae I wander'd to see thee, dear lassie!
Far hae I ventured across the saut sea;
Far hae I travell'd ower moorland and mountain,
Houseless and weary, sleep'd cauld on the lea.
Ne'er hae I tried yet to mak love to onie,
For ne'er lo'ed I onie till ance I lo'ed you;
Now we 're alane in the green-wood sae bonnie--
Oh, tell me how for to woo!"

"What care I for your wand'ring, young laddie?
What care I for your crossing the sea?
It was na for naething ye left poor young Peggie;
It was for my tocher ye cam' to court me.
Say, hae ye gowd to busk me aye gaudie?
Ribbons, and perlins, and breast-knots enew?
A house that is canty, with wealth in 't, my laddie?
Without this ye never need try for to woo."

"I hae na gowd to busk ye aye gaudie;
I canna buy ribbons and perlins enew;
I 've naething to brag o' house, or o' plenty,
I 've little to gi'e, but a heart that is true.
I cam' na for tocher--I ne'er heard o' onie;
I never lo'ed Peggy, nor e'er brak my vow:
I 've wander'd, puir fule! for a face fause as bonnie:
I little thocht this was the way for to woo."

"Our laird has fine houses, and guineas o' gowd
He 's youthfu', he 's blooming, and comely to see.
The leddies are a' ga'en wud for the wooer,
And yet, ilka e'ening, he leaves them for me.
Oh, saft in the gloaming, his love he discloses!
And saftly, yestreen, as I milked my cow,
He swore that my breath it was sweeter than roses,
And a' the gait hame he did naething but woo."

"Ah, Jenny! the young laird may brag o' his siller,
His houses, his lands, and his lordly degree;
His speeches for _true love_ may drap sweet as honey,
But trust me, dear Jenny, he ne'er lo'ed like _me_.
The wooin' o' gentry are fine words o' fashion--
The faster they fa' as the heart is least true;
The dumb look o' love 's aft the best proof o' passion;
The heart that feels maist is the least fit to woo."

"Hae na ye roosed my cheeks like the morning?
Hae na ye roosed my cherry-red mou'?
Hae na ye come ower sea, moor, and mountain?
What mair, Johnnie, need ye to woo?
Far ye wander'd, I ken, my dear laddie;
Now that ye 've found me, there 's nae cause to rue;
Wi' health we 'll hae plenty--I 'll never gang gaudie;
I ne'er wish'd for mair than a heart that is true."

She hid her fair face in her true lover's bosom,
The saft tear o' transport fill'd ilk lover's e'e;
The burnie ran sweet by their side as they sabbit,
And sweet sang the mavis aboon on the tree.
He clasp'd her, he press'd her, and ca'd her his hinny;
And aften he tasted her honey-sweet mou';
And aye, 'tween ilk kiss, she sigh'd to her Johnnie,
"Oh, laddie! weel can ye woo."

[14] Mr Graham, of Gartmore, an intimate friend of Hector Macneill, composed a song, having a similar burden, the chorus proceeding thus:--

"Then, tell me how to woo thee, love;
Oh, tell me how to woo thee!
For thy dear sake nae care I'll take,
Though ne'er another trow me."

This was published by Sir Walter Scott, in the "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," as a production of the reign of Charles I.

LASSIE WI' THE GOWDEN HAIR.

Lassie wi' the gowden hair,
Silken snood, and face sae fair;
Lassie wi' the yellow hair,
Thinkna to deceive me.
Lassie wi' the gowden hair,
Flattering smile, and face sae fair,
Fare ye weel! for never mair
Johnnie will believe ye.
Oh, no! Mary Bawn, Mary Bawn, Mary Bawn;
Oh, no! Mary Bawn, ye 'll nae mair deceive me.

Smiling, twice ye made me troo,
Twice, poor fool! I turn'd to woo;
Twice, fause maid! ye brak your vow;
Now I 've sworn to leave ye.
Twice, fause maid! ye brak your vow;
Twice, poor fool! I 've learn'd to rue;
Come ye yet to mak me troo?
Thrice ye 'll ne'er deceive me.
No, no! Mary Bawn, Mary Bawn, Mary Bawn;
Oh, no! Mary Bawn; thrice ye 'll ne'er deceive me.

Mary saw him turn to part;
Deep his words sank in her heart;
Soon the tears began to start--
"Johnnie, will ye leave me?"
Soon the tears began to start,
Grit and gritter grew his heart;
"Yet a word before we part,
Love could ne'er deceive ye.
Oh, no! Johnnie doo, Johnnie doo, Johnnie doo;
Oh, no! Johnnie doo--love could ne'er deceive ye."

Johnnie took a parting keek;
Saw the tears drap owre her cheek;
Pale she stood, but couldna speak--
Mary 's cured o' smiling.
Johnnie took anither keek--
Beauty's rose has left her cheek;
Pale she stands, and canna speak.
This is nae beguiling.
Oh, no! Mary Bawn, Mary Bawn, dear Mary Bawn;
Oh, no; Mary Bawn--love has nae beguiling.

COME UNDER MY PLAIDIE.

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

"Come under my plaidie, the night 's gaun to fa';
Come in frae the cauld blast, the drift, and the snaw;
Come under my plaidie, and sit down beside me,
There 's room in 't, dear lassie, believe me, for twa.
Come under my plaidie, and sit down beside me,
I 'll hap ye frae every cauld blast that can blaw:
Oh, come under my plaidie, and sit down beside me!
There 's room in 't, dear lassie, believe me, for twa."

"Gae 'wa wi' your plaidie, auld Donald, gae 'wa,
I fear na the cauld blast, the drift, nor the snaw;
Gae 'wa wi' your plaidie, I 'll no sit beside ye;
Ye may be my gutcher;--auld Donald, gae 'wa.
I 'm gaun to meet Johnnie, he 's young and he 's bonnie;
He 's been at Meg's bridal, fu' trig and fu' braw;
Oh, nane dances sae lightly, sae gracefu', sae tightly!
His cheek 's like the new rose, his brow 's like the snaw."

"Dear Marion, let that flee stick fast to the wa';
Your Jock 's but a gowk, and has naething ava;
The hale o' his pack he has now on his back--
He 's thretty, and I am but threescore and twa.
Be frank now and kindly; I 'll busk ye aye finely;
To kirk or to market they 'll few gang sae braw;
A bein house to bide in, a chaise for to ride in,
And flunkies to 'tend ye as aft as ye ca'."

"My father 's aye tauld me, my mither and a',
Ye 'd mak a gude husband, and keep me aye braw;
It 's true I lo'e Johnnie, he 's gude and he 's bonnie;
But, waes me! ye ken he has naething ava.
I hae little tocher; you 've made a gude offer;
I 'm now mair than twenty--my time is but sma';
Sae gi'e me your plaidie, I 'll creep in beside ye--
I thocht ye 'd been aulder than threescore and twa."

She crap in ayont him, aside the stane wa',
Whare Johnnie was list'ning, and heard her tell a';
The day was appointed, his proud heart it dunted,
And strack 'gainst his side as if bursting in twa.
He wander'd hame weary, the night it was dreary;
And, thowless, he tint his gate 'mang the deep snaw;
The owlet was screamin' while Johnnie cried, "Women
Wad marry Auld Nick if he 'd keep them aye braw."

I LO'ED NE'ER A LADDIE BUT ANE.[15]

I lo'ed ne'er a laddie but ane,
He lo'ed ne'er a lassie but me;
He 's willing to mak' me his ain,
And his ain I am willing to be.
He has coft me a rokelay o' blue,
And a pair o' mittens o' green;
The price was a kiss o' my mou',
And I paid him the debt yestreen.

Let ithers brag weel o' their gear,
Their land and their lordly degree;
I carena for aught but my dear,
For he 's ilka thing lordly to me:
His words are sae sugar'd and sweet!
His sense drives ilk fear far awa'!
I listen, poor fool! and I greet;
Yet how sweet are the tears as they fa'!

"Dear lassie," he cries, wi' a jeer,
"Ne'er heed what the auld anes will say;
Though we 've little to brag o', near fear--
What 's gowd to a heart that is wae?
Our laird has baith honours and wealth,
Yet see how he 's dwining wi' care;
Now we, though we 've naething but health,
Are cantie and leal evermair.

"O Marion! the heart that is true,
Has something mair costly than gear!
Ilk e'en it has naething to rue,
Ilk morn it has naething to fear.
Ye warldlings! gae hoard up your store,
And tremble for fear aught ye tyne;
Guard your treasures wi' lock, bar, and door,
While here in my arms I lock mine!"

He ends wi' a kiss and a smile--
Wae 's me! can I tak' it amiss?
My laddie 's unpractised in guile,
He 's free aye to daut and to kiss!
Ye lasses wha lo'e to torment
Your wooers wi' fause scorn and strife,
Play your pranks--I hae gi'en my consent,
And this nicht I 'm Jamie's for life!

[15] The first stanza of this song, along with a second, which is unsuitable for insertion, has been ascribed, on the authority of Burns, to the Rev. John Clunie, minister of Borthwick, in Mid-Lothian, who died in 1819, aged sixty-two. Ritson, however, by prefixing the letters "J. D." to the original stanza would seem to point to a different author.

DONALD AND FLORA.[16]

I.

When merry hearts were gay,
Careless of aught but play,
Poor Flora slipt away,
Sadd'ning to Mora;[17]
Loose flow'd her yellow hair,
Quick heaved her bosom bare,
As to the troubled air
She vented her sorrow.

II.

"Loud howls the stormy wist,
Cold, cold is winter's blast;
Haste, then, O Donald, haste,
Haste to thy Flora!
Twice twelve long months are o'er,
Since on a foreign shore
You promised to fight no more,
But meet me in Mora."

III.

"'Where now is Donald dear?'
Maids cry with taunting sneer;
'Say, is he still sincere
To his loved Flora?'
Parents upbraid my moan,
Each heart is turn'd to stone:
'Ah, Flora! thou 'rt now alone,
Friendless in Mora!'

IV.

"Come, then, O come away!
Donald, no longer stay;
Where can my rover stray
From his loved Flora!
Ah! sure he ne'er can be
False to his vows and me;
Oh, Heaven!--is not yonder he,
Bounding o'er Mora!"

V.

"Never, ah! wretched fair!"
Sigh'd the sad messenger,
"Never shall Donald mair
Meet his loved Flora!
Cold as yon mountain snow
Donald thy love lies low;
He sent me to soothe thy woe,
Weeping in Mora.

VI.

"Well fought our gallant men
On Saratoga's plain;
Thrice fled the hostile train
From British glory.
But, ah! though our foes did flee,
Sad was such victory--
Truth, love, and loyalty
Fell far from Mora.

VII.

"'Here, take this love-wrought plaid,'
Donald, expiring, said;
'Give it to yon dear maid
Drooping in Mora.
Tell her, O Allan! tell
Donald thus bravely fell,
And that in his last farewell
He thought on his Flora.'"

VIII.

Mute stood the trembling fair,
Speechless with wild despair;
Then, striking her bosom bare,
Sigh'd out, "Poor Flora!
Ah, Donald! ah, well-a-day!"
Was all the fond heart could say:
At length the sound died away
Feebly in Mora.

[16] This fine ballad was written by Macneill, to commemorate the death of his friend, Captain Stewart, a brave officer, betrothed to a young lady in Athole, who, in 1777, fell at the battle of Saratoga, in America. The words, which are adapted to an old Gaelic air, appear with music in Smith's "Scottish Minstrel," vol. iii. p. 28. The ballad, in the form given above, has been improved in several of the stanzas by the author, on his original version, published in Johnson's "Museum." See the "Museum," vol. iv. p. 238.

[17] Mora is the name of a small valley in Athole, so designated by the two lovers.

MY LUVE'S IN GERMANY.[18]

TUNE--_"Ye Jacobites by name."_

My luve 's in Germanie, send him hame, send him hame;
My luve 's in Germanie, send him hame;
My luve 's in Germanie,
Fighting brave for royalty:
He may ne'er his Jeanie see--
Send him hame.

He 's as brave as brave can be--send him hame, send him hame;
He 's as brave as brave can be--send him hame;
He 's as brave as brave can be,
He wad rather fa' than flee;
His life is dear to me--
Send him hame.

Your luve ne'er learnt to flee, bonnie dame, bonnie dame,
Your luve ne'er learnt to flee, bonnie dame;
Your luve ne'er learnt to flee,
But he fell in Germanie,
In the cause of royalty,
Bonnie dame.

He 'll ne'er come ower the sea--Willie 's slain, Willie 's slain;
He 'll ne'er come ower the sea--Willie 's gane!
He 'll ne'er come ower the sea,
To his love and ain countrie:
This warld 's nae mair for me--
Willie 's gane!

[18] This song was originally printed on a single sheet, by N. Stewart and Co., Edinburgh, in 1794, as the lament of a lady on the death of an officer. It does not appear in Macneill's "Poetical Works," but he asserted to Mr Stenhouse his claims to the authorship.--Johnson's "Museum," vol. iv. p. 323.

DINNA THINK, BONNIE LASSIE.[19]

TUNE--_"Clunie's Reel."_

"Oh, dinna think, bonnie lassie, I 'm gaun to leave thee!
Dinna think, bonnie lassie, I 'm gaun to leave thee;
Dinna think, bonnie lassie, I 'm gaun to leave thee;
I 'll tak a stick into my hand, and come again and see thee."

"Far 's the gate ye hae to gang; dark 's the night, and eerie;
Far 's the gate ye hae to gang; dark 's the night, and eerie;
Far 's the gate ye hae to gang; dark 's the night, and eerie;
Oh, stay this night wi' your love, and dinna gang and leave me."

"It 's but a night and hauf a day that I 'll leave my dearie;
But a night and hauf a day that I 'll leave my dearie;
But a night and hauf a day that I 'll leave my dearie;
Whene'er the sun gaes west the loch, I 'll come again and see thee."

"Dinna gang, my bonnie lad, dinna gang and leave me;
Dinna gang, my bonnie lad, dinna gang and leave me;
When a' the lave are sound asleep, I 'm dull and eerie;
And a' the lee-lang night I 'm sad, wi' thinking on my dearie."

"Oh, dinna think, bonnie lassie, I 'm gaun to leave thee!
Dinna think, bonnie lassie, I 'm gaun to leave thee;
Dinna think, bonnie lassie, I 'm gaun to leave thee;
Whene'er the sun gaes out o' sight, I 'll come again and see thee."

"Waves are rising o'er the sea; winds blaw loud and fear me;
Waves are rising o'er the sea; winds blaw loud and fear me;
While the winds and waves do roar, I am wae and drearie;
And gin ye lo'e me as ye say, ye winna gang and leave me."

"Oh, never mair, bonnie lassie, will I gang and leave thee!
Never mair, bonnie lassie, will I gang and leave thee;
Never mair, bonnie lassie, will I gang and leave thee;
E'en let the world gang as it will, I 'll stay at hame and cheer ye."

Frae his hand he coost his stick; "I winna gang and leave thee;"
Threw his plaid into the neuk; "Never can I grieve thee;"
Drew his boots, and flang them by; cried, "My lass, be cheerie;
I 'll kiss the tear frae aff thy cheek, and never leave my dearie."

[19] The last verse of this song was added by John Hamilton. The song, on account of this addition, was not included by Macneill in the collected edition of his "Poetical Works." One of Miss Blamire's songs has the same opening line; and it has been conjectured by Mr Maxwell, the editor of her poems, that Macneill had been indebted to her song for suggesting his verses.

MRS GRANT OF LAGGAN.

Mrs Anne Grant, commonly styled of Laggan, to distinguish her from her contemporary, Mrs Grant of Carron, was born at Glasgow, in February 1755. Her father, Mr Duncan Macvicar, was an officer in the army, and, by her mother, she was descended from the old family of Stewart, of Invernahyle, in Argyllshire. Her early infancy was passed at Fort-William; but her father having accompanied his regiment to America, and there become a settler, in the State of New York, at a very tender age she was taken by her mother across the Atlantic, to her new home. Though her third year had not been completed when she arrived in America, she retained a distinct recollection of her landing at Charlestown. By her mother she was taught to read, and a well-informed serjeant made her acquainted with writing. Her precocity for learning was remarkable. Ere she had reached her sixth year, she had made herself familiar with the Old Testament, and could speak the Dutch language, which she had learned from a family of Dutch settlers. The love of poetry and patriotism was simultaneously evinced. At this early period, she read Milton's "Paradise Lost" with attention, and even appreciation; and glowed with the enthusiastic ardour of a young heroine over the adventures of Wallace, detailed in the metrical history of Henry, the Minstrel. Her juvenile talent attracted the notice of the more intelligent settlers in the State, and gained her the friendship of the distinguished Madame Schuyler, whose virtues she afterwards depicted in her "Memoirs of an American Lady."

In 1768, along with his wife and daughter, Mr Macvicar returned to Scotland, his health having suffered by his residence in America; and, during the three following summers, his daughter found means of gratifying her love of song, on the banks of the Cart, near Glasgow. The family residence was now removed to Fort-Augustus, where Mr Macvicar had received the appointment of barrack-master. The chaplain of the fort was the Rev. James Grant, a young clergyman, related to several of the more respectable families in the district, who was afterwards appointed minister of the parish of Laggan, in Inverness-shire. At Fort-Augustus, he had recommended himself to the affections of Miss Macvicar, by his elegant tastes and accomplished manners, and he now became the successful suitor for her hand. They were married in 1779, and Mrs Grant, to approve herself a useful helpmate to her husband, began assiduously to acquaint herself with the manners and habits of the humbler classes of the people. The inquiries instituted at this period were turned to an account more extensive than originally contemplated. Mr Grant, who was constitutionally delicate, died in 1801, leaving his widow and eight surviving children without any means of support, his worldly circumstances being considerably embarrassed.

On a small farm which she had rented, in the vicinity of her late husband's parish, Mrs Grant resided immediately subsequent to his decease; but the profits of the lease were evidently inadequate for the comfortable maintenance of the family. Among the circle of her friends she was known as a writer of verses; in her ninth year, she had essayed an imitation of Milton; and she had written poetry, or at least verses, on the banks of the Cart and at Fort-Augustus. To aid in supporting her family, she was strongly advised to collect her pieces into a volume; and, to encourage her in acting upon this recommendation, no fewer than three thousand subscribers were procured for the work by her friends. The celebrated Duchess of Gordon proved an especial promoter of the cause. In 1803, a volume of poems appeared from her pen, which, though displaying no high powers, was favourably received, and had the double advantage of making her known, and of materially aiding her finances. From the profits, she made settlement of her late husband's liabilities; and now perceiving a likelihood of being able to support her family by her literary exertions, she abandoned the lease of her farm. She took up her residence near the town of Stirling, residing in the mansion of Gartur, in that neighbourhood. In 1806, she again appeared before the public as an author, by publishing a selection of her correspondence with her friends, in three duodecimo volumes, under the designation of "Letters from the Mountains." This work passed through several editions. In 1808, Mrs Grant published the life of her early friend, Madame Schuyler, under the designation of "Memoirs of an American Lady," in two volumes.

From the rural retirement of Gartur, she soon removed to the town of Stirling; but in 1810, as her circumstances became more prosperous, she took up her permanent abode in Edinburgh. Some distinguished literary characters of the Scottish capital now resorted to her society. She was visited by Sir Walter Scott, Francis Jeffrey, James Hogg, and others, attracted by the vivacity of her conversation. The "Essays on the Superstitions of the Highlanders of Scotland" appeared in 1811, in two volumes; in 1814, she published a metrical work, in two parts, entitled "Eighteen Hundred and Thirteen;" and, in the year following, she produced her "Popular Models and Impressive Warnings for the Sons and Daughters of Industry."

In 1825, Mrs Grant received a civil-list pension of £50 a-year, in consideration of her literary talents, which, with the profits of her works and the legacies of several deceased friends, rendered the latter period of her life sufficiently comfortable in respect of pecuniary means. She died on the 7th of November 1838, in the eighty-fourth year of her age, and retaining her faculties to the last. A collection of her correspondence was published in 1844, in three volumes octavo, edited by her only surviving son, John P. Grant, Esq.

As a writer, Mrs Grant occupies a respectable place. She had the happy art of turning her every-day observation, as well as the fruits of her research, to the best account. Her letters, which she published at the commencement of her literary career, as well as those which appeared posthumously, are favourable specimens of that species of composition. As a poet, she attained to no eminence. "The Highlanders," her longest and most ambitious poetical effort, exhibits some glowing descriptions of mountain scenery, and the stern though simple manners of the Gaël. Of a few songs which proceed from her pen, that commencing, "Oh, where, tell me where?" written on the occasion of the Marquis of Huntly's departure for Holland with his regiment, in 1799, has only become generally known. It has been parodied in a song, by an unknown author, entitled "The Blue Bells of Scotland," which has obtained a wider range of popularity.

OH, WHERE, TELL ME WHERE?

"Oh, where, tell me where, is your Highland laddie gone?
Oh, where, tell me where, is your Highland laddie gone?"
"He 's gone, with streaming banners, where noble deeds are done,
And my sad heart will tremble till he come safely home.
He 's gone, with streaming banners, where noble deeds are done,
And my sad heart will tremble till he come safely home."

"Oh, where, tell me where, did your Highland laddie stay?
Oh, where, tell me where, did your Highland laddie stay?"
"He dwelt beneath the holly-trees, beside the rapid Spey,
And many a blessing follow'd him, the day he went away.
He dwelt beneath the holly-trees, beside the rapid Spey,
And many a blessing follow'd him, the day he went away."

"Oh, what, tell me what, does your Highland laddie wear?
Oh, what, tell me what, does your Highland laddie wear?"
"A bonnet with a lofty plume, the gallant badge of war,
And a plaid across the manly breast that yet shall wear a star;
A bonnet with a lofty plume, the gallant badge of war,
And a plaid across the manly breast that yet shall wear a star."

"Suppose, ah, suppose, that some cruel, cruel wound,
Should pierce your Highland laddie, and all your hopes confound!"
"The pipe would play a cheering march, the banners round him fly;
The spirit of a Highland chief would lighten in his eye;
The pipe would play a cheering march, the banners round him fly,
And for his king and country dear with pleasure he would die!"

"But I will hope to see him yet, in Scotland's bonny bounds;
But I will hope to see him yet, in Scotland's bonny bounds.
His native land of liberty shall nurse his glorious wounds,
While, wide through all our Highland hills, his warlike name resounds;
His native land of liberty shall nurse his glorious wounds,
While, wide through all our Highland hills, his warlike name resounds."

OH, MY LOVE, LEAVE ME NOT![20]

AIR--_"Bealach na Gharraidh."_

Oh, my love, leave me not!
Oh, my love, leave me not!
Oh, my love, leave me not!
Lonely and weary.

Could you but stay a while,
And my fond fears beguile,
I yet once more could smile,
Lightsome and cheery.

Night, with her darkest shroud,
Tempests that roar aloud,
Thunders that burst the cloud,
Why should I fear ye?

Till the sad hour we part,
Fear cannot make me start;
Grief cannot break my heart
Whilst thou art near me.

Should you forsake my sight,
Day would to me be night;
Sad, I would shun its light,
Heartless and weary.

[20] From Albyn's "Anthology," vol. i. p. 42. Edinburgh, 1816, 4to.

JOHN MAYNE.

John Mayne, chiefly known as the author of "The Siller Gun," a poem descriptive of burgher habits in Scotland towards the close of the century, was born at Dumfries, on the 26th of March 1759. At the grammar school of his native town, under Dr Chapman, the learned rector, whose memory he has celebrated in the third canto of his principal poem, he had the benefit of a respectable elementary education; and having chosen the profession of a printer, he entered at an early age the printing office of the _Dumfries Journal_. In 1782, when his parents removed to Glasgow, to reside on a little property to which they had succeeded, he sought employment under the celebrated Messrs Foulis, in whose printing establishment he continued during the five following years. He paid a visit to London in 1785, with the view of advancing his professional interests, and two years afterwards he settled in the metropolis.

Mayne, while a mere stripling, was no unsuccessful wooer of the Muse; and in his sixteenth year he produced the germ of that poem on which his reputation chiefly depends. This production, entitled "The Siller Gun," descriptive of a sort of _walkingshaw_, or an ancient practice which obtained in his native town, of shooting, on the king's birth-day, for a silver tube or gun, which had been presented by James VI. to the incorporated trades, as a prize to the best marksman, was printed at Dumfries in 1777, on a small quarto page. The original edition consisted of twelve stanzas; in two years it increased to two cantos; in 1780, it was printed in three cantos; in 1808, it was published in London with a fourth; and in 1836, just before his death, the author added a fifth. The latest edition was published by subscription, in an elegant duodecimo volume.

In 1780, in the pages of Ruddiman's _Weekly Magazine_, Mayne published a short poem on "Halloween," which suggested Burns's celebrated poem on the same subject. In 1781, he published at Glasgow his song of "Logan Braes," of which Burns afterwards composed a new version.

In London, Mayne was first employed as printer, and subsequently became joint-editor and proprietor, along with Dr Tilloch, of the _Star_ evening newspaper. With this journal he retained a connexion till his death, which took place at London on the 14th of March 1836.

Besides the humorous and descriptive poem of "The Siller Gun," which, in the opinion of Sir Walter Scott, surpasses the efforts of Ferguson, and comes near to those of Burns,[21] Mayne published another epic production, entitled "Glasgow," which appeared in 1803, and has passed through several editions. In the same year he published "English, Scots, and Irishmen," a chivalrous address to the population of the three kingdoms. To the literary journals, his contributions, both in prose and verse, were numerous and interesting. Many of his songs and ballads enriched the columns of the journal which he so long and ably conducted. In early life, he maintained a metrical correspondence with Thomas Telford, the celebrated engineer, who was a native of the same county, and whose earliest ambition was to earn the reputation of a poet.[22]

Possessed of entire amiability of disposition, and the utmost amenity of manners, John Mayne was warmly beloved among the circle of his friends. Himself embued with a deep sense of religion, though fond of innocent humour, he preserved in all his writings a becoming respect for sound morals, and is entitled to the commendation which a biographer has awarded him, of having never committed to paper a single line "the tendency of which was not to afford innocent amusement, or to improve and increase the happiness of mankind." He was singularly modest and even retiring. His eulogy has been pronounced by Allan Cunningham, who knew him well, that "a better or warmer-hearted man never existed." The songs, of which we have selected the more popular, abound in vigour of expression and sentiment, and are pervaded by a genuine pathos.

[21] See Note to "Lady of the Lake."

[22] See the _Encyclopædia Britannica_, vol. xxi. p. 170.

LOGAN BRAES.[23]

By Logan's streams, that rin sae deep,
Fu' aft wi' glee I've herded sheep,
I've herded sheep, or gather'd slaes,
Wi' my dear lad, on Logan braes.
But, waes my heart! thae days are gane,
And I wi' grief may herd alane;
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes.

Nae mair at Logan kirk will he
Atween the preachings meet wi' me,
Meet wi' me, or, whan it's mirk,
Convoy me hame frae Logan kirk.
I weel may sing thae days are gane--
Frae kirk and fair I come alane,
While my dear lad maun face his faes,
Far, far frae me and Logan braes.