^1X9 9^oef{f and 9^cefn/ WintithgovOifhire ALEX. M. BISSET THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES .,■>,; ■■■' - tjj;.--, ,••3 ■ 1 'V - I •'*^. M u THE POETS AND POETHT T OF LINLITHGOWSHIRE Hii Hntboloov? Of tbe Gountv?. BY ALEX. M. BISSET. Tiirplii.-hrii I'ri-cfi.tujv ,J. AM) i;. I'Ai.'l.AXK. i'AlSLKV. .Kilix Mr.N/.ii;s AM) CO., i:i)iNiiri;<;ii ami (ii.ASoow, lluCI.STnN AND .SONS. I.ONDON. is!tr>. THK RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EHRL OF ROSEBERY, K.G,. Sc, EX-l>RniK MIXISTKR OF THKSE REALMS, AM) LORD-LIEUTEXAXT OF LIXLITHOOW8HIRE, fins -^ntboloqn of tbc Coinitji IS, BY HIS PERMISSION, RESPECTFULLY ScDicatcD. S07:[o7 PKEFATOKV NOTE. In this volume a long cherished project takes practical shape. While the work might have been undertaken l)y one whose literary ability would have done it more justice, the Editor will say for himself that it could scarcely have fallen into hands more willing to treat it with the loving care which it merits. No endeavoui' has been spared to make it as completely representative of the |joetry of the county as possible, and it is hoped that it may win the appreciation of all who are interested in tlie poetic literature of Linlithgowshire. To all who in various ways have assisted him in the compilation of this antholog3\ and to the living authors themselves, whose invariable kindness and courtesy made the work a \ery pleasant one, the Editor cheerfully acknowledges his indebtedne.ss and tenders his cordial thanks. A. .M. I!. Mid Strkkt, Batik ;atk, .Imik;, iS'Mi. CONTEXTS Linlithgow Palack . Dedication Prefatory Note Introduction . James V. The Gaberlunzie Man The JoUj- Beggar Mary Queen of Scots Verses on the Death of her Husbarul, Farewell to France Sonnet to the Earl of Both well Sonnet wnitten during her Imprisonment Verses written at Fotheringay . Meditations William Hamilton of Banoouk Soliloiiny .... The Braes of Yarrow Rev. William Wilkie, D.l). The Hare and the Partan The Muse and the Shepherd The Crow and tlie other Birds . Mrs Dccald Stewart The Tears I shed must ever fall Returning Spring with gladsome ray John Watt The Drunkaid Ardent Spirits William Bium k Frost in the Mornin" WiLr-iAM Cameron Sweet Jessie o" the Dell F, inci- II. PACK 1 13 17 •20 23 34 34, 36 36 3S 3S 4(> 4t> 52 57 ()2 63 66 6H 7t^ 71 73 74 7"> 7!> su <) Co.\Ti:.\rs. \\ ii.i.iAM ("amkkon lonl'niiKil My Willio an' M.< Will ye iiiiii";- to (lie Haii<;'ybui'n '/ {) (tone Before 19(> Sonnet : an Eveninj;- in Sprinjf . 197 Tlie Liulflies Noo-a-daAs . 197 The Auld Craicr Mill " . 201 •Iames Brunton StEI'HENS . 203 My other Cliinee Cook . 204 The Southern Cross 20ft To a Black (iin . 209 Droujrht and Doctrine 211 Spirit and Star . 214 Andkew Moiiurs 217 Tlie Miner's Address to his Fiddle 218 Zaekaree .... 220 Address to my Bed 222 Song .... 22.-> AI.EX.A.NUEH WaKDKOI- 220 Beaconslield— 1879 228 My Annie an' Me at Hame 229 Sweet Killindean .... 229 He's an M.P. noo 230 Unco lang aboot it 232 Uj) on Daddy's Knee 233 We "11 awa" to Torbaneiiiil 234 We a' hae mickle need . 234 \'ictory ..... 235 .JoH.V Al.l.AN ..... 237 Oor Ain Fireside .... 238 Rojal Robin .... 239 The Auld E.U. Kirk, Bathgate 240 Tlic Bf)nnie, Bonnie Bairns 241 -Mks .Ja.m-; Waddeu, Dalziel 242 The Passing Spring 242 Lines to Braeheatl 243 COXTEXTS. Mrs Jask ^VADIlELL Dalziel — coittinmIK HlNIKIl iiiill ill III 307 3(tS 310 311 311 312 313 314 314 315 317 317 318 319 3-20 322 323 324 CoXTEXTf:. .Iames S.viirKL — coiifiuuefl Snow .... A S.ibbath Moinini;- in Oc-toher Xi-ht .... Heart of Youth Richard Aitken .\NEors Songs and Ba]j,.\ds The Rock and the Wee Pickle '!'. Lithgow's March A Speech at the King's Entry into Linlitligow The Lass o' Livingston . Legend of the Hound Point of Barnlit Nancy Dawson Barbauchlaw Btnri Cnnibber (Ucn Martin )W : o •. !-. the T( ugle II I'.XGK 325 32i> 3-26 32(> 328 328 329 331 332 333 334 33.> 33() 337 338 339 340 340 342 342 344 34(5 3J0 3.31 IXTRODUCTIOX. npHE gift of song is, fortunately, not confined to any one district of Scotland although in many instances a school of poetry seems to be indigenous to certain districts. The ballad, often the poetic outcome of some fierce foray, has its birth on the Borders and in the region of the Grampian range ; the hills of the West Highlands are the home of the lament and the sighing "Songs of Selma:" while the Lowlands, with their shady glens and undulating expanse of cultivated fields, more particularl}' breathe the lay of love and the lyric of the domestic affections. The poetry of Linlithgowshire has no striking character- i-stic, but is such as marks the poetic literature of the Lowlands generally. Li a country which is incomparably the land of song it would be strange indeed if any portion of it should be left unvisited by the tuneful impulse, and in this respect the county of West Lothian has no reason to humble herself before her more gifted sisters. Historically the county can look with pride through "the postern of time long elapsed" on the stirring incidents that have been enacted within her Ijorders, and on the many relics of past greatness which are inseparably associated with the history of Scotland. 1-1 I\Tiioi>i<'rj<>.\. The Jiiu'iciit I'alacc of Liiilithi^ow, around which so many memorios of bygone ii;loiy liiiorer ; the old Castle of Hath^jate, where Walter the High Steward of Scotland brought his fair young bride Marjory Bruce and so became tlie pi'ogenitor of a long race of Scottish kings ; the Preceptory of Torphichen, to which the war-worn Knights of St. .lohn of Jerusalem repaired for rest from the Crusades: Niddry Castle, the home of the loyal Setons, where Queen Mary passed the night after her escape from Lochleven Castle : these, and many more memorials of '• the days of other years," invest Linlithgowshire with an interest that grows stronger with the lapse of time. With such environments and such associations it is somewhat surprising that the county has such a dearth of ballad literature, and that so few of her poets have struck tlieir harps to these themes. " Many who are not al)le to reach the Parnassian heights may yet approach so near as to be bettered ])y the air of the climate," says the Man of Feeling, and doubtless some of these will be found in this volume ; but a perusal of the following pages will satisfy the most critical that high excellence is the prevailing quality in the poetry of the county. The selections have been made with the object of having each author represented by his best work ; but in some cases this was foiuid im])0ssible owing to the limitations of space, and extracts from a poem, however judiciou.sly J srnrcri()S. 15 made, arc iiivarial)ly \eiv uiisatisfactoiy. Emerson tells us how he listened with raj)ture to a l>ii'd " Siufriiif); at dawn cm t ln' aiildci- 1)0iil:1i : I brouj^lit liini Immc in his iit-st at evi-ii. Hf siiitis till- sun;^-. but it pk-asvs not now ; For I (lid not brin^i lioino tlio li vor and slcy ; III- saii;^' to iny car -tlicy san;^' to my cyt'," and in like manner i|notations dissociated from their original setting lose much of theii' lieauty : so that, wherever possible, an eiidcaNoui' has been made to represent each poet by his shorter yet complete poems. 'I'hc chronological order of arrangement has been adopted as the most commendable one for the imrposc of imparting some degree of consecution to the various writers and theii' works, 'j'he chai'tn of vai'iety has also been kept in view as much to give the hook an additional interest to the reader as to |)resent each autiioi' in his various vein.s of thought : and it is hoped that this feature will render its jjernsal a matter of better appreciation to all who may .scan its pages. THE POETS AXD POETKY OF LIIS^LITHGOWSHIRE. ■ ? —■■ < ■ JAMES V. 1512-1542. THE title of James the F'iftb to the authorship of Tin- Guberhmzie Mem and The Jolly Beggar is not indisput- able ; but, as they are ascribed to him by some of the most competent Scottish anthologists and have never been attri- buted to any other, we do not hesitate to include them in this work. James \'. was born in the Palace of Linlithgow on I'ith April, 15lL'. He was Imt a babe of eighteen months old when '• The stern .strife and carnage dreai- Of Flodden's fatal field " niiulc him t.ilhcrless, and left Scotland in a disastrous plight. The young king was fortunate, howeAcr, in having for his preceptoi' the learned ecclesia.stic, Gawin DunJjar ; but in all probability he owed more to the kindly care and tuition of Sir l)avid Lindsay than to the instructions of the divine. Lirid.s'iy was gentleman usher to the prince from '■■^ PoHTS OF 1.1 M.ITIIiloWsil I HI-:. the tlay of liis ii.-itivity : a man capalile of entering into the i-ihihrs eveiy amusement, and blending instruction with recreation. Through Lindsay's high poetical attainments the youthful monarch had an early o{)portunity of becoming aci|uainted with all that was noblest and best in literature. Lindsay's art seems to have been to please his royal pupil •'with many a fable," and season his stories with such simple counsel as he thought necessary for the improvement of his character and conduct in the future. These etibrts were not without impression on the boy, who gave promise of fulfilling to the utmost the expectations of his wise and affectionate tutor. Such high hopes were rudely dispelled by the action of the queen-mother, who, to gratify her own ^imbition and love of poAver, had James taken "Fni the schools Where he, under obedience, Was learning virtue and science," and nominally placed at the head of the Government while he was yet in his thirteenth year. For the next four years he was simply a puppet in the hands of his unscrupulous mother and the Douglas faction, who maintained a restraint over his actions that amounted to imprisonment. From this galling bondage he escaped at the age of sixteen and took the reins of sovereignty into his own hands. Historians agree that thus early he was every inch a king, and administered equal justice to rich and poor, the peasantry receiving as much attention to their complaints as the most powerful noble. One of his first exercises of regal authority was to restore his early monitors to court favour, and they were ever afterwards treated with marks (jf esteem and honour. Jame^ V. 19 There is little doubt that the four years he remained in the hands of the Douglasses had a baneful effect on his character. Encouraged by A-icioiis schemers in every profligate adventure, and surrounded by flatterers who tried to secure their own aggrandisement at the expense of his folly, there is little wonder if the precepts of his earlier monitors were often disregarded. Possessed of an amiable disposition, with a mind naturally acute and vigorous, he was much loved by the peasantry, and became popularly known as the " King of the Commons," of which title, we are told, he was very proud. In various disguises he was wont to travel far and near, and many humorous anecdotes of these itinerancies are still current. In this adventurous manner he was enal)led to judge of the peasantry for himself, and his strong enforce- ment of the law made him a terror to evil doers. Robbers seem to have been his pet aversion, and all through his career he took every opportunity of punishing them "with the utmost rigour of the law.' It is much to his credit that, while many evil influences were brought to bear on his character, he retained a real love for literature, and greatly encouraged the poets and historians of the country by his countenance and generosity, in which GaAvin Douglas, I^indsay, Bellenden and Buchanan were all participants. Music he delighted in, and, if one may judge from the fre(|uency with which the item of "lute-strings" occurs in the Treasurer's accounts, the lute was his favourite instrument. Like his ancestor, James I., he was an ai'dent wooer of the Muses, and l»oth Lindsay and Bellenden speak of his effusions with high praise, while, fully a century later, Drummond of Hawthornden also bears testimony to •JO /'oirrs or Li .\ i./rin.dWsiiinE. \u> jtoetical gifts, "as," he says, "many of his works yet extant testify." It is somewhat unfortunate, tliei'efore, that s(i little trustworthy information has descended to us on this sct)re. The two pieces which we give are evidently some of his own escapades "done into rhyme"; Imt they have l)ecomc modernised in the course of transmission from one generation to anothei'. They are regarded by com- petent critics as being among the best specimens of early Scottish humour preserved to us. The unfortunate Rout of Solway ]\Ioss, of which the elevation of the king's ])lebeian favourites to the first places of influence and power was a contributing cause, had a despondent eflcct on his nuud. Wounded to the quick by what he considered the defection of his nobles, he retired to the Palace of Falkland, where he died of grief on 13th December, 1542, while yet in his thirty -first year. TiiK (I.UiKKi-rNZiK Max. The pawky aiikl carle cam' o'er the lea, \N'i' iiioiiy f^ukl e'ens an' guid days to me ; Haj'in", (iuidwife, for your coirtesie, Will ye lodge a .sill\ piiii- man ? The nicht was cauld, the carle was wat, An' (loon ayont the ingle he sat. My dochter's shouthers he 'gan to clap, An' cadgily ranted an" sang. Oil wow I (|ii(>' he, were I as free As first wlien 1 saw tliis (;onntrie, How blythe an" merry Mad 1 be ! An' I wad never think lang. He grew cant}% an' .she grew fain ; Hut little did her aul And to the neuk he ran— O hoolic, hoolie wi' me, sir. Veil waiiki^n our guidniaii. The beggar was a cunning loim. And ne'er a word he spak" — Hut, lang afore the cock liad crawn, Tlius he l)egan to crack : J'ohTS OF Ll M.irili.nwsill i;K. \\ V II j^iui^i' iiiic iimir :i roving, A roving in the night, Save when the moon is moving. And tlie stars are sliiriinu briuhl. He took a wee horn frae his side. And blew baith loud and shrill, And four-and-twenty Vjclted knights ( ',ime ski))|»ing o'er the hill. And we '11 gang nae mair a roving, A roving in the night ; Nor sit a sweet maid lovinff By coal or candle light. And he took out his little knife, Loot a' his duddies fa', And he was the brawest gentleman That was amang them a' ! The beggar was a clever loon, And he lap shoulder height ; O aye for siccan (juarters As I got yesternight ! And we "11 aye gang a roving, A roving in the night, For then the maids are loving. And stars are shining bright. Mary Queex of Scots. 25 MAEY QUEEN OF SCOTS. 1542-1588. MARY, daughter of James V. and jNIary of Guise, was born in Linlithgow Palace in December, 1542.^ The lamentable death of James \'. under such sad circumstances made the accession to the Scottish throne of the newly-born infant a singularly pathetic spectacle. No sooner had their late monarch been consigned to his last resting-place than the nobles, whom he had held in check so successfully, broke out into open feud for the; possession of this tiny hope of their country — not so much from a desire to ensure her safety as for personal aggrandisement. The turbulence of the times and the 'The exact date of ]Marj''.s l>irth is keenlj' ilisputed. Almost all historians and biographers assume it to have been on the Sth of December ; and ^lary herself always named it as such. But a recently discovered document — communicated to Miss Strickland by John liiddell, Esq., of the Faculty of Advocates — shows that, at Stirling, her mothers confinement was, on the 9th of that month, only matter of expectation ; and it is clear, that if the event had occurred on the previous day intelligence of it would have reached Stirling. All accounts, too, repre.sent the King as having died on the loth, a few- hours [Pitscottie says a few minutes) after the arrival of the news of his daughters birth : and, as an express had been employed, it is incredible that five days should have elapsed between the event and its report to the dying monarch. It is reasonably conjectured by Miss Stricklaml that, as the Sth of Decemlier is one of the four great Romish festivals in honour of the Virgin Mary, the birth of the young queen may afterwards have been celebrated on that day instead of on the real one, which was most i)robal)ly the 11th or 12th of the month. -Miss Strickland's Liren uj Ike Srnttiuli QiitriiK, vol. 'A, ]>. 7. ■JG Poirrs OF Li s i.rnn;n\\ sn i m:. war with Knj^laiul consequent on "tlie rough wooing" of Henry \ III., who sought hy an alliance of Mary with his son Eflward, then but five years of age, to assert supremacy over Scotland, induced the Scottish iio1)les to remove the young (|ueen from Linlithgow to Stirling, and thereafter to the Priory of Inchmahonie for further security. A ()roposal to send Maiy to the court of Henry 11. of France for her education met with the general approval of all parties concerned, and in her sixth year the queen, attended by the Four Maries ' and a noble escort, was received with becoming honour at the palace of St. Germain. Together with the king's own daughters she was soon afterwards sent to one of the most celebrated monasteries in France to receive such an education as became a queen. She made rapid progress in the various branches of education in which she was instructed, and attained in all a proficiency that excited universal admiration. Caressed and admired by all, and sui-rounded by every enjoyment, the earlier part of Mary's life glided rapidly away, while she herself, in her person gradually advanced towards that perfection of beauty which is to this day matter of interesting speculation, and which she seems to have possessed in the highest degree of which perhaps the human form is susceptible. But remarkable as was the beauty of Marj^'s person, it was not more worthy of admiiation than hej' intellectual superiority. ' 'riiese young ladies, celebrated in tradition and son^' as the Queen's Maries, were Mary I^ivingston, Mary Fleming, Mary Seton, and Mary Beaton, all of the highest families in Scotland. The Mary Hamilton and Mary Carmifhael of the exmiisite ballail of the Qiiea/'ti Marie — which purports to commemorate the melancholy fate of the former lady — were evidently later additions to this famous corps. j\lAny QuEBs of Scots. 27 On the 24th of April, 1558, in her sixteenth 3'ear, she was united in marriage to Francis, the Dauphin of France. A year later her husband succeeded to the French throne, and Mary, as Queen of Scotland, heir-presumptive of England, and queen-consort of France, thus combined in herself probably a greater concentration of dignities than ever before occurred in one person. In 1560, after two brief years of happy union, Francis died, and her beautiful and passionate lament on this occasion bears witness to the deep grief of the young widowed queen. In a letter to- Philip II. at this time she describes herself as " the most afflicted poor woman iinder heaven." In the following year Mary returned to Scotland where^ she was received with every demonstration of affection. Several years of almost uneventful peace followed, but her marriage with Lord Darnley in 1565 brought a series of miseries in its train which attended her throughout her checkered career, each incident of which is darkly silhouetted against the misty curtains of time. Darnley's nuirder, the rash and inexplicaljle marriage with the villain Bothwell, Carberry Hill, Lochlcven Castle and the romantic escape from its dreary isolation, the Battle of Langside, the Hight to Dundrennan, and the weary eighteen years of imprisonment in the castles of P^ngland : these are all invested with a romance and sad interest that never grows- les.s. "Last scene of all, that ends this strange, eventful history," is the grim block within the hall of Fotheringay Castle, where, after a mock trial at which no means of defence was allowed her, Mary was sacrificed to the jealousy and capricious fear of a r. I'our 1111)11 uial ostriin^er Je ne m'jirreste en place, Mais j'eii ay hi^'iii cliiing'er Si ma (loiik'nr ctlacf ; Car 111011 |)is et num iiiiciix Sont iiies |)liis (luseits lieux. 7. Si en quel()uu sejour, Soit en Bois on t;ii I'rce, Soit pour Taube clu jour, Ou soit pour la vespree. Sans cesse mon C(i'ur sent Le regret d'un absent. 8. Si jiaifois ver.s ce^s lieux ^'iens a dresser ma veiie, Le doux trait de ses yeux Je vois en une nue, Soudain je vois en I'eau Comnie dans un Tombeau. 9. Si je suis en rejjos, Sommeillant sur nia couche, J'oj' qu'il me teint propos, Je le sens qu'il me touche ; En labeur en recoj- Tousjours est prest de moy. 10. Je ne vois autre objet Pour beau (pi'il se presente, A qui c|ue soit sujet Oiicfjues mon cu leaving France, are taken from Specimens of the British Poetesses, by Rev. Alexander Dyce, A.B., 1825. The Chanson may also be foen in the Mary Queex of Scots. 35 11. Here let me end the strain Of a sad heart, sore pained, Of which the true refrain Will be my love unfeigned : The loss which wrecks my peace Will nevermore decrease. Farewell to France. Thou charming land of France, adieu ! O homeland fair ! Most dear, most rare, Who nursed me all my childhood thiough ! Farewell, France ! faie\\ ell, mj' happy days ; The ship which parts our loves conveys Only the half of me from thee : One part remains with thee, 'tis thine ; It to thy keeping I consign, That still thou mav'st remember me. SOXXET TO THE EaRL OF BOTHWELL. (Xumber 2 of the Bothwell Sonnets.) Into his liands and his power full and free I place my son, life, honour — dearer still ; My country, subjects, and the citadel Of m\' .stormed heart are all his, and for me I have no other wish than faithfully To follow him in spite of all of ill That may spring fi-om it : for I have no will Than by my faith to make him clesirly see That, whether calm or tempest we must face, I never wi.sh to change my home or place. Anthologie Fran(;ois, torn 1, No. 10; Taylor's Pictorial Historu of Scotland, vol. 1, p. i'CA). /'(iHTs or Li s t.i riiiidwsii I ni:. Brief, je ferny do lua foy telle preuve iiw'W coyiioistrii, sanis fainte, ma eoiistanct^ Ndii |i.u inc.-- |ilcurs, (111 fainte obeyssance, Ciiimiif aiit res out fait, iiuiis par divers espreiives.. SONNKT TO TllK E.\RL OK BoTlIWKM,. (Number 8 of the Botlnvcll Soniit'ts.) Moll amour croist. et pluf en plus eroi.stra Taut (pie je \ i\ ray, et tiendray a grandheiir Tanl. .seiilement d'avoir part en ce vavwv Vei'S qui en tin nion amour paroi.'^tra Sy tres a clair (pie jamais n'en doutra. I'oiir ln_\ je \eux recercher la grandeui'. Et feraj- tant ([u'en vray eoijjnoistra still the same. SoNNKT WKITTKN IXKIM: IIKK I \1 I'lilSoN.M KNT. The wrath of God we never can ap])ease By blood of bulls or goats on altars spilled ; Nor .sacrifice nor incense sweet distilled The Sovereign Power with any i)leasure sees. Whoe'er desires, O Lord, thine eye to please On the Immortal he his f;iitli must build, Witli lio|)e and charity to mankind filled, .And by good deeds extol thy wise decrees. The offring which alone is dear to thee Is a true spirit, constant unto jirayei', Devout and humble, in a virtuous frame. .Mmiglity <'n<\ '. sudi favour have for me That ill my licart iiwiy dwrll the.se graces rare Tn til" lioiioiir ;iiiil I III' 'jiiirv of Tli\' niimi'. ."^S PoKTs OF Li\f.rrin;ue suis-je, helas ! ct do (juoi sert hi vie? J'en suis fors (luuii corps priv(5 de cueur r Un ombre vayn, un objeb de malheur, ()\n n'n plus lien (pie do iiioiirir en vie. Plus ne nie portez, O eneniys, d'envie Qui ii'a plus Tt'spiit a la gmndeur, J'ai eonsomnn' d'excessive douleur ; Voltie ire en bref de voir assouvie, Et vous amys, qui m'avez tenu chere, Souvenez-vous que sans cueur et sans santey Je ne s^aurois aucpin bon H'ense, En ayant fait condigne {)enitenee ? AfAHV QUEEX OF ScOTS. 41 Tliis suddenly biino^s me into remembrance Of the sayings of the wise king. *'I have," said he, " sought every pleasure Which might satisfy my desires. But I have seen nothing in this round world But vanity. A fool tlien is he who trusts to it By what my eyes have seen during my days. For I have often seen those who touched The high heavens with their head Suddenly overthrown by temiiest." The greatest Kings, Monarchs, Emperors Are not sure either of their states or their lives. To build palaces and to amass wealth Soon returns to destruction and decay. To liave sprung from noble parents Does not jirevent one becoming unfortunate. Fine raiment, gaming, laughter, and the dance Leave only mouining and repentance. And beauty, so agreeable to the eyes, Depaits from us when we become old : To drink and to eat and to fare comfortably Turns also to grief and weariness : Many fri(;nds, riches, knowledge — None of these have power to content their possessors. In a word, all the good things of this life Aie held but for a .short time and acquired with great labour. Of what use is it then to amuse our.selves here With vanities which only lead to abuse? We mu.st seek in a far higher j)lace True rest, |)leasuie, and the grace Which is promised to tho.se who sinceiely Sliall return to the only Saviour : For our eternal jwrtion is in heaven. Ordained for us as our hciitage. Hut who .shall be able, O Father most loving, To have this ha])piness if thftu assist him not To abandon his sin and oHences, Having madi- sincr-ic irpcntaiici' for tlicniV 42 J'oKTs OF LjyLiriiaowsiiinE. On ouv()ir De tes inerces, ct Hanue y" avoir, Ayant au Cd'ur ta passion escrite. Que j' offriray au lieu de mon mci it^^ Donques, mon Uieu, no m" abandonne point, Et mesniement en cette extienie poinct. A celle fin (jue tes voyes je tienne Et (|ue viivn toy ;i la tin je parvienne. La Verty M'attire. Marie Stuakte. Mary Qvees of Scots. 45- May decree to take me from the ca])tivit_v In which my soul remains in this life, Full of e^•ils, of torments, and of regret, Give me the ])Ower to remember Thy mercies, and to put mj- trust in them, Having thy love written in my heart. Which I shall offer instead of any merit of my own. Do not then, O my (iod, abandon me, And especially in my extremity. Let me hold to thy ways unto the end So that at tlie last I may reach unto thee. \'irtue draws me to thee. M.vKV Stu.vkt. Poets of Lixlituqowsiiire. WILLIAM HAMILTON OF BANGOUR. 1704 1704. WILLIAM HAMILTON was born at Bangour in the parish of Uphall in 1704. His ancestors were an ancient and intiuential family in Ayrshire, and as there is also a Bangour in that county some dubiety has been expressed as to the place of the poet's nativity. Eecent research, however, has proved that Bangour in West Lothian was in possession of his family for four generations l)efore the poet's birth, so that tlie local claim is placed l)eyond question. It is more than probable that Bangour in Linlithgowshire was so named after the ancestral estate in Ayrshire, which would account for the confusion that has arisen from the similarity of name. AVith regard to Hamilton's early life very little is known. This much is certain, that such education as the times demanded of one who, by his social position, could gain entrance to the highest circles in the country, was freely extended to the promising and brilliant young poet. His j)ublished works prove him to have ]>een well versed in ancient and contemporary literature, and evince a refinement of taste that was by no means a characteristic of the age in which he lived, or of the poetry of his time which too frequently had affectation and gross indelicacy as its principal components. The pithy Scottish phraseology of Dunbar and tl.o earlier "makars"Avas giving ])lace to the inflated verbosity and strained conceits of the English baids. William Hamiltos of Basgouh. 47 Druramond of Hawthornderi had laid aside the Doric with some success, with the result that the rising Scottish poets attempted to follow his example without possessing either his erudition or his genius. Accordingly it came to pass that the poetry north of the Tweed abounded in mutilated metaphors and fanciful phrases which only ■escaped the charge of being vague by being totally incomprehensible. Of course it was almost impossible that young Hamilton should escape the general perversion and contamination, and we are not surprised to find some of his productions interspersed with the requisite liberal proportion of Strephons and Delias : Damons and Chloes : piping love-sick shepherds and inaccessibly obdurate shepherdesses. This fanciful Arcadia, however, was eclipsed b}^ the publication, in 1724, of Allan Ramsay's Tea-table Miscelknuj, in which the Doric successfully re-asserted itself and maintained its power over Scottish hearts by becoming the popular literary language of the day. In this work Ramsay was ably assisted by several " ingenious young gentlemen," as he names them in the preface, of whom William Hamilton, although only in his twentieth year, was one of the most prominent contributors. Associated in this work with Ramsay was another William Hamilton, of Gilbertfield, who by the similarity •of name is often confounded with our poet. It is matter for much regret that Ramsay did not incorporate an index of authors with his Miscellunij instead of the hieroglyphical X Y Z by which the reader can only ascertain that one song is ancient, that another is modern, or that yet another is ancient with modern alterations and additions. Hamilton now became recognised as a poet of repute, 4S J'oKTS or LiM.iriicowsiiini:. ami livi'd tin* gay lite ot a man aUoiit town. W'c are told that "he possessed the social virtues in an eminent degree," ami his talent would doubtless make him a welcome guest in the higher circles of Edinburgh society. 1m 1745 Scotland became convulsed by the horrors of civil war. when the Bonnie Prince Charlie of Scottish hearts and Scottish song Hung to the breeze the standard of an ancient line of kings, and amid the fastnesses of a lonely Highland glen called on the loyal clansmen to do battle for the exiled Stuarts. His march to the Lowlands m and triumphant entry into Edinburgh ; the victory of Prestonpans ; the subsequent festivities at Holyrood ; the l^rilliant and daring march into the heart of P^ngland : the masterly and orderly retreat, cheered by a victory o\er the government troops at Falkirk ; and the last act of this Komance of the White Cockade on the fatal field of Culloden are all matters of history. Among those who threw in their lot wath the gallant young Prince in his foolhardy and "reckless undertaking was William Hamilton, who became the laureate of the expedition. The Battle of Prestonpans he celebrated in a beautifid jioera beginning. As over Glads7niiir's hlood->if (lined Jicid, which M'as set to music by William Macgibbon who publi.shed three well-known volumes of Scottish tunes, and to his air it afterw^ards appeared in Johnson's Scots Musical Museum. After the dispersion of the Highlanders, consequent on their defeat at Culloden, Hamilton, like many other adherents of the ruined cause, was compelled, in the emphatic words of Scripture, to wander "in deserts and mountains, and in dens and caves of the earth." It was during this period of hardship and suttering, when ostracised from all the luxuries and irjLL/A.V HaMILTOS OF BASGOrii. 41> refinements of the fashionable societ}- to whiih he had been accustomerl that he composed the following beautiful Soliloqinj which breathes a spirit of hope and resignation that reflects credit alike on the head and heart of the author. It is dated June, 174G. Mysterious inmate of this breast, Enkindled by thy flame ; By thee my being's best exprest, For what thou art I am. With thee I claim celestial birth, A spaik of heaven's own raj- ; Without thee sink to vilest earth Inanimated clay. Now, in this sad and dismal lioui- Of multiplied distress, Has any former thought the power To make th\- soirows less ? When all around thee cruel snares Threaten thy destined bieath, And everj- sharp reflection bears Want, exile, chains or death ; Can aught that passed in youth's fond reign Thy pleasing vein re.store ; Lives beaut}''s ga\- and festive train In memoi-y's soft store ? Or does the muse — 'tis said her art Can fiercest pangs appease — Can she to thy poor trembling heaif Now speak the wonls of peace? Yet she was wcjnt at early er ths repose. Nor was her friendly aid withdiav n At grateful evening's close. r>0 I'OKTS or LlM.iriK.OW.sillHK. FiitMidsliip, 'tis true, its sacred might May mitijiiitc thy doom. As lijrhtning shot across tlie night A iiuimrnt <::il(ls tlir i^looiii. O God ! thy providence alone Can work a wonder liere, Can change to gladness every moan, And banish all my fear. Thy arm, :dl powerful to save, Alay every doubt destroy, And from the hon-ors of the grave New raise to life and joy. From this, as from a co{)ious spring, Pure consolation flows ; Makes the faint heait 'niieautiful and simple- ett'ort of William Hamilton. Professor Aytoun terms it "a very beautiful poem.'' Till-; Bkai'.s (iK Vakkow. Bfldti/rooiii — " Bu.'sk 3'e, busk ye, my bonny, bonny biido, Busk ye, bu.sk ye, my win.some niariow I Busk ye. busk ye, my bonny, boiuiy bride. And think luu- mair oi\ the bi'aes of Yairow .'" Sfraiii/i-r — " \\'hei'e sat ve that bonn\'. l)onii\ hridr. Where gat ye tliat winsome marrow ''" Bride(jvoom — " I gat her where I dare n.-i weel be .seen — Pu"ing tlie bilks on the l)i'aes of YaiTow . Weeji not, weeji not, my bonny, bonny bride, Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow ; Xof let thy lieait Lament to leave Pu'ing the biiks on tiie braes of Yarrow ! ■ Sffaiii/er — '• Wliy does .she weep, thy Ijonny, bonny bride? Wliy does she weep, thy winsome mai row ? And why dare ye nae mair weel be .seen Pu'inir tilt- Ijirks on the braes of YairoM-v" IT/ /J.I AM Hamiltox of BAMiorii. 53 Bridegroom — ■ Lanf^ maun she weep, lang maun ,«he, niaim she weep, Lang maun .she weep with dule and ssonow ; And lang maj' I nae niair weel be seen Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow : For she has tint her lover, lover dear — Her lover dear, the cause of sorrow ; And I have slain the comeliest swain That e'er pu'd birks on the braes of Yarrow ! Why runs thy stream, O Harrow, Yarrow, reid? Why on thy braes heard the voice of sorrow V And why yon melancholious weeds Hung on the bonny birks of Yari-ow ? What 's yonder floats on the rueful, rueful flood ? ^^'hat 's yonder floats ? dule and sorrow ! "Tis he, the comeh' swain I slew Ujion the duleful braes of Yarrow. W'asii, O wash his wounds, liis wounds in tears, His wounds in tears of dule and soriow ; And wrap his limbs in mourning weerls And lay him on the Vjraes of ^'ai'row. Then build, then build, ye sisters, sisters sad, Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow ; Anrl weep around in waeful wise His hapless fate on the braes of Yai row ! •Curse ye, curse ye, his useless, useless shield. My arm that wrought the deed of soriow, Tlie fatal s|)eai- that jiierced his breast — His comely breast on the braes of Yarrow ! l>id 1 not warn thee not to, not to love, And warn from fight? btit, to my soirow, Too rashlj' bold, a stronger arm Thou met'st — and f(;ll on tin; braes of Yarrow I" 54 /'(iHTs III' LiM.iTiK^owsiniu:. "Swort Miiflls the bilk, yicfii grows, i;t('fu <^r(i\\s tlu- '■j:v:\t Yellow oil Yarrow's braes the gOMaii ; Fair hangs the a])))le frae the rock, Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowin'." firiihfiroom — " Flows Yarrow sweet? as sweet, as sweet flows Tweed. As green its grass, its gowan as yellow ; As sweet smells on its biaes the birk, The a|i|>k' frae tiu' rock as im-llow. Fair was thy love, fair, fair iiulcccl thy love ; In flowery bands thou didst him fetter : Tho' he was fair, and well-beloved again. Than nic he never lovc^d thee better. Busk ye tiien, busk, my bonny, bonny bride. Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow ; Busk ye and lo'e me on the banks of Tweed, And think nae mair on the braes of Y'arrow."' '• How can I busk, a bonny, bonny bride, How can I busk, a winsome marrow ; How lo'e him on the banks of Tweed That slew my love on the braes of Yarrow ? O Y'arrow fields, may never, never rain Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover ! For there was basely .slain my love — My love as he had not been a lover ! The boy put on his robes, liis robes of green, His purple vest — 'twas my ain sewin' : Ah, wretched me ! I little, little knew He was in these to meet his ruin. The boy took out his milk-white, milk-wliite st.ed.. Unheedful of my dule and sorrow ; But ere the to-fall of the night He lay a corpse on the biaes of Yarrow. William Hamjltox of Bakgoub. 65 Much I rejoiced that waefiil, waeful day ; I sang — my voice the woods returning ; — - But hing ere night the spear was flown That slew my love and left me mourning. What can my barbarous, barbarous father do But with his cruel rage pursue me ? My lovers blood is on thy spear ; How canst thou, barbarous man, then woo me ': My happy sisters maj^ be, may be proud ; With cruel and ungentle scoffin', May bid me seek on Yai'row's braes My lover nailed in his coffin : My brother Douglas may upbraid. And strive with threatening words to move me : My lover's blood is on th\^ spear, How canst thou ever bid me love thee ? Yes, \-es, prepare the bed, the bed of love ; Witli biidal sheets my body cover ; L'nbar, ye bridal maids, the door, Let in the exj)ected husband lover. But who the expected husband, husbanci is ? His hands, methinks, are bathed in slaughter, — Ah me ! what ghastly spectre 's yon Comes, in his pale shroud, bleeding after? Pale an he is, here lay him, lay him (low n ; O lay Ills cold head on my |)ill()w : 'I'ake aff, take nil these bridal weeds. And crown my careful head with w iliow. I'alc tho tliuu art, yet best, yet best beloved, (), could my waiinth to life restore thee, ^■< (I lie all niglit between my brie.sts, — .\() voiith lav ever tlicic before thee ! -"'G /'oHTS nr Li S l.irili;ut adverse circumstances clouded his latei- years, and, in the forcible phrase of Burns, "hungry ruin had him in the wind." William received the rudiments of his education at the parish school of Dalmeny, then kept by a Mr Riddell, a teacher of some ability. Thus early the budding genius was admired for his poetic fancy, and ere he was ten years old had written poems of considerablt- merit. I It ha.1 been nhrewilly 8ut,';,'este of tliirteou ho was taken from school and sent to the University of Edinburiih, where his literary ac«iuirements and brilliant talents obtained for him immedi- ate distinction. He was also characterised by a l)luntness of maimer which amounted to boorishness, but despite this, he gained and retained the friendship of such men of note as Dr. Robertson, David Hume, Adam Smith, and -lohii Home. In his life of TTonie, Mackenzie says that Wilkie was regarded by his friends as '■'■superior in genius fa ami mnn of his lime, hnt rough and unpolished in his manners, and still less accommodating to the decorum of society in the ordinary habits of his life." This rude address clung to him all through life, and l)ecame intensified with advancing years. Charles Townsend, the famous English politician, who was introduced to Wilkie and spent the day with him at the house of Dr. Carlyle of Inveresk, was greatly impressed with the poet's abilit}' ; but afterwards made the caustic oljservation that he " never met with a man who approached so near to the two extremes of a god and a brute as Dr. Wilkie." While prosecuting his theological studies at EdinJjurgh his father died in somewhat poor circumstances, leaving his son the stock and lease of the farm of Fisher's Tryst, near Edinliurgh, to Avhich he had remo\ed a year or two previously. To this was added the charge of maintaining three unmarried sisters for whom no other provision had been made. " Ah ! who can tell how many a .soul .sublime Hji.s felt the influence of malignant star, And waged witli Fortune an eternal war ; Check'd by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown, And Povert3''s uncon(|Uerable b;ir, In life'.s low vale remote ha.-* pined alonr." Rev. JFilliam JFilkie, IkD. 5^ Whether or not such thouiihts as Beattie has here so feelingly portrayed surged through the heart of Wilkie at this crisis we know not ; but he accej)ted the inevitable, and devoted himself to agricultural pursuits. However, while yielding himself to the labours of farming he did not neglect his studies in divinit}^ and eventuallj' became licensed as a minister of the gospel, although he did not obtain a charge till several years later. In the meantime he set himself assiduously to his farm duties. He was a hard-woi'king and skilful farmer, and so successful was he in the cultivation of the potato, which had been but lately introduced, that he was facetiously known in the district by the nickname of " the tautie minister." During this period of toil and persevering industry he found leisure to cultivate his classical attainments, and it was amid the care and worry of farm life that he conceived, and for the most part composed, his Upigoaiad, the epic poem which brought him celebrity. In 1753 Ire was ordained assistant and successor to Mr Guthrie, minister of the parish of Ratho ; the duties of which he fulfilled for three years, when the death of the senior minister gave him full charge. While acting as as.sistant he did not relinquish his farm ; 1)Ut divided his time and attention with impartiality between the [)ulpit and the plough. T/ie Ejdtjdiiiad was published at Edinburgh in 1757, and was immediately hailed by scholars and critics as a master- piece. The poem is in nine books and is founded on the story of the sack of Thebes, in the fourth book of Homer's Iliad. Two years later a second edition was issued with the addition of ./ Drcmn, in the manner of Spenxer. He was frequently comjjured by the critics to the blind baid of <50 I'oKTf! or I.I M.irnnowsii I HE. ancient (iroece, whose lliail was un(iuestioiial)ly the model on wliich his epic was composed, and he aojuired the name of "the Scottish Homer" — an appellation which must be alloweil to he distinctly in advance of "the tautie minister." A contemporary critic says, — " The Epigoniad will prob- ably ahvays be admired. Without speaking of the hai)py choice of the subject, and of the merit of many of the characters of that e\)\c ])oem, it may l)e enough to say that the episode of Hercules, taken by itself, is sufficient to entitle the poet to perpetual fame." Mackenzie remarks that " perhaps it sutlers from its author having the Homeric imitation constantly in view, in which, however, he must be allowed to have been very successful — so successful that a person ignorant of Greek will bettei' conceive what Homer is in the original by perusing the Kpigoaiad than by reading even the excellent translation of Pope." Succeeding generations have not confirmed the judgment of his contemporaries in this matter, and the great epic so hailed and heralded at its birth now sleeps " the sleep that knows no waking." Sic transit gloria mundi. In 1759 Wilkie succeeded David Young in the Chair of Natural Philoso])hy at St. Andrews University, which ijhortly afterwards acknowledged his ability by conferring on him the degree of D.D. At St. Andrews he resumed his agricultural hobby, and in this way he amassed an independence of <£."W00, a decided proof of his skill and economy in this line. In 1768 he published his Fables, consisting of sixteen moral fables and a dialogue in verse, which did not enhance his reputation as a poet. Of his characteristics and peculiarities some interesting reminiscences have been preserved. His early struggles Rev. JFilliam JFilkik, D.D. 61 had engendered a parsimonious disposition, which probabh' did not proceed so much from any love of lucre as from a desire to be independent. Latterly he was in the habit of dispensing £20 annually to charitable objects. He used to remark, "I have shaken hands with poverty up to the very elbow, and I wish never to see her face again." He had a great abhorrence to having clean sheets on his bed, which he dreaded as the source of damp and its attendant evils, and it was his custom when necessity compelled him to stay o\'er-night from home, to drag the clean linen from the bed ere he entered it. We are told that on one occasion, being pressed by Lady Lauderdale to sleep at Hatton, he reluct- antly agreed, but only on condition that he should be indulged with the luxury of a pair of soiled sheets ! In conversation he Avas often very abstracted, subject to an extraordinary degree of absent-mindedness, which failing sometimes placed him in the most awkward and embarrassing situations. Among his other amusing eccen- tricities was the love he entertained for being "weel-happit," as a precaution against ague — the fear of which perpetually haunted him — and he was known to sleep wrapped in no less than twenty-four pairs of blankets in order that he might perspire freely. His presence of mind on this subject never forsook him, however it might stray on others of more moment. By the men of his own time he was highly esteemed for his brilliant mental faculties which, despite the rudeness of his manner and his many eccentric ways, procured for him the regard and friendshij) of many of the most distinguished men of the period. After a protracted indisposition he died at St. Andrews 'on 10th Octol>er, 177:.', in his fifty -second year. ()2 J'uKTs (>/•• Lisi.i riKsowsiiiiiE. Through the kindness of Mr .1. 'V. Clark, of tlio Advocivtes' Library, we are enabled to give the following selections from Wilkie's Fnhles. TuK Hark anh tiik I'aktan.' A c.uiny man w ill scarce provoke Ae cre.itiue livin\ for a joke ; For be they weak or be tliey Strang A jibe leaves after it a stang To mak' them think on 't ; and a lain! May find a beggai- sae ))repared \Vi' jjawks-'and wiles, whaur pith is wantin", As soon will niak" him rue his taunt in". Ve hae my moral — if I 'm able 1 "11 tit it nicelj' wi' a fable. A Hare, ae mornin', chanced to see A Partan creepin" on a lee : A fishwife wha was early oot Had drai)t the creature thereaboot. Mawkin ^ bumbased ■• and frichted sair To see a thing but •' hide and hair Which, if it stii'red not, micht be ta'en For naething ither than a stane. A squnt wife, wamblin",'' sair beset Wi' gerse and raslies like a net. First thocht to rin for't ; (for by kind A Haie's nae fechter ye maun mind) But seein' that wi' a' its strength It scarce could ci-eep a tether length The Hare grew baulder and cam' near, Turned playsome, and forgat her feai-. s. Euterpe, goddess of the lyre A harp best owed with golden wire : And oft would teach him how to sinf. Or touch with art the tremblin"- string His fame o'er all the niountain.s Hew, And to his cot the shepherds drew; They heard his music with deli'dit Whole summer days from morn till night Nor did they ever think him long, Such was the magic of his song : Some rural present each prepared Hi.s skill to honour and reward — A flute, a sheep-hook, oi' a lamb, Or kidling followed b^- its tlam : Rev. JVilliam JTilkie, DAK 6r> For bards, it seems, in eai'lier days (iot somethincT more than empty praise. All this continued for a while, But soon our songster changed his style. Infected with the common itch, His gains to double and grow rich : Or fondly seeking new aijplause. Or this or t'other was the cause. One thing is certain, that his I'hymes (4rew more obsequious to the times, Le.ss stiff and formal, altered (juite To what a courtier calls polite. Whoe'er grew rich by right or wrong Became the hero of a song. Astonished at a change so great No more the shepherds sought his seat. But in their place a horned crowd Of Satyrs flocked from every wood. Drawn by the magic of his laj' To dance, to frolic, sport and play. The goddess of the lyre disdained To see her sacred gift profaned. And, gliding swiftly to the place With indignation in her face, The trembling .shepherd thus aildre.s.sed. In awful majestj' confessed : — " Thou wretched fool, that harp resign. For know it is no longer thine. It v\as not given you to insj)ii'e A herd like this with loose desire, Nor to assi.st that venal ])raise Which vice may purchase if it l)ays : Such offices my lyre disgrace. Here, take this bagpijje in its place, "Tis fitter far, believe it true, Botli for these miscreants and \ou." Tiie swain, dismayed, without a word Submitted, and tlir harp restored. 66 PoKTs thk oTiiKi; Birds. Containing a useful hint ti> tin- Clitics. Ill ■iiiciciit liiufs, tradition say.«i, When lairds like iiu-ii would strive for prai.se, The buUtiticli, iiightiii^alt', and tliriish, With all that chant from tree or bush, Would often meet in ssong to vie, — Thf kinds that .«ing not sittiuf; by. A knaxish Crow, it .seems, had got The knack to criticise by rote. He understood each learned phra.se As well as Critics now-a-days : Some say he learned them from an owl By list'ning where he taught a school. "Tis strange to tell this subtle creature, Thougli nothing musical by nature. Had learned so well to j)lay his part With non.sense couched in terms of art As to be owned by all at last Director of the public taste. Then, ])uf}cd with insolence and pride And sure of numbers on his side, Each song he freely criticised — What he appioved not was despised ; But one false step in evil hour For ever .stript him of his power. Once, when the Birds assembled sat All list'ning to his formal chat, By instinct nice he chanced to find A cloud approaching in the wind. And — Ravens hardly can refrain From croaking when they think of rain — His wonted song he sung : the blunder Amazed and -scared them worse than thunder. For no one thought so harsh a note Could ever sound from any throat. liEV. fF/LLIA.M JFlLKIE, D.D, 67 They all at first with mute surprise Each on his neighbour turned his ej'es ; But scorn succeeding soon took ])lace, And might be read in every face : All this the Raven saw with pain And strove his credit to regain. Quoth he, " The solo which ye heard In public should not have appeared— The trifle of an idle horn- To please my mistress once when sour : -My voice, that's somewhat rough and strong, Might chance the melody to wiong ; But, tried by rules, 30U "11 find the grounds Most perfect and harmonious sounds."' He reasoned thus ; but to his trouble At every word the laugh grew double ; At last, o'ercome with shame and spite. He flew awaj- quite out of sight. GS /'OKTS OF LiM.I riKlOW^IllHK. Mi;S 1)1 (J A 1.1) STEWART. 176.')-I8;is. nKLEN D'ARCA' CKANSTOUN was the third daughter of the Hon. George Cranstouii, youngest son of William, fifth Lord Cranstoun (Douglas's Peerage by \\oi)d). She was born in the year ITGT), and on the 26th .Inly, 1790, became the wife of Dugald Stewart, the celelirated I'rofessor of Moral Philosophy in the University of Edinburgh. They resided at Catiine, Ayrshire, for many years, and became the friends of Robert Burns, who, in a letter to Dr Mackenzie of Mauchline, thus gives his impressions of the Professor: — "I never spent an afternoon among great folks with half that pleasure as when, in company with you, I had the honour of paying my devoirs to that plain, honest, worthy man, the Professor. I would be dehghted to see him perform acts of kindness and friendship, though I were not the object; he does it with .such a grace. I think his character, divided into tei> parts, stands thus,— -four parts Socrates, four parts Nathaniel, and two parts Shakespeare's Brutus.'' In 1809 Stewart relinquished the active duties of the professorial chair, and removed to Kinneil House, near Bo'ness. Here the remainder of their married life was spent, and Mrs Stewart continued to live at Kinneil with her daughter after her husband's decease in 1828. Shortly before her death, which took place on 28th July, 1838, she removed her residence to Warristoun House, near Edin- burgh, where she died at the age of 73. She was a lady Mrs Dugald Stewart. 69 celebrated for her beauty and accomplishments, and was a brilliant figure in the society of Edinburgh, which at that particular period was the centre of the intellectual and fashionable world. Professor Thomas Brown, the distinguished successor of her husband in the Moral Philosopliy chair, has some verses addressed to her of which we may quote two stanzas — "Thou nameless loveliness, whose mind, With everj- grace to soothe, to warm. Has lavish Nature blessed, and 'shrined The sweetness in as soft a form. " Thy smile so soft, thy heart so kind, Thy voice for pity's tones so fit, All speak thee woman ; but thy mind Lifts thee where Bards and Sages sit." The song by which Mrs Stewart is known to fame — Tlie tears I sited — was first published in the fourth volume of Johnson's Scots Musical Museum in 1792. It is there adapted to the air " lanthe the lovely,' the composition of John Barret, an old English musician. Burns acquaints us that the song wanted four lines to suit the music, and that for this purpose he added the fii-st four lines of the last verse. In the index to the Museum he terms it "This song of genius," and though we are aware that he was sometimes a[)t to be lavishly extravagant in his praise of songs that pleased him, this, at least, is not unworthy of the encomium he bestowed on it. The second s])ecimen of her talents which we give appears in Laing's Additii)iial Illmtralions nf the Lyrk Poetrii and Music of Srotlaiul, and breathes, in graceful language, the same strain of tender feeling which rharacterises her more famous 70 PoHTs or LiM.rnniowsiniu:. production. 80 far as we can ascertain Mrs Stewart's poetical efforts were confined to these two son^s, which are siithciently chaste and tender in expression to give her a place amongst that sweet sisterhood of song to which Scotland is indelited for some of her finest lyrics. TiiK Tkaiis I SiiKii MIST i;\ Kii Fai.i.. The tears 1 slied must ever fall : I mourn not for an absent swain ; For tliought.s may ])ast delights recall, And parted lovers meet again. 1 weep not for the silent dead : Their toils are past, their soriows o'er ; And those they loved theii- steps shall tread, And death shall join to jiait no more. Though boundl(!ss oceans roll between, If certain that his heart is near, A conscious transport glads each scene, Soft is the sigh, and sweet the tear, pyen when by death's cold hand removed, We mourn the tenant of the tomb : To think that e'en in death he loved Can gild the horrors of tlie tomb. But bitter, bitter are the tears Of her who slighted lo\e bewails ; No hope her dreary prospect cheers, No pleasing melancholy hails. Hers are the pangs of wounded pride. Of bbisted ho]ie, of withered joy ; The flatt'ring veil is rent aside, The flame of love burns to destroy. In vain does memory renew The hours once tinged in transport's dye ; The sad reverse soon starts to view, And turns the pa.st to agony. Mas DvGALD Stewart. 71 E'en time itself despairs to cure Those pangs to every feeling clue : Ungenerous youth I thy boast how poor 1 To win a heart, — and break it too. Xo cold approach, no altered mien, Just \\ hat would make suspicion start ; Xo pause the dire extremes between. He made me blest — and broke mj' heart. From hope, the wretched"s anchor, turn ; Xeglected and neglecting all ; Friendless, forsaken, and forlorn ; The tears I shed must ever fall. Retcrxisg Sprin(; with (Ji^'vnsoME Ray. Retiuning Spring, with gladsome ray. Adorns the eaith and smooths the deep ; All Xature smiles serene and gay. It smiles, and yet, alas I I weep. Hut why, « liy tlows the sudden tear, Since Heaven such precious boons has lent. The lives of tho.se who life endear. And though scarce comjjetence — content? Sure wlieii no otliei' bliss was mine Than tliat whicli still kind Heaven be.stows. ^'et then could pe;ice and hope combine To piomise joy and give repose. Then have 1 wandered o'er the plain, And blessed each flower that met my view ; Tlioiight Fancy's power would evei- reign, And Xatnre's chai-jns be ever new. I fon iiioie ; Alas I aie all my hopes betrayed '.' (Jan nought my liap|)iness restore? Relentless power, at length be just, Thy Vtetter skill alone impai-t ; Crive caution, but witlihold distr'ust, And guard, but haiden not my heart. JoHS Watt. JOHN WATT. 1770(r)-1844. JOHN WATT, schoolmaster of the parish of Livingston for a long number of years, was born about the year 1770, and died in ISl-l. In 1834 he published Poems in the Scotch and English Dialect : a duodecimo volume of 1 20 pages. With three or four exceptions the poems treat of the Reform Bill and the stirring incidents that made the election preceding the passing of that measure so memor- able. Watt appears to have been an ardent reformer, and, in consequence, his little book is "Dedicated to the Honourable AVorthies that have stood firmly forward in the cause of freedom " : the county champions of which were •A Rosebery, (iillon, Daliiieii}, Hope Veie."' His verse consists chiefly of political lampoons, which, however well they may serve the purpose of the hour, have generally little to recommend them to posterity. Like (Goldsmiths Parish Schoolmaster, " many a joke had he," and humorous anecdotes of his career are still current among the older generation : but, like that same worthy, '• I'a.st is all his fame : the very spot Where many a time he trium|)liefl is foifrot." To .lames Crowe, Esq., Livingston, who treasures a copy of his old schoolmaster's poems — probably the only one in existence — we are indebted for a perusal of the work, from which we ar<:- enabled to give thosf two specimens of 7 1 FOKTS OF LlMirilGOWSUIRE. Watt's powers outside of tlie politic;il arena wliere, like Ehoiiezer Klliott, his muse found her native element in the seething sea of reform, and amid the whirlwind of party strife. TllK DiaNKAKl). He wha (lail_\ o'er liis bottle Tipples till he's beiistly fou Murders wit, ciubez/.lcs i-eason. Cash an' credit s throuijh. Strength an" breeding t\ ne theii' niainspiing. Truth, fine feelings, erijjpled sair, Social friendshi|) tynes its balance, Swees, or yields to black des])air. Conscience an' religion tlrouket. Common sense the leins does (|uit, Love an" kindness are bambousel'd. Knowledge, huffed, betakes to Might. Friends an' kindied, w ives an" sweethesirts, Driven from the fond embrace ; Home, that garden fraught with pleasui-e. Charmless, turns a loathsome place. Every feeling "s drowned or da vert, Virtue's fortress strippet bare, A' its towers an" bulwarks level'd. Not one sentry planted there. Lust, rage, malice, — Satan's minions- Unrestrained, usurp the power; Plant their standards, frame theii- counsels, Faith an' grace's troojjs devour : Self-will acts as chief ('(niiiiiander, Loo.se tongue's master o" tiic mess. Impudence the burgomaster, (Quarrelsome lifter o" the ce.ss. Jobs Watt. "•"> Infamy '.« made standard-bearer. Insolence the gates does guard. Unsound reason is made chaplain : Is such a wretch for death prepared '. Ardext Spirits. Yae gill "s enough, be "t cheap or dear, To brace the nerves, set wit asteer, Arouse the sense, the judgment clear Full length jx)urtray ; Man's love or hate, friendship or fear, Real worth display. Twa maks the tongue an' wit inair fleet, Mair sly wi' gum])tion guid to meet. Love's tlame may burke, or heedless beat Discretion blin' ; (ii'es slander wings, an' falsehood feet. To flee an' rin. A third, .sen.y Lis i.iTiiaowsiiiHH. Fkost in Tin: Miikmn". I "in siire ye "11 lia'e lieard o' the year seventeen, W'lion the frost o' October set in veij' keen ; Tlif niaist o' oor niuirlancl craps then bein' green Were ruined by three o' thae mornin's. An' after the frost an' tiie snaw gaed awa', Tlie rain it cam' on like to ruin us a' ; It lasted sae lang that it shortened oor straw, Whicli added inair dule to oor mornin'. But besides a' this a scheme I had laid ; I had promised to wed wi' a beautiful maid, T<1 share o' the owercome when a'thing was paid, But was baffled wi' fiost in the mornin'. Noo since my wee crap is a' snug in the yaird, An ' still for the lassie I ha'e a regaird, I think I will wed her an' no pay the laird — Let him ken it was frost in the mornin' I William Cameros. WILLIAM CAMERON. 18U1-1877. WILLIAM CAMEROX, to Avhom we are indebted for so many fine lyrics, was born at Dunipace, Stirlingshire, on the 3rd of December, 1801, and there his early years were sjjent. It was originally intended to educate him for the ministry, and towards this end he had made considerable progress in his studies in divinit}'^ ; but the death of his father, while William was but seventeen years of age, interfered materially with his prospects. He ultimately abandoned all thoughts of entering the church, and betook himself to the less lucrative but none the less honourable profession of teaching. In 1826 he received the appoint- ment of teacher at Armadale, where he remained for over ten years. What his success as a teacher was Ave cannot tell at this distance of time : but he certainly impressed his scholars and others who knew him with the gentleness and kindness of his disposition. The ever lessening number of the members of that circle who came under his influence still love and honour his name, and speak of "gentle Willie Cameron " in terms of glowing admiration and praise. Amid the beauties of Birkenshaw and the surroundings of "that sweet rural spot" the inspiration of the poet came upon him, and he sang of "Jessie o' the Dell" and ".Sweet Birken.shaw' in songs that will never die. In 183G he quitted his situation in Armadale and removed to Glasgow, where he did business in various kinds of merchandise till his death in 1877. 80 Poets of Ianlitiigowsuirk. Some of his Hnest songs, I'.ij., Jessie o /he Dell, Moi'ag's Foeni Glen, Meet me on the (rowan Lea, Ac, were set to music l\y Mattliew Wilson, wliile his Bofhwell Castle has been wedded to uii ('(lually beautiful air by Nathaniel (low, the youngest son of "famous Neil.'' ' Cameron's songs arc all characterised by a felicity and a tenderness of poetic expression that i)lace him very high on the list of Scotland's famous song- writers, and of him it may be a})propriately said that " While Sonir is loved, and Nature's beauties all Have a respcmsive homage from the heart, So shall the beautj' of his winningr Mwse Be loved, and so admired." Sweet Jessie o' thk I)i;i,i.. bright the beaming (|ueen o" night Shines in yon tiowery vale, And softly sheds her silvei- light O'er mountain-path and dale : Short is the way when light s the lieart That 's bound in love's soft s| lell ; Sae I '11 awa' to Armadale To Jessie o' the Dell. To Jessie o' the Dell, Sweet Jessie o' the Dell, The bonnie lass o' Armadale, Sweet Jessie o" the Dell. We've pu'd the jHimrose on the braes Beside my Je.ssie's cot ; We've gathered nuts, we've gathered slaes In that sweet ruial spot. 1 Vide Baptie's Musical Scotland, p. 68. William Camerox. 81 The M ee short liours danced merrily. Like lambkins on the fell. As if they join'd in jo\' wi" me And Jessie o' the Dell. Sweet Jessie o" the Dell, &c. There s nane to me wi" her can vie, I '11 love her till I dee ; For she "s sae sweet and bonnie aye, And kind as kind can be. This night in mutual kind embrace, O wha our joys can tell ! Then I "11 awa' to Armadale To Jessie o' the Dell. Sweet Jessie o' the Dell, &c. Mv Wii.i.ii: an" Me. As wand"riii mt'lli>\v minis times liis l.-iy, The bliiekbiid swells his note, And little robin sweetly sinfjs Abdve the woody grot. Then meet me, love, by a' unseen, Beside yon mossy dtni ; Oil, meet me, love, at^ dewy eve. In Moiaji's Faery (ilen. Come when the sun in lobes of gold Sinks o'er yon hills to rest, And fragrance floating in the breeze Comes frae the dewy west ; And I will ])u' a garland gay To deck thy brow sae fair. For many a woodbine covered glade And sweet wild flower is there. There's nnisic in the wild cascade, Theie 's love among the trees, There 's beauty in ilk bank and brae. And balm upon the breeze ; There 's a' of nature and of art That maistly weel could be, Aufl, oh ! my love, when thou art there There "s bliss in store for me. Meet mk on thi'; (Jowan Lea. Meet me on the gowan lea, Bonnie Mary, sweetest Maiy ; Meet me on the gowan lea. My ain, my artless Mary. Before the sun sink in the west And nature a" has gane to rest. There to my fond, my faithfu' breast, O let me clasp my Mary. William Camerox. 35 The gladsome lark o'er mooi- and fell, The Untie in the bosky dell, Nae blither than your bonnie sel", My ain, my artless Marj-. We '11 jom our love-notes to the breeze That sighs in whispers through the trees. And -.y that twa fond hearts can please Will be oui- sang, my Mary. There ye shall sing the sun to rest, Wliile to my faithfu' bosom })ressed, Then wlia sae hapjiy, wha sae blest As nie and my dear Mary ': 86 PoKTs or JjisLiriiaowsmiiH. Sli; JAMES YOUNG SIMPSON. 181] KS70. TA.>rp:S YOUNG SIMPSON wus born at Bathgate oit 'J the 7th of .hme, 1811. His father followed the trade of a baker there, and James was the youngest of a fann'ly of eight— seven boys and a girl. At the time of his birth the little baking business was not in a very Nourishing condition : his father was of an easy-going disposition, which was, however, more than compensated for l)y the energy and industry of the mother. Mrs Simpson appears to have been a pious woman with a liberal endowment of shrewd common-sense and business capacity, yet withal a kind and fond woman of the home. The world is more indebted to such mothers than it can ever repay or even know. While her boy was only nine years of age she died : but her memory and influence were sacredly treasured in the l)oy's heart, and they continued to l)e a power for good throughout his whole life. Dr Duns in his admirable memoir relates an interesting incident on this- subject : — " When in the height of his fame I heard a lady tell him of an industrial school for gii'ls which she had set up in a little village near Bathgate. 'And what does youi* schoolmistress teach the girls ? ' he asked. ' Some fancy work,' was the answer, 'and plenty of plain sewing and darning.' Shortly after, he said to me, 'Do you know, the mention of darning a little while ago recalls a very, very old and precious memory 1 One day, when a child, I came into the house with a big hole in the heel of my Sin James Youxg Simpsox. !SI stocking, and my mother set me on her knee, darned the stocking, and, as she drew it on, said, "My Jamie, wheiL your mother "s away, you will mind that she was a grand darner." I remember the words as if they had been spoken yesterday. I would like to give a prize to the best darner in the school/ " His only sister Mary was now the manager of the home and filled up the blank in the boy's life as well as she possibly could. These two were warmly attached to each other. Before and after school hours the baker's laddie went his rounds with the "brod" dispensing scones and " baps " to his father's customers. At school he wa& of a " steerin' " disposition — qualified to hold his own alike in the playground and the class-room. He was remarkable for the possession of a very tenacious memory, and won for himself the golden opinions of his dominie, who discerned in young Simpson the promise of future greatness. His own brothers and sister were equally proud of his talent and, nuich to their credit, clubbed together for the purpose of paying his expenses at Edinburgh University. There, in his third session, he secured a bui'sary by which he was enabled to complete his medical course without further encroachment on the family generosity. During the first two sessions he kept an exact account of his expenses, which, at the end of each term, he submitted to the family council. Some of these entries are very amusing in tlieii- associations. For instance we find "vegetables'" and " Byron's ' Beauties ' '' tabulated together : " Finnan Haddies, 2d., and 'Bones f)f the Leg,' £1 Is." look well together; while "siuifi", Ud.," is sandwiched between "Duncan's 'Therapeutics,' 9d.," and '"Early Ifising,' iUd."— with the evident pnipose of imparting relish and seasoning ^8 PoKTs OF LiM.irimowsiiini:. to otherwise (]iy subjects. His attic cost him three shillini,'s per week, and we loam that after pi-oscciitiiig his .stiulies till far into the morning he was accustomed to prepare for enjoying shimber by writing a few verses of comic poetry ! {purely seldom has the comic muse been invoked under more inauspicious circumstances, and it is matter for some regret that none of these ultra-midniirht <'tfusions has survived the subsequent wear and tear of a busy life. In 1832 he graduated M.D., his thesis on Death from InHammation receiving the special notice of Thomson, Professor of Pathology, to whom during 1837-38 he acted as assistant. Professor Thomson employed him in the preparation of his course of lectures on General Pathology, and during the professor's illness Dr Simpson supplied his place in the lecture-room with unusual ability. In 1835 he visited London and the Continent, and on his return journey north halted at Liverpool, where he fell in love with Miss Grindlay, the daughter of his host, who afterwards became his help-meet in the truest sense of the word. The most of his love-letters are dated at one, two, iind three o'clock in the morning, so that there is every reason to believe that he was very much in love indeed. He had always had a special inclination towards Obstet- rics, and as an extra-mural lecturer on this subject his thoughtful and ingenious lectures were attended with distinguished success. The Chair of Midwifery becoming vacant in 1840, he succeeded Professor Hamilton in this onerous position, and entered on its responsibilities with characteristic energy. His reputation was such that patients crowded to his consulting room from all parts of the country. Fortunately he was blessed with a sj)lendi(l constitution and a genuine love foi' his ])rofe.ssion, else he Sir James Yorsa Si.vi'soy. 89 must inevitably have given way under the strain of his arduous duties. '• His heart was in the %\ork. and the heart Lendeth grace to every art." And truly the branch of his profession to which he had devoted himself with his whole soul, required all thf ameliorating influences of his science which skill and research could procuie. Mr Moody, the American evangelist, once remarked that the energetic business men of Chicago were the men who seemed to find opportunities of doing most religious and charitable work : the reason being that their business capacity enabled them to take advantage of the spare moments of life. This observation is very applicable to Professor Simpson. When the Disruption took place in 18-t.> he was one of the many able men who "came out," as it was termed, and formed the Free Church of Scotland. Like Hugh Miller he championed the infant church with pen and voice, and remained to the day of his death an enthusiast in all that pertained to its welfare. But it is as the discoverer of chloroform that Profe.ssor Simjjson's name will be for ever recorded in the annals of fame. This substance, which is chemically known as e<;ri in existence in ancient times, for it contiiuially ciops up in ancient records and traditions. Hemp appears to liave l)een employed in many instances for this ])urpose ; )>\it " Not popin, nor mandratrora, Nor all the drowsy syrups of tlie world " 90 I'OKTS OF LiNLITIlGOWSIlIRK. h;i\ c secured for sull'oiing humanity the power to defy pain in its most torturing aspects so eHectually as the aiiiesthetic suhstance known as chloroform. For many years before its discovery Professor Simpson experimented almost contiiHially. Some discoveries are made (piite accidently : but those to which the world owes most have not been "attained by sudden tlit, But overy diop will tell ; The bucket would soou In- cuiiity Without the i hoi is in tin- well. Only a poor little penny, It was all I had to give ; But as pennies make the shilline;s It may hel{) some work to live. A few little bits of ribbon. Ami some toys — they were not new, But they made the sick child happy. Which made me happy too. Only some out-grown garments, They were all I had to spare ; But they '11 help to clothe the needy— And the poor are everywhere. A word now and then of comfort That costs me little to say ; But the poor old man died liappy, And it helped him on the way. <4od loveth the cheerful giver Though the gift be poor and small : What doth He think of His children When they never give at all ? Ebexezeh Oliphast. 95 EBENEZER OLIPHANT. 1813-1893. EBENEZER OLIPHANT was the third son of Ebenezer Oliphant, schoolmaster at Torphichen, where he was born on the 15th of September, 1813. His father was a native of Comrie, Perthshire, and claimed kinship with that staunch old Jacobite, Oliphant of Gask, the father of Lady Nairne. Ebenezer was educated at his father's school and acted as assistant teacher till he was twenty years of age, when he served his apprenticeship to the mason trade, which occupation he followed for twenty years in his native village. His brother had for many years carried on business as a baker in Linlithgow, and on his removal to another part of the town our poet succeeded him. This business he successfully conducted for forty yeai's, and it is now in the hand.s of his son and namesake. He was of a genial and kindly disposition and was very highly respected in the wide circle of his friends and acquaintances. He was always in request at social gatherings where the latest jeu d'esjmt of his muse was a welcome addition to the evening's enjoyment. Curling contained for him the very essence of life and pleasure, and on this subject he has written some of his best songs, generally composed on the ice during intervals of play. John PVost was his patron saint, and no .saint in the calendar had ever such a devoted worshipi)er. To the last he retained a keen interest in Scotland's aiii game, and the 96 I'oKTS or Li.\i./Tii(;(iusii/i!h: tirst tixjljJiiiil (if St. Joliii on tlic hills was a signal fof him to si't his c'haiincl-stanes in oider. SuhouiuIimI by his family he passed peacefully away on the Jiid of May, 1893, in his ei-^ditieth ygar. Very few of liis poems have been published as lie was always xcvy ditlident in the mattei' of press publication, and it is throui,di the kindness of his son already mentioned that we are enabled to give these specimens of his poetic abilitj . To A BkITHKR ChlilJCK. I like weel to hear o' tlic keen game o' curlin' Though gre\- is my hair noo an' craz'd are my banes. For I min' sin' I cried like the Irislmian's starlin', •• Will ye no let nie oot wi" my besom and stanesV Whan aiild .lohii sat doun at the wast neiik o" Cockle, An' his banner display'd a' the lads wi' their biooms, If the game was for fun or the medal was local Oor teeth never chittered at auld .focey Hume's. .\rr whan we crap sdiith to the tap u' auld Tory, Near the Cairnaple heid stootl a wee mossy dam — Nae clud thanadays cuist a gum ower oor glory, For warm was oor welcome fae Charley an" Tam. Oor curlin'-stanti ban's, there weie some o' them wud than, Wi' grey pockey faces, auld battle-scaured hides, But oor sennans were screw'd up tiirn" Anakim blude than. An' loud groan'd the Witch-eraig wi" soun's fae their sides. We faught till the sun sank fai- south fae Ben Lomon', An' slow was the slaughter foi- dour was the yoke. An' whane'er the tirst star stiaek its lamp i' the "-loamin" We campit a' nicht wi' a frien' at the Knock. A pie i' the ase-hole was bakit there foi' us ; The chuckie.s we picket were naebody's kain. An' the dews o' Mounteerie they hoistit the chorus Till the seven hills cried " that s the real auld Jock Bane." Ebenezer iilji'iiaxt. 97 By yon grey moukrri!!' Fane some clear cronies are sleepin', An" .some far adiift fae tlieii- dear native hame, An" though some lemembiance to us may be creepin", They nae mair can mix in aiild Scotland's ain game. We micht hail some aiice mair iin" be happy theo'ithei-, An' roar roun" the tee by t'a"-hnv meadow burn, But will they come back through auld time's stormy weather r Tlie days of oiu- youth they (.-an never return. An" whiles 1 sigh sair ower tlie sad retrospection, As lanely I sit a half-stifled recluse. For maist a' the frien's o' mj' curlin' affection Are photographed only in memory's views. Wi" tliem never mair will I slide on tlie ditches. Or skid doun the (.Jreen on auld three-fitted stools, Hut they'll aye keep a stance in my heart's deepest niches,. Till time haps me u]) wi' oblivion's mods. Ll.NKS UNDER \ PirOTOfiK.\I>ir. We've often seen the partin' screen Draj> wi" a sudden fa' ; An' frien's weel kent, we 've seen them sent By slow degrees awa". But whan the dart may strike this heart Remains with the Un.seen - Yet tak' this caid wi' my regard, To shew we 've Brithers been. (iie it, deal- sir, in fiien'ship's beuk, Some vacant spat, I crave. That some kind e"e on it may leuk, W'lian 1 rust in my grave. For three score years an' something mair. .\Ij' photograph bespeaks ("auld winter's cranreiich's on my liair, .An' time lias j)leugh'd my cheeks. 98 /'oKTs ni- Lisi.rnniowsiiiuE. An' lhiou>.>-li my f^Miiiit windows noo, Lifi'"s laiu-ly ^rli)aniin' steals ; But by tliat twilight 1 can view My sairworn cistern wheels. For oh ! my shouthei's bendin' fast, My sta|) has lost its pace. An' weel I ken death sune maun cast Its shadow ower my ^'«;e. But though my dust to dust be given. An' cold my silent heart — We meet again, I hojie, in heaven, Wham- dear Men's never i)art. Whan auld frien's gather roun' my bier- My much loved chosen few, Some ane perchance may drap a tear, An' breathe a saft Adieu ! An' whan ower me the mools descend — Though them I winna hear, They 11 tell ye to keep near the Friend That keeps the course a' clear. An' if ye rin a heavenward race, You '11 reach a happy goal — That everlasting dwelling place, "The Palace of the Soul." Vek.ses to Thomas Hamilton, Esq., Latu of Cathlaw, now in Australia. Whan memory taks a flicht In the silence o' the nicht. On the tap of Cairneypapple whiles I licht ; But I canna see the fules Wi' their besoms, stanes, an' shules. Nor the jilts that shule on stules wi' can'le licht. EbEXEZKR OlI I'll AST. 99 I hae seen the silent moon On the curlers glow'rin' doun, Whan the chaiinel-stanes were runnin" keen an" clear ; But, oh I how few are left To tak' them h\ the heft, They are miisterin" ilka year roun' the Queer.' An' I '11 sune be sleepin' soun" Whaur ra^- Brithers are laid doun, Wi' the bonnie grassy divots on my breast, Till the mighty trumpet's sound Shall tear up my little mound, An" I '11 soar awa' to glory 'mang the blest. Noo a lang an' last adieu To my Mother Club an' you ; Maj- ye ne'er hae ony cause to mak' ye weep : Though ye 've left auld Scotia's shore To return nevermore Vou micht ca' at Grey Torphichen through your sleep. There within the silent grave Lie the noble, young an' brave. An' their nairow hames are scattered here an' theie ; ^'ou may read upon their tombs They hae a' laid doun their brooms. An' we '11 tak" them in oor oxters nevermair. But the brume will grow as green. An' the ice will be as keen. An' Scotland's ain auld game will gang on : An' though rotten are oor banes Ither ban's will play oor stanes Whan we baith shall be alike forgot an' gone. ' Torphichen Preceptory or Scotsman, and afterwards became his firm friend. At the age of twenty-seven Shairp was invited to become an assistant master in Kugby School, of which his friend Dr Tait was head-master. This he accepted, and there the next eleven years of his life were spent. He was a very successful master, and took a deep interest in the welfare of the boys under his charge — an interest not merely confined to the class-room ; but by reason of " That best portion of ii good man's life — His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love" he is still honoured and loved by old Rugby scholars. Despite the success with which he laboured g-t Kugby we can trace in his letters a longing for some post in the schools or universities of his own native land. Inten.sely imbued with the spiiit of patriotism he loved the hills and tjlens of Scotland with all the devotion of an exile. " If I did not see the heather once a year I believe I should die," said Scott to Washington Irving ; and Shairp considered a year wasted of which no part was spent Jous Campbell Sijaiju: 103 in rambling through the Highlands, among the Border hills, or in the more peaceful beauty of his native county. In Professor Knight's ideal hiogra,\)\iy -^Frtncipal Shairp and his Friends — we ha\e many bright sketches of these tours, which were generally made in compan}' Avith kindred spirits, and all evince the deep reverence and interest with which he regarded the scenery of his country and its historical associations. Is he on the Borders 1 then must he take the freshness of the morning and walk over the hills to visit Crawford's evergreen Bush ahoon Traquair, and make it bloom Ijonnier yet in his own exquisite verses : or he is toiling up Dobb's Linn to view "the dark Loch Skene'" and the dreary morass of the Long Grain, where, under the shadow of the AVhite Coomb and in the wild ravines of the Midlaw Burn, the martyred llenwick and the devoted "remnant" of the children of the Covenant found their last refuge from the dragoons of Claverhouse. In the Highlands he seeks the haunts of the .Jacobites and wanders wide amon^ the gloomy "lens " Tliat .sheltered Scothind's heir," and which by such associations are rendered doubly dear to him. Such is the man— a Scot of the Scots, consumed \vith the perferviduin ingeninm Scotorum, and a worshipper of all that is romantic, beautiful and noble in the scenes and history of his country. In this connection Professor Veitch remarks : " It was tho.se scenes met face to face, acting on a poetic soul, and strong historical and patriotic sympathies, which, by their own features and theii- power to such a mind of an ever-thrilling suggestion, made Shaiip what he truly was, as poet or even prose writer." In Shairp's .h'uriKiJ foi- I S 11» we find the following 104 POKTS OF Ll S I.ITlKiOWSII I lu:. ch;ir;ioteiistic entry, mailc at lloustouii after listoniiit,' to a senuoii by the Rev. .1. Smith of Kcclesniachaii : — "Many things haunt me, in the calmness antl unbroken How of my life here. I often wonder whetlicr or not it would be better to give u[) some of the pleasures— hunting for instance ; not that I think it wrong, but 1 have scruples about it. Pcrha{)s it l>reaks in on any dawniugs of spirituality ; on the other hand it is freshening, exhilarating, strengthening for body and mind. And it does not do to encourage moibid or womanly feelings, nor to begin a life of self-denial fioni which one may afterwards recede. Better to be slow in beginning than too fjuick and rash. Still let me try to be honest." This (|uestioning of his soul as to anything that might retard its upward flight l)Ut instances that earnestness of purpose whi(Oi evei' animated liis life, and won the love of his friends. Hunting and curling appear to have been the only two recreations foi- which he had any relish : the former he has celebrated in The Run, and the lattei* in The /Jon spiel. On 23rd June, 1853, he married Eliza Douglas, a sister of his college fiiend Henry Douglas, afterwards Bishoj) of Bombay. In October, 1857, Shairp was ai)pointed deputy-professor of Latin in St. Andrews, and four years later oti the death of Dr Pyper he obtained the professorship. This post he filled for seven years with honoui- alike to himself and the University, and on the decease of Principal Forbes, son-in- law of the illustrious "Christopher North,'' in 1868, he was elected Principal of the United College of St. Salvador and St. Leonard, which office he held till his death. In 1864 he publi.shed Kilmalioe mul other Poems, wliicli contains some of his finest efforts. Of The Bush nlxmii Jouy Campbell Siia/iu: 105 Traquair Dr PJrown, the gifted author of Bab and his Friends, writes thus : — " I like this more and more. It has an unspeakable charm, — the true pastoral melanchol)^ of the region — and these lono; satisfvinc; lines, like the stride of a shepherd over the crown of Minchmoor. I would rather be the man to write this exquisite song than Gladstone with all his goodness and greatness." In June, 1877, Shairp was appointed Professor of Poetry in the I'niversity of Oxford, which post he was enabled to hold in conjunction with the St. Andrews principalship. From 1880 his health had been indiflferent, and in the early summer of 1885 he visited the Kiviera where he stayed for two months without much appreciable improve- ment. Returning to Scotland the bracing air of his native land seemed to revive him : but while on a visit to Ormsary, Argyll, he took ill, and getting gradually weaker died on the 18th of September, 1885. His body was interred in the family vault within Uphall Parish Church. In the following year St. Andrews commemorated his worth by placing a memorial window in the College Church there. His principal works are : — • Kilmalioe Jind other I'oems," 1S()4. ••Studies in Poetry and Philosophy,' 1868. ••(,*ultiire and Relifi'ion," 187<». •'Tlie Poetic Interpretation of Nature," 1877. •' Burns"' (for Morleys series of Men of Letters), 1879. •' AH|)ects of Poetry," 1881. "(ilen Desseray," 188r>. "Sketclies in History and Poetry," 18H7. The last two were published jjosthuniously, though the last named had a])peared in ISS^J in Fra-.rr'.^ Muf/adue. 106 I'ovrs or LiMJTuaowsiuin:. The poetry of Sliairp is always fresh and redoknit of nature, and all unconsciously he mirrors his own character in his veisc. \\'c have a tine word-picture of his personality from the pen of l'n>fessor Veitch, who first met him at Tibbie Shiels' in the summer of 185(>, and describes him as '•a fair-haired, ruddy-faced, and manly man — with open light grey-blue eyes — frank and affable, with ready recog- nition." He adds. "I marked him inwardly as a congenial and lovable man." Few men ha\e made more oi- warmer friends than Principal Shairp, or lived more in thoir love and esteem. Among his friends he counted Norman Macleod, Clough, ]\latthew Arnold, Lord Coleridge, Archbishop Benson, Professor \'eitch, Dr John Brown and Dean Stanley, all of whom he impressed by his lovable and transparent nature. Thk Moor of Rannoch. O'er the dreary mooi- of Rannoch Calm these hours of Snbbatli shine ; But no kirk-bell here dividetii Week-day toil from re.st divine. Ages pa.ss, but .save the temjiest, Nothing heie makes toil or haste ; Busy weeks nor restful Sabbath Visit this abandoned waste. Long ere piow of earlie.st .savage Orated on blank Albyn's .shore Lay these drifts of granite boulders. Weather-bleached and lichened o'er. Beuchailie Etive's furrowed visage To Schihallion looked sublime, O'er a wide and wasted de.sert, Old and unreclaimed iis time. Jons Campbell Siiaiui: lOT Yea ! a desert wide and wasted. Washed by rain-floods to the bones ; League on league of heather blasted, Storm -gashed moss, grey boulder-stones ; And along these di-earj' levels, As bj' some stern destiny placed. Yon sad lochs of black moss water Grimly gleaming on the m aste ; East and west and northward sweeping. Limitless the mountain plain. Like a vast low-heaving ocean Girdled by its mountain chain : Plain, o'er which the kingliest eagle Ever screamed by dark Lochowe, Fain would droop a laggard pinion Ere he touched Ben-Aulder"s brow : Mountain-girdled,— there Bendoran To Schihallion calls aloud. Beckons he to lone Ben-Auldcr, He to Nevis crowned with cloud. Cradled here old Highland rivers, Etive, Cona, regal Tay, Like the shout of clans to battle, Down the goiges break away. And the Atlantic sends his pipers Uj) yon thunder-throated glen, O'er the moor at midnight sounding Pibrochs never heard by men. (Jlouds, and mists, and rains before them Crowding to the wild wind tune. Here to wage theii- all-night battle, UnbeheUl bv star and moon. 10^ POKTS OF Ll S l.iriKioWSIIIltK. LdikI the while down all liis hollows. Fliishincr with n liuiidied streams, Conie-bah from out t he darkness To tlio desert ro;us and j^leams. Sterner still, mcirc drrarly driven, There o' nij^hts the north wind i-aves His long homeless lamentation. As from Arctic seamen's graves. Till his mighty snow-sieve shaken Down hath blinded all the lift, Hid the mountains, plunged the moorland Fathom-deep in mounded diift. Such a time, while yells of slaughter Burst at midnight on Glencoe, Hither fl3'ing babes and mothers Perished 'mid tlie waste of snow. rountless storms have scrawled unheeded Characters o'er these houseless moors ; Hut that night engraven forever In all human hearts endures. Vet the heaven denies not healing To the darkest human things, And to-day some kindliei- feeling Sunshine o'er the desert flings. Though the long deer-grass is moveless, And the corrie-burns are drv, Music comes in gleams and shadows Woven beneath the dreaming eye. Desert not deserted wholly ! Wheie such calms as these can come,— Never tempest more majestic Than this boundless silence diind). JoHs Campbell Shaiiu: 109- TllK BrsH AKOON TltAi.HAlK. Will ye gang wi" me ami fare To the bush aboon Traquair ? Owre the high Minchmuir we 11 up and awa". This bonny simmer noon. While the sun shines fair aboon. And the licht sklents saftly doun on hohn and lia*. And what would ye do there, At the bush aboon Traquair '! A lang dreich road, ye had better let it be ; Save some auld skiunts o' birk r the hill-side lirk, There's nocht i" the waild for man to see. But the blithe lilt o' that air, " The Bush aboon Traquair," I need nae mair, it 's eneuch for me ; Owre my cradle its SMeet chime Cam' sughin' frae auld time, Sae tide what may, I 11 awa" and see. And what saw ye there At the bush aboon Tracjuair ? Or what did ye hear that was worth your heed ? I heard the cushies croon Through the gowden afternoon. And the Quair burn singing doun to the Vale o" Tweed. And birks saw I three or four, WV giey moss beardc