THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 T 
 
 ANNA HILL S 
 
 Songs and Poems.
 
 /uyi>^- i/W^.^tX'^^
 
 Complete Songs and Poems 
 
 or 
 
 Robert Tannahill, 
 
 WITH LIFE AND NOTES. 
 
 Taknauill's Birthplace. 
 
 PAISLEY: 
 Published by Wm. Wilson, Bookseller and Stationer. 
 
 1877.
 
 5 6 H ^ 
 I «77 
 
 gifc of Bobcrt Ijliinnalull 
 
 .© OBERT TANNAHILL was born in Paisley on the 3rd 
 
 wii of June, 1774. The Cottage, No. 32 Castle Street, 
 
 is now, from very conclusive evidence, believed to be the 
 
 birth-place of the poet ; and on the anniversary of his birth, 
 
 3rd June, 1872, a memorial stone inserted in the front of 
 
 the building (largely through the instrumentality of the 
 
 late Bailie J. J. Lamb) was unveiled by Provost Murray in 
 
 presence of the Tannahill Club, and a large concourse 
 
 of people. The following is the inscription upon the 
 
 tablet : — 
 
 Birth Place 
 
 or 
 
 EGBERT TANNAHILL, 
 
 BoEN 3rd June, 1774. 
 
 " Here nature first waked me to rapture and love. 
 And taught oe, her beauties to sing." 
 
 His father was a James Tannahill, who came originally from 
 Kilmarnock, and his mother, Janet Pollock, the daughter of 
 a farmer near Beith. Both parents were of most respect- 
 able character; and his mother, in particular, was gifted 
 with an intelligence above her station. He was the fourth 
 of a family of seven, and his education was very elementary, 
 being limited to the three " R's," and in these even his 
 advancement was not great. The education, however, of 
 one who is born a poet, does not altogether depend on 
 schools and schoolmasters. Even in his school-days he 
 showed a love for verse writing. When only ten years of 
 age Tannahill began the writing of short pieces in verse, 
 which were generally composed upon some "queer" char- 
 acter living in the neighbourhood, or upon some rare cir- 
 cumstance which had taken place. After leaving school he 
 was apprenticed for five years to the hand-loom weaving, 
 and it was while sitting at his loom that the greater part 
 of his pieces were composed. That his literary pursuits 
 might not encroach on his daily occupations, he had a small 
 
 4 878 J.', o 
 
 engush'
 
 IV LIFE OP TANNAIIILL. 
 
 rough plank board attached to the si(h; of his loom which 
 he used as a Avriting desk ; so that when lie had a verse 
 composed he could jot it down without waste of much time. 
 In this way, it is said, some of his best songs were com- 
 posed. "With the exception of a short residence in Loch- 
 winnoch (where Alexander Wilson the poet and ornitho- 
 logist was then too weaving), and two years in Bolton, 
 Lancashire, his life was spent in Paisley. He and his 
 brother went to England, tempted perhaps by the report of 
 great wages given beyond the Border for figured work, for 
 which Paisley was then justly noted, or more probably by 
 a desire to see the country. The suddeij and serious illness 
 of his father recalled him to Paisley where he ever after- 
 wards resided, living -with, and dutifully supporting his 
 wddowed mother. 
 
 Although he doubtless composed many pieces in his 
 younger days, none of them, with the exception of a song 
 in praise of Ferguslie Wood, where he used frequently to 
 wander, were printed. Soon after his return from Eng- 
 land the poet had the good fortune to becopie acquainted 
 with R. A. Smith, the well-known composer of music, 
 (also a Paisley man, and then leader of psalmody in the 
 Abbey),* who composed original music for many of his 
 songs, while various others he set to music ; and so beauti- 
 fully do the wonls and the music suit one another, tliat 
 Tannahill and Smith, as household words, go together. 
 
 By the advice of Mr. Smilh, and other friends, Tanna- 
 hill published the first edition of his poems in 1807. He 
 superintended it himself, and occasionally gave the printer's 
 Devil a shilling to push on the work. It was dedicated to 
 his bosom friend, William M'Laren, in tliese terms : — 
 
 " To Mr. William M'Laren, 
 Sir, 
 With gratitude I reflect on the happy hours we have 
 spent together, and in testimony of the liigh regard I en- 
 tertain for your many worthy and amiable qualities, I take 
 
 * A magnificent organ has lately been placed in the Abbey Church, 
 several line ineinoriiil windows have replaced the old plain glass ones, and 
 the old houses forming tlie cast aide of Abbey Close have been removed, 
 nnd a fine wide street fornicd, thua improving that locality, and exposing 
 to view the venerable pile. 
 
 I
 
 LIFE OF TANNAHILL. ▼ 
 
 the liberty of inscribing to you this little voiume. Several 
 of the pieces contained in it you have already seen, and if 
 the others afford you any pleasure, it will add much to the 
 happiness of, 
 
 Dear Sir, 
 
 With true respect and sincerity, 
 Your friend, 
 
 Robert Tannahill." 
 
 The following is the very modest preface of this same 
 edition : — 
 
 "The author of the following poems, from a hope that 
 they possess some little merit, has ventured to publish 
 them ; yet, fully sensible of that blinding partiality with 
 which WTiters are apt to view their own productions, he 
 offers them to the public with unfeigned diffidence. When 
 the man of taste and discrimination reads them, he will, no 
 doubt, find many passages that might have been better, but 
 his censures may be qualified with the remembrance that 
 they are the effusions of an unlettered mechanic, whose 
 hopes, as a poet, extend no further than to be reckoned 
 respectable among the minor bards of his country. 
 
 Several of the songs have been honoured with original 
 music by Mr. Ross, of Aberdeen, and others by Mr. Smith, 
 Paisley ; the remainder were mostly written to suit favour- 
 ite Scotch and Gaelic airs that particularly pleased the 
 Author's fancy. 
 
 The "Interlude" was undertaken by desire of the late 
 Mr. Archibald Pollock, comedian, but, alas ! ere it was well 
 begun, his last act was played. He was a Avorthy man, and 
 di^d deeply regretted by all who knew him. 
 
 The author returns his sincere thanks to his numerous 
 subscribers, particularly to those friends who have so warmly 
 interested themselves in promoting the present publication, 
 and with a due sense of their favours, he has only further 
 to solicit their indulgence in the perusal of his volume, 
 assuring them that their kindness in the present instance, 
 shall long be felt Avith gi'atitude and ever risteemed among 
 the first pleasures of the memory. 
 
 Tile Author."
 
 VI LIFE OP TANK All ILL. 
 
 The little volume w;i.s well received, many of his songs 
 becoming highly popular. Tunnaliill, liowever, was not 
 ])uili'd up, but on the contrary asserted that the work had 
 many imperfections. "1 am confident," said he, "had I 
 waited a few years longer, I would have presented a volume 
 less exceptionable." He therefore soon set about correcting 
 his productions, and frecpicntly adding a new piece, with a 
 view to a fresh issue. Lovo and Nafure were his subjects. 
 The former he looked upon with the eye of a poet, and 
 described her features with fidelity, beauty, and grace. 
 His ready access at all times to the " J3onnie Woods of 
 Craigielea," to the " Newton Wood, the " Birks o' Stanley 
 Shaw," and the " Gleniffer Braes," afforded him many advan- 
 tages in pourtraying so beautifully and truthfully rural 
 scenery. 
 
 Some of the fair objects of his love strains are supposed 
 to have been imaginary, yet, in most cases they were drawn 
 from originals. Being well acquainted with the tender 
 feelings of love and domestic attachment, as well as with 
 the manners and customs of the people of Scotland, his 
 verses not oidy gave great pleasure to the reader, but sank 
 deep into the heart, and were calculated, fjxr beyond any 
 other means to give a perfect picture of the scenes and 
 characters they described. In Tannahill's poetry, imagina- 
 tion is seldom employed to interest the feelings ; but his 
 pictures are drawn from real life, hence the easy access his 
 verses have to the heart. " And in no case does he over- 
 step the limits of delicacy, or express a sentiment olfensive 
 to the ear of modesty." It would not, indeed, l)e any easy 
 task to give the merits of one like Tannahill, who, while 
 earning his daily bread, Ijy hard manual labour, has attained 
 a position, inferior to few of the bards of our country. 
 
 The success which the first i)u])lication of his poems ftnd 
 songs obtained, made his ac(|uaintance courted by many 
 who were his superiors in station ; and it is gratifying to 
 know that the jxx^t lived to witni'ss the extensive; po[)ularity 
 of his songs, whicJi were pronounced to be " the very per- 
 fection of song writing," and to hear them sung, both in cot- 
 tage and in hall. 
 
 But his mind, which was naturally prone to despondency, 
 and despairing of ever bein:: able to raise himself above the 
 
 1
 
 IIFE OF TAIWAniLL. vii 
 
 obscurity of liis original condition, soon gave way to a habit 
 of coufirnic'd melancholy. l>esides, his constitution was 
 never strong. Consumption seemed to be a hereditary 
 disease of the family ; his fatlier, sister, and three brothers 
 having died of it. He, himself, often suffered from a pain 
 in the chest, and he seems to have made up his mind there- 
 fore, that he too would die of this disease. His countenance 
 assumed a pale and emaciated look ; nevertheless he worked 
 hard at the correction of his first edition, and also continued 
 to add fresh compositions. While in this melancholy state, 
 th(^ refusal of Mr. Constable— whose hands were already too 
 full — to undertake the publication of his Second Edition, 
 greatly added to the depression of his spirits, and he re- 
 solved to destroy everything which he had written. Thus, 
 a hundred of his songs, most of which had never been 
 printed, he burned, besides all those in which he had been 
 engaged correcting for a re-issue ; and so bent was he on 
 his work of destruction, that he recpicsted his friends and 
 acquaintances, to whom he had lent or given pieces, to return 
 the manuscripts, so that nothing might be left after his 
 death. Among those who visited him at this time was the 
 Ettrick Shepherd. After a night spent in delightful con- 
 geniality of sentiment, Tannahill convoyed Mr Hogg as far 
 as the " Half- Way " house between Glasgow and Paisley. 
 When they parted, Tannahill mournfully exclaimed with 
 tears in his ej^es, " Farewell, we shall never meet again," a 
 presentiment which was but too truly verified. 
 
 The day previous to his death he went to Glasgow, but 
 his eyes then were wild and disordered, his pulse beat with 
 violent agitation, and he complained of the treachery of his 
 friends, the decay of his frame, and the unsupportable 
 misery of his life. Such unequivo'cal proofs of mental 
 derangement did he display that one of his friends con- 
 sidered it necessary to accompany him home to Paisley. 
 His brothers hearing of his state hurried to his mother's 
 house, and finding him already gone to bed, and apparently 
 asleep, they left him thinking that next day he would be 
 much better. One of the brothers, however, returned in 
 about an hour after, and was greatly alarmed to find the 
 door open and his brother gone. A search was immediately 
 made, and in the dusk of the morning the coat of the poet
 
 ••• 
 
 VIU LIFE OF TAX^AnTLt,. 
 
 ■was found lyin.c; l)y tlio side of the Maxwelton Burn wTier* 
 tlic (ilasijow, Paisloy, and Julmstone Canal crosses, hy an 
 aijUtMluct, the little stream, l^cter Burnet* dived into the 
 pool and, to the intense grief of all, brought up the lifeless 
 body of Tannahill. Thus died, 17th May, 1810, the poet 
 in his thirty-sixth year. 
 
 While Ave hurry over his melancholy end, we cannot but 
 heave a sigh that such a gifted Kfe should set in so dark a 
 cloud. Rather would we muse on the wonderful composi- 
 tions of this Scottish son of toil, who has taught us many 
 lessons of purest morality, who has left a name as a song 
 writer little short of his great contemporary Burns, and 
 whose memory will never be forgotten so long as Scotland's 
 rugged mountains tower to the sky. 
 « * # # • 
 
 One hundred years have now nearly come and gone since 
 Tannahill first saw the light in " Seestu." Many gala days 
 during the cycle have btjen held in the quaint old town ; 
 but the Centenary of the poet's birth — the 3rd June, 1874 
 — promises to outstrip them all. A holiday has been pro- 
 claimed — the Freemasons and the various Trades have made 
 arrangements for a procession, which is to end in a pic-nic 
 at " TannahilPs Well" on the " Braes" — houses and streets 
 are to be decorated — in the afternoon a Banquet is to be 
 h(;ld in the Abercorn Rooms, presided over by Provost 
 Murray, Chairman of the Tannahill Club ; and in the 
 evening a Concert, chiefly of Tannahill's Songs, is to tak« 
 place in the Drill Hall, at which TilOMAS CoATS, Esq., ot 
 Ferguslie, will be Chairman ; and it is hoped that one result 
 of all this may be an enduring monument worthy of the 
 Poet, and worthy of the town which gave him birth. 
 
 The portrait of our author annexed to this volume is said 
 to be one of the best. Of course an oil painting was be- 
 yond his reach or thought, and photography was not 
 then discovered. There was no portrait of him taken 
 during his life, but after his death a sketch of his features 
 was taken, and it is from this that all the portraits have 
 emanated. 
 
 * Peter Burnet, or Black Peter as he was called in the district, was an 
 American Nopro, and an acquaintance of one of Tannahill's brothers. Tht 
 relations of the poet eyer afterwards showed him many attentions.
 
 NOTES ON SONGS AND POEMS. 
 
 "Jessie, the Flower of Dumbl.vne," is one of the most 
 popular of Scottish Songs. He who wrote it was an observer 
 of nature. The Music is by the poet's friend, Mr. K, A. Smith, 
 and is worthy of tlie Song. Jessie is now believed to have been 
 an imaginary fair one. 
 
 " The Lass O' Arranteenie." — This song was written upon a 
 young woman whom a friend of Tannahill's met at Arranteenie, or 
 Ardentinny, a beautiful spot on Loch Long, well kno^vn to Glasgow 
 and West Country people. Some of the lines remind us of 
 
 " Full many a gem of purest ray serene, 
 The dark unfathomed cavei of ocean bear ; 
 
 Full many a flower is born to blush unseen 
 And waste ita sweetness in the desert air." 
 
 — The Music is by Mr Ross, of Aberdeen. 
 
 " The Braes o' Gleniffer " contains some splendid touches of 
 nature, and is certainly among Tannahill's best. It is not, how- 
 ever, so well known as it deserves to be. The Braes were a great 
 haunt of Tannahill. Within two miles of Paisley, and containing 
 as they do a variety of beautiful scenery, they are nuicli resorted 
 to by lovers of nature from Paisley and the West of Scotland 
 generally. From the summit of the Braes you have a most exten- 
 sive prospect, and Mr Fulton, the proprietor at Glenfield, is most 
 willing to allow all decent peoi)ie to enter his part of them. The 
 ruins of Stanley Castle— the " Auld Castle" — lies at the base of the 
 hills, and is now surrounded by the water of Stanley Dam. 
 
 " OcH, Hey, Johnnie Lao."— The scene of this trysting place 
 is at the south side of the " Newton Woods." It is a very romantic 
 spot. Formerly there stood here a small house with garden 
 attached, called the Screechhill, which was given by the Laird, 
 Mr Spiers, to one of his old servants named Caldwell, along with 
 a portion of ground to graze a cow, as long as he lived. Along the 
 Newton Wonds was a favourite walk of the Poet's — and many a line 
 evening found him seated on the beer or old malt stone at the side 
 of old Caldwell's door with his note book in hand — whence he could 
 see every spot mentioned in the song — "Newton Woods," the 
 "Firs sac green," "Whinny Knowe "— and at no other jilace 
 around Paisley could whins be seen blooming in such perfection. 
 The "Spunkie Howe" was a piece of ground not fit to be culti- 
 vated. It was while sitting on the stone at Caldwell's door 
 that Tannahill wrote this truly humourous song. He gave it 
 to Mrs Caldwell. The subjects of it >vere her daughter Janet and
 
 X. NOTES. 
 
 her lad, John Stewart, whom, doubtless, the Poet had often met in 
 liis walks in the district, and whose case it suited so wclL Janet 
 Caldwell an 1 Stewart were afterwards married, and lived in 
 Screechhill for sixty years. Only a few years since, after Mrs. 
 Stewart died, was the farmer allowed to talce otl" the roof. 
 
 "Poor Tom, rARE-TiiEE-wELL."— In these lines the Poet 
 denounces in witliering terms, the neglect, in old age, by the purse- 
 proud, of those who have spent their strength in their country's 
 service. 
 
 " Ear RorysOM's Bonnet." — Most of tlie persons described by 
 Tannahill were real, and it is believed that the model of tliis witty 
 and. humorous song was either M'Neil, of Earra, or Riddell, of 
 Lochwinnoch . 
 
 "Lassie tak the Lad ye like."— No doubt the Poet had 
 .9ome of his I*aislcy acquaintances in view in penning these lines. 
 Instances could not but be common, then as now, of a couple com- 
 mencing housekeeping in a small way, and, by industry and 
 economy, attaining to comfort and even affluence. This song and 
 his " Irish Farmer" prove that " True hapi)iness has no localities." 
 
 "Oil! ARE YE Sleeping Maggie."— This is dcse^^•edly a 
 popular song — music being well fitted to the wortls. A wild 
 ■winter's night is most truthfully pictured out. Maggie is believed 
 to have been a cousin of the Poet's who lived near Beitk. 
 
 " Wallace's Lament."— This song tries to describe the feelings 
 of the great hero after his terrible defeat by the English at Falkirk. 
 Though certainly far short of Burns' lines, we think they have been 
 much underrated. Elderslie, the birth) dace of WalLico, is about 
 two miles west of Paisley. In Paisley Fountain Gardens may be 
 seen a young tree grown from an acorn of Wallace's tree which 
 grew at Elderslie. 
 
 " Accuse Me Not." — It is believed that the Poet was in love 
 with some young woman, and that she proved false. Hence this 
 song. 
 
 ♦' The Dusky Glen." — The Glen here described was either the 
 AJtpatrick Burn, near Elderslie, or the luiru at Glenfield, near 
 wliich is the well called "Tannahill's Well." 
 
 "Through Cruikston Castle's Lonely Wa's."— This old 
 Castle stands on a commanding eminence about midway between 
 Glasgow and Paisley, near the banks of the Canal. Queen Mary 
 of Scothiiid here awaited the issue of the battle of Langside. 
 I'oftuiiateiy tiiis old castle lias found a preserver in its proi)rietor, 
 Sir John Maxwell. It is a favourite spot for pic-nic parties from 
 Glasgow and Paisley.
 
 NOTKS. XI. 
 
 " Gloomy Winter's Nod Awa." — This song for a considerable 
 time enjoyed great popidarity. It then became comparatively for- 
 gotten until the splendid singing of it by Miss E. Paton bronght 
 it once again into favonr, and it has continned ever since to be a 
 favourite. All the places named and described in it are within 
 easy range of " Seestu." 
 
 " From Hill to Hill " was written on the threatened invasion 
 by Napoleon, and is really a very good warlike song — a class of 
 which we are not j^articnlarly well possessed. Take away the 
 Jacobite songs, and we have few of real merit. 
 
 " Thou Bonnie Wood o' Craigielee."— Just outside Paisley, 
 and near the present C4as Work was the wood. Not a vestige of it 
 now remains to show us the spot where Tannahill and his young 
 friends, the " West End Callans," went a bird nesting. While, 
 however, the wood has gone, the song lives, and WILL as long as a 
 true heart beats in a Scottish breast. It appeals not, however, to 
 country — but, like all true poetry, to humanity. 
 
 "Lowlan' Lassie Wilt Thou go," is a truly good song, and 
 deserves to be more widely known. The music was arranged by 
 Mr Ross. 
 
 "The COGGlfi"is a good convivial song, and maybe favour- 
 ably compared with some of Burns' of the same class. 
 
 "Come Hame to Your Lingels." — Tannahill here describes 
 scenes which unfortunately were too common then as now, and aU 
 caused by " Muuonday's Yill." 
 
 "The Soldier's PiETURN."— It may at once be admitted that 
 this play has not been a success, though the careful reader Avill 
 find in it many lines of high merit. The scene is laid at Altpatrick 
 Burn, and the Dramatis Fersoncc were people known at the time. 
 It was wi-itten at the request of the Poet's friend, Mr Archibald 
 Pollock, comedian, who died just as it was commenced, and thus 
 Tannahill lost the assistance of him who could have been of great 
 use in his new and untried field. 
 
 " Oh ! Death, it's no Thy Deeds I Mourn," was written on 
 Alexander Wilson emigrating to America. Wilson was born in 
 the Seedhill of Paisley, and like his contemporary, Tannahill, was 
 brought up to the weaving trade. While at the loom, like Tanna- 
 hill, he took to Avriting verse, but, unfortunately, in one of his pieces, 
 he assaulted the private character of one of the INIanufacturers. In 
 legal proceedings which were taken against him, he found himself 
 much humiliated, and this, together with discontentment at his lot. 
 induced him to emigrate to America. Some of his pieces are of 
 uncommon merit, but the best known of all is, perhaps, "Watty 
 and Meg." For a description of character in that sphere it is un- 
 gurpassed, Alexander Wilson's great work, however, is his
 
 Xll. NOTES. 
 
 "American Ornithology." He ilicil at Philadelphia, 1813, Avery 
 fine statue of liini in Itronze and mounted on a pedestal was set 
 uj) within tlie Taittley Abljoy gates in 1S7-1. 
 
 "The Negro Girl" is a very pathetic piece, picturing out 
 very feelingly the miseries slavery inflicted on the Negro. 
 
 "The Wandering liARD."— The Poet here describes the 
 reception wliich a ■wandering minstrel got at an inn. At that time 
 Ithymers used to travel tlie country and repeat their pieces. 
 
 " The Flower o' Levern Side." — The Levem is a tributary of 
 the Cart, joining it near Crnikston Castle. "The Sunny Braes 
 that slvirt tlie Clyde " mentioned in tliis i)iece refer to the Kilpatrick 
 Hills, "which Tannahill could see from Gleuiffer Braes 
 
 "The Dirge of Carolan."— Carolan -was the last of the 
 Irish bards, and tlie most famous of them all. He died poor. 
 Nearly every country has had its bards, and those acquainted 
 Avith history will remember that the charge of murdering the 
 Welsh bards, lest they should keep alive the independent spiri, 
 among the people, is brought against Edward I. Scotland ha 
 hers too— such as Blind Harry. France had her Troubadours, &c^ 
 
 "The Kebbuckston Wedding," is a very liappy effusion, an(/ 
 ])i(;tures out tlie customs prevalent at marriages in Scotland at tliat 
 time. Watty, the hero, was nobody knows who, but Willie 
 Galbraith was a well known liddler in Kilbarchan, who did good 
 service at all surrounding convivial parties. 
 
 " The Trifler's Sabbath Day" is a capital picture, and true 
 
 to the life, of many who desecrate the Sabbath, 
 
 " The Portrait of Guilt," is in imitation of Mr. Lewis, a 
 romance writer, wlio was contemporary with Tannahill. The 
 picture is a dreadful one. 
 
 "The Epistle to Alexander Borland,"— It was I\Ir. Bor- 
 land whom Tannahill was visiting in Glasgow when it was noticed 
 that his mind was deranged. Mr Borland accompanied him home. 
 
 "TOWSER — A Tale," -was written on the death of the Poet's 
 dog, which used to accom])any him in all liis rambles on Glenitier 
 Braes, in Newton Woods, by Cruikston Castle, &(i.
 
 TANNAHILL'S SONGS 
 
 •»-♦-< 
 
 l^ssu; tlje glaimx o' gumMitne. 
 
 
 n> — a , — 1_ 
 
 Music by R. A. Smith. 
 
 -f*i >^ 
 
 ifi 
 
 nn ty 1 — ^ — ^ 
 
 ^ — ^- 
 
 y— — y- 
 
 — ><— 
 
 .i: 
 
 The sun has gane down o'er the lof - ty Ben - lo-mond, And 
 
 zizt^-/: 
 
 
 :?=- 
 
 left the red clouds to pie - side o'er the scene ; While lane-ly I 
 
 5?E£E*£^^*= 
 
 stray in the calm sim-mer gloam-in', To muse on sweet Jes-sie' the 
 
 sweet - er an' fair - er, an' dear to this bo - som, Is love -ly young 
 
 Espress. 
 
 sie, the flow'r o' Dum-blane. Is love - ly young Jes-sie, Is 
 Tempo. 
 
 P=» 
 
 iizf^n* 
 
 P~^ 
 
 
 
 :J=t 
 
 love - ly young Jes-sie, Is love -ly young Jes-sie, the dow'ro' Dumblan*.
 
 2 TANNAHTLTiS SONOS. 
 
 She's modest as ony, and blythe as she's bonnie, 
 
 For guileless sini])licity nuu'ks her its ain; 
 And far be the villain, divested o' feeling, 
 
 Wha'd blight in its bloom the sweet flow'r o' Dumblane. 
 Sing on, thou sweet mavis, thy hymn to the e'ening, 
 
 Thou'rt dear to the echoes of Caldorwood glen; 
 Sae dear to this bosom, sae artless and winning, 
 
 Is charming young Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblane. 
 
 How lost were my days till I met wi' my Jessie, 
 
 The sports o' the city seemed foolish and vain, 
 I ne'er saw a nymph I could ca' my dear lassie, 
 
 Till charmed wi' sweet Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblane. 
 ThouLrh mine were the station o' loftiest grandeur. 
 
 Amidst its profusion I'd languish in pain; 
 And reckon as naething the height o' its s|)]endour, 
 
 If wanting sweet Jessie, the flow'r o' Dumblane. 
 
 Miotic lire ^ntg-l^tnmneir 'gnxh 
 
 While the gray-pinioned, lark early mounts to the skies, 
 
 And cheerily hails the sweet <'awn, 
 And the sun, newly risen, sheds the mist from his eyes, 
 
 And smiles over mountain and lawn, 
 Delighted I stray by the fairy-wood side, 
 
 Where the dewdrops the crowflowers adorn. 
 And nature arrayed in her midsummer's pride, 
 
 Sweetly smiles to the smile of the morn. 
 
 Ye dark waving plantings, ye green shady bowers, 
 
 Your charms ever vaiying I view ; 
 My soul's dearest transports, my hap[)iest hours, 
 
 Have owed half their pl(!asur(!s to you. 
 Sweet Ferguslie, hail ! thou'rt the dear sacred gx'ove, 
 
 Where first ray young muse spread her wing; 
 Here nature llr.st waked me to rapture and love, 
 
 And taught me her beauties to sing.
 
 TANNAHILL'S SONGS. '3 
 
 0utr0it's ^anntc Moobs nnh grates. 
 
 Air — "Earl Moira's strathspey." 
 
 [The hero and heroine of this song were the Earl and Countess of 
 Moira, afterwards Marquis and Marchioness of Hastings.] 
 
 Loudon's bonnie woods and braes, 
 
 I maun lea' them a' lassie ; 
 Wha can thole when Britain's faes 
 
 Would gie Britons law, lassie ? 
 Wha would shun the field o' danger ? 
 Wha frae fame wad live a stranger ] 
 Now when freedom bids avenge her, 
 
 Wha would shun her ca' lassie ? 
 Loudon's bonnie Avoods and braes 
 Ha'e seen our happy bridal days, 
 And gentle hope shall soothe thy waes, 
 
 When I am far awa', lassie. 
 
 Hark ! the swelling bugle sings, 
 
 Yielding joy to thee, laddie ; 
 But the doleful bugle brings 
 
 Waefu' thoughts to me, laddie. 
 Lonely I maun climb the mountain. 
 Lonely stray beside the fountain, 
 Still the weary moments countiu', 
 
 Far frae love and thee, laddie. 
 O'er the gory fields o' war, 
 When vengeance drives his crimson car, 
 Thou'lt maybe fa', frae me afar. 
 
 And nana to close thy e'e, laddie. 
 
 Oh, resume thy wonted smile ! 
 
 Oh, suppress thy fears, lassie ! 
 Glorious honour crowns the toil 
 
 That the soldier shares, lassie. 
 Heaven will shield thy faithful lover, 
 Till the vengeful strife is over. 
 Then we'll meet, nae mair to sever, 
 
 fill the day we die, lassie ;
 
 TAIWAGIIiL S SONGS. 
 
 'Midst our bouuia woods and braes, 
 "We'll spend our peaceful, happy days, 
 As blythe's you 1 lightsome lamb that plays 
 On Loudon's flowery lea, lassie. 
 
 
 
 CIjc ^ass 0' g^rraiitctnie. 
 
 Air — " The lass o' Arranteenie." 
 
 Fab lone, amang the Highland hills, 
 
 'Midst nature's wildest grandeur, 
 By rocky dens and woody glens, 
 
 With weary steps I wander : 
 The langsome way, the darksome day, 
 
 The mountain mist sae rainy. 
 Are nought to me when gaun to thee. 
 
 Sweet lass o' Arranteenie. 
 
 Yon mossy rosebud down the howe. 
 
 Just opening fresh and bonnie, 
 Blinks sweetly 'neatli the hazel bough, 
 
 And's scarcely seen by ony : 
 Sae sweet amid her native hills. 
 
 Obscurely blooms my Jeanie ; 
 Mair fair and gay than rosy May, 
 
 The flower o' Arranteenie. 
 
 Now, from the mountain's lofty brow, 
 
 I view the distant ocean ; 
 There avarice guides the bounding prow, 
 
 Ambition courts promotion. 
 Let fortune pour her golden store. 
 
 Her laurelled favours many ; 
 Give me but this, my soul's tirst wish. 
 
 The lass o' Arranteenie. 
 
 ^\^t gracs 0' (Slcnifcr. 
 
 Air — " Saw ye my wee thing." 
 
 Keen blaws the wind o'er the braes 0' Gleniffer, 
 The auld castle'.s turrets are covered wi' snaw ; 
 
 How changed frac the time when I met wi' my lover 
 Amang the broom buahea by Stanley green shaw ;
 
 \ 
 
 taiwahill's songs. 
 
 The wiW flowers o' simmer were spread a' sae bonnie, 
 The mavis sung sweet frae the green birken tree ; 
 
 But fixr to the camp they ha'e marched my dear Johnnie, 
 And now it is winter wi' nature and me. 
 
 Then ilk thing around us was blythesome and cheerie, 
 
 Then ilk thing around us was bonnie and braw ; 
 Now naething is heard but the wind whistling dreary, 
 
 And naething is seen but the wide-spreading snaw. 
 The trees are a' bare, and the birds mute and dowie ; 
 
 They shake the cauld drift frae their wings as they flee, 
 And chirp out their plaints, seeming wae for my Johnnie ; 
 
 'Tis winter wi' them and 'tis winter wi' me. 
 
 Ton cauld sleety cloud skiffs alang the bleak mountain, 
 
 And shakes the dark firs on the steep rocky brae, 
 While down the deep glen bawls the snaw-flooded fountain, 
 
 That murmured sae sweet to my laddie and me. 
 'Tis no its loud roar on the wint'ry wind swellin', 
 
 'Tis no the cauld blast brings the tear i' my e'e, 
 For, oh, gin I saw but my bonnie Scots callan. 
 
 The dark days o' winter were simmer to me ! 
 
 Air — " The lasses of the ferry." 
 OcH, hey ! Johnnie, lad, 
 
 Ye're no sae kind's ye should ha'e been ; 
 Och, hey ! Johnnie, lad, 
 
 Ye didna keep your tryst yestreen : 
 I waited lang beside the wood, 
 
 Sae wae and weary, a' my lane ; 
 Och, hey ! Johnnie, lad, 
 Te're no sae kind's ye should ha'e been. 
 
 I looked by the whinny knowe, 
 
 I looked by the firs sae green, 
 I looked o'er the spunkie how^e, 
 
 And aye I thought you would ha'e been. 
 The ne'er a supper crossed my eraig. 
 
 The ne'er a sleep has closed my e'en ; 
 Och, hey ! Johnnie, lad, 
 
 Te're no sae kind's ye should ha'e been.
 
 8 Tannahtll's S0>'GS. 
 
 Gin ye were waitinj^ by the wood, 
 Then I was wailing by the thorn, 
 
 I thou<i;ht it was the place we set, 
 
 And waited maist till dawning morn. 
 
 Sae be na vexed, my bonnie lassie, 
 Let my waiting stand for thine, 
 
 "We'll awa' to Craigton shaw, 
 
 And seek the joys we tint yestreen. 
 
 ^Ij£ 3Brncs of galqixljttljcr. 
 
 Air — "The three carles o' Buchanan." 
 
 Lft ns go, lassie, go 
 
 To the braes of Balquhither, 
 Where the blaeberries grow 
 
 'Mang the bonnie Highland heather ; 
 Where the deer and the rae, 
 
 Lightly bounding together, 
 Sport the lang simmer day 
 
 On the braes o' Balquhither. 
 
 I will twine thee a bower, 
 
 By the clear siller fountain, 
 And I'll cover it o'er 
 
 AVi' the flowers o' the mountain. 
 I vdU range through the wilds, 
 
 And the deep glens sae dreary, 
 And return wi' their spoils, 
 
 To the bower o' my dearie. 
 
 When the rudo wintry win' 
 
 Idly raves round our dwelling. 
 And the roar of the linn 
 
 On the night breeze is swelling ; 
 So merrily we will sing. 
 
 As the storm rattles o'er us, 
 'Till the dear shec^ling ring 
 
 Wi' the light lilting chorus.
 
 TAIWAHILLS SONGS. 
 
 Now the simmer is in prime, 
 
 Wi' the llowers richly blooming, 
 And the wild mountain thyme 
 
 A' the moorlands perfuming ; 
 To our dear native scenes 
 
 Let us journey together, 
 Where glad innocence reigns, 
 
 'Mang the braes o' Balquhither. 
 
 Jfln be ta some QtBtxt Jslt. 
 
 !Flt we to some desert isle, 
 
 There we'll pass our days together, 
 
 Shun the world's derisive smile, 
 
 AVandering tenants of the heather ; 
 
 Sheltered in some lowly glen, 
 
 Far removed from mortal ken, 
 
 Forf:;et the selfish ways o' men, 
 
 Nor feel a wish beyond each other. 
 
 Though my friends deride me still, 
 Jamie I'll disown thee never ; 
 
 Let them scorn me as they will, 
 I'll be thine, and thine for ever. 
 
 What are a' my kin' to me, 
 
 A' their pride of pedigree? 
 
 What were life, if wanting thee, 
 
 And what were death if we maun sever ? 
 
 i^h, snrr |f rue llje toitless bDtsIj. 
 
 Oh, sair I rue the witless wish, 
 
 That gar'd me gang wi' you at e'en ; 
 And sair I rue the birken bush, 
 
 That screened us wi' its leaves sae green : 
 And though you vowed you would be mine. 
 
 The tear o' grief aye dims my e'e ; 
 For, oh ! I'm feared that I may tine 
 
 The love that you ha'e promised me I
 
 8 tannahtll's so'og. 
 
 While ithcrs seek their e'ening sports, 
 
 I wander dowie, a' my lane, 
 For when I join my p;lad resorts, 
 
 Their daillug gi'es me meiklc pain. 
 Alas, it was na sae short syne, 
 
 When a' my nights were spent wi' gleo ; 
 But, oh ! I'm feared that I may tine 
 
 The love that you ha'e promised me. 
 
 Dear lassie, keep thy heart aboon, 
 
 For I ha'e waired my winter's fee : 
 I've coft a bonnie silken gown, 
 
 To be a bridal gift for thee. 
 And sooner shall the hill fa' down, 
 
 And mountain high shall stand the sea, 
 Ere I'd accept a gouden crown. 
 
 To change that love I bear for thee. 
 
 r^ -o -o 
 
 The breeze of the night fans the dark mountain's breast, 
 And the light bounding deer have all sunk to their rest; 
 The big sullen waves lash the loch's rocky shore, 
 And the lone drowsy fisherman nods on his oar. 
 Though pathless the moor, and though starless the skies, 
 The star of my heart is my Kitty's bright eyes ; 
 And joyful I hie over glen, brake, and fell, 
 In secret to meet my sweet Kitty Tyrcll. 
 
 Ah ! long we have loved in her father's despite, 
 And oft we have met at the dead hour of night, 
 When hard-hearted vigilance, sunk in repose, 
 Grave love one sweet hour its fond tale to disclose. 
 These moments of transport, to me, oh, how dear ! 
 And the fate that would part us, alas, how severe ! 
 Although the rude storm rise with merciless swell, 
 This night I shall meet my sweet Kitty Tyrcll. 
 
 Ah ! turn, hapless youth ! see the dark cloud of death, 
 Comes rollice: in jrloom o'er the wild haunted heath; 
 Deep groans the scathed oak on the glen's cliffy brow, 
 And the sound of the torrent seems heavy with woe.
 
 tattnahill's songs. 9 
 
 Away, foolisii seer, with thy fancies so wild, 
 Go, tell thy weak dreams to some credulous child ; 
 Love guides my light steps through the lone dreary dell, 
 And I fly to the arms of sweet Kitty Tyrell. 
 
 [me mn ^tnx Samelinb^g. 
 
 Air — " Were I obliged to beg." 
 
 When gloaming treads the heels of day, 
 And birds sit cowering on the spray, 
 Alang the flowery hedge I stray, 
 To meet mine ain dear somebody. 
 
 The scented brier, the fragrant bean, 
 The clover bloom, the dewy green, 
 A' charm me as I rove at e'en, 
 To meet mine ain dear somebody. 
 
 Let warriors prize the hero's name, 
 Let mad ambition tower for fame, 
 I'm happier in my lowly hamc. 
 Obscurely bless'd wi' somebody. 
 
 Mart, why thus waste thy youthtime in sorrow ? 
 
 f>ee a' around you the flowers sweetly blaw ; 
 Blythe sets the sun o'er the wild clifl's of Jura, 
 
 Blythe sings the mavis in ilka green shaw ! 
 How can this heart ever mair think of pleasure, 
 
 Simmer may smile, but delight I ha'e nane ; 
 Cauld in the grave lies my heart's only treasure, 
 
 Nature seems dead since my Jamie is gane. 
 
 This kerchief he gave me, a true lover's token, 
 
 Dear, dear to me was the gift for his sake ! 
 I wcar't near my heart, but this poor heart is broken, 
 
 Hope died with Jamie, and left it to break. 
 Sighing for him I lie down in the e'ening. 
 
 Sighing for him I awake in the morn ; 
 Spent are my days a' in secret repining. 
 
 Peace to this bosom can never return.
 
 10 ta-Nnahill's songs. 
 
 Oft have we wandered in sweetest retirement, 
 
 Telliup; our loves "neath the moon's silent beam ; 
 Sweet were our meetin<j:s of tender endearment. 
 
 But fled are these joys like a fleet passinj^ dream. 
 Cruel remembrance, ah ! why wilt thou rack me? 
 
 Brooding o'er joys that for ever are flown ; 
 Cruel remembrance, in pity forsake me, 
 
 Flee to some bosom where grief is unknown ! 
 
 'MoNGST life's many cares there is none so provoking, 
 
 As when a brave seaman, disabled and old, 
 Must crouch to the worthless, and stand the rude mocking 
 
 Of those who have nought they can boast but their gold : 
 Poor Tom, once so high on the list of <leserving. 
 
 By captain and crew none so deai'ly were prized, 
 At home now laid up, worn with many years' serving, 
 
 Poor Tom takes his sup, and poor Tom is despised. 
 
 Yet, care thrown a-lee, see old Tom in his -lory, 
 
 Placed snug with a shipmate, whose life once he saved, 
 Recounting the feats of some bold naval story, 
 
 The battles they fought, and the storms they had braved. 
 In his country's defence he has dared every danger, 
 
 His valorous deeds he might boast undisguised ; 
 Yet home-hearted landsmen hold Tom as a stranger, 
 
 Poor Tom loves his sup, and poor Tom is depised. 
 
 Myself, too, am old, ratlier rusted for duty, 
 
 Yet still I'll prefer the wide ocean to roam ; 
 I'd join some bold corsair, and live npon booty, 
 
 Beibi-e I'd be gibed by these sucklings at home. 
 Poor Tom, fare-thee-vvell ! for, by heaven, 'tis provoking. 
 
 When thus a brave seaman, disabled and old, 
 Must crouch to the worthless, and stand the rude mocking. 
 
 Of those who Jiave nought they can boast but their gold. 
 
 '|]arrocb;i;i Ji\m. 
 
 Air-" Johnnie M'Gill." 
 
 'Tis ha'ena ye heard, man, o' Barrochan Jean ? 
 And ha'ena ye heard, man, o' Barrochan Jean?
 
 TAimAHILl/s SONGS. 11 
 
 How death and starvation cam' o'er the whole nation, 
 She wroup;ht sic mischief wi' her twa pawky een. 
 
 The lads and the lasses were dyinp; in dizzens, 
 
 The ane killed with love, and the tither wi' spleen ; 
 
 The ploughing, the sawing, the shearing, the mawing, 
 A' wark was forgotten for Barrochan Jean. 
 
 ¥rae the south and the north, o'er the Tweed and the Forth, 
 
 Sic coming and ganging there never was seen ; 
 The comers were cheerie, the gangers were blearie, 
 
 Despairing or hoping for Barrochan Jean. 
 The carlins at hame were a' girning and graning, 
 
 The bairns were a' greeting frae morning till e'en ; 
 They get naething for crowdy but runts boiled to sowdy, 
 
 For naething got growing for Barrochan Jean. 
 
 The doctors declared it was past their describing, 
 
 The ministers said 'twas a judgment for sin ; 
 But they looked sae blae, and their hearts were sae wae, 
 
 I was sure they were dying for Barrochan Jean. 
 The burns on road-sides were a' dry wi' their drinking, 
 
 Yet a' wadna sloken the drouth i' their skin ; 
 A' round the peat-stacks, and alangst the dyke backs, 
 
 E'en the winds were a' sighing, sweet Barrochan Jean 1 
 
 The timmer ran done wi' making o' coffins, 
 
 Kirkyards o' their sward were a' howkit fu' clean ; 
 Dead lovers were packed like herring in barrels, 
 
 Sic thousands were dyiug for Barrochan Jean. 
 But mony braw thanks to the laird o' Glenbrodie, 
 
 The grass owrc their graves is now bonnie and green; 
 He stole the proud heart o' our wanton young lady, 
 
 And spoiled a' the harms o' her twa pawky een. 
 
 gab 
 
 Il^rnsoii's Iioniuf. 
 
 Air—" The auld wife o' the glen." 
 
 Te'll a' ha'e heard tell o' Eab Eory son's bonnet, 
 Te'U a' ha'e heard tell o' Eab Koryson's bonnet ; 
 'Twas no for itsel', 'twas the head that was in it, 
 Gar'd a,' bodies talk o' Ptab Eoryson's bonnet.
 
 12 takxahill's songs. 
 
 This bonnet, that theekit his wonderfu' head, 
 Was his shelter in winter, in simmer his shade; 
 And at kirk, or at market, or bridals, I ween, 
 A braw gawcier bonnet there never was seen. 
 
 "Wi' a round rosy tap, like a meikle blackboyd, 
 It was slouched just a kenning on ither hand side ; 
 Some Tuaintained it was black, some maintained it was blue, 
 It had something o' baith, as a body may trow. 
 
 But, in sooth, I assure you, for ought that I saw, 
 Still his bonnet had naething uncommon ava' ; 
 Though the whole parish talked o' llab Eoryson's bonnet, 
 'Twas a' for the marvellous head that was in it. 
 
 That head, let it rest, it is now in the mools, 
 Though in life a' the warld beside it were fools ; 
 Tet o' what kind o' wisdom his head was possessed, 
 Kane e'er kenned but himsel', sae there's nane that will 
 miss't. 
 
 Air — " Clean pease strae." 
 
 When John and me were married, 
 
 Our hadding was but sma', 
 Tor my minnie, cankered carling, 
 
 Would gi'e us nought ava': 
 I wair't my fee wi' cannie care, 
 
 As far as it would gae. 
 But weel I wat our bridal bed 
 
 Was clean pease strae. 
 
 Wi' working late and early, 
 
 We're come to what you see; 
 For fortune thrave aneath our hand, 
 
 Sae eydent aye were we. 
 The lowe o' love made labour light, 
 
 I'm sure ye'll find it sae, 
 When kind ye cuddle down at e'en, 
 
 'Mang clean pease strae.
 
 TA-IWAHILl's sokgs, 13 
 
 The rose blooms gay on cairney brae, 
 
 As weel's in birken shaw, 
 And love will lowe in cottage low, 
 
 As weal's in lofty ha'; 
 Sae, lassie, tak' the lad ye like, 
 
 Whate'er your minnie say, 
 Though you should mak' your bridal bed 
 
 O' clean pease strae. 
 
 Ail- — •' Sir John Scott's favourite." 
 
 Deae Judy, when first we got married, 
 
 Our fortune indeed was but small, 
 !For save the light hearts that we carried, 
 
 Our riches were nothing at all : 
 I sung while I reared up the cabin, 
 
 Te powers give me vigour and health, 
 And a truce to all sighing and sobbing, 
 
 For love is Pat Mulligan's wealth. 
 
 Through summer and winter so dreary, 
 
 I cheerily toiled on the farm, 
 Nor ever once dreamed growing weary, 
 
 For love gave my labour its charm. 
 And now, though 'tis weak to be vaunty, 
 
 Yet here let us gratefully own, 
 "We live amidst pleasure and plenty, 
 
 As happy's the king on the throne. 
 
 "We've Murdoch, and Patrick, and Connor, 
 
 As fine little lads as you'll see, 
 And Kitty, sweet girl, 'pon my honour, 
 
 She's just the dear picture of thee. 
 Though some folks may still underrate us, 
 
 Ah, why should we mind them a fig 1 
 We've a large swinging field of potatoes, 
 
 A good dritninduath* and a pig. 
 
 •Driminduath is a general name in Ireland for the cow.
 
 14( ta^tnahill's songs. 
 
 gtar Jubn. 
 
 Dear Judy, I've taken a-tliiukinf^, 
 
 The children their letters must learn, 
 And we'll send tor old Father O'Jenkin^r, 
 
 To teach them three months in the barn: 
 Por learning's the way to promotion, 
 
 'Tis culture brings fruit from the sod, 
 And books give a fellow a notion 
 
 How matters are doing abroad. 
 
 Though father neglected my reading. 
 
 Kind soul, sure his spirit's in rest ! 
 Tor the very first part of his breeding, 
 
 Was still to relieve the distressed. 
 And, late, when the traveller benighted. 
 
 Besought hospitality's claim, 
 He lodged him till morning, delighted. 
 
 Because 'twas a lesson to them. 
 
 The man that wont feel for another, 
 
 Is just like a colt on the moor, 
 He lives without knowing a brother. 
 
 To frighten bad luck from his duor. 
 But he that's kind-hearted and steady. 
 
 Though wintry misfortune should come, 
 He'll still tind some friend who is ready 
 
 To scare the old witch from iiis home. 
 
 Success to old Ireland for ever ! 
 
 Tis just the dear land to my mind, 
 Her lads are warm-hearted and clever, 
 
 Her girls are all handsome and kind. 
 And he that her name would bespatter, 
 
 By wishing the French safely o'er. 
 May the de'il blow him over the water, 
 
 And make him cook frogs for the core. 
 
 CIjc Ipigblunbcr's Jfubitiifioit. 
 
 Air — " Will ye come to the bower?" 
 
 Will you come to the board I've prepared for you t 
 Your drink sluall be good, of the true Highland blue ;
 
 tannahtll's songs. 15 
 
 "Will you, Donald, will you, Galium, come to the board? 
 There each shall be great as her own native lord. 
 
 There'll be plenty of pipe, and a plorious supply 
 Of the good snee'sh-tebacht, and the fine cut-and-dry : 
 Will you, Donald, will you, Galium, come then at e'en ] 
 There be some for the stranger, but more for the frien'. 
 
 There we'll drink foggy care to his gloomy abodes, 
 And we'll smoke till we sit in the clouds like the gods : 
 "Will you, Donald, will you, Galium, wont you do sol 
 'Tis the way that our forefathers did long ago. 
 
 And we'll drink to the Gameron, we'll drink to Lochiel, 
 And, for Charlie, we'll drink all the French to the de'il : 
 "Will you, Donald, will you, Callum, drink there until 
 There be heads lie like peats if hersel' had her will. 
 
 There be groats on the land, there be fish in the sea, 
 And there's fouth in the coggie for friendship and me : 
 Gome then, Donald, come then, Callum, come then to-night, 
 Sure the Highlander be first in the fuddle and the fight. 
 
 Air—" Sleepy Maggie." 
 
 Oh, are ye sleeping, Maggie 1 
 Oh, are ye sleeping, Maggie ] 
 Let me in, for loud the linn 
 Is roaring o'er the warlock craigie. 
 
 Mirk and rainy is the night, 
 
 No a starn in a' the carry, 
 Lightnings gleam athwart the lift, 
 
 And winds drive wi' winter's fury. 
 
 Oh, are ye sleeping, Maggie 1 &c. 
 
 Fearful soughs the boortree bank, 
 
 The rifted wood roars wild and dreary, 
 
 Loud the iron yett does clank, 
 
 And cry of howlets mak's me eerie. 
 
 Oh, are ye sleeping, Maggie ] &c.
 
 16 TAJTNAUILL'S SOXQS, 
 
 Aboon my breath I daurna speak, 
 
 For fear I rouse your waukrife daddie, 
 
 Caulds the blast upon my cheek, 
 Oh, rise, rise, my bonuy lady. 
 
 Oh, are ye sleeping, Maggie ? &c. 
 
 She oped the door, she let him in, 
 lie cuist aside his dreepiug plaidie : 
 
 "Blaw your warst, ye rain and win', 
 Since, Maggie, now I'm in aside ye." 
 
 Now since ye're waking, Maggie, 
 Now since ye're waking, Maggie, 
 What care I for howlet's cry, 
 For boortree bank, or warlock craigie. 
 
 (Jylje ITamcnt of Wiixlha uftcr tijc g attic 
 oi Jfalhirh. 
 
 Air — " Maids of Arrochar." 
 
 TnOTJ dark-winding Carron, once pleasing to see, 
 To me thou canst never give pleasure again ; 
 
 My brave Caledonians lie low on the lea. 
 
 And thy streams are deep-tinged with the blood of the 
 slain. 
 
 Ah ! base-hearted treachery has doomed our undoing, 
 My poor bleeding country, what more can I do ? 
 
 Even valour looks pale o'er the red field of ruin. 
 And freedom beholds her best warriors laid low. 
 
 Parewell, ye dear partners of peril ! farewell ! 
 
 Though buried ye lie in one wide bloody grave, 
 Your deeds shall ennoble the place where you fell, 
 
 And your names be enrolled with the sons of the bravo. 
 
 But I, a poor outcast, in exile must wander. 
 
 Perhaps like a traitor ignobly must die ! 
 On thy wrongs, oh, my country ! indignant I ponder; 
 
 Ah ! woe to the hour when thy Wallace must fly.
 
 taknahill's songs, 17 
 
 Ch Wloxn Solbicr. 
 
 The Queensferiy bocatie rows light, 
 
 And light is the heart that it bears, 
 Tor it brings the poor soldier safe bac'c to his home, 
 
 From many long toilsome years. 
 
 How sweet are his green native hills, 
 As they smile to the beams of the west, 
 
 But sweeter by far is the sunshine of hope 
 That gladdens the soldier's breast. 
 
 I can well mark the tears of his joy, 
 
 As the wave-beateu pier he ascends, 
 For already, in fancy, he enters his home, 
 
 'Midst the greetings of tender friends. 
 
 But fled are his visions of bliss. 
 
 All his transports but rose to deceive. 
 
 He found the dear cottage a tenantless waste, 
 And his kindred all sunk iu the grave. 
 
 Lend a sigh to the soldier's grief, 
 
 For now he is helpless and poor, 
 And forced to solicit a slender relief. 
 
 He wanders from door to door. 
 
 To him let our answers be mild. 
 
 And, oh ! to the sufferer be kind ! 
 For the look of indifference, the frown of disdain, 
 
 Bear hard on a generous mind. 
 
 Air — " Lord Gregory." 
 
 Accuse me not, inconstant fair, 
 
 Of being false to thee. 
 For I was true, would still been so, 
 
 Hadst thou been true to me.
 
 18 t.v^xaiiill's songs. 
 
 But when I knew tliy plip;lited lips 
 Once to a rival's pressed, 
 
 Lovc-smotliered independence rose, 
 And spurned thee from my breast. 
 
 The fairest flower in nature's field 
 
 Conceals the rankling thorn ; 
 So thou, sweet flower ! as false as fair, 
 
 This once kind heart hath torn. 
 'Twas mine to prove the fellest pangs 
 
 That slighted love can feel ; 
 'Tis thine to weep that one rash act 
 
 Wliich bids this long farewell. 
 
 ix Inncfu' 
 
 Air — " Sweet Annie frae the sea-beach came." 
 
 Wi' waefu' heart and sorrowing e'e 
 
 I saw my Jamie sail awa', 
 Oh I 'twas a fatal day to me, 
 
 That day he passed the Berwick Law ; 
 How joyless now seemed all behind ! 
 
 I lingering strayed along the shore ; 
 Dark boding fears hung on my mind 
 
 That I might never see him more. 
 
 The night came on with heavy rain, 
 
 Loud, lierce, and wild the tempest blew ; 
 In mountains rolled the awful main : 
 
 Ah, hapless maid ! my fears how true ! 
 The landsmen heard their drowning erics, 
 
 The wreck was seen with dawning day ; 
 j\ly love was found, and now he lies 
 
 Low in the isle of gloomy May. 
 
 boatman, kindly waft me o'er ! 
 
 The caverned rock shall be my home ; 
 'Twill ease my burdened heart to pour 
 
 Its sorrows o'er his grassy tomb ; 
 "With sweetest flowers I'll deck his grave, 
 
 And tend them through the langsome year ; 
 I'll water them, ilk morn and eve, 
 
 With deejjcst sorrow's warmest tear.
 
 taiwahill's songs. 19 
 
 ^^e pebljiuhston Mebbrng. 
 
 Written to an ancient Highland Air. 
 
 AuLD "Watty o' Kebbuckston brae, 
 
 Wi' lear and reading o' books auld farren, 
 What think ye ! the body came owre the day, 
 
 An tauld us he's gaun to be married to Mirren. 
 "We a' got a bidding to gang to the wedding, 
 
 Baith Johnnie and Sandie, and Nellie and Nannie ; 
 And Tarn o' the Knowes, he swears and he vows, 
 
 At the dancing he'll face to the bride wi' his grannie. 
 
 A' the lads ha'e trysted their joes ; 
 
 Slee "Willie cam' up and ca'd on Nelly ; 
 Although she v/as hecht to Geordie Bowse, 
 
 She's gien him the gunk, and she's gaun wi' "Willie. 
 "Wee collier Johnnie lins y jked his pony, 
 
 An's aff to the town it)S a lading o' nappy ; 
 Wi' fouth o' good meat tu serve us to eat, 
 
 Sae wi' fuddling and feasting we'll a' be fu' happy. 
 
 "Wee Patie Brydie's to say the grace. 
 
 The body's aye ready at dredgies and weddings ; 
 And flunkie M'Fee, of the Skiverton place, 
 
 Is chosen to scuttle the pies and the puddings. 
 For there'll be plenty o' ilka thing dainty, 
 
 Baith lang kail and haggis, and everything fitting ; 
 Wi' luggies o' beer, our wizzens to clear, 
 
 Sae the de'il fill his kyte wha gaes clung frae the meeting. 
 
 Lowrie has coft Gibbie Cameron's gun, 
 
 That his auld gutcher bore when he followed Prince 
 Charlie ; 
 The barrel was rusted as black as the grun'. 
 
 But he's ta'en't to the smiddy, an's fettled it rarely. 
 Wi' wallets o' pouther his musket he'll shouther, 
 
 And ride at our head, to the bride's a-parading ; 
 At ilka farm toun he'll fire them three roun'. 
 
 Till the hale kintra ring wi' the Kebbuckston wedding.
 
 20 TANNAHILLS S0NQ3. 
 
 Jainio and Johnnie maun ride the brouse, 
 
 I'ur ic'w like these can sit iu the saddle; 
 And AVillie Cobreath, the best o' bows. 
 
 Is trystod to jip; in the barn \vi' his fiddle. 
 AYi' whisking and fliskinq, and reelinj]; and wheeling, 
 
 The younj^ anes are like to loup ont o' the body, 
 And Neilie M'Nairn. thoujj;h sair forlairn, 
 
 He vows that he'll wallop twa sets wi' the howdia 
 Sauney M'Nab, wi' his tartan trews, 
 
 Has hecht to come down in the midst o' the caper. 
 And <i;i'e us three wallops o' merry shan trews, 
 
 Wi' the true IIiu;h]an(l flinty o' Macrimmnn the piper. 
 Sic hippin<; and skipping, and springing and Hinging, 
 
 I'se wa 1 that there nane in the Lawlands can waft it! 
 Faith ! Willie maun fiddle, and jirgum and diddle. 
 
 And screed till the sweat fa' in beads frae his haffet. 
 
 Then gi'e me your hand, my trusty good frien', 
 
 And gi'e me your word, my worthy auld kimmer, 
 Ye'll baith come owre on Friday bedeen. 
 
 And join us in ranting and tooming the timmer. 
 With fouth o' good liquor, we'll baud at the bicker, 
 
 And lang may the mailing o' Kebbuckston flourish; 
 For Watty's sae free, between you and me, 
 
 I'se warrant he's bidden the half o' the parisL 
 
 Air—" We're a' noddin*." 
 
 Weel, wha's in the bouroch, and what is your cheer P 
 The best that ye'll find in a thousand year. 
 
 And we're a' noddin', nid nid noddiu', 
 We're a' noddin' fu' at e'en. 
 
 There's our ain Jamie Clark, frae the hall o' Argyle, 
 'TIS his leal Scottish heart, and his kind open smile. 
 And we're a' noddin', &c 
 
 There is Will the guid fallow, wha kills a' our care 
 Wi' his sang and his joke, and a mutchkin mair. 
 And we're a' noddin', «&;e.
 
 TAIfKAniLL's f A'GS. 21 
 
 There is blytlie Jamie Ba^r, frae St. Barchan's town, 
 When wit gets a kingdom he's sure o' the crown. 
 
 And we're a' noddin', &c. 
 There is Eab, frae the south, wi' his fiddle and his flute; 
 I could list to his saugs till the s^nrus fa' out. 
 
 And we're a' noddin', itc. 
 Apollo, for our comfoi-t, has furnished the 1 owl, 
 And here is my hardship, as blind as an owl. 
 
 For we're a noddin', &c. 
 
 [The first verse and chorus by Tannahill, the other two verses by 
 William Motherwell.] 
 
 Though simmer smiles on bank and brae. 
 And n-ature bids the heart be gay, 
 Tet a' the joys o' flowery May 
 Wi' pleasure ne'er can move me. 
 
 Hey, Donald ! how, Donald ! 
 
 Think upon your vow, Donald ; 
 
 Mind the heathery knoWe, Donald, 
 
 "Where you vowed to love me. 
 The budding rose and scented brier, 
 The siller fountain skinkling clear, 
 The merry lav'rock whistling near, 
 Wi' pleasure ne'er can move me. 
 
 Hey, Donald ! &c. 
 
 I downa look on bank and brae, 
 I downa greet whare a' are gay, 
 But oh ! my heart will break wi' wae, 
 Gin Donald cease to love me. 
 Hev, Donald ! &c. 
 
 Beg jo' lljt 6(m. 
 
 Air — " When she cam' ben she hobbit." 
 [The first two verses by Tannahill, the second two by Motherwell.] 
 
 Meg o' the glen set aff" to the fair, 
 Wi' ruffles, and ribbons, and meikle prepare ; 
 Her heart it was heavy, her head it was light, 
 For a' the lang way for a wooer she sighed,
 
 22 TAXNAnTLT-'s SONGS. 
 
 She spak' to tbe ]a!s, but the lads sH])ped by, 
 She spak' to the lasses, the lasses were shy ; 
 She thought she might do, but she didna weel ken, 
 For nane seemed to care for poor Meg o' the glen. 
 
 " But wot ye, what was't made the lads a' gae by ? 
 And wot ye, what was't made the lassies sae shy 1 
 Poor ]\reg o' tht! glen had nae tocher ava. 
 And therefore could neither 1)0 bonnie nor braw : 
 
 " But an uncle wha lang in the Indies had been, 
 Foreseeing death coming to close his auld een, 
 Made his will, lefc her heiress o' thousand pounds ten, 
 Now, wha is mair thought o' than Meg o' the glen?" 
 
 CIjc J^assic u' lllcrrn d-icibtcm. 
 
 Mt father wad ha'e me to marry the miller, 
 
 My mither wad ha'e me to marry the laird, 
 But brawly I ken it's the love o' the siller. 
 
 That brightens their fancy to ony regard. 
 The miller is t-rooked, the miller is crabbed. 
 
 The laird, though he's wealth}", he's lyart and lean ; 
 He's auld, and he's cauld, and he's blin', and he's bald, 
 
 And he's no for a lassie o' merry eighteen. 
 
 " But oh, there's a laddie wha tells me he lo'es me. 
 
 And him I lo'e dearly, ay, dearly as life ; 
 Though father and mither should scold and abuse me, 
 
 Nae ither shall ever get me for a wife. 
 Although he c:-;u boast na o' land, nor yet siller. 
 
 He's worthy to match wi' a duchess or queen; 
 For his heart is sae warm, and sae stately his form, 
 
 And then, like mysel', he's just merry eighteen." 
 
 (9^, Pob) tan ^ou Qaiig, ^assie ? 
 
 Air — "Tlie Ijonnicat lasaie in a' the warld." 
 
 On, h')w can you gang, lassie, how can you gang, 
 Oh how can you gang sae to gi-icve me]
 
 taijnahill's songs. 23 
 
 "Wi' your beauty and your art, ye liae broken my heart, 
 For I never, never dreamed ye could leave me. 
 
 " Ah, wha wad ha'e thought that sae bonnie a face 
 Could e'er wear a smile to deceive me 1 
 
 Or that uuile in that fair bosom could e'er find a place. 
 And that you wad break your vow thus, and leave me ] 
 
 " Oh, have you not mind when our names you entwined 
 
 lu a wreath round the purse you did weave me 1 
 Or ha'e you now forgot the ouce dear trysting spot. 
 
 Where so soft you pledged your faith ne'er to leave me] 
 But, changing as the wind is your light, fickle mind, 
 
 Tour smiles, tokens, vows, all deceive me ; 
 No more, then, I'll trust to such frail painted dust, 
 
 But bewail my fate till kind death relieve me. 
 
 •' Then gang, fickle fair, to your new-fangled jo. 
 
 Yes, gang, and in wretchedness leave me ; 
 But alas ! should you be doomed to a wedlock of woo. 
 
 Ah, how would your unhappiness grieve me ! 
 For, Mary ! all faithless and false as thou art, 
 
 Thy spell-binding glances, believe me, 
 So closely are entwined round this fond foolish heart, 
 
 That the grave alone of them can bereave me." 
 
 c passes a ICcugb. 
 
 Air— "Kissed yestreen." 
 
 The lasses a' leugh, a^d the carliu Hate, 
 But Maggie was sitting fu' eerie and blate, 
 The auld silly gawkie, she couldna contain, 
 How brawly she was kissed yestreen; 
 
 Kissed yestreen, kissed yestreen. 
 How brawly she was kissed yestreen: 
 She blethered it round to her fae and her frien'^ 
 Huw brawly she was kissed yestreen. 
 
 " She loosed the white napkin frae 'bout her dun neck, 
 And cried, The big sorrow tak' lang Oeordie Flei k; 
 D'ye pee what a scart I gat frae a preen, 
 By liis towsling and kissing at me yestreen ;
 
 21 
 
 TA.NNAHILLS SONGS. 
 
 At me yestreen, at me yestreen, 
 By hii. towsling and kissing at uio yestreen : 
 I canna conceive what the fellow could mean, 
 
 By kissing sae meikle at me yestreen. 
 
 " Then she pu'd np her sleeve, and shawed a blae mark, 
 Quoth she, I ^at that frae young Davy, our clerk ; 
 But the creature had surely forgat hiniscl' clean, 
 AVlicn he nipped me sae hard for a kiss yestreen ; 
 
 For a kiss yestreen, for a kiss yestreen, 
 "When he nipped me sac hard for a kiss yestreen : 
 I wonder what keepit my nails frae his een, 
 
 "When he nipped me sae hard for a kiss yestreen 
 
 " Then she held up her cheek, and cried, Foul fa' the laird, 
 Just look what I gat \vi' his black birsio beard ! 
 The vile filthy body ! was e'er the like seen? 
 To rub me sae sair for a kiss yestreen ; 
 
 For a kiss yestreen, for a kiss yestreen, 
 To rub me sae sair for a kiss yestreen ; 
 I'm sure that nae woman o' judgment need grien, 
 
 To be rubbed, like me, for a kiss yestreen. 
 
 " Syne she tauld what grand offers she aften had had, 
 But wad she tak' a man ? na, she wasna sae mad : 
 For the whole o' the sex she cared no a preen. 
 And she hated the way she was kissed yestreen ; 
 
 She was kissed yestreen, she was kissed yestreen, 
 And she hated the way she was kissed yestreen ; 
 'Twas a mercy that naething mair serious had been, 
 
 For it's dangerous, whiles, to be kissed at e'en." 
 
 ^ur Iionnic Scots |^abs. 
 
 Oun bonnie Scots lads in their green tartan plaids, 
 
 Their blue-belted bonnets, and feathers sae braw, 
 Eanked up on the green were fair to be seen. 
 
 But my bonnie young laddie was fairest of a' ; 
 His cheeks were as red as the sweet heather-bell. 
 
 Or the red western cloud looking down on the snaw; 
 His lang yellow hair o'er his braid shoulders fell, 
 
 And the ecu o' the lassies were fixed ou him a'.
 
 tannahill's songs. 25 
 
 My heart sunk wi wae on tlie wearifu' day, 
 
 "When t(5rn frae my bosom they marched him awa', 
 He bade me farewell, he cried, " Oh, be leal !" 
 
 And his red cheeks were wet wi' the tears that did fa'. 
 Ah ! Harry, my love, though thou ne'er shouldst return, 
 
 Till life's latest hour I thy absence will mourn; 
 And memory shall fade like a leaf on the tree. 
 
 Ere my heart spare ae thought on anither but thea 
 
 Mc'Il meet Lcj^ltic flje guslin (SIcit. 
 
 "We'el meet beside the dusky glen, on yon burn side, 
 Where the bushes form a cozie den, on yon burn side ; 
 Though the broomy knowes be green, yet, there we may be 
 
 seen. 
 But we'el meet, we'el meet at e'en down by yon burn side. 
 
 I'll lead thee to the birken bower, on yon burn side, 
 Sae sweetly wove wi' woodbine flower, on yon burn side ; 
 There the busy prying eye ne'er disturbs the lover's joy, 
 While in ither's arms they lie, down by yon burn side. 
 
 Awa', ye rude unfeeling crew, frae yon burn side, 
 Those Vairy scenes are no for you, by yon burn side ; 
 There fancy smoothes her theme, by the sweetly murmuring 
 
 stream. 
 And the rock-lodged echoes skim, down by yon burn side. 
 
 Now the planting taps are tinged Avi' goud on yon burn side, 
 And gloamin' draws her foggy shroud o'er yon burn side ; 
 Far frae the noisy scene, I'll through the fields alane, 
 There w^e'el meet, my ain dear Jean ! down by yon burn side. 
 
 Te sunny braes that skirt the Clyde, 
 Wi' simmer flowers sae braw, 
 
 There's ae sweet flower on Levern side, 
 That's fairer than them a' :
 
 25 tannahill's songs. 
 
 Yet aye it droops its head in wao, 
 Eegardlcss o' the sunny ray, 
 And wastes its sweets frae day to day, 
 Beside tlie lonely shavv. 
 
 Wi' leaves a' steeped in sorrow's dew, 
 Fause, cruel man, it seems to rue : 
 Wha aft tlie sweeter power will pu', 
 
 Then rend its heart in twa. 
 Thou bonnie flower on Levern side, 
 
 Oh, gin thou'lt be but mine ; 
 I'll tend thee wi' a lover's pride, 
 
 Wi' love that ne'er shall tine. 
 
 I'll tak' thee to my shelterini;- bower, 
 And shield thee frae the beating shower. 
 Unharmed by aught, thoul't bloom secure 
 
 Frae a' the blasts that blaw : 
 Thy charms surpass the crimson dye 
 That streaks the glowing western sky ; 
 But, here, unshaded, soon thoul't die, 
 
 And lone will be thy fa'. 
 
 Cruihstan Castle's ^oneln oMix^ 
 
 Through Cruikston Castle's lonely was 
 
 The wintry wind howls wild and dreary ; 
 Though mirk the cheerless e'eiiing fa's, 
 
 Yet I ha'e vowed to meet my Mary ; 
 Yes, Mary, though the wind should rave 
 
 Wi' jealous spite to keep me frae thee, 
 The darkest stormy niglit I'd brave. 
 
 For ae sweet secret moment wi' thee. 
 
 Loud o'er Cardonald's rocky steep, 
 
 Rude Cartha pours in boundle.'ss measure; 
 But I will ford the whirling deep, 
 
 That roars between me and my treasure ; 
 Yes, JNlary, though the torrent rave 
 
 Wi' jealous spite to keep me frae thee, 
 Its deepest flood I'd bauldly brave, 
 
 For ae sweet secret moment wi' thee.
 
 tannahill's songs. 27 
 
 The watch-dog's howling loads the blast, 
 
 And makes the nightly Avanderer eerie, 
 But when the lonesome way is past, 
 
 I'll to this bosom clasp my Mary. 
 Yes, Mary, though stern winter rave, 
 
 Wi' a' his storms to keep me frae thee, 
 The wildest dreary night I'd brave, 
 
 For ae sweet secret moment wi' thee. 
 
 3ril hu mc to tin Blmlm ItH. 
 
 Air—" Ghillie Galium." 
 
 I'll hie me to the sheeling hill. 
 
 And bide amang the braes, Galium ; 
 
 Ere I gang to Crochan mill, 
 
 I'll live on hips and slaes, Callam. 
 
 Wealthy pride but ill can hide 
 
 Your lunkly mcasled shins, Galium ; 
 
 Lyart pow, as white's the tow, 
 ' And beard as rough's the whins, Galium. 
 
 Wily woman aft deceives, 
 
 Sae ye'll think, I ween, Galium ; 
 Trees may keep their withered leaves, 
 
 Till Since they get green, Galium. 
 Blythe young Donald's won my heart 
 
 Has my willing vow, Galium ; 
 Kow, for a' your couthy art, 
 
 I winna marry you, Galium. 
 
 §,nacr£ontit. 
 
 Fill the merry bowl. 
 
 Drown corrosive care and sorrow, 
 Why, why clog the soul, 
 
 By caring for to-morrow 1 
 Fill your glasses, toast your lasses, 
 
 Blythe Anacreon bids you live ; 
 Love with friendship far surpasses 
 
 All the pleasure life cau give.
 
 23 
 
 TAJWAH ill's songs. 
 
 Eiiic;, rincj the onlivening hell, 
 
 ^Thc merry dirge of cai-e and sorrow, 
 "Why leave them life to tell 
 Their heavy tales to-morrow ? 
 Come, join the social glee. 
 
 Give the reins to festive pleasure ; 
 While f\incy, light and free, 
 
 Dances to the measure. 
 Love an<l wit, with all the graces, 
 
 Eevel round in iairy ring. 
 Smiling joy adorns our foce"^'. 
 While with jocund hearts we sing. 
 
 Now, since our cares are drowned, 
 Spite of what the sages tell us, 
 
 Hoary time, in all his round, 
 Ne'er saw such happy fellows. 
 
 Compantan: of nm noutbful spart^. 
 
 Air—" Gilderoy." 
 
 Companion of my youthful sports. 
 
 From love and friendsliip torn, 
 A victim to the pride of courts, 
 
 Thy early death I mourn. 
 Unshrouded on a foreign shore, 
 
 Thou'rt mouldering in the clay. 
 While here thy weeping friends deplore 
 
 Corunna's flital day. 
 
 How glows the youthful warrior's mind 
 
 With thoughts of laurels won, 
 But ruthless ruin lurks behind, 
 
 " And marks him for her own." 
 How soon the meteor ray is shed. 
 
 " That lures him to his doom," 
 And dark oblivion veils his head, 
 
 In. everlasting gloom !
 
 taiwahill's songs. 29 
 
 The cold wind blows o'er the. drifted snows, 
 Loud howls the rain-washed naked wood, 
 Weary I stray on my lonesome way, 
 
 And my heart is faint with want of food. 
 Pity a wretch left all forlorn. 
 On life's wide wintry waste to mourn ; 
 The gloom of niglit fast veils the sky, 
 And pleads for your humanity. 
 
 On valour's bed my Henry died, 
 
 In the cheerless desert is his tomb : 
 Now lost to joy, with my little boy. 
 In woe and want I wander home. 
 Oh, never, never will you miss 
 The boon bestowed on deep distress, 
 For dear to Heaven is the glistening eye, 
 That beams benign humanity. 
 
 Air — " The lass that wears green." 
 
 One night in my youth as I roved with my merry pipe, 
 
 Listening the echoes that rang to the tune, 
 I met Kitty More with her two lips so cherry ripe, 
 
 Phelim, says she, give us Ellen Aroon ! 
 Dear Kitty, says I, thou'rt so charmingly free ! 
 
 Now if thou wilt deign thy sweet voice to the measure 
 'Twill make all the echoes run giddy with pleasure, 
 
 For none in fair Erin can sing it like thee. 
 
 My chanter I plied Avith my heart beating gaily, 
 I piped up the strain, while so sweetly she sung ; 
 
 The soft melting melody filled all the valley. 
 The green woods around us in harmony rung. 
 
 Methought that she verily charmed up the moon ! 
 Now, still, as I wander in village or city. 
 When good people call for some favourite ditty, 
 give then sweet Kitty, and Ellen Aroou.
 
 30 TANTfAHTLL's SONGS. 
 
 (Toggic, thou hnxh \m. 
 
 Dorothy sits i' the caukl ingle nook, 
 
 Her red rosy neb's like a labster tae, 
 Wi' girnin' hor mon's like tlie gab o' the fluke, 
 
 Wi' smoking, lier teeth's like the jet o' the slae. 
 And aye she sings weels me, aye she sings weels me, 
 Coggie, tbou heals me ! ooggie thou heals me ! 
 Aye my best friend when there's onything ails me, 
 Ne'er shall we part till the day that I die. 
 
 Dorothy ance was a weel tochered lass. 
 
 Had charms like her neighbours, and lovers enew, 
 "Dut she spited them sac, wi' her pride and her sauce, 
 
 They left her for thirty lang simmers to rue. 
 Then aye she sang waes me, aye she sang waes me. 
 Oh, I'll turn crazy, oh, I'll turn crazy, 
 Naething in a' the svide world can ease me, 
 De'il tak' the wooers, oh, what shall I do ] 
 
 Dorothy, dozen'd wi' living her lane, 
 
 Pu'd at her rock, wi' the tear in her e'e ; 
 She thought on the braw merry days that were gane. 
 
 And coft a wee coggie for company. 
 Now aye she sings weels me, aye she sings weels me, 
 Coggie, thou heals me ! coggie, thou heals me ! 
 Aye my best friend when there's onything ails me, 
 Ne'er shall we part till the day that I die. 
 
 ^11 tn ^oxt. 
 
 The sun had kissed green Erin's waves. 
 
 The dark blue mountains towered between, 
 Mild evening's dews refreshed the leaves. 
 
 The moon unclouded rose serene, 
 When Ellen wandered forth unseen, 
 
 All lone her sorrows to deplore ; 
 False was her lover, false her friend,' 
 
 And false was hope to Ellen More. 
 
 Young Henry was fair Ellen's love, 
 Young Emma to her heart was dear ;
 
 tani^ahill's songs. 31 
 
 Nor weal nor woe did Ellen prove, 
 
 But Emma ever seemed to share : 
 Yet envious still, she spread the wile, 
 
 That sullied Ellen's virtues o'er ; 
 Her faithless Henry spurned the while, 
 
 His fair, his faithful Ellen More. 
 
 She wandered down Loch-Mary side, 
 
 Where oft at evening hour she stole, 
 To meet her love with secret pride ; 
 
 Now deepest anguish wrung her soul. 
 O'ercome with grief, she sought the steep 
 
 Where Yarrow falls with sullen roar ; 
 Oh, pity ! veil thy eyes and weep, 
 
 A bleeding corpse lies Ellen More. 
 
 The sun may shine on Yarrow braes. 
 
 And woo the mountain flowers to bloom, 
 But never can his golden rays 
 
 Awake the flower in yonder tomb : 
 There oft young Henry strays forlorn, 
 
 When moonlight gilds the abbey tower; 
 There oft from eve till breezy morn, 
 
 He weeps his faithful Ellen More. 
 
 (Srem Jfnismorc. 
 
 Air— "The Leitrim Couuty." 
 
 How light is my heart as we journey along, 
 
 Now my perilous service is o'er, 
 I think on sweet home, and I carol a song. 
 
 In remembrance of her I adore ; 
 How sad was the hour when I bid her adieu ! 
 Her tears spoke her giief, though her words were but few; 
 She hung on my bosom, and sighed, Oh, be true, 
 
 When you're far from the green luismore ! 
 
 A-h, Eveleen, my love, hadst thou seen this fond breast, 
 
 How, at parting, it bled to its core, 
 Thou hadst there seen thine image so deeply impressed, 
 
 That thou ne'er couldst have doubted me more,
 
 32 tannahill's songs. 
 
 For my kinj^ and my country undaunted I fought, 
 And braved all the hardships of war as I ought, 
 But the day never rose saw thee strange to my thought 
 iSiuce I left thee in green Inismore. 
 
 Te dear native mountains that tower in my view, 
 
 What joys to my mind ye restore ; 
 The past happy scenes to my life ye renew, 
 
 And ye ne'er seemed so charming before. 
 In the rapture of fancy already 1 spy 
 My kindred and friends crowding round me with joy, 
 But my Eveleen, sweet girl, there's a far dearer tie, 
 
 Binds this heart to the green luismoi'e. 
 
 The midges dance aboon the burn, 
 
 The dews begin to fa', 
 The paitricks down the rushy holm 
 
 Set up their evening ca'. 
 Now loud and clear the blackbird's sang 
 
 Eings through the briery shaw. 
 While Hitting gay, the swallows play 
 
 Ai'ound tlie castle wa'. 
 
 Beneath the golden gloaming sky, 
 
 The mavis mends her lay. 
 The redbreast pours his sweetest strains. 
 
 To charm the lingering day : 
 While weary yeldrins seem to wail 
 
 Their little nestlings torn. 
 The merry wren, frae den to den, 
 
 Gaes jinking through the thorn. 
 
 The roses fixuld tlieir silken leaves. 
 
 The foxglove shuts its bell. 
 The honeysuckle and the birk 
 
 Spread fragrance through the dell. 
 Let otliers crowd the giddy court 
 
 Of mirth and revelry, 
 The simple joys that nature yields 
 
 Are dearer far to me.
 
 TAJflS'AHILL S SONGS. 
 
 33 
 
 i 
 
 s 
 
 !*=*F 
 
 ^loomn Mtnicr's itoto atoii'. 
 
 Air — " Lord Balgounio's Favourite." 
 
 s 
 
 'JJiZZ 
 
 ±^ 
 
 5^-V- 
 
 J^EEi 
 
 r- 
 
 Gloom - y Win - ter's now a - wa', Saft the west - lin' breei - as blaw; 
 
 i 
 
 4s___^_p=^=^=^ 
 
 ^^^^E^^ 
 
 zzfr 
 
 S 
 
 z^--Mi 
 
 'Mang the birks o' Stan - ley shaw The ma - vis sings fu' cheer-ie, 0. 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 f=^-^^^^^m^ 
 
 ^- 
 
 ^=^"= 
 
 Sweet the craw-flower's ear - ly bell, Decks Glen - if - fer's dew 
 
 dell, 
 
 
 Bloom-ing like thy bon - nie sel', My young, my art - less dear 
 
 ie, 0. 
 
 Blyth - ly spend the gow - den day, 'Mid'st joys that nev - er wear - ry, 0. 
 
 Tow'ring o'er the Newton woods, 
 Lav'rocks fan the snaw- white clouds, 
 Siller saughs, wi' downy buds, 
 
 Adorn the bank, sae briery, O. 
 Hound the sylvan fairy nooks, 
 Peath'ry breckans fringe the rocks, 
 'Neath the brae the burnie jouks. 
 
 And ilka thing is cheerie, 0. 
 Trees may bud, and birds may sing, 
 Flowers may bloom, and verdure spring, 
 Joy to me they canna bring, 
 
 XJnless with thee, my dearie, 0.
 
 34 taitnahill's songs. 
 
 Chill the wintry winds were blowing, 
 Foul the murky night was snowing, 
 Through the storm, the minstrel, bowing, 
 
 Sought the inn on yonder moor : 
 All within was warm and cheerie, 
 All without was cold and dreary, 
 There the wanderer, old and weary, 
 
 Thought to pass the night secure. 
 
 Softly rose his mournful ditty, 
 Suiting to his tale of pity ; 
 But the master, scoffing witty, 
 
 Checked his strain with scornful jeer : 
 " Hoary vagrant, frequent comer, 
 Canst thou guide thy gains of summer? 
 No, thou old intruding thrummer, 
 
 Thou canst have no lodging here." 
 
 Slow the bard departed, sighing ; 
 Wounded worth forbade replying ; 
 One last feeble effort trying, 
 
 Faint he sunk, no more to rise; 
 Through his harp, the breeze sharp ringing, 
 Wild his dying dirge was singing, 
 While his soul, from insult springing, 
 
 Sought its mansion in the skies. 
 
 Now, though wintry winds be blowing. 
 Night be foul, with raining, snowing, 
 Still the traveller, that way going, 
 
 Shuns the inn upon the moor. 
 Though within 'tis wai-m and cheerie, 
 Though without 'tis cold and dreary. 
 Still he minds the minstrel weary, 
 
 Spurned from that unfriendly door,
 
 taiwahill's songs. 35 
 
 Mmte tot' l^is CloubiJ grom. 
 
 Air— " Forneth house." 
 Now winter wi' his cloudy brow, 
 
 Is far ayont yon mountains, 
 And spring beholds her azure sky 
 
 Reflected in the fountains. 
 Now on the budding slaethorn bank, 
 
 She spreads her early blossom. 
 And woos the mirly-breasted birds 
 
 To nestle in her bosom. 
 But lately a' was clad \vi' snaw, 
 
 Sae dai'ksome, dull, and dreary, 
 Now laverocks sing to hail the spring, 
 
 And nature a' is cheerie. 
 
 Then let us leave the town, my love, 
 
 And seek our countr}^ dwelling, 
 Where waving woods and spreading flowers, 
 
 On every side are smiling. 
 We'll tread again the daisied green. 
 
 Where first your beauty moved me; 
 We'll trace again the woodland scene. 
 
 Where first ye owned ye loved me : 
 We soon will view the roses blaw 
 
 In a' the charms of fancy; 
 For doubly dear these pleasures a'. 
 
 When shared with thee, my Nancy. 
 
 jf moment 0f a Srntlblj ^Ballai), 
 
 Air — " Fingal's lamentation." 
 Wild drives the bitter northern blast, 
 
 Fierce whirling wide the crispy snaw, 
 Young lassie, turn your wandering steps. 
 
 For evening's gloom begins to fa'. 
 I'll tak' you to my father's ha', 
 
 And shield you from the wintry air; 
 For wandering through the drifting snaw, 
 
 I fear you'll sink to rise nae mair. 
 
 Ah ! gentle lady, airt my way 
 Across this langsome lonely moor,
 
 36 tannahill's sowgs. 
 
 For he wha's dearest to my heart, 
 Now waits me on the western sliore. 
 
 With morn he spreads his outward sail, 
 This night I vowed to meet him there, 
 
 To take ae secret fond fareweel • 
 We maybe part to meet nae mair. 
 
 Dear lassie, turn ! 'twill be your dead 1 
 
 The dreary waste lies far and wide ; 
 Abide till morn, and then ye'll ha'e 
 
 My father's herdboy for your guide. 
 No, lady, no ! I maunna turn, 
 
 Impatient love now chidi's my stay ; 
 Yon rising moon, with kindly beam, 
 
 Will light me on my weary way. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 Ah ! Donald, wherefore bounds thy heart ? 
 
 Why beams with joy thy wishful e'e t 
 Yon's but thy true love's fleeting form, 
 
 Thy true love mair thou'lt never see. 
 Deep in the hollow glen she lies, 
 
 Amang the snaw, beneath the tree ; 
 She soundly sleeps in death's cauld arms, 
 
 A victim to her love for thee. 
 
 Air — " Nancy Vemy." 
 
 Ah ! Sheelah, thou'rt my darling, 
 
 The golden image of my heart, 
 How cheerless seems this morning, 
 
 It brings the hour when we must part : 
 Though doomed to cross the ocean. 
 
 And fiice the proud insulting foe. 
 Thou hast my soul's devotion, 
 
 My heart is thine where'er I go ! 
 Ah, Sheelah, thou'rt my darling. 
 
 My heart is thine where'er 1 go ! 
 When tossed upon the billow. 
 
 And angry tempests round me blow,
 
 TANNAHILL S SONGS. 37 
 
 Let not the gloomy ^villow 
 
 O'ershade thy lovely lily brow ; 
 But mind the seaman's story, 
 
 Sweet William and his charming Sue ; 
 I'll soon return with glory, 
 
 And, like sweet William, wed thee too. 
 Ah, Sheelah, thou'rt my darling. 
 
 My heart is thine where'er I go ! 
 
 Think on our days of pleasure. 
 
 While wandering by the Shannon side, 
 When summer days gave leisure 
 
 To stray amidst their flowery pride ; 
 And while thy faithful lover 
 
 Is far upon the stormy main, 
 Think, when the wars are over, 
 
 These golden days shall come again ! 
 Ah, Sheelah, thou'rt my darling, 
 
 These golden days shall come again ! 
 
 Farewell, ye lofty mountains. 
 
 Your flowery wilds we wont to rove ; 
 Ye woody glens and fountains, 
 
 The dear retreats of mutual love. 
 Alas, we now must sever ; 
 
 Oh, Sheelah, to thy vows be true, 
 My heart is thine for ever ; 
 
 One fond embrace, and then adieu ! 
 Ah, Sheelah, thou'rt my darling. 
 
 One fond embrace, and then adieu ! 
 
 oUiT, m^y bear. 
 
 The harvest is o'er, and the lads are so funny. 
 
 Their hearts lined with love, and their pockets with money, 
 
 From morning till night 'tis " My jewel, my honey, 
 
 Och, go to the north with me, Molly, ray dear." 
 Young Dermot holds on with his sweet botheration. 
 And swears there is only one flower in the nation ; 
 " Thou rose of the Shannon, thou pink of creation, 
 
 Och, go to the north with me, Molly, my dear."
 
 38 tannahill's songs, 
 
 "The sun courts thy smiles as he sinks in the ocean, 
 The muou to tliy charms veils her face in devotion, 
 And I my poor self, och, so rich is my notion. 
 
 Would pay down the world for sweet Molly, my dear." 
 
 Though Thady can match all the lads with his blarney. 
 And sings me love-songs of the lakes of Killarney, 
 In worth from my Dermot he's twenty miles' journey, 
 My heart bids me tell him I'll ne'er be his dear. 
 
 Air— "Paddy O'Rafferty." 
 
 Oh, could I fly like the green-coated fairy, 
 
 I'd skip o'er the ocean to dear Tipperary, 
 
 "Where all the young fellows are blythesoine and merry, 
 
 While here I lament my sweet Peggy O'RafFerty. 
 How could I bear in my bosom to leave her. 
 In absence I think her more lovely than ever ; 
 With thoughts of her beauty I'm all in a fever, 
 
 Since others may woo my sweet Peggy O'Rafferty. 
 
 Scotland, thy lasses are modest and bonnie. 
 But here every Jennie has got her own Johnnie, 
 And though I might call them my jewel and honey. 
 
 My heart is at home with sweet Peggy O'Rafferty : 
 Wistful I think on my dear native mountains. 
 Their green shady glens and their crystalline fountains, 
 And ceaseless I heave the deep sigh of repentance. 
 
 That ever I left my sweet Peggy O'Rafferty. 
 
 Fortune, 'twas thine all the light foolish notion. 
 That led me to rove o'er the wide rolling ocean, 
 But what now to me all the hopes of promotion. 
 
 Since I am so far from sweet Peggy O'Rafferty. 
 Grant me as many thirteens as will carry 
 Me down through the country and over the ferry, 
 I'll hie me straight home into dear Tipperary, 
 
 And never more leave my sweet Peggy O'Rafferty.
 
 taiwahill's songs. 3D 
 
 ^t JfrhnMu Stars. 
 
 Air— "Gamby Ora." 
 
 Ye friendly stars that rule the night, 
 
 And hail my glad returning, 
 Ye never shone so sweetly bright, 
 Since gay St. Patrick's morning. 
 My life hung heavy on my mind, 
 Despair sat brooding o'er me ; 
 Now all my cares are full behind, 
 And joy is full before me. 
 Gamby ora, gamby ora, 
 
 How my heart approves me ; 
 Gamby ora, gamby ora, 
 
 Kathleen owns she loves me. 
 
 Were all the flowery pastures mine, 
 
 That deck fair Limerick county. 
 That wealth, dear Kathleen, should be thine, 
 
 And all should share our bounty : 
 But fortune's gifts I value not. 
 
 Nor grandeur's highest station ; 
 I would not change my happy lot 
 
 For all the Irish nation. 
 
 Gamby ora, gamby ora, &c. 
 
 From hill to hill the bugles sound 
 
 The soul-arousing strain, 
 The war-bred coursers paw the ground. 
 
 And foaming, champ the rein. 
 Their steel-clad riders bound on high, 
 
 A bold defensive host ; 
 With valour fired, away they fly. 
 
 Like lightning, to the coast. 
 
 And now they view the wide-spread lines 
 
 Of the invading foe ; 
 Now skill with British bravery joins, 
 
 To strike one final blow.
 
 40 tattnahill's sonos. 
 
 Now on they rush with giant stroke ; 
 
 Ten thousand victims bleed ; 
 They trample on the iron yoke 
 
 Which France for us decreed. 
 
 Now view the trembling vanquished crew 
 
 Kneel o'er their prostrate arms, 
 Implore respite of vengeance due 
 
 For all these dire alarms. 
 Now, while humanity's Avarm glow, 
 
 Half wee])s tiie guilty slain, 
 Let conquest gladden every brow. 
 
 And godlike mercy reign. 
 
 Thus fancy paints that awful day : 
 
 Yes, dreadful, should it come ; 
 But Britain's sons, in stern array. 
 
 Shall brave its darkest gloom. 
 Who fights, his native rights to save, 
 
 His worth shall have its claim ; 
 The bard will consecrate his grave. 
 
 And give his name to fame. 
 
 Air — " The green ■woods of Treugh." 
 
 Adieu, ye cheerful native plains, 
 
 Dungeon glooms receive me. 
 Nought, alas, for me remains. 
 Of all the joys ye gave me. 
 All are flown ! 
 Banished from thy shores, sweet Erin, 
 I through life must toil despairing, 
 Lost and unknown. 
 
 Howl, ye winds ! around my cell, 
 
 Nothing now can wound me ; 
 Mingling with your dreary swell, 
 Prison groans surround me : 
 Bodings wild ! 
 Treachery, thy ruthless doing, 
 Long I'll mourn in hopeless ruin, 
 Lost and exiled !
 
 tannahill's songs. 41 
 
 ^§c gtrgc of C^trolmt. 
 
 fCarolan is the most celebrated of all tlie moJern Irish bards. He 
 ■was born in the village of Nobber, County of VVestmeatli, 1G70, and died 
 in 1739. Ho never regretted the loss of his sight, but used gaily to say, 
 " My eyes are only transported into ray ears." It has been said of his 
 music, by O'Connor, the celebrated historian, who knew him intimately, 
 that so happy, so elevated was he in some of his compositions, he attained 
 the approbation of that great master, Geminina, who never saw him. His 
 execution, too, on the harp, was rapid and impressive, far beyond that of 
 all the professional competitors of the age in which he lived. The charms 
 of woman, the pleasures of conviviality, and the power of poetry and music, 
 ■were at once his theme and iuspiraiion ; and his life was an illustration 
 of his theory ; for until his last ardour was chilled by death, he loved, 
 drank, and sung. While in the fervour of composition, he was constantly 
 heard to pass sentence on his own effusions, as they rose on his harp, or 
 breathed from his lips : blaming and praising, with equal vehemence, the 
 unsuccessful effort and felicitous attempt. He was the welcome guest of 
 every house, from the poisant to the prince, but in the true wandering 
 spirit of his profession, he never stayed to exhaust that welcome. He 
 lived and died poor. — Lady Morgan.] 
 
 Air — " Ballymoney." 
 
 Ye maids of green Erin, why sigh ye so sad 1 
 The summer is smiling, all nature is glad. 
 The summer may smile, and the shamrock may bloom, 
 But the pride of green Erin lies cold in the tomb ; 
 And his merits demand all the tears that we shed, 
 Though they ne'er can awaken the slumbering dead ; 
 Yet still they shall flow — for dear Carolan we mourn, 
 For the soul of sweet music now sleeps in his urn. 
 
 Ye bards of our isle, join our grief with your songs, 
 
 For the deepest regret to his memory belongs ; 
 
 In our cabins and fields, on our mountains and plains, 
 
 How oft have we sung to his sweet melting strains. 
 
 Ah ! these strains shall survive, long as time they shall last, 
 
 Yet they now but remind us of joys that are past ; 
 
 And our days, crowned with pleasure, can never return, 
 
 For the soul of sweet music now sleeps in his urn. 
 
 Yes, thou pride of green Erin ! thy honours thoul't have, 
 Seven days, seven nights, we shall weep round thy grave ; 
 And th}^ harp that so oft to our ditties has rung, 
 To the lorn-sighing breeze o'er thy grave shall be hung ; 
 And the song shall ascend thy bright worth to proclaim, 
 That thy shade may rejoice in the voice of thy fame ; 
 But our days, crowned with pleasure, can never return, 
 For the soul of sweet music now sleeps in thine urn.
 
 42 taxnahill'8 soiras. 
 
 Iff ^latg. 
 
 Air—" Invercauld's reel." 
 
 My Mary is a bonnie lassie, 
 
 Sweet as dewy morn, 
 
 When fancy tun^es her rural reed 
 
 Beside the upland thorn. 
 She lives ahint yon sunny knowe, 
 AVhere flowers in wild profusion grow, 
 Where spreading birks and liazels throw 
 
 Their shadows owre the liurii. 
 
 'Tis no the streamLit-skirted wood, 
 
 Wi' a' its leafy bowers, 
 That gars me wait in solitude 
 
 Among the wild spring flowers ; 
 But aft I cast a langing e'e, 
 D(>wn frae the bank, out owre the lea, 
 There, haply, I my lass may see. 
 
 As through the broom she scours. 
 
 Yestreen I met my bonnie lassie 
 
 Comin frae the town. 
 We raptured sunk in ither's arms. 
 
 And pressed the breckans down : 
 The paitrick sung his e'ening note. 
 
 The rye craik risped his clamorous throat, 
 While there the heavenly vow I got. 
 
 That earled her mv own. 
 
 Lowland lassie wilt thou go 
 
 Where the hills are clad with snow ; 
 
 Where, beneath the icy steep. 
 
 The hardy shepherd tends his sheep 1 
 
 111 nor wae shall thee betide. 
 
 When rowed within my Highland plaid. 
 
 Soon the voice of cheerie spring 
 Will gar a' our plantin's ring ; 
 Soon our bonnie heather braes, 
 Will put on their simmer class :
 
 tannahill's songs. 43 
 
 On the mountain's sunny side, 
 "We'll lean us on my Higtland plaid. 
 
 When the simmer spreads the flowers, 
 Busks the glen in leafy bowers, 
 Then we'll seek the caller shade, 
 Lean us on the primrose bed ; 
 "While the burning hours preside, 
 I'll screen thee wi' my Highland plaid. 
 
 Then we'll leave the sheep and goat, 
 I will launch the bonnie boat, 
 Skim the loch in canty glee, 
 Eest the oars to pleasure thee. 
 "When chilly breezes sweep the tide, 
 I'll hap thee wi' my Highland plaid. 
 
 Lowland lads may dress mair fine, 
 "Woo in words mair saft than mine ; 
 Lowland lads ha'e mair of art, 
 A' my boast's an honest heart, 
 "Whilk shall ever be my pride : 
 Oh, row thee in my Highland plaid ! 
 
 Bonnie lad, ye've been sae leal. 
 My heart would break at our fareweel, 
 Lang your love has made me fain : 
 Tak' me, tak' me for your ain ! 
 'Cross the frith away they glide, 
 Touner Donald and his Lowland bride. 
 
 Air — " My time, O ye muses." 
 Eesponsive, ye woods, wing your echoes along. 
 Till nature, all sad, weeping, listen my song. 
 Till flocks cease their bleating, and herds cease to low, 
 And the clear winding rivulet scarce seems to flow.^ 
 Tor fair was the flower that once gladdened our plains, 
 Sweet rosebud of virtue, adored by our swains ; 
 But fate, like a blast, from the chill wintry wave. 
 Has laid my sweet flower in yon cold silent grave. 
 
 Her warm feeling breast did with sympathy glow, 
 In innocence pure as the new mountain snow ;
 
 44 tannahill's songs. 
 
 Her face was more fair than the mild apple bloom, 
 
 Her voice sweet as hope, whispering pleasures to come. 
 
 Oh, Marv, my love, wilt thou never return 1 
 
 'Tia thy William who calls! burst the bands of thy urn! 
 
 Together we'll wander — poor wretch, how I rave ! 
 
 My Mary lies low in the lone silent grave. 
 
 Yon tall leafy planes throw a deep solemn shade 
 
 O'er the dear holy spot where my Mary is laid, 
 
 Lest the light wanton sunbeams obtrude on the gloom, 
 
 That lorn love and friendship have wove round her tomb. 
 
 Still there let the mild tears of nature remain, 
 
 Till calm dewy evening weep o'er her again ; 
 
 There oft I will wander — no boon now I crave, 
 
 But to weep life away o'er the dark silent grave. 
 
 ^t Itr^iir romiinlit SIrabcs. 
 
 Air — " Mrs. Hamilton of Wisbaw's strathspey." 
 Yau from the giddy court of mirth, 
 
 Where sickening follies reign. 
 By Levern banks I wander forth 
 
 To hail each sylvan scene. 
 All hail, ye dear romantic shades ! 
 Te banks, ye woods, and sunny glades ! 
 Here oft the musing poet treads 
 
 In Nature's riches great : 
 Contrast the country with the town, 
 Makes Nature's beauties all his own ; 
 And, borne on fancy's wings, looks down 
 
 On empty pride and state. 
 
 By dewy dawn, or sultry noon. 
 
 Or sober evening gray, 
 I'll often quit the dinsome town, 
 
 By Levern banks to stray : 
 Or from the uplands mossy brow 
 Enjoy the fancy-pleasiug view 
 Of streamlets, woods, and fields below, 
 
 A sweetlv varied scene. 
 Give riches to the miser's care, 
 Let folly shine in fashion's glare, 
 Give me the wealth of peace and health, 
 
 With all their happy train.
 
 tannahill's songs. 45 
 
 ^Ibouoibr Inxmbh ms loi 
 
 Air — " Her sheep bad in clusters." 
 
 "Where primroses spring on the green-tufted brae, 
 
 And the rivulet runs murmuring below, 
 Oh, fortune ! at morning, or noon, let me stray. 
 
 And thy wealth on thy votaries bestow : 
 Eor, oh ! how enraptured my bosom does glow 
 
 As calmly I wander alone, 
 Where wild woods, and bushes, and primroses grow, 
 
 And a streamlet enlivens the scene. 
 
 Though humble my lot, not ignoble's my state. 
 
 Let me still be contented though poor; 
 What destiny brings, be resigned to my fate, 
 
 Though misfortune should knock at my door. 
 I care not for honour, preferment, nor wealth, 
 
 For the title that affluence yields, 
 While blythely I roam in the heyday of health, 
 
 'Midst the charms of my dear native fields. 
 
 '§onnu ixsxmomt glarg. 
 
 Gaelic Air. 
 
 PoETUNE, frowning most severe, 
 Forced me from my native dwelling, 
 Parting with my friends so dear. 
 Cost me many a bitter tear: 
 But, like the clouds of early day. 
 Soon my sorrows fled away. 
 When, blooming sweet and smiling, 
 I met my winsome Mary. 
 
 Wha can sit with gloomy brow, 
 Blessed with sic a charming lassie ? 
 Native scenes, I think on you, 
 Yet the change I canna rue ; 
 Wandering many a weary mile. 
 Now fortune seemed to lower the while, 
 But she's gi'en me, for the toil, 
 My bonnie winsome Mary.
 
 46 TATmAFILT/S SONGS. 
 
 Thoufjh our riches are but few, 
 Faitliful love is aye a treasure ; 
 Ever cheerie, kind, and true, 
 Nane but her I e'er can lo'e. 
 Hear me, a' ye powers above, 
 Powers of sacred truth and love ! 
 While I live I'll constant prove 
 To my dear winsome Mary. 
 
 C^c p;anhic's Song. 
 
 Hark ! 'tis the poor maniac's song ; 
 
 She sits on yon wild craggy steep, 
 And while the winds mournfully whistle along, 
 
 She wistfully looks o'er the deep : 
 And aye she sings, " Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby !" 
 
 To hush the rude billows asleep. 
 
 She looks to yon rock far at sea. 
 
 And thinks it her lover's white sail ; 
 
 The warm tear of joy glads her wild glistening e'e, 
 As she reckons his vessel to hail ; 
 
 And aye she sings '' Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby I" 
 And frets at the boisterous gale. 
 
 Poor Susan was gentle and fair. 
 
 Till the seas robbed her heart of its joy ; 
 
 Then her reason was lost in the gloom of despair, 
 And her charms then did wither and die : 
 
 And now her sad " lulla])y, lullaby, lullaby !" 
 Oft wakes the lone passenger's sigh. 
 
 ©« €clj0C3 tijat Img. 
 
 Ye echoes that ring round the woods of Bowgreen, 
 Say, did ye e'er listen sae melting a strain, 
 
 When lovely young Jessie gaed wandering unseen, 
 And sung of her laddie, the pride of the plain. 
 
 Aye she sung, Willie, my bonnie young Willie ! 
 
 There's no a sweet flower on the mountain or valley, 
 
 Mild blue spritled crowflower, or wild woodland lily. 
 But tines a! its $weets in ray bonny young swain.
 
 TAJTNAnTLL's SONGS. 47 
 
 Thou goddess of love, keep him constant to me. 
 Else, withering in sorrow, poor Jessie shall die ! 
 
 Her laddie had strayed through the dark leafy wood, 
 His thoughts were a' fixed on his dear lassie's charms, 
 
 He heard her sweet voice, all transported he stood, 
 'Twas the soul of his wishes — he flew to her arms, 
 
 No, my dear Jessie ! my lovely young Jessie ! 
 
 Through summer, through winter, I'll doat and caress thee, 
 
 Thou'rt dearer than life ! thou'rt my ae only lassie ! 
 Then, banish thy bosom these needless alarms, 
 
 Yon red setting sun sooner changeful chall be, 
 
 Ere wavering in falsehood I wander frae thee. 
 
 Yon poor negro girl, an exotic plant. 
 
 Was torn from her dear native soil ; 
 Reluctantly borne o'er the raging Atlant, 
 
 Then brought to Britannia's isle. 
 Though Fatima's mistress be loving and kind. 
 
 Poor Fatima still must deplore ; 
 She thinks on her parents, left weeping behind. 
 
 And sighs for her dear native shore. 
 
 She thinks on her Zadi, the youth of her heart. 
 
 Who from childhood was loving and true ; 
 How he cried on the beach when the ship did depart ] 
 
 'Twas a sad everlasting adieu. 
 The shell-woven gift which he bound round her arm, 
 
 The rude seaman unfeelingly tore. 
 Nor left one sad relic her sorrows to charm. 
 
 When far from her dear native shore. 
 
 And now, all dejected, she wanders apart. 
 
 No friend save retirement she seeks ; 
 The sigh of despondency bursts from her heart, 
 
 And tears dew her thin sable cheeks. 
 Poor hard-fated girl, long, long she may mourn ! 
 
 Life's pleasure's to her all are o'er ; 
 Far fled every hope that she e'er should return 
 
 To revisit her dear native shore.
 
 48 
 
 g Ijcart is satr iox l^^abg raw. 
 
 Air — " Tho rosy brier." 
 
 My heart is sair wi' heavy care, 
 
 To think on friendship's fickle smile ; 
 
 It blinks a wee wi' kindly e'e, 
 
 When world's thrift runs weel the while. 
 
 But let misfortune's tempests lower, 
 
 It soon turns cold, it soon turns soiir ; 
 It looks sae high and scornfully, 
 
 It winna ken a poor man's door. 
 
 I ance had siller in my purse, 
 
 I dealt it out right frank and free, 
 
 And hoped, should fortune change her course. 
 That they would do the same for me : 
 
 But, weak in wit, I little thought 
 
 That friendship's smiles were sold and bought, 
 Till ance I saw, like April suaw, 
 
 They waned awa' when I had nought. 
 
 It's no to see my threadbare coat, 
 
 It's no to see my coggie toom, 
 It's no to wair my hindmost groat. 
 
 That gars me fret and gars me gloom : 
 But 'tis to see the scornful pride 
 That honest poortith aft maun bide 
 
 Frae selfish slaves, and sordid knaves, 
 
 What strut with fortune on their side. 
 
 But let it gang, what de'il care I ! 
 
 Wi' eydent thrift I'll toil for mair ; 
 I'll half my mite with misery, 
 
 But fient a ane o' them shall share. 
 With soul unbent I'll stand the stour, 
 And while they're fluttering past my door, 
 
 I'll sing with glee and let them see 
 Aji honest heart can ne'er be poor.
 
 TANITAHILL S SONGS. 
 
 40 
 
 i 
 
 Moderate, 
 
 Ijannic Moolt of Craiciiclce. 
 
 5 
 
 ^i^S: 
 
 :5^-^ 
 
 iSirtf: 
 
 :ei 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 The broom, the brier, the bir - ken bush, BIcom boa - m o'er thy How'ry lea ; And 
 
 4»- 
 
 :=^- 
 
 :izTr*--r=:i=:^ 
 
 ^- 
 
 :t 
 
 -,*«i- 
 
 --fitd 
 
 the sweets that an? can wish, F, 
 
 rae 
 
 tiire's hand are strewed on thee. 
 
 ej 
 
 
 _r^:i:|Mzn 
 
 srq^r- 
 
 Thou bon - nie wood of Crais 
 
 le - 1 e. Thou bon - nie wo' d of Crai? - ic - Ice, Kear 
 
 rj's heart in 
 
 Far hen thy dark green plantin's shade, 
 The cushat croodles am'rously, 
 
 The mavis down thy bughted glade, 
 Gars echo ring frae.ev'ry tree. 
 Thou bonnie wood, &c. 
 
 Awa', ye thoughtless murd'ring gang, 
 AVha tear the nestliugs ere they flee ! 
 
 They'll sing you yet a canty sang, 
 Then, oh ! in pity let them be ! 
 Thou bouuie wood, &c. 
 
 When winter blaws in sleety showers, 
 Frae aff" the norlan' hills sae hie. 
 
 He lightly skifl^s thy bonnie bow'rs. 
 As laith to liarm a flow'r in thee. 
 Thou bonnie wood, &c. 
 
 Though fate should drive me south the line, 
 
 Or o'er the wide Atlantic sea, 
 The happy hours I'll ever min', 
 
 That I in youth ha'e spent in thee. 
 Thou bonnie wood, &c. 
 
 £
 
 50 TArrNAiiiLL's songs. 
 
 I MARKED a gem of pearly dew, 
 
 While wandering near yon misty mountain, 
 , Which bore the tender flower so low. 
 
 It dropped off into the fountain. 
 So thou hast wrung this gentle heart, 
 
 ^Vllich in its core was proud to wear thee. 
 Till, drooping sick beneath thy art. 
 
 It sighing found it could not bear thee ! 
 
 Adieu, thou faithless fair ! unkind ! 
 
 Thy falsehood dooms that we must sever ; 
 Thy vows were as the passing wind. 
 
 That fans the flower, then dies for ever. 
 And think not that this gentle heart. 
 
 Though iu its core 'twas proud to wear thee, 
 Shall longer droop beneath thy art ; 
 
 No, cruel fair ! it cannot bear thee ! 
 
 Though my eyes are grown dim, and my locks are turned 
 
 grey, 
 I feel not the storms of life's bleak wintry day. 
 For my cot is well thatched, and my barns are full stored, 
 And cheerful content still presides at my board : 
 Warm-hearted benevolence stands at my door, 
 Dispensing her gifts to the wandering poor ; 
 The glow of the heart does my bounty repay. 
 And lightens the heart of life's bleak wintry day. 
 
 From the sumjnit of years I look down on the vale, 
 Where age pines in sorrow, neglected and pale : 
 Where the sunshine of fortune scarce, deigns to bestow 
 One heart-cheering smile to the wand'rers below. 
 From the sad dreary prospect this lesson I drew, 
 That those who are helpless are IViended by few, 
 So with vigorous industry I smoothed the rough way 
 That leads through the vale of life's bleak wintry day.
 
 tannahill's sonqs. 61 
 
 Then, my son, let the bard of Glenullin advise, 
 
 For years can give counsel, experience makes wise ; 
 
 'Midst thy wanderings let honour for aye be thy guide. 
 
 O'er thy actions let honesty ever preside. 
 
 Then, though hardships assail thee, in virtue thoul't smile, 
 
 For light is the heart that's untainted with guile; 
 
 But, if fortune attend thee, my counsels obey, 
 
 Prepare for the storms of life's bleak wintry day, 
 
 Air — " Cauld kail in Aberdeen." 
 
 When poortith cauld, and sour disdain, 
 
 Hang owre life's vale sae foggie. 
 The sun that brightens up the scene, 
 Is friendship's kindly coggie. 
 
 Then, oh revere the coggie, sirs ! 
 The friendly social coggie ! 
 It gars the wheels of life run light, 
 Though e'er so doilt and cloggie. 
 
 Let pride in fortune's chariots fly, 
 
 Sae empty, vain, and voggie ; 
 The source of wit, the s])ring of joy, 
 Lies in the social coggie. 
 
 Then, oh ! revere the coggie, sirs ! 
 The independent coggie ! 
 And never smool beneath the frown 
 Of ony selfish roggie. 
 
 Poor modest worth, wi' cheerless e'e, 
 
 Sits hurkling in the boggie. 
 Till she asserts her dignity. 
 By virtue of the coggie. 
 
 Then, oh ! revere the coggie, sirs ! 
 The poor man's patron coggie. 
 It warsels care, it fights life's faughts, 
 And lifts him frae the boggie.
 
 53 tannahill's songs. 
 
 Gi'e feclvlcss Spain her -weak snail broo, 
 
 Gi'e France her weel-spiced iroggio, 
 Gi'e brother John his luncheon too, 
 But gi'e to us our coggie. 
 
 Tlien, oh ! revere tlic coggie, sirs, 
 Our soul-warm kindred coggie; 
 Hearts doubly knit in social tie, 
 When just a wee thought groggie. 
 
 In days of yore our sturdy sires. 
 Upon their hills sae scroggie, 
 Glowed with true freedom's warmest fires, 
 And fought to save their coggie. 
 
 Then, oh ! revere the coggie, sirs, 
 Our brave forefathers' coggie ; 
 It roused them up ^,o doughty deeds, 
 O'er which we'll lang be vo^e. 
 
 Then here's may Scotland ne'er fa' down, 
 
 A cringing, coward doggie, 
 But bauldly stand and bang the loou, 
 Wha'd reave her of her coggie ! 
 
 Then, oh ! protect the coggie, sirs, * 
 Our good auld mother's coggie ! 
 Nor let her luggie e'er be drained 
 By any foreign roggie. 
 
 Datie Tulloch's bonnie Katy, 
 
 Davie's bonnie, blythesome Katy, 
 Tarn the laird cam' down yestreen, 
 
 He sought her love, but gat her pity. 
 "Wi' trembling grip he squeezed her hand, 
 
 "While his auld heart gacd pitty-patty ; 
 Aye ho thought his gear and land 
 
 Wad win the love o' bonnie Katy. 
 
 Davie Tulloch's bonnie Katy, 
 
 Davie's bonnie, blythesome Katy ; 
 
 Aye she smiled as Davie wiled : 
 
 Her smile was scorn, yet miied wi' pity.
 
 taottahill's songs. 63 
 
 , hWxt, ran gnu Itiibje mt? 
 
 Oh, laddie, can you leave me? 
 
 Alas, 'twill break this constant heart ; 
 There's nought on earth can grieve me 
 
 Like this, that we must part : 
 Think on the tender vow you made 
 
 Beieath the secret birken shade ; 
 And can you now deceive me ! 
 
 Is a' your love but art 1 
 
 I'll Iot mt 0n tire tointrg lea. 
 
 I'll lay me on the wintry lea, 
 
 And sleejj anfidst the wind and weet ; 
 And ere another's bride I be. 
 
 Oh, bring me to my winding sheet 1 
 What can a helpless lassie do, 
 
 When ilka friend wad prove a foe : 
 Wad gar her break her dearest vow, 
 
 To wed wi' ane she canna lo'e ] 
 
 Jair-Ijairetr ganng. 
 
 Fttll eighteen summers up life's brae, 
 
 I speeded on fu' .canny, O, 
 Till sleeky love threw in my way 
 
 Young bonnie fair-haired Nanny, 0. 
 I wooed her soon, I won her syne, 
 
 Our vows o' love were many, ; 
 And, oh ! what happy days were mine, 
 
 Wi' bonnie fair-haired Nannie, 0. 
 
 txt g-e at gunt0tljer ^xtrit. 
 
 And were ye at Duntocher burn ? 
 
 And did ye see them a', man 1 
 And how's my wifie and the bairns 1 
 
 I ha'e been lang awa', man.
 
 54 tannahill's songs. 
 
 This hedger wark'e a weary trade, 
 It docsina suit ava', man ; 
 
 Wi' lanely house and lancly bed 
 My comforts are but sma', man. 
 
 Cmilb gloomn fekrt"oixr. 
 
 TnoiJ cauld gloomy Feberwar, 
 
 Oh, gin thou wert awa' ; 
 I'm wae to hear thy soughing winds, 
 
 I'm wae to see thy snaw : 
 For my bonnio brave young Highlander, 
 
 The lad T lo'e so dear, 
 Has vowed to come and see me, 
 
 In the spring o' the year. 
 
 glarion, brp ijour ttarfit' e'e. 
 
 Now Marion, dry your tearfu' o'e, 
 G-ae break your rock in twa, 
 
 For soon your gallant sons ye'll see, 
 Returned in safety a'. 
 
 Oh, vow, guidinan, my heart is fiiin ! 
 
 And shall I see my bairns again ? 
 
 A' seated round our ain hearthstauc, 
 Nae mair to gang awa' ? 
 
 dTome bume to nour lincfcb. 
 
 Air- " Whistle and I'll come to you, my lad." 
 
 CoiME hame to your lingels, ye ne'er-do-weel loon, 
 Tou're the king of the dyvours, the talk o' the to'V/H ; 
 Sae soon as the Munonday morning comes in, 
 Tour wearifu' daidling again maun begin ! 
 Guidwife, yc're a skillet, your tongue's just a bell. 
 To the peace o' guid fellows it brings the death-knell ; 
 But clack till ye deafen auld Baiiiaby's mill. 
 The souter shall aye ha'e his Munonday's yill.
 
 taiwahill's songs. 55 
 
 Come hame to your lapstanc, come hame to your last, 
 It's a bouuie affiiir that yuur family maun fast, 
 While you and your crew here a guzzling maun sit, 
 Te dazed, drunken, guid-for-nocht heir o' the pit : 
 Just look, how I'm gaun without stocking or shoe, 
 Tour bairns a' in tatters, and fatherless too, 
 And yet, quite content, like a sot, ye'll sit still, 
 Till your kyte's like to crack, wi' your Muuonday'a yill. 
 
 I'll tell you, guidwife, gin ye haudna your clack, 
 I'll lend you a reestle wi' this, owre your back ; 
 Maun we be abused and affronted by you, 
 Wi' sican foul names as loon, dyvour, and crew ? 
 Come hame to your lingels, this instant come hame, 
 Or I'll redden your face, gin ye've yet ony shame. 
 For I'll bring a' the bairns, and we'll just ha'e our fill, 
 As weel as yoursel', o' your Muuonday's yill. 
 
 Gin that be the gate o't, sirs, come let us stir, 
 What need we sit here to be pestered by her? 
 Tor she'll plague and aflVont us as far as she can : 
 Did ever a woman sae bother a man ? 
 I'rae yill-house to yill-house she'll after us rin, 
 And raise the whole town wi' her yelpin' an' din ; 
 Come ! ca' the guidwife, bid her bring in her bill : 
 I see I maun quat takin' Munonday's yill. 
 
 Mbm B0Ste toas fattdful. 
 
 Written on reading '' The Harper of Mull," a Highland etory. 
 
 When Kosie was faithful, how happy was I, 
 
 Still gladsome as summer the time glided by ; 
 
 I played my harp cheerie, while fondly I sang 
 
 Of the charms of my Eosie the winter nights lang. 
 
 But now I'm as waefu' as waefu' can be, 
 
 Come summer, come winter, 'tis a' ane to me : 
 
 For the dark gloom of falsehood sae clouds my sad soul, 
 
 That cheerless for aye is the harper of Mull. 
 
 I wander the glens and the wild woods alane, 
 In their deepest recesses I make my sad mane ; 
 My harp's mournful melody joins in the strain, 
 While sadly I sing of the days that are gane.
 
 56 tattnahill's soxos. 
 
 Tlioii;:;h Hosic is faitlilcss, slic's no the less fair, 
 An.d the tlionght of her beauty but feeds my despair; 
 WHh painful remembrance my bosom is full, 
 And "weary of life is the harper of Mull. 
 
 As slumbcrinc; I lay by the darl\ mountain stream, 
 My lovely younu; llosie appeared iu my dream ; 
 I thou2;ht her still kind, and I ne'er was sae blessed, 
 As in fancy I clasped the dear nymph to my breast. 
 Thou false tleetiug vision, too soon thou wert o'er, 
 Thou wak'dst me to tortures unequalled before ; 
 But death's silent slumbers my griefs soon shall lull, 
 And the green grass wave over the harper of Mull. 
 
 1 
 
 Mih) finite to llianislj (Tare. 
 
 AViiY unite to banish care 1 
 Let him come our joys to share ; 
 Doubly blessed our cup sh;dl flow, 
 "When it soothes a brother's woe ; 
 'Twas for this the powers divine 
 Crowned our board with generous Avine. 
 
 Far be hence the sordid elf 
 Who'd claim enjoyment for himself ; 
 Come, the hardy seaman, lame. 
 The gallant soldier robbed of fame, 
 Welcome all who bear the woes 
 Of various kind that merit knows. 
 
 " Patriot heroes, doomed to sigh 
 Idle 'neath corruption's eye ; 
 Honest tradesmen, credit worn. 
 Pining under fortune's scorn, 
 Wanting wealth, or lacking fame, 
 Welcome all that worth can claim. 
 
 " Come, the hoary -headed sage, 
 Suffering more from want than age ; 
 Come the }»roud, though needy bard, 
 Sevv<inu; 'midst a Avoi-ld's regard : 
 Welcome, welcome, one and all 
 That feel on this unfeeling ball."
 
 tannahill's songs. CJ 
 
 grabc ^ciob |l0i). 
 
 Gaelic air. 
 
 Brave Lewie Eoy was the flower of our Highlandmen, 
 
 Tall as the oak on the lofty Benvoirlich, 
 Fleet as the light-bounding tenants of Fillin glen, 
 
 Dearer than life to his lovely neeii voiuch * 
 Lone was his biding, the cave of his hiding, 
 
 When forced to retire with our gallant Prince Charlie, 
 Though manly and fearless, his bold heart was cheerless, 
 
 Away from the lady he aye loved so dearly. 
 
 " But woe on the bloodthirsty mandates of Cumberland, 
 
 Woe on the bloodthirsty gang that fulfilled them ; 
 Poor Caledonia ! bleeding and plunder'd land. 
 
 Where shall thy children now shelter and shield them 1 
 Keen prowl the cravens like merciless ravens. 
 
 Their prey the devoted adherents of Charlie ; 
 Brave Lewie Roy is ta'en, cowardly hacked and slain, 
 
 Ah ! his neen voiuch will mourn for him sairly." 
 
 g gear IJigblmitr ICabbb, #. 
 
 Air — " Morneen I gaberland." 
 
 Blythe was the time when he fee'd \vi' my father, 0. 
 Happy were the days when we herded thegitlier, 0, 
 Sweet were the hours when he rowed me in his plaidie, 0, 
 And vowed to be mine, my dear Highland laddie, 0. 
 
 But ah ! waes me ! wi' their sodgering sae gaudy, 0, 
 The laird's wysed awa' my braw Highland laddie, 0, 
 Misty are the glens, and the'dark hills sae cloudy, 0, 
 That aye seemed sae blythe wi' my dear Highland laddie, 0. 
 
 The blaeberry banks now are lonesome and dreary, 0, 
 Muddy are the streams that gushed down sae clearly, 0, 
 Silent are the rocks that echoed sae gladly, 0, 
 The wild melting strains of my dear Highland laddie, 0. 
 
 * Beautiful maid.
 
 68 tannahill's soncjs. 
 
 Farewell my ewes ! and farewell my doggie, O, 
 Farewell ye knowes ! now sae cheerless and scroggie, 0, 
 Farewell Glenfeoch ! my manimie and my daddie,, 
 I will lea' you a' for my dear Highland laddie, 0. 
 
 I 
 
 W^H -^ij"^ bcsibc tijc MaoLilanb ^unt. 
 
 Lang syne, beside the woodland burn, 
 
 Amang the broom sae yellow, 
 I leaned me 'neath the milkwhite thorn, 
 
 On nature's mossy pillow ; 
 A' round my seat the flowers were strewed, 
 That frae the wild wood I had pu'd, 
 To weave mysel' a summer snood, 
 
 To pleasure my dear fellow. 
 
 I twined the woodbine round the rose, 
 
 Its richer hiies to mellow, 
 Green spri-j^s of fragrant birk I chose, 
 
 To busk the sedge sae yello^v. 
 The crawflower blue, and meadow-pink, 
 I wove in primrose-braided link ; 
 But little, little did I think 
 
 I should have wove the willow. 
 
 My bonnie lad was forced afar, 
 
 Tossed on the raging billow ; 
 Perhaps he's fa'n in bluidy war, 
 
 Or wrecked on rocky shallow : 
 Tet, aye I hope for his return. 
 As round our wonted haunts I mourn, 
 And often by the woodland burn, 
 
 I pu' the weeping willow. 
 
 § S^assie, tuHl irou tah' it man? 
 
 Air—" Whistle o'er tlie lave o't." 
 
 O LASSIE, will you tak' a man, 
 Rich in house, and gear, and lan'1 
 De'il tak' the cash that I should ban, 
 Isae mair I'll be the slave o't.
 
 tannahill's songs. . 69 
 
 I'll buy you claise to busk you braw, 
 A ridiiig pony, pad and a' ; 
 On fashion's tap we'll drive awa', 
 "WJiip, spur, and a' the lave o't. 
 
 Oh, poortith is a wintry day ! 
 Cheerless, blirtie, cauld, and blae, 
 But basking under fortune's ray. 
 
 There's joy whate'er ye'd have o't. 
 
 Then gie's your han' ye'll be my wife, 
 I'll mak' you happy a' your life ; 
 We'll row in love and siller rife, 
 Till death wind up the lave o't. 
 
 ^'11 S^ob^ mn trcur gtnnu. 
 
 Air — "My laddie is game." 
 
 From the rude bustling camp to the calm rural plain, 
 I'm come, my dear Jeanie, to bless thee again ; 
 Still burning for honour our warriors may roam. 
 But the laurel I wished for, I've won it at home : 
 All the glories of conquest no joy could impart. 
 When far from the kind little girl of my heart ; 
 ^Now, safely returned, I will leave thee no more, 
 l^ut love my dear Jeanie till life's latest hour. 
 
 The sweets of retirement, how pleasing to me ! 
 Possessing all worth, my dear Jeanie, in thee ! 
 Our flocks early bleating will make us to joy. 
 And our raptures exceed the warm tints in the sky; 
 In sweet rural pastimes our days still will glide. 
 Till time looking back will admire at his speed. 
 Still blooming in virtue, though youth then be o'er, 
 I'll love my dear Jeanie till life's latest hour. 
 
 §.!! Ijail! yc bciir .llomanttc Smus. 
 
 All hail! ye dear romantic scenes, 
 Where aft, as eve stole o'er the sky, 
 
 Te've found me by the mountain streams, 
 Where blooming wild-flowers charm ilie eve.
 
 60 . tannahill's songs. 
 
 The sun's now setting in the west — 
 Mild are his beams on hill and plain; 
 
 No sound is heard save Killoch burn, 
 Deep murmuring down its woody glen. 
 
 Green be thy hanks, thon silver stream 
 That winds the flowery hraes among, 
 
 Where aft I've woo'd the Scottish muse. 
 And raptur'd wove the rustic song. 
 
 Air—" Galium Brogacli." 
 
 Te wooer lads wha greet and grane, 
 "Wha preach and fleech and mak' a mane, 
 All pine yoursel's to skin and bane. 
 
 Come a' to Galium Brogach. 
 I'll learn you here the only art 
 To win a bonnie lassie's heart ; 
 Just tip wi' gowd Love's siller dart 
 
 Like dainty Galium Brogach. 
 
 I ca'd her aye my sonsie doo, 
 
 The fairest flower that e'er I knew ; 
 
 Yet, like a souple spankie grew, 
 
 She fled frae Galium Brogach. 
 But soon's she heard the guinea ring, 
 She turn'd as I had been a king, 
 Wi' — " Tak' my hand or ony thing, 
 
 Dear, dainty Galium Brogach ! " 
 
 Its gowd can mak' the blind to see, 
 Can bring respect where nane wad be, 
 And Cupid ne'er shall want his fee 
 
 ]<Vae dainty Galium Brogach. 
 Nac mair wi' greetin' bliu' your cen, 
 Nae mair wi' sighin' warm the win', 
 But hire the .gettlin for your frien', 
 
 Like dainty Galium Brogach.
 
 tannaiiill's songs. 61 
 
 %ixi[\]y, 6loomn Care. 
 
 Atvat, gloomy care, there's no place for thee here, 
 
 Where so mauy good fellows are met, 
 Thou would'st dun the poor bard ev'ry day in the year, 
 
 •Yet I'm sure I am none in thy debt. 
 Go, soak thy old skin in the miser's small beer, 
 
 And keep watch in his cell all the night ; 
 And if in the morning thou dar'st to appear, 
 
 By Jove, I shall drown thee outright. 
 
 '€^t Solbier's %Vxm. 
 
 The weary sun's garie doun the west, 
 
 The birds sit noddin' on the tr^e, 
 All nature now inclines for rest. 
 
 But rest there's none allowed for r.ie : 
 The trumpet calls to war's alarms. 
 
 The rattling drum forbids my stay ; 
 Ah ! Nancy, bless thy soldier's arms. 
 
 Ere morn I shall be far away. 
 
 #IjI Win^ wot, mg i^ob-c. 
 
 Oh ! weep not, my love, though I go to the war, 
 
 For soon I'll return with honours to thee ; 
 The soul-rising pibroch is sounding afar. 
 
 And the clans are assembling in Morar-craiglee : 
 Our flocks are all plunder'd, our herdsmen are murder'd, 
 
 And, fir'd with oppression, aveng'd we shall be ; 
 To-morrow we'll vanquish those ravaging English, 
 
 And then I'll return to thy baby and thee. 
 
 Sni0 an, ihon Bbni kixxhUx. 
 
 Sing on, thou sweet warbler, thy glad e'ening song. 
 And charm the lone echoes the green woods among ; 
 As dear unto thee is the sun's setting beam. 
 So dear unto me is the soul's melting dream : 
 The dark winter frowning, all pleasure disowning. 
 Shall strip thy green woods and be deaf to thy moaning; 
 But dark stormy winter is yet fur away, 
 Then let us be glad when all nature ia gay.
 
 62 TAJJJfAHTLL'a 30NGS. 
 
 Jonc in j)oit bark scqucsfr'tr 6rolje. 
 
 Lone in yon dark aequeater'd grove, 
 
 Poor hapless Lubiu strays, 
 A prey to ill-requited love, 
 
 He spends his joyless days. 
 Ah, cruel Jessie ! couldst thou know 
 
 AVhat worthy heart was thine, 
 Thou ne'er hadst wrong'd poor Lubin so, 
 
 Nor left that heart to pine. 
 
 I. 
 
 The evening sun's gaen down the west, 
 
 The birds sit noddin' on the tree ; 
 All nature now prepares for rest, 
 
 But rest prepared there's none for me. 
 The trumpet sounds to vvar's alarms, 
 
 The drums they beat, the file's they play, — 
 Come, Mary, cheer me w'l' thy charms, 
 
 For the morn I will be far away. 
 
 Good night and joy, good night and joy, 
 Good night and joy be wi' you a' ; 
 
 Tor since it's so that I must go. 
 Good night and joy be wi' you a' ! 
 
 I grieve.to leave my comrades dear, 
 
 I mourn to leave my native shore, — 
 To leave my aged parents here, 
 
 And the bonnie lass whom I adore. 
 But tender thoughts maun now be hush'd, 
 
 When danger calls I must obey, — 
 The trail sport waits us on the coast. 
 
 And the morn 1 will be far away. 
 Good night and joy, &c. 
 
 Adieu, dear Scotia's sea-beat coast ! 
 
 Though bleak and drear thy mountains be, 
 When on the heaving ocean tost, 
 
 I'll cast a wishful look to thee !
 
 tannahill's bongs. 63 
 
 And now, dear Mary, fare thee well ! 
 
 May Providence thy guardian be ! 
 Or in tlie camp, or on the field, 
 
 I'll heave a sigh, and think on thee ! 
 Good night and joy, &c. 
 
 II. 
 
 "When I the dreary mountains pass'd, 
 
 My ain kind dearie, O, 
 I thought on thee, my bonnie lass, 
 
 Although I wasna near thee, O. 
 My heart within me was right sad. 
 
 When others they were cheerie, 0, 
 They little kent I thought on thee. 
 
 My ain kind dearie, O ! 
 
 But now an I ha'e won till Ayr, 
 
 Although I'm gae an' wearie, 0, 
 I'll tak' a glass into my han'. 
 
 An drink to you, my dearie, 0. 
 Cheer up your heart, my bonnie lass, 
 
 Aud see you dinna wearie. ; 
 In twice three ooks, gin I be spared, 
 
 I'se come again, and see thee, O. 
 
 And row thee up, and row thee down, 
 
 And row thee till I wearie, O, 
 And row thee o'er the lea rig, 
 
 My ain kind dearie, O ! 
 
 Written on reading an account of Robert Bums' funeral 
 
 Let grief for ever cloud tho day, 
 That saw our Bard borne to the clay ; 
 Let joy be banished every eye, 
 And nature, weeping, seem to cry — 
 
 *' He's gone, he's gone ! lie's frae us torn ! 
 The ae best fellow e'er v as born."
 
 (ji TANlTAniLL's SONGS. • 
 
 Let Sol resign his wonted powers, 
 Let chilling north winds blast the ftowera ; 
 That each may drop its withering head, 
 And seem to mourn our Poet dead. 
 " He's gone, lie's gone !" &c. 
 
 Let shepherds, from the mountain's steep, 
 Look down on widow'd Nith, and weep; 
 Let rustic swains their labours leave. 
 And si.i^hing, murmur o'er his grave — 
 " He's gone, he's gone ! " &c. 
 
 Let bonny Doon and winding Ayr 
 Their bushy banks in anguish tear. 
 While many a tributary stream, 
 Pours down its griefs to swell the theme — 
 " He's gone, he's gone ! " &c. 
 
 All dismal let the night descend, 
 Let whirling storms the forests rend. 
 Let furious tempests sweep the sky, 
 . And dreary howling caverns cry — 
 
 " He's gone, he's gone ! he's frae us torn 
 The ae best fellow e'er was born."
 
 TANNAHILL'S POEMS. 
 
 CIjc Solbkr's BchiriT. 
 
 O' 
 
 PERSONS REPRESENTED. 
 
 The Laird, colonel of a Scots Eegiment. 
 Gaffer, tlie laird's tenant. 
 Mdirland Willie, an old rich dotard. 
 Harry, in love with Jean. 
 MiitREN, Gaffer's wife — a foolish old ivoman. 
 
 Jean, daughter of Guffdr and Mirren, beloved hy Muirland, hut in love 
 with Harry, 
 
 ACT I— SCENE I. 
 
 A range of Lills, o'erhung wi' waving woods, 
 That spread their dark green bosoms to the clouds, 
 And seem to crave the tribute of a shower. 
 Grateful to woodland plant and mountain flower : 
 A glen beneath, frae whilk a bickering burn 
 Strayes round the knowes, wi' bonuie wimpling turn, 
 Syne trotting downwards through the cidtur'd lauds, 
 Rxuis by where Gaffer's humble biggin stands; 
 His wife and him are at some family plea. 
 To hear what ails them, just step in and see. 
 
 Gaffer and Mirren. 
 
 Mirren. Love should be free ! my trouth, but ye craw 
 You a guidmau and canna rule your house ! [crouse, 
 
 Had I a father's power, I'd let her see 
 Wi' vengeance, whether or no that love be free. 
 She kens right weel Muirland has ilk thing ready, 
 And's fit to keep her busked like a lady ;
 
 G6 TANNAHILL'S POEMS. 
 
 Yet soon's sho hears me mention Muirland Willie, 
 She skits and flinga like ony towmont filly. 
 Dc'il nor yo'd broke your leg, gaun cross the hallan, 
 Tliat day ye feed the skelpor Highland callan ; 
 We've fed him, clad him, what's our mense for't a' ? 
 Base wretch, to steal our daughter's heart awa' ! 
 Love should be free ! guid trouth, a bonnie story ! 
 That ^luirland maun be lost for Highland Harry. 
 Muirland comes down this night — ^to talk's nae use, 
 For she shall gi'e consent or lea' the house. 
 Odsaffs ! my heart did never wallop cadger, 
 Than when the laird took Harry for a sodger ; 
 And now she sits a' day, sae douff and blearie, 
 And sings love sangs about her Highland Harry. 
 
 Gaf. Indeed, guidwife, the lad did weel enough, 
 Was eydent aye, and deftly held the plough ; 
 But Muirland's up in years, and shame to tell, 
 Has ne'er been married, though as auld's niysel' ; 
 His locks are lyart, and his joints are stiff, 
 A staff wad set him better than a wife. 
 Sooner shall roses in December blaw. 
 Sooner shall tulips flourish i' the snaw. 
 Sooner the woods shall bud wi' winter's cauld, 
 Than lasses quit a young man for an auld : 
 Yet, she may tak' him gin she likes for me, 
 My say shall never mak' them disagree. 
 
 Mir. Ye hinna the ambition o' a' mouse ; 
 She'll gie consent this night, or lea' the house. 
 
 Enter Jean, in haste. 
 
 Jean. Father, the sheep are nibblin' i' the corn. 
 Wee Sandy's chained auld Bawtie to the thorn, 
 And bawsen'd Crummock's broken frae the sta'; 
 Oh ! a's gane wrang since Harry gacd awa'. 
 
 Gaf. A house divided, a' gangs to the devil. \^Aside, exit. 
 
 Mir. Daughter, come here ! now, let us reason civil, 
 Isn't siller mak's our ladies gang so braw ? 
 Isn't siller buys tfieir cloaks and bonnets a' ? 
 Isn't siller busks them up wi' silks and satins, 
 Wi' umbrella, muffs, clailh shoon, and pattons 1 
 Our lady, what is't gars us courtesy till her,
 
 tannahill's poems. 67 
 
 And ca' her ma'am ? why, just 'cause she has siller : 
 Isn't siller mak's our gentles fair and sappy ? 
 Whillv lets us see, it's siller mak's folk ha))py. 
 
 Jean. Mither, ae simple question let me spier, 
 Is Muirland fat or fair wi' a' his gear % 
 Auld croighlin' wight, to hide the ills o' age, 
 lie capers like a monkey on a stage ; 
 And cracks, and sings, and giggles sae light and kittle, 
 Wi' his auld beard slaver'd wi' tobacco spittle. 
 
 Mir. Peace, wardless slut! oh, when will youth be wise! 
 Te'll slight your carefu' mither' s guid advice ; 
 I've brought you up, and made you what ye are, 
 And that's your thanks for a' my toil and care. 
 Muirland comes down this night, sae drap your stodgin, 
 Tor ye must gi'e consent, or change your lodgin'. \Exit. 
 
 Jean. E'en turn me out, Muirland I'll never marry : 
 What's wealth or life without my dearest Harry % 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Our bonnie Scots lads in tliuir green tartan plaids, 
 
 Their blue-belted bonnets, and feathers sae brawi 
 Ranked up on the green were fair to be seen, 
 
 But my bonnie young laddie was fairest of a' ; 
 His cheeks were as red as the sweet heather bell. 
 
 Or the red western cloud looking down on the snawj 
 His lang yellow hair o'er his braid shoulders fell. 
 
 And the e'en o' the lassies were fix'd on him a'. 
 
 My heart sunk wi' wae on the wearifu' day. 
 
 When torn frae ray bosom, they march'd him awa'; 
 He bade me farewell, he cried, " Oh, be leal!" 
 
 And his red cheeks were wet wi' the tears that did fa'. 
 Ak ! Harry, my love, though thou ne'er shouldst return, 
 
 Till life's latest hour I thy absence will mourn ; 
 And mem'ry shall fade like a leaf on the tree, 
 
 Ere my heart spare ae thought on anither but thee. 
 
 SCENE II. 
 
 Harry returned, as servant to the laird, 
 Finds, for a while, liis presence may be spared, 
 And here, his lane, he wanders o'er each scene, 
 Where first he loved, and fondly woo'd his Jean : 
 He sees her cot, and fain would enter in, 
 But weel he minds her mither's no his frien*. 
 
 Harry. Tir'd with the painful sight of human ills, 
 Hail, Caledonia ! hail, my native hills !
 
 C8 TANNAHILL'ti ^OE■^rS. 
 
 l^er^' exil'd virtue rears her hiimLlo coll, 
 With nature's jocuud, honest sous to dwell j 
 And hospitality, with open door, 
 Invites the stranger and the wand'ring poor: 
 Though winter scowls along our notlhern sky, 
 In hardships rear'd we leara humanity ; 
 Nor dare deceit here point her rankling dart, 
 A Scotchman's eye's the \\ iiidow of liis heart. 
 
 When fate and adverse fortune bore me far, 
 O'er field and flood, to join the din of war, 
 JTy young heart sicken'd, gloomy was my mind, 
 My love, my friends, my country, all behind : 
 But whether toss'd upon the briny Hood, 
 Or dragg'd to combat in the scene of blood, 
 Hope, like an angel, charm'd my cares away, 
 And pointed forward to this happy day. 
 3'\ill well I mind yon breckan-skirted thorn. 
 That sheds its milk-white blossoms by the burn ; 
 There first my heart life's highest bliss did jirove— 
 'Twas there my Jcanie, blushing, own'd her love. 
 Ton dark green plantings on the mountain's brow, 
 Ton yellow whins and broomy knowes below, 
 Bring to my mind the happy, happy days, 
 I spent with her upon these rural braes ; 
 But while remembrance thus my bosom warms, 
 I long to clasp my charmer in my arms. [.ExiL 
 
 SCENE III. 
 
 Now Mirren's to the burn to sine her kirn, 
 ITero Jeanio wnefu' sits and reels her pirn, 
 While honest Gaffer, aye for peace inclined, 
 Is haflins vex'd, and freely speaks his mind. 
 
 Gofer. Thy mither's gair, and set upon the waii', 
 It's ^Muirland's gear that gars her like the carl, 
 But nature bids thee spurn the silly tike. 
 And wha would wed wi' ane they canna like ] 
 Just speak thy mind, and tell him, ance for a*, 
 That eighteen ne'er can 'grec wi" sixty-twa ; 
 A mair disgusting sight I never knew, 
 Than youthfu' ibily 'neath an auld gray pow.
 
 tanitahill's poems. 69 
 
 Enter Mirbex, hlythchj. 
 
 Mir. Here comes our neebour, hurrying frae the muir, 
 Mak' a' things snod — fy ! haste, red up the floor ; 
 The like o' him to visit you and me 
 Eeflects an honour on our family ; 
 Now, lassie, mind my high command is this, 
 "Whatever Muirland says, ye'll answer yes. 
 
 Jean. Whatever Muirland says, it shall be so, 
 But soon as morning comes, I'll answer, no 1 [Aside. 
 
 Enter Mtjieland. 
 
 Muir. Peace to the biggin , he, he, he ! how's a' ? 
 
 Mir. Gaily, I thank you— William, come awa', 
 And tell us how ye fen' this night yourscl' 1 
 
 Muir. He, he ! His name be prais'd, faith, unco weel, 
 I ne'er was half sae Strang in a' my days ; 
 I'm grown sae fat, I'm like to burst my claes ! 
 Nae wonder o t, I'm just now at my prime : 
 I'm just now five and thretty come the time ! 
 Ho, ho, ho, ho ! I pity them wha're auld. 
 Yestreen I catch'd a wee bit croighle o' cauld. 
 
 Gaf. I might excuse a foolish, untaught bairn, 
 But second childhood, sure, will never learn. \_Aside, exit. 
 
 [Mtjieland, half blind witli acje, slips on his spectacles 
 secretly, recognizes Jean, advances to her and sings.~\ 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Tune— " Whistle o'er the lave o't." 
 
 Oh, lassie, will you tak' a man, 
 ' ' Rich in house, and gear, and lau'; 
 
 De'il tak' the cash that I should ban, 
 
 Nae mair I'll be the slave o't. 
 I'll buy you claes to busk you braw, 
 A riding pony, pad, and a'; 
 On fashion's tap we'll drive awa', 
 
 Whip, spur, and a' the lave o't. 
 Oh, poortith is a wintry day, 
 Cheerless, blirtie, cauld, and blae ; 
 But basking under fortune's ray, 
 
 There's joy whate'er ye'd have o't. 
 Then gie's your han' ye'll be my wife, 
 I'll niak' you happy a' your life ; 
 We'll row in love and silh^r vifo, 
 
 Till death wind up the lavo o't
 
 70 tannahill's roEMS. 
 
 Mir. Nac toilin}:^ then to raise a heavy rent; 
 Our fortune's made — oh, lassie, gi'e consent. 
 
 [Aside to Jean, 
 
 Muir. Te'll p;ct a gouden ring and siller brooch, 
 And now and then we'll hurl in a coach : 
 To shaw we're gentle, when we walk on fit, 
 In passing puir folks, how we'll flucht and skit ! 
 
 Jean. And tho' ye're rather auld, I'm rather young; 
 Our ages mixed will stop the warld's tongue. 
 
 Muir. Auld, said ye 1 no ! ye surely speak in jest, 
 Tour mither kens I'm jiast now at my best ! 
 
 Mir. The lass is blunt j she means na as she says : 
 Ye ne'er looked half sae weel in a' your days ! 
 Wi' canny care I've spun a pickle yarn, 
 That lionest-like we may set afF our bairn ; 
 If gang wi' me, we'll o'er to "VVabster Pate's, 
 And see him weaving at the bridal sheets. 
 
 Muir. The bridal sheets ! he, he, he, he, what bliss ! 
 The bridal sheets ! oh, gi'e's an erl-kiss. 
 
 Mir. Fy ! come awa', and dinna think o' kissing 
 Till ance Mess John ha'e gi'en you baith his blessing. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 Jean, solus. 
 
 Alas ! my mither's just like AVhang the miller, 
 O'erturns her house in hopes o' finding siller ; 
 For soon's I see the morning's first faint gleam, 
 Sh« wakens sorrowing frae her gouden dream. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Tune—" Morneen I gaberland." 
 
 Blythe was tho time when he fec'd wi' my father, 0, 
 Happy were the days when we herded thegither, O, 
 Sweet were the hours when he rowed me in his plaidie, 0, 
 And vowed to be mine, ray dear Highhmd hvddie, 0. 
 But ah ! wacs me! wi' their sodgering sae gaudy, 0, 
 The laird's wysod awa' my braw Highland laddie, ; 
 Misty are the glens, and the dark hills sae cloudy, O, 
 That aye seemed sae blythe wi' my dear Highland laddie_. 0. 
 
 The blaeberry banks, now, ai-e lonesome and dreary, 0, 
 Muddy are the streams that gushed down sae clearly, O, 
 Silent are the rocks that echoed sae gladly, (), 
 The wild melting strains of my dear Highland laddie,
 
 TAIfNAHILL's POEMS. 71 
 
 Tarowell, my owes ! and farewell, my doggie, 0, _ 
 Farewell, ye knowes ! now sae cheerless and scroggie, 0, 
 Farewell, Glenf oocli ! my mamraie and my daddie, 0, 
 I will lea' you a' for my dear Highland laddie, O. 
 
 Through distant towns I'll stray a hapless stranger, 
 In thoughts of him I'll brave pale want and danger ; 
 And as I go, poor, weeping, mournfu' ponderer, 
 Still some kind heart will cheer the wearv wanderer. 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 ACT II.— SCENE I. Gaffer's House. 
 Jean, solus. 
 
 Lang syne, beside tlie'woodland bum, 
 
 Amang the broom sae yellow, 
 I leaned me 'neath the milkwhite thorn, 
 
 On nature's mossy pillow ; 
 A' round my seat the flowers were strewed, 
 That frae the wild wood I had pu'd. 
 To weave mysel' a summer snood, 
 
 To pleasure my dear fellow. 
 
 I twined the woodbine round the rose, 
 
 It's richer hue to mellow ; 
 Green sprigs of fragrant birk I chose, 
 
 To busk the sedge sae yellow. 
 The crow-flower blue, and meadow-pink, 
 I wove in primrose-braided link ; 
 But little, little did I think 
 
 I should have wove the willow. 
 
 My bonnie lad was forced afar. 
 
 Tossed on the raging billow ; 
 Perhaps he's fa'n in bluidy war, 
 
 Or wrecked on rocky shallow : 
 Tet, aye I hope for his return, 
 As round our wonted haunts I mourn, 
 And often by the woodland burn, 
 
 I pu' the weeping willow. 
 
 Unter Muieland. 
 
 Muir. Faith ! Patie's spool jinks through wi' wondrous 
 might, 
 And aye it minds me o' the bridal night. 
 I've rough o' sheets, sae never fash your thumb : 
 Oh, gi'e's a kiss afore your minnie come !
 
 72 TANXA^HILl's P0ESI3. 
 
 rinrry enters — Jeanic kens him ; 
 
 First lie prips lipr to his breast ; 
 Willie gapes, and t'lowcrs, and sanes him, 
 
 Runs find roars like ane possessed. 
 Wild wilyart fancies revel in his hrnin ; 
 They b:iith run ad" and lea' him a' his lane. 
 
 3fii!r. Oh, murder, murder! oh, I'll die \vi' fear: 
 Oh, Gaffer, Mirreu ! oh, come here, come here ! 
 
 Enter Mieeen, in I/aste. 
 
 Mir. Tlie pewet's screi!]jhin' owre the spankie-cairn : 
 My heart bodes ill, oh, William, where's my bairu ? 
 
 Jfuir. A great red dragon, wi' a warlock claw, 
 Ilaa come, aud wi' vour daughter flown awa' ! 
 
 Enter. Gappee, in haste. 
 
 Oaf. What awfu' cry was yon T heard within ? 
 What mak's you glower, and what caused a' yon din? 
 
 Mir. A great big dragon, wi' a red airn claw, 
 Has come, and wi' your daughter flown awa' ! 
 
 [Cnjinj 
 
 Muir. Its head was covered wi' a black airn ladle ; 
 It had black legs, and tail as sharp's a needle : 
 A great red e'e stood starin' in its breast ; 
 I'm like to swarf — oh ! 'twas a fearfu' beast. 
 
 Mir. The craw that bigged in the stackyard thorn, 
 Scrcighed and forsook its nest when she was born ; 
 Three pyats crossed the kirk when she was christened, 
 I've heard it telled, and trembled while I listened : 
 Oh, dool and wae, my dream's been read right soon ! 
 Yestreen I dreamed twa mice had holed the moon. 
 
 Gaf. The sword o' justice never fa's unwrought for ! 
 But come, alive or dead, let's seek our daughter. 
 
 Muir. I'll no be wecl this month, oh, what a fright ! 
 
 I'll no gang owre the muir my lane this night. 
 
 \_Exit. 
 
 SCENE IL 
 
 A briery bank, ahint a broomy knowe, 
 Our youthfu' loving couple, hid frae view, 
 Their vows renew, and liere wi' looks sao sweet, ' 
 They set their tryst where neist again to meet. 
 
 Jean. My heart shall, ever gratefu', bless the laird, 
 Wha showed my dearest Harry such regard ;
 
 taitnahill's poems. 73' 
 
 Restored you to our hills and rural plain, 
 Erae war's fatigues, safe to my arms again, 
 
 Harry. Remote from bustling camps and war's alarms, 
 Thus, let me ever clasp thee in my arms. 
 
 Jean. But here, my lad, we darena Aveel be seen ; 
 Dear Harry ! say, where will we meet at e'en ? 
 
 HAERY'S SONG. 
 
 We'll meet beside tlie dusky glt^n, on yon burn side, 
 Where the bushes form a cozy den, on yon burn side; 
 Though the broomy knowos be green, yet, there we may be seen, 
 But we'll meet, we'll meet at e'en, down by yon burn side. 
 
 I'll lead thee to the birken bower, on yon burn side ; 
 Rae sweetly wove wi' woodbine flower, on yon burn side ; 
 There the busy prying eye ne'er diaturbs the lovers' joy, 
 While in ither's arms they lie, down by yon burn side. 
 
 Awa', ye rude unfeeling crew, frae yon burn side. 
 
 Those fairy scenes are no for you, by you burn side ; 
 
 There fancy smoothes her themo, by the sweetly murmuring stream, 
 
 And the rock-lodged echoes skim, down by yon burn side. 
 
 Now the planting taps are tinged wi' goad on yon burn side, 
 And gloamin' draws her foggy shroud o'er yon burn side, 
 Far frae the noisy scene, I'll through the fields alane, 
 There we'll meet, my ain dear Jean ! down by yon burn side, 
 
 Jean. I'll jeer my ancient wooer hame, and then 
 I'll meet you at the opening o' the glen. 
 
 \_I^xit separately. 
 
 SCENE III.— Gaffer's House. 
 
 With unsuccessfu' search the ghost-rid three, 
 Ha'e sovight the boortree bank, and hemlock lea. 
 The nettle-corner, and the rowan-tree brae — 
 Sae here they come, a' sunk in deepest wae, 
 
 Gaf. Alas ! guidwife our search has been in yain, 
 Come o't what will, my bosom's wrung wi' pain ; 
 I haflins think his een ha'e him mislipened, 
 But oh ! it's hard to say what may ha'e happened. 
 
 Enter Muirland running. 
 
 Muir. Preserve's ! oh, haste ye ! rin, mak' mettle heels ; 
 1 saw tlie dragon spankin' o'er the fields. 
 
 \TJiey stop from going out on seeing Jean enter.'] 
 Jean. What mak's you stare so strange — what's wraug 
 wi' W^illie? 
 He roars as loud's a horn, tlxough auld and silly.
 
 74 , TATryAniLL'S POEMS. 
 
 JWin'r. I'm no sae aulcl — my pith ye yet may brag on ; 
 But, Jeanie, love ! how did you match the dragon ? 
 
 Jean. Auld bletherin' wight ! the gowk's possessed, I 
 ween. 
 
 Gqf. Come, daughter ! clear this riddle — where ha'e ye 
 been ? 
 
 Jean. Father, rare ticwk ! our laird's come hame this day ; 
 His man ca'd in to tell us by the way, 
 Dressed in his sodger's clothes, wi' scarlet coat : 
 He is a bonuie lad, fu' wccl I wot. 
 
 Mtiir. The dragon ! he, he, he ! I've been deliered ; 
 I'll wear a scarlet coat, too, when we're married. 
 
 Gaf. Our laird corae hame ! and safe but skaith or scar ; 
 I'll owre, and hear the history o' the war. 
 Us country folk are ^ound like in a cage up ; 
 I'll owre, and hear about that place ca'd Egypt : 
 I long to hear him tell a' what he's seen, 
 For four long winters he awa' has been. 
 Wife ! fetch my bonnet that I ooft last owk ; 
 H ere ! brush my coat — fy, Jean ! tak' off that powk. 
 
 Jlfir. Toot, snuff! 'bout news ye needna be sathrang; 
 Let's set the bridal night afore ye gang. 
 
 Muir. The bridal night ! he^ he ! he, he ! that's right : 
 The bridal night ! he, he ! the bridal night. 
 
 Jean. I'll hang as high's the steeple, in a wuddie, 
 Before I wed wi' that auld kecklin' body. 
 
 Mir, "Was mither e'er sae plagued wi' a daughter ? 
 Oh, that's her thank for a' the length I've brought her! 
 
 Gaf. This racket in a house — it is a shame : [Cnjing. 
 I'll thank you, Muirlaud, to be steppin' hame, 
 
 Jean. Auld swirlon, slaethorn, crumsheugh, crooked 
 wight, 
 C ae wa', and ne'er again come in my sight ! 
 
 Muir. That e'er my lugs were doomed to hear sic words, 
 AVliilk rush into my heart like point 1 swords ! 
 Frac me let younkers warning tak' in time. 
 And wed, ere dozened down ayont their prime : 
 Oh. me ! I oanna gang ; 'twill break my heart ; 
 Ijct's hae a farewell peep afore we part. 
 [ZZe puts on his spectacles, stares at Jean, and roars ludi' 
 crously. Exit crying.^
 
 taknauill's poems. 76 
 
 Enter the Laird, attended ly Haruy. 
 
 Laird. Well, how d'ye do, my worthy tenants, pray ; 
 How fares good Gaffer since I went away ? 
 
 Gaf. My noble laird ! thanks to the lucky star 
 That steered you hame, safe through the storms o' war. 
 
 Laird, Thanks, honest Iriend ! I know your heart of 
 truth ; 
 But for my safety, thank this gallant youth : 
 He saved my life — to him I owe my fame, 
 And gratitude shall still revere his name. 
 
 Oaf. May heaven's post-angel swift my blessings carry ; 
 He saved your life — preserve me, it is Harry ! 
 Thrice welcome, lad ! here, gi'es a shake o' yer paw ; 
 Te've mended hugely since you gaed awa.' 
 
 Harry. Yes, sodgering brushes up a person's frame, 
 But at the heart I hope I'm still the same. 
 
 Oaf. Your promise to do weel, I see you've keepen't . 
 He saved your life — oh, tell me how it happened ! 
 
 Laird. 'Twas March the eighth, that memorable day, 
 Our sea-worn troops, all weary with delay, 
 For six long days, storm-rocked, we lay off-shore, 
 And heard the enemy's guns menacing roar. 
 At length, the wished-lor orders came, to land 
 And drive the foe back from the mounded strand ; 
 Then, each a hero, on the decks we stood. 
 Launched out our boats, and speeded all we coiild ; 
 While clouds of sulphureous smoke obscured the view. 
 And showers of grape-shot from their batteries flew, 
 A brother captain, seated by my side. 
 Received a shot — he sank, he quivered, died ; 
 With friendly hand I closed his life-gone-eyes. 
 Our sighs, our tears, were all his obsequies. 
 Then, as our rowers strove with lengthened sweep, 
 Back from the stern I tumbled in the deep. 
 And sure had perished, for each pressing wave 
 Seemed emulous to be a soldier's grave. 
 Had not this gallant youth, at danger's shrine, 
 Offering his life a sacrifice for mine. 
 Leaped from the boat, and beat his billowy way 
 To where I belched and struggled in the sea ;
 
 76 TATTNAUlLl/s POEMS. 
 
 "With gcdlike arm sustained life's sinking hope, 
 Till the succeeding rowers picked us up. 
 
 Qaf. Fair fa' your worth, my brave young sodger l.ul ! 
 To see you safe rotunie(l my lieart is glad : 
 Ilk cottar I'ound will long your name regard, 
 And l)less you for your kindness to the laird. 
 
 Laird. And when the day's hot work of wax was done, 
 Each fight-tired soldier leaning on his gun, 
 I sought my brave deliverer and made 
 An offer with what influence I had, 
 To raise his fortune — but he shunned reward, 
 Yet warmly thanked me for my kind regard. 
 Then, as in warmth I praised his good behaviour, 
 He modestly besought me this one favour, 
 That, if surviving when the war was o'er. 
 And safe returned to Scotia once more, 
 I'd ask your will for him to wed your daughter : 
 A manly, virtuous heart he home hath brought her. 
 
 Gaf. With a' my luiart he has my free consent \ 
 Wife, what say ye % I hope ye're weel content. 
 
 Mir. A mither's word stands neither here nor there : 
 Tak' him or no, I'm sure I dinna care. 
 
 Laird. Accept this trifle as young Harry's wife ; 
 
 \Gives his purse to Jean. 
 Money is no equivalent for life ; 
 And take this ring — good mistress, here's another ! 
 With this I enlist you for young Harry's mother. 
 
 Jean. Excuse me, sir, my li])S can not impart 
 The warm emotions of my grateful heart. 
 
 3Iir. It's goud, it's goud ! oh, yes, sir, I agree ; 
 GafTer, it's goud ! yes, love should aye be free. 
 
 Oaf. Daft woman, cease ! 
 
 Laird. And as for you, good Gaffer, 
 
 ]\Iy steward will inform what's in your favour. 
 Meantime, prepare the wedding to your wills, 
 Invite my tenants from the neiglibouring hills, 
 Then feast, drink, dance, till each one tynes his senses, 
 And spare no cost, for I shall pay the expenses. 
 
 Harry. Most generous sir, to toll how much I owe, 
 I'm weak in words ; let time and actions show. 
 
 Laird. My dearest friend. I pray, no more of this ; 
 Would I could make you happy as I wish '
 
 TAJfNAUILL's POEMS. 77 
 
 rrom him most benefited most is due, 
 
 And sure the debt belongs from me to you : 
 
 Attend the mansion soon as morning's light. 
 
 And now, my friends, I wish you all good night ! [Exit. 
 
 Harry. Great is his soul ! soft be his bed of rest, 
 Whose only wish is to make others blessed. 
 
 Mir. I'll gang to kirk neist Sunday— odd's my life ' 
 This gouden ring will vex Grlen Craigie's wife. 
 
 Gaf. Wife, fy ! let pride and envy gang thegither ; 
 This house, I hope, will ne'er be fashed wi' either : 
 Aye be content wi' what ye ha'e yoursel', 
 And never grudge to see a neighbour's weel. 
 But Harry, man ! I lang to hear you sing ; ^ 
 Te wont to make our glens and plantings ring. 
 
 Harry. My heart was never on a cantier key, 
 I'll sing you one with true spontaneous glee. 
 
 SONG. 
 Tune—" My laddie is gane." 
 From the rude bustling camp to tlie calm rural plain, 
 I'm come, my dear Jeanie, to bless thee again; 
 Stili burning for linnour our warriors may roam, 
 But the laurel I wished for, I've won it at home : 
 All the glories of conquest no joy could impart. 
 When far from the kind little girl of my heart ; 
 Now, safely returned, I will leave thee no more, 
 But love my dear Jeanie till life's latest hour. 
 
 The sweets of retirement, how pleasing to me ! 
 Possessing all worth, my dear Jeanie, in thee ! 
 Our flocks early bleating will make us to joy, 
 And our raptures exceed the warm tints to the sky; 
 In sweet rural pastimes our days stiU will glide, 
 Till time looking back will adniire at his speed, 
 Still blooming in virtue, though youth tiien be o'er, 
 I'll love my dear Jeanie till life's latest hour. 
 
 Enter Muirlaj^d. 
 
 Muir. That's nobly sung, my hearty sodger callan, 
 I've heard you a' ahint the byre-door hallau ; 
 I see my faults, I've changed my foolish views, 
 And now I'm come to beg for your excuse : 
 The sang sings true, I own't without a swithcr, 
 " Auld age and young can never 'gree thegither." 
 I think, through life I'll mak' a canny feu', 
 Wi' hurcheon Nancy o' the hazel glen ;
 
 78 TAJfNAHILL's POEMS. 
 
 Slie has my vows, but aye I let her stand, 
 In hopes to win that bonnio Lassie's hand ; 
 Oh ! foolish thought, I maist could greet wi' spite, 
 But it was sleeky love had a' the wyte ; 
 Nae mair let fortune pride in her deserts, 
 Her goud can purchase hands, but ne'er can sowther hearts. 
 Gaf. The man wha sees his faults and strives to men' 'em, 
 Does mair for virtue than he ne'er had haen 'em ; 
 And he wha deals in scandal only gains 
 A rich repay of scandal for his pains. 
 Ye ha'e our free excuse, ye needna doubt it, 
 Te'll ne'er frae us mair hear a word about it. 
 
 Muir. That's a' I wish'd — I couldna bide the thought, 
 To live on earth, and bear your scorn in aught ; 
 My heart's now whole — ye soon shall hear the banns 
 Proclaim'd i' the parish kirk 'tween me and Nause. 
 I'm no the first auld chield wha's gotten a slight ; 
 I'll owre the muir — sae fareweel a' this night. [Exif, 
 
 Gaf. Of a' experience, that bears aif the bell, 
 AVhi'lk lets a body rightly ken himsel'. 
 
 Jean. May lasses, wdien their joes are far frae hame, 
 
 Bid straggling wooers gang the gates they came ; 
 
 Else, aiblins, when their moonshine course shifts past, 
 
 They'll ha'e to wed auld dotards at the last. 
 
 Mir. Guidwives should aye be subject to their men ; 
 
 I'll ne'er speak contrar to your will again. 
 
 Gaf. That's right, guidwife, I'm sure I weel may say, 
 
 Glenfeoch never saw sae bless'd a day. 
 
 Toung folks, we'll set the bridal day the morn : 
 
 But, lucky, haste ! bring ben the Christmas horn ; 
 
 Let's pour ae sacred bumjicr to the laird, 
 
 A glass, to crown a wish, was never better wair'd. 
 Harry. "While I was yet a boy, my parents died, 
 
 And left me poor and friendless, wand 'ring wide; 
 
 Your goodness found me — 'neath your fostering care, 
 
 I learn'd those precepts which I'll still revere : 
 
 And now, to Heaven for length of life I pray. 
 
 With filial love your goodness to repay. 
 Gaf. This sacred maxim let us still regard, 
 
 That virtue ever is its own reward; 
 
 And what we give to succour the distress'd, 
 
 Calls down from Heaven a blessing on the rest.
 
 tai^nahill's poems. 79 
 
 I IT C S . 
 
 Bicii Gripus pretends "he's my patron and friend, 
 That all times to serve me he's willini^ ; 
 
 But he looks down so sour on the suppliant poor, 
 That I'd starve ere I'd ask him one shilling. 
 
 O^Ijc promotroiT. 
 
 When the devil got notice old Charon was dead, 
 
 He wished for some blockhead to row in his stead ; 
 
 For lie feared one with intellect discoveries might make, 
 
 Of his tortures and racks t'other side of the lake ; 
 
 So for true native dullness and want of discernment. 
 
 He sought the whole world, and gave .John the preferment. 
 
 R mim of tijanulcr. 
 
 "Wee a , self-sainted wight, 
 
 If e'er he win to heaven, 
 The veriest wretch, though black as pitch, 
 
 May rest he'll be forgiven. 
 Wi' holy pride he cocks his nose, 
 
 And talks o' honest dealings ; 
 But when our webs are at the close, 
 
 He nips off twa three shillings. 
 
 I SCORN the selfish, purse-proud b 
 
 Who piques himself on being rich 
 With two-score pounds, late legacied, 
 Saved by his half-starved father's greed. 
 To former neighbours not one word ; 
 He bows obsequious to my lord. 
 In public, see him ! how he capers ! 
 Looks big, steps shor' j)ulls out his papers ; 
 And from a silly, puppisli dance, 
 Commences the great man at once.
 
 so TANNAHILL S POEMS. 
 
 NOTED FOR HIS ASSUMED SANCTITY. 
 
 Wir VT need'st thou droad the end of sin, 
 
 The dire reward of evil : 
 Keep but that black infernal grin, 
 
 'Twill scar the very devil. 
 
 TO ATTEND A MEETING OF THE " BUKXs' ANNIVERSARY SOCIETY." 
 
 King Geordie issues out his summons, 
 To ca' his bairns, the lairds and commons, 
 To creesli the nation's niooly heels, 
 And butter commerce rusty wheels, 
 And see what new, what untried tax, 
 AYill lie the easiest on our backs. 
 
 The priest convenes his scandal-court, 
 To ken Avliat houghmigandie sport 
 Has been gaun on within the parish. 
 Since last they met, their funds to cherish. 
 
 But I, the servant of Apollo, 
 Whose mandates I am proud to follow ; 
 He bids me warn you, as the friend 
 Of Burns's fame, that ye'll attend, 
 Neist Friday's e'en, in Lucky Wright's, 
 To spend the best, the wale o' nights. 
 Sae, under pain o' half a mark, 
 Ye'll come, as signed by me, the clerk. 
 
 Robert Tannahill. 
 
 " He was a man without a clag; 
 His heart was frank without a flaw." 
 
 Responsive to the roaring Hoods, 
 
 Ye winds, howl plaintive through the woods ; 
 
 Thou gloomy sky, pour down hail clouds, 
 
 His death to wail ; 
 For bright as heaven's brightest studs 
 
 bhiu'd Will MucNeil.
 
 tannajiill's poems. 81 
 
 He every selfish thought did scorn, 
 His warm heart in his looks did burn, 
 Ilk body own'd his kindly turn, 
 
 And gait sae leal ; 
 A kinder saul was never born 
 
 Than Will MacNeil. 
 
 He ne'er kept up a hidlin plack 
 To spend ahint a comrade's back, 
 But on the table gar'd it whack 
 
 Wi' free gude will : 
 Free as the wind on winter stack 
 
 Was Will MacNeil. 
 
 He ne'er could bide a narrow saul, 
 To a' the social virtues caul' ; 
 He wish'd ilk sic a fiery scaul'. 
 
 His shins to peel : 
 Nane sic durst herd in field or faul' 
 
 Wi' Will MacNeil. 
 
 He aye abhorr'd the spaniel art ; 
 
 Aye when he spak' 'twas frae the heart ; 
 
 An honest, open, manly part 
 
 He aye uphel' : 
 " Guile should be davel'd i' the dirt," 
 
 Said Will MacKeil. 
 
 He ne'er had greed to gather gear, 
 Yet rigid kept his credit clear ; 
 He ever was to Misery dear. 
 
 Her loss she'll feel: 
 She aye got saxpence, or a tear, 
 
 Frae Will MacNeil 
 
 In Scotch antiquities he pridet ; 
 
 Auld Hardyknute, he kent wha made it ; 
 
 The bagpipe too, he sometimes sey'd it; 
 
 Pibroch and reel . 
 Our ain auld language few could read it 
 
 Like Wm MacNeil.
 
 82 TAinSTAHILL's POEMS, 
 
 In wilyart glens he lik'd to stray, 
 By foggie rocks, or castle gi-ay ; 
 Yet ghaist-red rustics ne'er did say, 
 
 " Uncanny cliicl ! " 
 They filled their horns wi' usquebac 
 
 To Will MacNeil. 
 
 He sail'd and trampet mony a mile, 
 
 To visit auld I-coluinb-kill ; 
 
 lie dumb tlie heights o' Jura's isle, 
 
 A\"i' weary spiel ; 
 But siccau sights aye pay'd the toil 
 
 Wi' Will MacNeil. 
 
 He rang'd through Morven's hills and glens, 
 Saw some o' Ossian's moss-grown staues. 
 Where rest his low-laid heroes' banes, 
 
 Deep in the hill ; 
 He croon'd a c'ronach to their names, — • 
 
 Kind Will MacNeil ! 
 
 He was deep-read in nature's bulk, 
 Explor'd illv dark mysterious cruik, 
 Kend a' her laws wi' antrin luik. 
 
 And that riglit weel ; 
 But (fate o' genius) death soon tuik 
 
 Aff Will MacNeiL 
 
 Of ilka rock he kent the ore. 
 He kend the virtues o' ilk flow'r, 
 Ilk banefu' plant he kent its power. 
 
 And warn'd frac ill : 
 A' nature's warks few could explore 
 
 Like Will MacNeil. 
 
 He kend a' creatures, clute and tail 
 Down frao the lion to the snail, 
 Up frae the mennoun to the whale, 
 
 And kraken eel : 
 Scarce ane could tell their gaits sae weel 
 
 As Will MacNeil
 
 tannahill'r poems. S3 
 
 Nor past he ought thing slightly by, 
 But with keen scrutinizing eye, 
 He to its inmaist bore would pry, 
 
 Wi' wondrous skill ; 
 And teaching ithers aye ga'e joy 
 
 To Will MacNeil. 
 
 He kend auld Archimedes' gait, 
 What way he burnt the Roman fleet, 
 " Twas by the rays' reflected heat 
 
 " Frae speculum steel, 
 " For bare refraction ne'er could do't," 
 
 Said Will MacNeil. 
 
 Yet fame his praise did never rair it. 
 For poortith's weeds obscur'd his merit, 
 Forby, he had a bashfu' spirit, 
 
 That sham'd to tell 
 His worth or wants ; let envy spare it. 
 
 To Will MacNeil. 
 
 Barra, thou wast sair to blame ! 
 
 1 here record it to thy shame, 
 Thou luit the brightest o' thy name, 
 
 Unheeded steal. 
 Through murky life to his lang hame, — 
 
 Poor Will MacNeil. 
 
 He ne'er did wrang to living creature. 
 
 For ill, Will hadna't in his nature ; 
 
 A warm, hind heart his leading feature. 
 
 His mainspring wheel ; 
 Ilk virtue grew to noble stature 
 
 In Will ]\IacNeil. 
 
 There's no a man that ever ken'd him. 
 But wi' his tears will lang lament him ; 
 He has na' left his match ahint him. 
 
 At hame or fiel' ; 
 His worth lang on our minds will print him, — 
 
 Kind Will MacNeil.
 
 84 tannahill's toems. 
 
 But close, my sang ; my haraeward lays 
 Are far unfit to speak his praise ; 
 Our happy nights, our happy days, 
 
 Farewcul, fareweel ! 
 Now dowie, mute — tears speak our waes 
 
 For Will MacNeU. 
 
 THE CONTRARY. 
 
 Get up, my Muse, and sound thy chanter, 
 Nor langor wi' our feelings saunter ; 
 Ilk true-blue Scot, get up and canter, 
 
 He's hale and weel ! 
 And lang may Fate keep off mischanter 
 
 Frae WiU MacNeil. 
 
 ^t ^filial i?ijto. 
 
 Why heaves my mother oft the deep-drawn sigh 
 
 Why starts the big tear glistening in her eye? 
 
 Why oft retire to hide her bursting grief 1 
 
 Why seeks she not, nor seems to wish relief'? 
 
 'Tis for my father, mould'ring with the dead. 
 
 My brother, in bold manhood, lowly laid. 
 
 And for the pains which age is doom'd to bear. 
 
 She heaves the deep-drawn sigh, and drops the secret tear. 
 
 Yes, partly these her gloomy thoughts employ, 
 
 But mostly this o'erclouds her earthly joy ; 
 
 She grieves to think she may be burdensome, 
 
 Now feeble, old, and tott'ring to the tomb. 
 
 Oh hear me, Heaven ! and record my vow ; 
 Its non-performance let thy wrath pursue ! 
 I swear — Of what tliy providence may give. 
 My mother shall her due maintenance have. 
 'Twas hers to guide me through life's early day. 
 To point out virtue's 'paths, and lead the way : 
 Now, while her powers in frigid languor sleep, 
 'Tis mine to hand her down life's rugged steep, 
 With all her little weaknesses to bear, 
 Attentive, kind, to soothe her every care. 
 'Tis nature bids, and truest pleasure flows 
 From lessening an aged parent's woes.
 
 tannaiiill's roEMS. 85 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 The rough hail rattles through the trees, 
 
 The sullen lift low'rs gloomy gray, 
 The traveller sees the swelling storm, 
 
 And seeks the ale-house by the way. 
 
 But, waes me ! for yon widowed wretch, 
 Borne down with j^ears and heavy care, 
 
 Her sapless fingers scarce can nip 
 The wither'd twigs to beet her fire. 
 
 Thus youth and vigour fends itsel', 
 
 Its help, reciprocal, is sure ; 
 While dowless Eild, in poortith cauld, 
 
 Is lonely left to stand the stoure. 
 
 Stanzas. 
 
 WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL ON THE GRAVESTONE OF A DEPARTED FRIEND. 
 
 Stop, passenger — here muse awhile — 
 Think on his darksome lone abode, 
 
 Who late, like thee, did jocund smile, 
 But now lies 'neath this cold green sod. 
 
 Art thou to vicious ways inclin'd. 
 Pursuing pleasure's flow'ry road 1 
 
 Know — fell Remorse shall rack thy mind, 
 When tott'ring to thy cold grsen sod. 
 
 If thou a friend to virtue art. 
 
 Oft pitying burden'd mis'ry's load ; 
 
 Like thee he had a feeling heart, 
 
 Who lies beneath this cold green sod. 
 
 With studious philosophic eye, 
 
 He look'd through nature up to God ; 
 
 His future hope his greatest joy, 
 
 Who lies beneath this cold green sod. 
 
 Go, passenger — revere this truth ; 
 
 A life well spent in doing good, 
 Soothes joyless age, and sprightly youth, 
 
 When drooping o'er the cold green sod.
 
 86 tannaiiill's poems 
 
 (On |ilcvauL)er acllHson's (}Bmi(jr:itian to §^nunc:r. 
 
 Death ! it's no thy deeds I mourn, 
 Though oft my heart strings tliou hast torn ; 
 'Tis worth and merit k'ft forlorn, 
 
 Life's ills to dree, 
 Gars now the pearly, brackish burn 
 
 Gush frae my e'c. 
 
 Is there who feels tlie meltinir glow 
 Of sympathy for ither's wo 1 
 Come let our tears thegitlier flow ; 
 
 Oh join my mane ! 
 For Wilson, worthiest of us a', 
 
 For aye is gane. 
 
 He bravely strove 'gainst fortune's stream, 
 Wliile hope held forth a distant gleam ; 
 Till dash'd and dash'd, time after time, 
 
 On life's rough sea, 
 He wept his native thankless clime, 
 
 And sailed away. 
 
 The patriot bauld, the social brither, 
 In him were sweetly joined thegither ; 
 He knaves reprov'd without a swither. 
 
 In keenest satire, 
 And taught what mankind owe each ither 
 
 As sons of nature. 
 
 If thou hnst heard his wee bit wren 
 Wail forth its sorrows through the glen, 
 Tell how his warm, descriptive pen 
 
 Has thrilled thy sanl : 
 His sensibility sae keen. 
 
 He felt for all. 
 
 Since now he's gane, and Burns is dead, 
 Ah ! Avha will tune the Scottish reed 1 
 Her thistle, dowie, hangs its head ; 
 
 Her harp's unstrung ' 
 While mountain, river, loch and mead, 
 
 Eemain unsung.
 
 TANNAHILL^S POEMS. 1 87 
 
 Fareweel, thou much neglected bard ! 
 These lines will speak my warm regard, 
 While strangers on a foreign sward 
 
 Thy worth hold dear ; 
 Still some kind heart thy name shall guarc' 
 
 Unsullied here, 
 
 Somtd to Sinccrttij. 
 
 Pure emanation of the honest soul, 
 
 Dear to my heart, manly Sincerity ! 
 Dissimulation shrinks, a coward foul, 
 
 Before thy noble art-detesting eye. 
 
 Thou scorn'st the wretch who acts a double part, 
 Obsequious, servile, flattering to betray ; 
 
 With smiling face that veils a ranc'rous heart. 
 Like sunny morning of tempestuous day. 
 
 Thou spurnest the sophist, with his guilty lore, 
 Whom int'rest prompts to weave the specious snare ; 
 
 In independence rich, thou own'st a store 
 
 Of conscious worth, which changelings never share. 
 
 Then come, bright virtue, with thy dauntless brow, 
 And crush deceit, vile monster, reptile-low. 
 
 WRITTEN ON READING THE " PLEASURES OF HOPE." 
 
 How seldom 'tis the Poet's happy lot 
 
 T' inspire his readers with the fire he wrote ; 
 
 To strike those chords that Avake the latent thrill, 
 
 And wind the willing passions to his will : 
 
 Yes, Campbell, sure that happy lot is thine. 
 
 With fit expression, rich from Nature's mine. 
 
 Like old Timotheus, skilful plac'd on high, 
 
 To rouse revenge, or soothe to sympathy. 
 
 Blest Bard ! who chose no paltry local theme, — 
 
 Kind hope through wide creation is the same ; 
 
 Zes, Afric's sons shall one day burst their chain;^, 
 
 Will read thy lines, and bless thee for thy pains ;
 
 88 TANNAIIITJ/S POEMS. 
 
 Fame yet sh;ill M-aft thy name to India's shore, 
 Wliorc next to Braluna tiny thee will adore ; 
 And hist'ry's page, exulting in thy praise, 
 Will proudly hand thee down to future days — 
 Detraction fbil'd reluctant quits her grip, 
 And carping Envy silent bites her lip. 
 
 ^ i It i^ s 
 
 WRITTEN ON SEEING A SPIDER DART OUT UPON A FLY. 
 
 Let gang your grip, ye auld grim devil ! 
 
 Else with ae cru^sh I'll mak' you civil : 
 
 Like dcljtor-bard in merchant's claw, 
 
 The fieut o' mercy ye've at a' ! 
 
 Sae spite an' malice (hard to ken 'em,) 
 
 Sit spewing out their secret venom ; — 
 
 Ah, hear ! — poor buzzard's roaring murder ; 
 
 Let gang ! — Na faith !— Thou scorn'st my order I- 
 
 Weel, tak' thou that !— vile ruthless creature ! 
 
 For who but hates a savage nature ? 
 
 Sic fate to ilk unsocial kebar. 
 
 Who lays a snare to ^vrang his neighbour. 
 
 ON SEEING A FOP PASS AN OLD BEGGAR. 
 
 He who, unmov'd, can hear the suppliant cry 
 
 Of pallid wretch, plac'd on the pathway side, 
 Nor deigns one pitying look, but passes by 
 
 In all the pomp of self-adorning pride — 
 So may some great man vex his little soul, 
 
 When he, obsequies, makes his lowest bow : 
 Turn from him with a look that says, " Vain fool," 
 
 And speak to some poor man Avhom he would shame to 
 know.
 
 TANNi-IIILL's POEMS. 89 
 
 WRITTEN ON SEEING THE LATE MR THOMAS WILLOUGHBY, TRAGEDIAN, 
 BATHER BELOW HIMSELF. 
 
 Peaceful, slumb'ring in the ale-house, 
 
 See the god-like Rolla lie ; 
 Drink outwits the best of fellows : 
 
 Here lies poor Tom Willoughby. 
 
 Where is stern King Richard's fury 1 
 Where is Osmond's blood-tlush'd eye 1 
 
 See these mighty men before ye, 
 Sunk to poor Tom Willoughb3^ 
 
 Pity 'tis that men of merit, 
 
 Thus such sterling worth destroy ; 
 
 ye gods ! did I inherit 
 
 Half the pow'rs of Willoughby. 
 
 OM A FLATTERER. 
 
 I HATE a flatterer as I hate the devil. 
 
 But Tom's a very, very pleasant dog ; 
 Of course let's speak of him in terms more civil- 
 
 I hate a flatterer as I hate a hog : 
 Not but applause is music to mine ears, 
 
 He is a knave who says he likes it not, 
 But when in Friendship's guise Deceit appears, 
 
 'Twould fret a Stoic's frigid temper hot. 
 
 WRITTEN ON HEARING A FELLOW TELL SOME STORIES TO THE HURT 0? 
 
 HIS BEST FRIENDS. 
 
 As secret's the grave be the man whom I trust ; 
 
 What friendship imparts still let honour conceal : 
 A plague on those babblers, their names be accurs'd ! 
 
 Still first to inquire, and the first to reveal.
 
 90 tannatiill's poems. 
 
 As open as day let me he with the man 
 
 •Who tells me my failiui^^s from motives upright; 
 But when of those gossipping fools I meet one, 
 Let me fold in my soul, and be close as the night. 
 
 |£ X n ^ s 
 
 WRITTEN WITH A PKNCIL IN A TAP-ROOM. 
 
 This warld's a tap-room owre and owtg, 
 
 Whare ilk ane tak's his caper ; 
 Some taste the sweet, some clrink the sour, 
 
 As waiter Fate sees proper. 
 Let mankind live ae social core. 
 
 And drap a' selfish quarr'lling, 
 And when the landlord ca's his score, 
 
 May ilk anc's clink be sterling. 
 
 6pistlc to Jumcs ^tiibbck. 
 
 WRITTEN ON RECEIVING FROM Hilt A SMALL MS. VOLUME OF ORIGINAL 
 
 SCOITISII I'OKMS. 
 
 Api-il, 1803 
 When colleged bards bestride Pegasus, 
 And try to gallop up Parnassus, 
 
 By dint o' mickle lear, 
 The lowe o' friendship fires my soul, 
 To write you this poetic scrawl, 
 Prosaic, dull, I fear ! 
 
 But weel I ken your generous heart 
 
 Will overlook its failings. 
 And where the poet has come short 
 Let friendship cure his ailings, 
 'Tis kind, man — divine, man. 
 
 To hide the fault we see, 
 Or try to men't, as far's we ken't, 
 Wi' true sincerity. 
 
 This last observe brings i' my head 
 To tell you here my social creed : 
 
 Let's use a' mankind weel ; 
 And ony sumph who'd use us ill, 
 Wi' dry contempt let's treat him still ;
 
 tannahill's poems. 01 
 
 He'll feel it worst himsel' : 
 I never flatter, praise but rare ; 
 
 I scorn a double part ; 
 And when I s])eak I speak sincere, 
 The dictates o' my heart. 
 I truly hate the dirty gate 
 That mony a body tak's. 
 Wha fraze ane, syne blaze ane, 
 As soon's they turn their backs. 
 In judging, let us be right hooly : 
 
 I've heard some folks descant sae freely 
 
 On other people's matters, 
 As if themselves were real perfection, 
 "When, had they stood a fair inspection, 
 The abused were far their betters. 
 
 But gossips aye maun hae their crack, 
 
 Though moralists should rail ; 
 Let's end the matter wi' this fact, 
 That goodness pays itsel'. 
 
 The joys, man, that raise man 
 
 To ane frae doing weel, 
 Are siccan joys that hardened vice 
 Can seldom ever feel. 
 
 Oh, Jamie, man ! I'm proud to see't, 
 Our ain auld muse yet keeps her feet, 
 
 'Maist healthy as before ; 
 For sad predicting fears foretauld, 
 When Eobin's glowing heart turned cauld, 
 Then a' our joys were o'er. 
 
 Ilk future bard revere his name, 
 
 Through thousand years to come ; 
 And though we cannot reach his fame. 
 Busk laurels round his tomb. 
 
 Yet, though he's dead, the Scottish reed 
 
 This mony a day may ring, 
 In Livingston, in Anderson, 
 In Scadlock, and in King. 
 
 "The Tap-room," what a glorious treat! 
 " Complaint and Wish," how plaintive sweet 1 
 " The Weaver's" just " Lament j"
 
 92 TANNAniLL's POEMS. 
 
 The gloamin' frati:niont, liow divine ! 
 There nature speaks in every line ; 
 The bard's immortal in't. 
 
 Yon '' Ej)igram on Jamie Long" 
 
 Is pointed as the steel ; 
 And '• Hoot ! ye ken yoursel' " 's a song 
 Would please e'en Burns himsel' ! 
 Let snarling mean quarrelling, 
 
 Be doubly damned hencefortli ! 
 An 1 let us raise the voice of praise, 
 To hearten modest worth. 
 
 And you, my dear respected frien', 
 Your " Spring" 's a precious evergreen, 
 
 Fresh beauties budding still : 
 Your "Levern Banks" and " Killoch Burn," 
 Ye sing them wi' sae sweet a turn, 
 Ye gar the heart-strings thrill. 
 
 " October winds," e'en let them ravo 
 
 "\\'i' nature-blasting liowl, 
 If in return kind heaven give 
 The sunshine of tlie soul : 
 
 Tlie feeling heart that bears a part 
 
 In others' joys and woes, 
 May still depend to find a friend, 
 Howe'er the tempest blows. 
 
 Yet, long I've thought, and think it yet, 
 Tnie friends are rarely to be met 
 Who share in otliers' troubles ; 
 Who jointly joy, or drop the tear 
 E^ciprocal, and kindly bear 
 Wi' ane another's troubles. 
 
 Even such a friend I once could boast, 
 
 Ah ! now in death he's low; 
 But fond anticipation hopes 
 For such a friend in you. 
 Dear Jamie, forgie me 
 
 That last presumptive line ; 
 See, here's my hand at your command 
 Y''e hae my heart langsyne !
 
 tannaiiill's poems. 93 
 
 C^e gtoralists. 
 
 "Barbarous !" cried Jolm, in humanizing mood, 
 
 To Will, who'd shot a blackbird in the wood ; 
 
 " The savage Indian pleads necessity, 
 
 But thou, barbarian wretch ! hast no such plea." 
 
 Hark ! click the alehouse door, his wife comes in : 
 
 " Dear help's, man, John! preserve me, what d'ye mean ? 
 
 Six helpless bairns, the deil confound your drouth, 
 
 Without ae bit to stap a single mouth." 
 
 " Get hame," cried John, " else, jade, I'll kick your a — e," 
 
 Sure such humanity is all a farce. 
 
 ■WEITTEN ON THE BACK OF A GUINEA NOTE. 
 
 Thou little badge of independence, 
 
 Thou mak'st e'en pride dance mean attendance ; 
 
 Thou sure hast magic in tliy looks. 
 
 Gives poets a taste for tasteless books ; 
 
 Mak'st lawyers lie, mak'st courtiers flatter, 
 
 And wily statesmen patriots clatter. 
 
 Mak'st ancient maids seem young again, 
 
 At sixty beauteous as sixteen ; 
 
 Mak'st foes turn friends, and friends turn foes, 
 
 And drugmen brew the poisoning dose ; 
 
 And even, as common say prevails. 
 
 Thou mak'st e'en justice tip the scales. 
 
 ON A COUNTRY^ JUSTICE IN THE SOUTH. 
 
 What gars yon gentry gang wi' Jock, 
 
 And ca' him sir and master ? 
 The greatest dunce, the biggest block, 
 
 That ever nature cuist her : 
 Yet see, they've placed this human stock 
 
 Strict justice to dispense ; 
 Which plainly shows, yon meikle folk 
 
 Think siller stands for sense.
 
 94 tannaiiill's poems. 
 
 QUOTII gol)l)in Tom of Lancasliiro, 
 
 To nortluTii Jock, a lowland drover, 
 *' Tliose are foin kaise tliai'rt driving thcra, 
 
 They've zure been fed on English clover." 
 "Foin kaise !" quoth Jock, " ye bleth'ring hash, 
 
 Deil draw your nose as lang's a sow's ! 
 That tank o' yours is cjueer-like trash, 
 
 Foin kaise! poor gowk! — their names are KOOSE." 
 The very fault which I in others see, 
 Like kind, or worse, perhaps, is seen in me. 
 
 CniED Dick to Bob, " Great news to-day!" 
 
 " Great news," quoth Bob, "what great news, pray?" 
 
 Said Dick, " Our gallant tars at sea, 
 
 Have gain'd a brilliant victory." 
 
 " Indeed I " cried Bob, " it may be true, 
 
 But that, you know, is nothing new." 
 
 " French threats of invasion let Britons defy, 
 
 And spike the proud frogs if our coast they should 
 crawl on." 
 
 Yes, statesmen know well that our spirits are high. 
 The financier has rais'd them two shillings per gallon. 
 
 Nature, impartial in her ends, 
 
 When she made man the strongest, 
 
 For scrimpet pith, to maJt' amends, 
 Made woman's tongue the longest.
 
 TANNAHILL's POExMS. 95 
 
 ON SEEING A ONCE WOETHY CHARACTER LYING INEBRIATED 
 
 ON THE STREET. 
 
 If loss of worth may draw the pity tear, 
 
 Stop, passenger, and pay that tribute here — 
 
 Here lies whom all with justice did commend, 
 
 The rich man's pattern, and the poor man's friend ; 
 
 He cheer'd pale Indigence's bleak abode. 
 
 He oft removed Misfortune's galling load ; 
 
 Kor was his bounty to one sect confined. 
 
 His goodness beam'd alike on all mankind : 
 
 Now, lost in folly, all his virtues sleep — - 
 
 Let's mind his former worth, and o'er his frailties weep. 
 
 FOR T B , ESQ. 
 
 A GENTLEMAN WHOM INDIGENCE NEVER SOLICITED IN VAIN. 
 
 Ever green be the sod o'er kind Tom of the Wood, 
 
 For the poor man he ever supplied ; 
 We may weel say, alas ! for our ain scant of grace, 
 
 That we reck'd not his worth till he died; 
 Though no rich marble bust mimics grief o'er his dust, 
 
 Yet fond memory his virtues will save ; 
 Oft, at lone twilight hour, sad remembrance shall pour 
 
 Her sorrows, unfeigned, o'er his grave. 
 
 ON A CRABBED OLD MAID. 
 
 Here slaethorn Mary's hurcheon bouk, 
 
 Resigns its fretful bristles : 
 And is she dead ? No — reader, look. 
 
 Her grave's o'ergrown wi' thistles. 
 
 ON A FARTHING GATHERER. 
 
 Here lies Jamie Wight, wha was wealthy and proud, 
 Few shar'd his regard, and far fewer his goud ; 
 He lived unesteem'd, and he died un lamented, 
 The kirk gat his gear, and auld Jamie is sainted.
 
 9G tannaiiill's poems. 
 
 (L-pistlc ia litnus lUng, 
 
 ON KECEIVING A MORAL EPISTLE FROM HIM.— SIAY, 1802. 
 
 Please accept the tliauks and praise 
 Due to your poetic lays ; 
 "Wisdom aye should be revcr'd, 
 Sense to wit be aye pref'err'd. 
 
 Just your thoughts in simple guise, 
 Fit to make frail mortals wise ; 
 Every period, every Hue, 
 With some moral truth doth shine. 
 
 Like the rocks, which storms divide, 
 Thund'ring down the mountain side, 
 So strides Time, with rapid force, 
 Hound his unobstructed course ; 
 Like a flood upon its way, 
 Sweeping downward to the sea : 
 But what figui-e so sublime. 
 As describe the Hight of time? 
 
 Life's a dream, and man's a bubble 
 Compass'd round with care and trouble : 
 Like a ship in tempest tost, 
 Soon o'erwhclm'd, for ever lost ; 
 Like the short-liv'd passion-liow'r. 
 Blooming, dying in an hour ; 
 Like the tiineful bird that sings, 
 Flutt'ring high on sportive wings ; 
 Till the fowler's subtle art. 
 Drives Death's message to its heart. 
 While, perhaps. Death aims his blow, 
 Swift to lay the wretch as low. 
 
 Now, since life is but a day, 
 Make the most of it we may ; ■ 
 Calm and tranquil let us be, 
 Still re+<ign<;d to Fate's decree. 
 Let not poortith sink us low, 
 Let not wealth exalt our brow ; 
 Let's be grateful, virtuous, wise : 
 There's where all our greatness lies.
 
 tannaiiill's poems. 97 
 
 Doing all the good we can, 
 
 Is all that Heaven requires of man. 
 
 Wherefore should we grieve and sigh, 
 'Cause we know that we must die 1 
 Death's a debt requir'd by nature, 
 To be paid by every creature. 
 Rich and poor, and high and low, 
 Fall by Death's impartial blow. 
 God, perhaps, in kindness will 
 Snatch us from some coming ill ; 
 Death may kindly waft us o'er 
 To a milder, happier shore. 
 
 But, dear Jamie, after a', 
 "What I've said's not worth a straw 
 What is't worth to moralize 
 What we never can practise ? 
 As for me, with a' my skill, 
 Passion leads me as she will ; 
 And resolves, laid down to-day, 
 Ere to-morrow, 're done away : 
 
 Then, let's ever cheerie live, 
 Do our best, and never grieve ; 
 Still let Friendship's warmest tie 
 All deficiencies supply. 
 And, while favour'd by the Nine, 
 I your laurels will entwine. 
 
 Cptstic to fames liarr, 
 
 WHEEEVEK HE MAY BE FOUND.— MAUCH, 1804. 
 
 GuDE Pibrocharian, jorum-jirger. 
 Say, ha'e ye turn'd an Antiburgher? 
 Or lang-fac'd Presbyterian elder. 
 Deep read in wiles o' gathering siller? 
 Or cauld splenetic solitair, 
 Eesolved to herd wi' man nae mair 1 
 
 As to the second, I've nae fear for't, 
 For siller, faith ye ne'er did care for't, 
 Unless to help a needfu' body,
 
 98 tannahill's poems. 
 
 And p;ct an antrin glass o' toddy. 
 But what the black mif=elners como owre youl 
 These three months I've been speirin' for you, 
 Till e'en the Muse, wi' downright grieving, 
 Has worn her chafts as thin's a shaving. 
 Say, ha'e ye ta'en a tramp to Lon'on, 
 In Co. wi' worthy auld Buchanan 1 
 Wha mony a mile wad strcek his shanks 
 To ha'e a crack wi' Josie Banks, 
 Concerning shells, and birds, and metals, 
 Moths, spiders, butterflies, and beetles. 
 Por you, I think, ye'll cut a figure, 
 Wi' king o' pipers, Male. M'Gregor. 
 And wi' your clarion, flute, and fiddle, 
 Will gar their southron heart-strings diddle. 
 
 Or are you through the kintra whisking, 
 Accoutred wi' the sock and buskin 1 
 Thinking to climb to wealth and fame, 
 By adding Koscius to your name 1 
 Frae thoughts o' that, pray, keep abeigh ! 
 Te're far owre auld, and far owre heigh ; 
 Since in thir novel-hunting days, 
 There's nane but bairns cau act our plays. 
 At twal-year auld, if ye had tried it, 
 I doubtna but ye might succeeded ; 
 But full-grown buirdly chields like you, 
 Quite monstrous, man, 'twill never do ! 
 
 Or are ye gane, as there are few sic. 
 For teaching of a band o' music 1 
 Oh, hear auld Scotland's fervent prayers ! 
 And teach her genuine native airs ; 
 Whilk simply play'd, devoid o' art, 
 Thrill through the senses to the heart. 
 Play, when you'd rouse the patriot's saul. 
 True valour's tune, " The Garb of Gaul." 
 And when laid low in glory's bed. 
 Let " Koslin Castle" soothe his shade. 
 The " Bonnie bush aboon Traquair," 
 Its every accent breathes despair ; 
 And " Ettrick Banks," celestial strain ! 
 Mak's simmer's gloaming mair serene ; 
 Aud, oh, how sweet the plaintive muse,
 
 tannahill's poems. 99 
 
 Amang "The Broom o' Cowdcnknowcs !" 
 To hear the love-lorn swain complain, 
 Lone on "The Braes o' Balleudine; " 
 It e'en might melt the dortiest she, 
 That ever sklented scornfu' e'e. 
 AVhen Beauty tries her vocal pow'rs 
 Amang the green- wood's echoing bow'rg, 
 The " Bonnie Birks of Invermay" 
 Might mend a seraph's sweetest lay. 
 Then, should grim Care invest your castle, 
 Just knock him down wi' " AVillie "Wastle," 
 And rant blythe " Lumps o' puddin' ' owre him, 
 And for his dirge sing " Tullochgorum." 
 When Orpheus charm'd his wife frae hell, 
 'Twas nae Scotch tune he play'd sae well ; 
 Else had the worthy auld wire-scraper 
 Been keepet for his de'ilship's piper. 
 Or if ye've turned a feather'd fop, 
 Light dancing upon fashion's top, 
 
 "VVi' lofty brow and selfish e'e. 
 
 Despising low-clad dogs like me ; 
 
 Uncaring your contempt or favour. 
 
 Sweet butterfly, adieu for ever ! 
 
 But, hold, — I'm wrong to doubt your sense. 
 
 For pride proceeds from ignorance. 
 
 If peace of mind lay in fine clothes, 
 
 I'd be the first of fluttering beaux, 
 
 And strut as proud as ony peacock 
 
 That ever crawed on top o' hay-cock ; 
 
 And ere I'd know one vexing thought, 
 
 Get dollar buttons on my coat, 
 
 Wi' a the lave o' fulsome trash on, 
 
 That constitutes a man of fashion. 
 
 Oh, grant me this, kind Providence : 
 
 A moderate, decent competence ; 
 
 Thou'lt see me smile, in independence, 
 
 Above weak-sauled, pride-born ascendence, 
 But whether ye're gane to teach the wliistle. 
 
 'Midst noise and rough reg'mental bustle ; 
 
 Or gane to strut upon the stage, 
 
 Smit wi' the mania o' the age ; 
 
 Or Scotchman-like ha'e tramp'd abreed,
 
 100 tannaiiill's poem;3. 
 
 To yon big town, far soutb the Tweed ; 
 
 Or dourin' in the hermit's cell, 
 
 Unblessing and unblessed yoursel' ; 
 
 In Gude's name write !— tak' up your pen, 
 
 A' how ye're doing let me ken, 
 
 Sae hoping, quickly, your epistle, 
 
 Adieu ! thou genuine son of song and whistle. 
 
 POSTCRIPT. 
 
 "We had a concert here short syne. 
 Oh, man ! the music was divine, 
 Baith plaintive sang and merry glee, 
 In a' the soul of harmony. 
 When Smith and Stewart leave this earth, 
 The gods, in token o' their worth, 
 "Will welcome them at heaven's portals, 
 The brightest, truest, best o' mortals. 
 Apollo proud, as weel he may, 
 "Will walk on tip-toe a' that day ; 
 While a' the muses kindred claim, 
 Eememb'riug what they've done fur them. 
 
 d^pistlc I0 lames Stublath, 
 
 THEN AT PKETH — JUNE, 1S04. 
 
 Let tho3e who never felt its flame, 
 Say friendship is an empty name ; 
 
 Such .selfish, cauld philosophy, 
 
 Por ever I disclaim. 
 
 It soothes the soul with grief oppressed,' 
 iJali'-cures the care-distemper'd breast, 
 
 And in the jocund happy hour, 
 
 Gives joy a higher zest. 
 
 All nature sadden'd at our parting hour, 
 
 Winds plaintive howl'd, clouds weeping, dropt a show'r; 
 
 Our liflds look'd dead, as if they'd said. 
 
 We ne'er shall see him more !
 
 TANNAniLLS POEMS. 101 
 
 Thousli fate and fortune threw their darts, 
 Envyinc: us your high deserts, 
 
 They well might tear you from our arms, 
 
 But never from our hearts. 
 
 "When spring buds forth in vernal show'rs, 
 
 When summer comes arrayed in flow'rs, 
 Or autumn kind, from Ceres' horn, 
 Her grateful bounty pours. ' 
 
 Or bearded winter curls his brow, 
 I'll often fondly think on you, 
 
 And on our happy days and nights, 
 
 With pleasing back-cast view. 
 
 If e'er in musing mood ye stray, 
 Alang the banks of classic Tay, 
 
 Think on our walks by Stanley tow'r, 
 
 And steep Gleniffer brae. 
 
 Think on our langsyne happy hours, 
 Spent where the burn wild rapid pours, 
 
 And o'er the horrid dizzy steep, 
 
 Dashes her mountain-stores. 
 
 Think on our walks by sweet Greenlaw, 
 By woody hill and birken shaw, 
 
 Where nature strews her choicest sweets 
 
 To mak' the landscape braw. 
 
 And think on rural Ferguslie, 
 
 Its plantings green and flow'ry lea ; 
 
 Such fairy scenes, though distant far, 
 
 May please the mental e'e. 
 
 Ton mentor, Geordie Zimmerman, 
 Agrees exactly with our plan ; 
 
 That partial hours of solitude 
 
 Exalt the soul of man. 
 
 So, oft retir'd from strife and din, 
 Let's slum the jarring ways of men, 
 
 And seek serenity and peace 
 
 By stream and woody glen.
 
 102 tannaiiill's poems. 
 
 But e'er a few short summers gae, 
 Your friend will meet his kindred clay ; 
 
 For fell disease tugs at my breai-^t, 
 
 To hurry me away. 
 
 Yet while life's bellows bear to blaw, 
 Till life's last lang-fctclied breath I draw, 
 I'll often fondly think on you, 
 And mind your kindness a'. 
 
 Now fare-ye-weel ! still may ye find 
 
 A friend congenial to your mind, 
 
 To share your joys and half your vrocs, 
 Warm, sympathizing, kind. 
 
 AT OVF.RTON, — JUNE, 1805. 
 
 Dear Will, my much respect'd frien', 
 I send you this to let you ken 
 That, though at distance fate hath set you, 
 Your friends in Paisley don't forget you ; 
 But often think on you, far lone, 
 Amang the braes of Overton. 
 
 Our social club continues yet, 
 Perpetual source of mirth and wit ; 
 Our rigid rules admit but few, 
 Yet still we'll keep a chair for yon. 
 
 A country life I've oft envied, 
 Where love, and truth, and peace preside : 
 Without temptations to allure, 
 Your days glide on unstained and pure ; 
 Nae midnight revels waste your health. 
 Nor greedy landlord drains your wealth ; 
 Ye're never fashed wi' whisky fever. 
 Nor dizzy pow, nor dullness ever ; 
 But breathe the halesome caller air. 
 Remote from aught that genders care. 
 
 I needna' tell how much I lang 
 To hear your rural Scottish sang ; 
 To hear you siug your heath-clad braes,
 
 tankahill's poems. 103 
 
 Yonr jocund nights and happy days ; 
 And lilt vvi' glee the blythesome mom, 
 When dewdraps pearl every thorn ; 
 When larks pour forth the early sang, 
 And lintwhites chant the wliins aniang. 
 And pyats hap frae tree to tree, 
 Teaching their young anes how to flee ; 
 While frae the mavis to the wren, 
 A' warble sweet in bush or glen. 
 
 In town we scarce can find occasion 
 To note the beauties o' creation ; 
 But study mankind's different dealings, 
 Their virtues, vices, merits, failings. 
 Unpleasing task compared wi' yours : 
 You range the hills 'mang mountain flow'rs, 
 And view afar the smoky town. 
 More bless'd than all its riches were your own. 
 
 A lang epistle I might scribble, 
 But aiblins ye will grudge the trouble 
 Of reading sic low hamewart rhyme, 
 And sae it's best to quat in time ; 
 Sae I, with soul sincere and fervent. 
 Am still you trustful friend and servant. 
 
 €^Uh fa ^illhim Mulu^ 
 
 JANUARY, 1806. 
 
 Dear kindred saul, thanks to the cause 
 First made us ken each other ; 
 
 Ca't fate, or chance, I care not whilk, 
 To me it brought a brother. 
 
 "»' 
 
 Thy furthy, kindly, takin' gait : 
 Sure every guid chield likes thee, 
 
 And bad luck wring his thrawart heart, 
 Wha snarling e'er would vex thee. 
 
 Though mole-ey'd Fortune's partial hand, 
 0' clink may keep thee bare o't ; 
 
 Of what thou hast, pale Misery 
 Keceives, unasked, a share o't.
 
 104 TAKNAniLL's POEMS. 
 
 Thou gi'cst witliout ac h.iiik'ring thought, 
 Or cauld, si'lf-stintcd wish ; 
 
 E'en winter-finger 'd Avarice 
 Approves thee with a blush. 
 
 If grief e'er mak' thee her packhorse, 
 
 Her leaden load to carry't, 
 Shove half the burden on my back, 
 
 I'll do my best to bear it. 
 
 Guid kens we a' ha'e fsiults enew, 
 'Tis Friendship's task to cure 'cm ; 
 
 But still she spurns the critic view, 
 And bids us to look o'er 'em. 
 
 When Death performs his beadle part, 
 And summons thee to heaven, 
 
 By virtue of thy warm, kind heart. 
 Thy faults will be forgiven. 
 
 And shouldst thou live to see thy friend 
 
 Borne lifeless on the bier ; 
 I ask of thee for epitaph, 
 
 One kind eleti;aic tear. 
 
 Epistle to ^^(cvaubcr ^larlaub-. 
 
 GLASGOW. — FEBRUARY, 1806. 
 
 Retir'd disgusted from the tavern roar, 
 
 "Where strong-lung'd Ignorance does highest soar; 
 
 Where silly ridicule is pass'd for wit. 
 
 And shallow Laughter takes her gaping fit; 
 
 Here lone I sit, in musing melancholy, 
 
 Resolv'd for aye to shun the court of Folly ; 
 
 For, from whole years' experience in her train. 
 
 One hour of joy brings twenty hours of pain. 
 
 Now since I'm on the would-be better key, 
 
 The Muse oft whispers me to write to thee. 
 
 Not that she means a self-debasing letter, 
 
 But merely show there's hope I may turn better ; 
 
 That what stands bad to my account of ill, 
 
 You may set down to passion, not to will.
 
 tannahill's roEMS. 105 
 
 The fate-scourg'd exile, destined still to roam 
 Through desert wilds, far from his early home,— 
 If some fair prospect meet his sorrowing eyes, 
 Like that he own'd beneath his native skies, 
 Sad recollection, murdering relief, 
 He bursts in all the agonies of grief ; 
 Mem'ry presents the volume of his care. 
 And harrows up his soul with " such thing.? were." 
 'Tis so in life— when Youth folds up his page. 
 And turns the leaf to dark, blank, joyless age, 
 Where sad Experience speaks in language plain, _ 
 Her thoughts of bliss, and highest hopes were vain: 
 O'er present ills I think I see her mourn, 
 And "weep past joys that never will return." 
 
 Then come, my friend, while yet in life's gay noon. 
 Ere griefs dark clouds obscure our summer sun, 
 Ere winter's sleety blasts around us howl, 
 And chill our every energy of soul : 
 Let us look back, retrace the ways we've trod, 
 Mark virtue's paths from guilty pleasure's road, 
 And, 'stead of wand'ring in a devious maze, 
 ;Mark some few precepts for our future days. 
 
 I mind still Avell, Avhen but a trifling boy, 
 My young heart llutter'd with a savage joy. 
 As Avith my sire I wander'd through the wood. 
 And found the mavis' clump-lodged callow brood: 
 I tore them thence, exulting o'er my prize, 
 My father bade me list the mother's cries. 
 " So thine would Avail," he said, " if reft of thee :" 
 It was a lesson of humanity. 
 
 Not to recount our every early joy. 
 When all was happiness without alloy ; 
 Nor tread again each floAv'ry field Ave traced. 
 Light as the silk-Avinged butterflies Ave chased ; 
 Ere villain falsehood taught the glowing mind, 
 To look Avith cold suspicion on mankind — 
 Let's pass the valley of our younger years. 
 And farther up-hill mark Avhat now appears. 
 
 We see the sensualist, fell vice's slave, 
 Fatigu'd, worn out, sink to an early grave; 
 We see the slave of av'rice grind the poor, 
 His thirst for gold increasing with his store j
 
 106 tannahill's poems. 
 
 Pack-liorso of fortune, all his days arc care, 
 Her burdens bearing to his spendthrift heir. 
 
 Next view the spendthrift, joyous o'er his purse, 
 Excham^'ing all his guineas for remorse ; 
 On pleasure's flow'r-dcck'd barge away he's borne, 
 Supine, till every flow'r starts up a thorn. 
 Then all his pleasures lly, like air-borne bubbles : 
 lie ruined sinks amidst a sea of troubles. 
 
 Hail, Temperance, thou'rt wisdom's first, best lore, 
 The sage in every age does thee adore ; 
 "VVithiu thy pale we taste of ev'ry joy, 
 O'erstepping that, our highest pleasures cloy : 
 The heart-enlivening, friendly, social bowl, 
 To rap'trous ecstasy exalts the soul ; 
 But when to midnight hour we keep it up, 
 Next morning feels the poison of the cuj). 
 
 Though fate forbade the gifts of schoolmen mine, 
 With classic art to write the polish'd line, 
 Yet miners oft must gather earth with gold. 
 And truth may strike, though e'er so roughly told. 
 
 If thou in aught would'st rise to eminence, 
 Show not the faintest shadow of pretence, 
 Else busy Scandal, with her hundred tongues, 
 Will quickly find thee in ten thousand wrongs ; 
 Each strives to tear his neighbour's honour down, 
 As if detracting something from his own. 
 Of all the ills with which mankind are curs'd, 
 An envious, discontented mind's the worst ; 
 There muddy Spleen exalts her gloomy throne, 
 Marks all conditions better than her own : 
 Hence Defamation spreads her ant-bear tongue, 
 And grimly pleas'd, feeds on another's wrong. 
 Curse on the wretch wlu), when his neighbour's bless'd, 
 Erects his peace-destroying, snaky crest ! 
 And him who sits in surly, sullen mood, 
 Repining at a fellow-mortal's good ! 
 Man owns so little of true happiness, 
 That cursed be he who makes that little less. 
 
 The zealot thinks he'll go to heaven direct, 
 Adhering to the tenets of his sect. 
 E'en though his practice lie in this alone,
 
 taiwahill's poe:ms. 107 
 
 To rail at all persuasions but his own. 
 
 In judging, still let moderation guide ; 
 O'erheated zeal is certain to mislead. 
 First bow to God in heart-warm gratitude, 
 Next do our utmost for the general good. 
 In spite of all the forms which men devise, 
 'Tis there where real solid wisdom lies ; 
 And impious is the man who claims dominion, 
 To damn his neighbour diff'ring in opinion. 
 
 When suppliant Misery greets thy wand'ring eye, 
 Although in public, pass not heedless by; 
 Distress impels her to implore the crowd, 
 Yor that denied within her lone abode. 
 Give thou the trifling pittance which she craven. 
 Though ostentation called by prudent knaves ; 
 So conscience will a rich reward impart. 
 And finer feelings play around the heart. 
 
 "When "Wealth with arrogance exalts his broAV, 
 And reckons Poverty a wretch most low. 
 Let good intentions dignify thy soul, 
 And conscious rectitude will crown the whole. 
 Hence indigence will independence own. 
 And soar above the haughty desjDot's frown. 
 
 Still to thy lot be virtuously resigned ; 
 Above all treasures prize thy peace of mind ; 
 Then let not envy rob thy soul of rest, 
 Nor discontent e'er harbour m thy breast. 
 Be not too fond of popular applause. 
 Which often echoes in a villain's cause, 
 Whose specious sophistry gilds his deceit, 
 Till power abused, in time shows forth the cheat : 
 Yet be't thy pride to bear an honest fame ; 
 More dear than life watch over thy good name; 
 For he, poor man ! who has no wish to gain it, 
 Despises all the virtues which attain it. 
 
 Of friendship, still be secrecy the test, 
 This maxim let be 'graven in my breast : 
 Whate'er a friend enjoins me to conceal, 
 I'm weak, I'm base, if I the same reveal. 
 Let honour, acting as a powerful spell, 
 Suppress that itching fondness still to tell ; 
 Else, unthank'd chronicle, the cunning's tool,
 
 108 tannahill's roE:\rs. 
 
 The world will stamp mc for a j^ossip fool. 
 
 Yet let us act an honest open part, 
 
 Nor curb the warm eft'usions of the heart, 
 
 Whirli, naturally virtuous, discommends 
 
 Aught mean or base, even in our dearest friends. 
 
 But why this long disjointed scrawl to thee, 
 "Whose every action is a law to me ; 
 "Whose every deed proclaims thy nobli! mind. 
 Industrious, independent, just, and kind I 
 Methinks I hear tiice say, "Each fool may teach, 
 Since now my whim-led friend's begun tu preach." 
 But this first essay of my j)reaching strain, 
 Hear and accej)t, for friendship's sake. Amen. 
 
 6plst(c la lames gucbaiuuu 
 
 KILBABCIIAX. — AUGUST, ISOC. 
 
 My guid auld friend on Locher banks. 
 Your kindness claims my warmest thanks; 
 Yet, thanks is but a draff-cheap jihrase, 
 Of little value now-a-days : 
 Indeed, 'tis hardly worth the heeding, 
 Unless to show a body's breeding. 
 Yet many a poor doiled servile body, 
 Will scrimp his stomach of its crowdy, 
 And pride to run a great man's errands, 
 And feed on smiles and sour cheese parings, 
 And think himsel' na sma sheep-shank, 
 Rich laden wi' his lordship's thank. 
 The sodger, too, for a' his troubles. 
 His hungry wames, and bluidy hubbies, 
 His agues, rheumatisms, cramps, 
 Receiv'd in plashy winter camps, 
 Oh, blest reward 1 at last he gains 
 His sovereign's thanks for a' his piins. 
 
 Thus, though 'mang first o' fii'uds I rank you, 
 'Twere but sma' com[)liment ttt thank you j 
 Yet, lest ye think rae hero ungratefu', 
 Of hatefu' names, a name most liatefa',
 
 tannaiiill's poems. 109 
 
 The neist time that )^on come to toun, 
 By a' the jiowers beneatli the moon, 
 I'll treat you wi' a Highland gill, 
 Though it should be my hindmost fill ! 
 
 Though in the bustling town, the Muso 
 Has gathev'd little feck o' news : 
 'Tis said, the Court of Antiquarians 
 Has split on some great point o' variance ; 
 For ane has got in gouden box, 
 The spectacles of auld John Knox ; 
 A second proudly thanks his fate wi' 
 The hindmaist pen that Nelson wrote wi'; 
 A third ane owns an antique rare, 
 A sape-brush made o' mermaid's hair! 
 But, niggard wights ! thoy a' refuse 'em, 
 These pi-ecious relics, to the museum, 
 AVhilk selfish, mean, illegal deeds, 
 Ha'e set them a' at loggerheads. 
 
 bure taste refin'd and public spirit. 
 Stand next to genius and merit : 
 I'm proud to see your warm regard, 
 For Caledonia's dearest bard : 
 Of him ye've got sae guid a painting, 
 That nought but real life is wantinir. 
 1 think yon rising genius, Tannock,* 
 May gain a niche in Fame's high winnock ; 
 There, with auld Eeubens, placed sublime, 
 Look down upon the wreck of time. 
 
 I ne'er, as yet, ha'e found a patron, 
 For, scorn be til't, I hate a' flatt rin' ; 
 Besides, I never had an itchin' 
 To slake about a great man's kitchen, 
 And like a spaniel lick his dishes. 
 And come and gang just to his wishes : 
 Yet studious to give worth its due, 
 I pride to praise the like of you ; 
 Guid chiels, replete wi' sterling sense, 
 Wha' wi' their worth mak' nae pretence. 
 Aye, there's my worthy friend M'JNIath, 
 I'll lo'e him till my latest breath, 
 .A.nd like a traitor-wretch be hanged, 
 * The painter of Burns' portrait is here referred to.
 
 110 tannaiiill's poems. 
 
 Before I'd liear that fellow wranged : 
 His eveiy action shows his mind, 
 Humanely noble, briglit, and kind : 
 And here's the worth o't, doulily rooted, 
 He never speaks ae word about it. 
 My compliments and warm guid-will, 
 To Maisters Simpson, Barr, and Lyle. 
 Wad rav'ning Time but spare my pages, 
 They'd tell the warl in after ages, 
 That it to me was wealth and fame, 
 To be esteemed by chields like them. 
 
 Time, thou all devouring bear ! 
 
 Hear — '-List, oh list " my ardent pray'r! 
 
 1 crave thee here, on bended knee, 
 To let my dear-loved pages be ; 
 
 Oh ! take thy sharp-nailed, nibbling elves, 
 To musty scrolls on college shelves ; 
 There, with dzy treatises on law, 
 Feast, cram, and gorge thy greedy maw; 
 But grant, amidst thy thin-sown mercies, 
 To spare, oh spare my darling verses ! 
 
 Could I but up through hist'ry wimple, 
 Wi' Rol^ertson, or sage Dairy mple ; 
 Or had I half the pith and lear 
 Of a Mackenzie, or a Blair ; 
 I aiblins then might tell some story 
 Wad show the Muse in bleezing glory ; 
 But scrimp'd o' time, and lear scholastic, 
 My lines limp on in Iludibrastic, 
 Till Hope, grown sick, Hings down her claim. 
 And drops her dreams o' future fame. 
 Yes, oh waesucks ! should I be vauntie ] 
 My Muse is just a Rosiiiante : 
 She stammers forth, wi' hilching canter, 
 Sagely intent on strange adventure ; 
 Yet, sae uncouth in garb and feature, 
 She seems the fool of Literature. 
 But lest the critic's birsie besom, 
 Swoop oft" this cant of egotism, 
 I'll sidelins hint — na, bauldly tell, 
 I whiles think something o' mysel': 
 Else, wha the de'il wad fash to scriljble,
 
 tannahill's poems. Ill 
 
 Expecting scorn for a' his trouble 1 
 Yet, lest dear self should be mista'en, 
 I'll fling the bridle o'er the mane ; 
 For after a', I fear this jargon 
 Is but a Willie Glassford bargain. 
 
 KILB.VUCHiN.— I8O7. 
 
 Dear Robin, 
 
 The Muse is now a wee at leisure, 
 An' sits her down wi' meikle pleasure, 
 To skelp you aff" a blaud 0' rhyme, 
 As near's she can to true sublime ; 
 But here's the rub, — poor poet-devils, 
 We're compassed round wi' mony evils ; 
 We jerk oursel's into a fever 
 To give the world something clever, 
 An' after a' perhaps we muddle 
 In vile prosaic stagnant puddle. 
 For me — I seldom choose a subject. 
 My rhjanes are oft without an object ; 
 I let the Muse e'en tak' her win'. 
 And dash awa' thro' thick and thin: 
 For Method's sic a servile creature, 
 She spurns the wilds o' simple nature 
 An' paces on, wi' easy art, 
 A lang day's journey frae the heart: — 
 Sae what comes uppermaist you'll get it, 
 Be't good or ill, for you I write it. 
 
 How fares my worthy friend, the bard 1 
 Be peace and honour his reward ! 
 May ev'ry ill that gars us fyke, 
 Bad webs, toom pouches, and sic like. 
 An' ought that would his spirit bend, 
 Be ten miles distant from my friend. 
 Alas ! this wicked endless war, 
 Rul'd by some vile malignant star, 
 Has sunk poor Britain low indeed, 
 Ha» robb'd Industry o' her bread,
 
 112 TANNAIIILI.'S rOEMS. 
 
 An' dash'd tlio sair-wou cog o' crowdie 
 
 Frae iiiony an honest eident body ; 
 
 While Genius, dying througli neglect, 
 
 Sinks down amidst the general wreck 
 
 Just like twa cats tied tail to tail, 
 
 Tliey worry at it tooth and nail ; 
 
 They girn, they bite in deadly wrath, 
 
 An' what is't for 1 for nouglit in faith ! 
 
 Wee Lourie Frank* wi' brazen snout, 
 
 Nae doubt would like to scart us out, 
 
 For proud John Bull, aye us'd to hone him. 
 
 We'll no gi'e o'er to spit upon him, 
 
 But Lourie's rais'd to sic degree, 
 
 John would be wise to let him be ; 
 
 Else aiblins, as he's wearin' aul', 
 
 Frank yet may tear him spawl frae spawl, 
 
 For wi' the mony chirts he's gotten, 
 
 I fear his constitution's rotten. 
 
 But while the bullying blades o' Europe 
 Arc boxing ither to a syru]). 
 Let's mind oursel's as weel's we can. 
 An' live in peace, like man and man, 
 An' no cast out and fecht like brutes, 
 Without a cause for our disputes. 
 
 AVhen I read o'er your kind epistle, 
 I didna dance, nor sing, nor whistle, 
 But jump'd, and cried. Huzza! huzza! 
 Like Kobin Roughead in the play ; — 
 But to be serious — jest aside, 
 I felt a glow o' secret pride, 
 Thus to be roos'd by ane like you ; 
 Yet doubted if sic praise was due. 
 Till self thus reason'd in the matter : 
 Ye ken that Robin scorns to ilatter. 
 And ere he'd prostitute his quill, 
 He'd rather burn his rhyming mill — 
 Enough ! I cried— Fve gain'd my end. 
 Since 1 ha'e pleased my worthy friend. 
 
 My sangs are now before the warl'. 
 An' some may praise, and some may snarl ; 
 They ha'e their faults, yet I can tell 
 * A personiiicatiun of France.
 
 TANNAHILL'S rOEMS. *l3 
 
 Nano R0.0f5 them clearer than myscl' ; 
 But still, I think, they too inherit 
 Amang the dross some sparks o' merit. 
 
 Then come, my dear Parnassian brither, 
 Let's lay our poet heads thegither, 
 And sing our ain sweet native scenes, 
 Our streams, our banks, and rural plains, 
 Our woods, our shaws, and flow'ry holms, 
 An' mountains clad wi' purple blooms, 
 Wi' burnies bickerin' down their braes, 
 Eeflecting back the sunny rays ; 
 Te've Semple "Woods, and Calder Grien, 
 And Locher Bank, sweet fairy den ! 
 And Auchenames a glorious theme ! 
 Where Craw-ford* liv'd, of deathless name. 
 Where Sempillf sued his lass to win, 
 And Nelly rose and let him in 
 Where Habbie SimpsonJ lang did play, 
 The first o' pipers in his day ; 
 And though aneath the turf langsyne, 
 
 Their sangs and tunes shall never tyne. 
 Sae, Eobiu, briskly ply the Muse ; 
 
 She warms our hearts, expands our views. 
 
 Gars every sordid passion flee. 
 
 And waukens every sympathy. 
 
 Now, wishing Fate may never tax you, 
 
 Wi' cross, nor loss, to thraw and vex you, 
 
 But keep you hale till ninety -nine, 
 
 Till you and yours in honour shine ; 
 
 Shall ever be my earnest prayer. 
 
 While I've a friendly wish to spare. 
 
 • Wra. Crawford, a Scottiah poet, author of " Twccdsidc," "The bush 
 abnnn Traqnair," &c., died about 1730. 
 
 t Frauds Semiile, a Scottish poet, author of " Maggie Lauder," "The 
 blythsomo bridal," &c. 
 
 I A cclobiated piper of Kilbarchan. 
 
 rvj^
 
 114 tanttahill's poems. 
 
 A TEUE TALE. 
 
 " DogB arc honost creaturee, 
 No'or fawn on any that they love not; 
 And I'm a friend to dogs ; 
 They no'or betray their masters." 
 
 In mony an instance, -without doubt, 
 Tlie man may copy from the brute, 
 And by th' example grow much wiser ; 
 Then read the short memoirs of Towser. 
 
 AVith deference to our great Lavaters, 
 Wha judge o' mankind by their features, 
 There's mony a smiling, pleasant-faced cock, 
 That wears a heart no worth a castock ; 
 While mony a visage, antic, droll, 
 O'erveils a noble, generous soul. 
 With Towser this was just the case, 
 He had an ill-faur'd, tawted face ; 
 His make was something like a messan, 
 But big, and quite unprepossessin' ; 
 His master coft him frae some fallows, 
 Who had him doomed unto the gallows, 
 Because {sae hap'd poor Towser's lot) 
 He wudna tear a comrade's throat ; 
 Yet in affairs of love or honour. 
 He'd stand his part amang a hun'er ; 
 And where'er fighting was a merit, 
 He never failed to show his spirit. 
 He never girn'd in neighbour's face, 
 With wild ill-natur'd scant of grace ; 
 Nor e'er accosted ane with smiles. 
 Then, soon as turn'd, wad bite his heels : 
 Nor ever kent the courtier art, 
 To fawn with rancour at his heart ; 
 Nor aught kent he of cankert quar'lling, 
 Nor snarling just for sake o' snarling; 
 Ye'd pinch him sair afore he'd growl, 
 Whilk shows he had a mighty soul. 
 
 But what adds maistly to his fame, 
 And will immortalize liis name —
 
 tannahill's poems. 115 
 
 " Immortalize ! — presumptuous wiglit ! 
 Thy lines are dull as darkest night, 
 Without ae spark o' wit or glee, 
 To light them through futurity." 
 E'en be it sae ; — poor Towser's story, 
 Though lamely tauld, will speak his glory. 
 
 'Twas in the month o' cauld December, 
 When nature's fire seemed just an ember, 
 And growling winter bellow'd forth. 
 In storms and tempests frae the north ; 
 When honest Towser's loving master, 
 Eegardless o' the surly bluster, 
 Set out to the neist borough town, 
 To buy some needments of his own ; 
 And, case some purse-pest should way-lay him. 
 He took his trusty servant wi' him. 
 
 His business done 'twas near the gloaming, 
 And aye the king o' storms was foaming ; 
 The doors did ring — lum-pigs down tumbled, 
 The strands gushed big — the sinks loud rumbled ; 
 Auld grannies spread their looves and sighed, 
 Wi' " Oh, sirs ! what an awfu' night !" 
 Poor Towser shook his side a' draiglVl, 
 An's master grudged that he had taigl'd ; 
 But, wi' his merchandizing load, 
 Come weel, come wae, he took the road. 
 NoAv clouds drave o'er the fields like drift, 
 Night flung her black cleuk o'er the lift ; 
 And through the naked trees and hedges. 
 The horrid storm redoubled rages ; 
 And, to complete his piteous case. 
 It blew directly in his face. 
 Whiles 'gainst the footpath stabs he thump'd, 
 Whiles o'er the coots in holes he plump'd ; 
 But on he gae'd, and on he waded, 
 Till he at length turn'd fiiint and jaded. 
 To gang he could nae langer bide, 
 But lay down by the bare dyke-side. — 
 Now, wife an' bairns rush'd on his soul. 
 He groan' d — poor Towser loud did howl ; 
 And, mourning, cower'd dowi! beside \\u:\ ; 
 But, oh ! his master couldna liced him.
 
 116 taknahill's poems. 
 
 For now his senses 'gan to dozen, 
 
 His vera life-streams maist were frozen, 
 
 An't seemVl as if the cruel skies 
 
 ifcxulted o'er their sacrifice ; 
 
 For fierce the winds did o'er him hiss, 
 
 And dash'd the sleet on his cauld face. 
 
 As on a rock, far, far frae land, 
 Twa shipwreck'd sailors shiv'ring stand, 
 If chance a vessel they descry, 
 Their hearts exult with instant joy ; 
 Sae v/as poor Towser joy'd to h(>ar 
 The tread of trav'llers drawing near; ^ 
 He ran, and yowl'd, and fawn'd upon 'em> 
 But couldna make them understand him. 
 Till, tugging at the foremost's coat. 
 He led them to the mournfu' spot, 
 Where, cauld and stiff, his master lay. 
 To the rude storm a helpless prey. 
 
 With Caledonian sympathy 
 They bore him kindly on the way, 
 Until they reached a cottage bien : 
 They tauld the case, were welcom'd in. 
 The rousing fire, the cordial drop, 
 Restor'd him soon to life and hope: 
 Fond raptures beam'd in Towser's eye, 
 And antic gambols spake his joy. 
 
 Wha reads this simple tale may see 
 The worth of sensibility, 
 And learn frae it to be humane — 
 In Towser's life he sav'd his ain. 
 
 guubrons anb i\}t im-girb: 
 
 A faclt;. 
 
 Some folks there are of such behaviour, 
 They'll cringe themselves into your favour, 
 A^ld when you think their friendship ttanich is, 
 They'll tear your character to inches : 
 T' enforce this truth as Avell's I'm able, 
 Please, reader, to peruse a fable.
 
 TANlfAHILL's POEMS. 117 
 
 Deborah, an auld wealthy maiden, 
 With spleen, remorse, and scandal laden, 
 Sought out a solitary spat. 
 To live in quiet with her cat, 
 A meikle, sonsy, tabby she ane, 
 (For Deborah abhorr'd a he ane) ; 
 And in the house, to bo a third, 
 She gat a wee hen chuckle bird. 
 
 Soon as our slee nocturnal ranger, 
 Beheld the wee bit timid stranger, 
 She tluis began, with friendly fraise : 
 " Come ben, puir thing, and warm your taes : 
 This weather's cauld, an' wet, an' dreary, 
 I'm wae to see you look sae eerie. 
 Sirs ! how your tail and wings are dreeping, 
 Ye've surely been in piteous keeping ; 
 See, here's my dish, come tak' a pick' o't, 
 But, 'deed, I fear there's scarce a lick o't." 
 
 Sic sympathizing words of sense, 
 Soon gained poor chuckle's confidence ; 
 And while Deborah mools some crumbs, 
 Auld baudrous siti5, and cj-oodling thrums : 
 In short, the twa soon grew sae pack. 
 Chuck roosted upon pussie's back ! 
 
 But ere sax wee short days were gane. 
 When baitli left in the house alane, 
 Then thinks the hypocritic sinner, 
 Now, now's my time to ha'e a dinner : 
 Sae, with a squat, a spring, and squall, 
 She tore poor chuckle spawl frae spawl. 
 
 Then mind this maxim : rash acquaintance 
 Aft leads to ruin and repentance. 
 
 CIj^ l^mljilious glih: 
 
 A FABLE. 
 
 When hope persuades, and fame inspires us, 
 And pride with warm ambition fires us, 
 Let reason instant seize the bridle. 
 And wrest us frae the passions' guidal ;
 
 118 tannaiiill's poems. 
 
 Else, like the hero of our fable, 
 We'll aft be pluiig'd into a babble. 
 'Twas on a bonnio simmer day, 
 When a' tlu; insect tribes were gay, 
 Some journejang o'er the leaves of roses. 
 Some brusliing tlirang their wings and noses, 
 Some wallowing sweet in bramble blossom, 
 In luxury's saft downy bosom ; 
 While ithers of a lower order, 
 Were perch'd on plantain leaf's smooth border, 
 AVha frae their twa-inch steeps lojk'd down, 
 And viewed the kintra ftir around. 
 
 Ae pridefu' elf amang the rest, 
 Wha's pin-point heart bumpt 'gainst his breast 
 To work some mighty deed of fame, 
 Tliat would immortalize his name ; 
 Through future hours would hand him down, 
 The wonder of an afternoon. 
 (For ae short day with them appears, 
 As lang's our lengthened bunder years). 
 
 By chance, at hand, a bow'd horse-hair 
 Stood up six inches high in air 
 He ])lann'd to climb this lofty arch. 
 With philosophic, deep research 
 To prove (which aft perplex their heads) 
 What people peopled ither blades, 
 Or from keen observation, show, 
 ^ Whether they peopled were, or no. 
 Our tiny hero onwanl hies. 
 Quite big with daring enterprise ; 
 Ascends the hair's curvatured side, 
 I^ow pale with f(>ar, now red with pride, 
 Now hanging pendulous by the claw, 
 Now glad at having 'scaped a fa': 
 What horrid dangers he came through. 
 Would trilling seem for man to know ; 
 Suffice, at length he reached the top, 
 The summit of his pride and hope, 
 And on his elevated station, 
 Had plac'd himself for observation. 
 When, i)ufr— the wind did end the matter, 
 And dash'd him in a horse-hoof {gutter.
 
 tannahill's poems. 119 
 
 Sac let the lesson gi'en us here, 
 Keep each within his proper sphere ; 
 And when our foncies tak' their liight, 
 Think on the wee ambitious mite. 
 
 C^s Storm. 
 
 WRITTEN IN OCTOBEE. 
 
 Whilst the dark rains of autumn discolour the brook, 
 And the rough winds of winter the woodlands deform ; 
 
 Here, lonely, I lean by the sheltering rock, 
 A-list'ning the voice of the loud howling storm. 
 
 Now dreadfully furious it roars on the hill, 
 
 The deep-groaning rocks seem all writhing with pain : 
 
 Now awfully calm, for a moment 'tis still, 
 
 Then bursting, it howls and it thunders again. 
 
 How cheerless and desert the fields now appear, 
 
 Which so lately in summer's rich verdure were seen, 
 
 And each sad drooping spray from its heart drops a tear. 
 As seeming to weep its lost mantle of green ! 
 
 See, beneath the rude wall of yon ruinous pile. 
 From the merciless tempest the cattle have fled ; 
 
 And yon poor patient steed, at the gate by the stile. 
 Looks wistfully home for his sheltering shed. 
 
 Ah ! who would not feel for yon poor gipsy race, 
 Peeping out from the door of the old roofless barn ? 
 
 There my wandering fancy her fortunes might trace. 
 And sour Discontent there^a lesson might learn. 
 
 Yet oft in my bosom arises the sigh, 
 
 That prompts the warm wish distant scenes to explore, 
 Hope gilds the fair j)rospect with visions of joy, 
 
 That happiness reigns on some far distant shore. 
 
 But yon gray hermit-tree which stood lone on the moor, 
 By the fierce driving blast to the earth is blown down ; 
 
 So the lone, houseless wanderer, unheeded and poor. 
 May fall unprotected, unpitied, unknown.
 
 120 tannaiiill's poems. 
 
 Sec ! o'er tlic gray steep, down the deep craggy Hon, 
 
 Pours the brown foaming torrent, swelled big with the rain: 
 
 It roars through the caves of its dark Avizard dec, 
 
 Then headlong, impetuous, it sweeps through the })lain. 
 
 Now the dark heavy clouds have unbosomed their stores, 
 And far to the westward the welkin is blue ; 
 
 The sullen winds hiss as they die on the moors, 
 
 And the sun faintly shines on you bleak mountain's brow. 
 
 " ITim who nc'or listen' tl to the voice of praise. 
 The silence of neglect can ne'er appal. "~Ut;ArnE. 
 
 'TwAS on a sunny Sabbath-day, 
 
 When wark-worn bodies get their play, 
 
 I wandered out with serious look. 
 
 To read twa page on Nature's book ; 
 
 For lang I ve thought a^ little harm in 
 
 Hearing a lively out-iield sermon, 
 
 Even though rowted by a stirk, 
 
 As that aft bawl'd in crow^led kirk, 
 
 By some proud, stern, polemic wight, 
 
 Wha cries, "My way alone is right!" 
 
 Wha lairs himself in controversy, 
 
 Then damns his neighbours without mercy ; 
 
 As if the fewer that were spar'd 
 
 These few would be the better ser'd. 
 
 Now to my tale, digression o'er, 
 
 I wandered out by Stanley tow'r : 
 
 The lang grass on its tap did wave. 
 
 Like weeds upon a warrior's grave ; 
 
 Whilk seem'd to mock the bloody braggers, 
 
 And grow on theirs as rank's on beggars — 
 
 But hold, I'm frac the point again, 
 
 I wandered up GlenifTer glen ; 
 
 There, leaning 'gainst a mossy rock, 
 
 I, musing, eyed the passing brook, 
 
 That in its murmurs seemed to say —
 
 TANNAITILLS POEMS. 
 
 "'Tis thus thy life glides fast away ; 
 Observe the bubbles ou my stream, 
 Like them, fame is au empty dream ; 
 They bliulc a momeut to the sun 
 Then burst, and are for ever gone. 
 So fame's a bubble of the mind ; 
 Possess'd, tis nought but empty wind: 
 No courtly gem e'er purchased dearer, 
 And ne'er c;in satisfy the wearer. 
 Let them wlia ha'e a blazing share o't 
 Confess the truth, they sigh for mair o't 
 Then let contentment be thy cheer, 
 And never soar aboon thy sphere ; 
 Eude storms assail the mountain's brow 
 That lightly skiff the vale below." 
 
 A gaudy rose was growing near, 
 Proud tow'ring on its leafy brier, 
 In fancy's ear it seemed to say — 
 " Sir, have you seen a flow'r so gay 1 
 The poets in my praise combine, 
 Comparing Chloe's charms to mine ; 
 The sunbeams for my favour sue me, 
 And dark-browed Night comes down to woo me ; 
 But when I shrink from his request, 
 He draps his tears upon my breast, 
 And in his misty cloud sits wae. 
 Till chas'd away by rival day. 
 That streamlet's grov'lling grunting fires me, 
 Since no ane sees me, but admires me. 
 See yon bit violet 'neath my view, 
 "Wee sallow thing, its nose is blue ! 
 And that bit primrose 'side the breckan, 
 Poor yellow ghaist, it seems forsaken ! 
 The sun ne'er throws ae transient glow, 
 Unless when passing whether or no ; 
 But wisely spurning ane sae mean, 
 He blinks on me frae morn till e'en," 
 
 To which the primrose calm replied : 
 " Poor gaudy gowk, suppress your pride, 
 Por soon the strong flow'r-sweeping blast 
 Shall strew your honours in the dust ; 
 While I beneath my lowly bield, 
 
 121
 
 
 122 taotcahill's poems. 
 
 Will live and bloom, frae harm concealed : 
 And while the heavy raiu-drops pelt you, 
 Ye'll maybe think on what I've tcll't you.' 
 The rose derisive seemed to sneer, 
 And waved upon its bonnie brier. 
 
 Now dark'ning clouda befj;in to gather, 
 Presaginp; sudden change of weather ; 
 I wander' d hame by Stanley green, 
 Deep pondering what I'd heard and seen ; 
 Firmly resolv'd to shun from hence, 
 The dangerous steeps of eminence : 
 To drop this rhyming trade for ever. 
 And creep through life, a plain, day-plodding weaver. 
 
 A VISIONARY VIEW. 
 
 Come, Fancy, thou hast ever been, 
 In life's low vale, my ready frien'. 
 
 To cheer the clouded hour ; 
 Though unfledged with scholastic law, 
 Some visionary picture draw, 
 With all thy magic pow'r ; 
 Now to the intellectual eye 
 
 The glowing prospects rise, 
 Parnassus' lofty summits high, 
 Far tow'ring 'mid the skies : 
 Where vernally, eternally. 
 Rich leafy laurels grow, 
 With bloomy l)ays, through endless days, 
 To crown the Poet's brow. 
 
 Sure bold is he who dares to climb 
 Yon awful jutting rock sublime. 
 
 Who dar(!.s Pegasus sit ; 
 For should brain ballast prove too light, 
 He'll spurn him from his airy height, 
 
 Down to oblivion's pit ;
 
 tannahill's poems. 123 
 
 There, to disgrace for ever doom' J, 
 
 To mourn his sick'ning woes, 
 And weep that ever he presum'd 
 Above the vale of prose. 
 
 Then, oh beware ! with prudent care, 
 
 Nor tempt the steeps of iame, 
 And leave behind thy peace of mind, 
 To gain a sounding name.* 
 
 Behokl ! — yon ready-rhyming carl, 
 Wi' flatt'ry fir'd, attracts the warl', 
 By canker'd pers'nal satire ; 
 He takes th' unthinking crowd's acclaim 
 x' or sterling proofs of lasting fame, 
 
 And deals his inky spatter. 
 Now see, he on Pegasus flies, 
 
 With bluff important straddle ! 
 He bears him midway up the skies : 
 See, see, he's off the saddle ! 
 He headlong tumbles, growls and grumbles, 
 Down the dark abyss ; 
 The noisy core that prais'd before, 
 NoAv joins the general hiss. 
 
 And see another vent'rer rise, 
 Deep fraught with fulsome eulogies. 
 
 To win his patron's favour ; 
 One of those adulating things, 
 That, dangling in the train of kings. 
 
 Give guilt a splendid cover. 
 He mounts, well prefaced by my lord, 
 
 Inflicts the spur's sharp wound ; 
 Pegasus spurns the great man's word. 
 And won't move from the aground. 
 
 Now mark his face flush'd with disgrace. 
 
 Through future life to grieve on ; 
 His wishes crost, his hopes all lost, 
 He smks into oblivion. 
 
 * " The career of genius is rarely that of fortune, and often that of 
 contempt : even in its most flattering aspect, what is it but phirkiug a 
 few brilliant flowers from precipices, while the reward terminates in 
 honour.' ' — D' Israeli.
 
 124 takntahill's rOEMS. 
 
 Yon city scribhler thinks to scale 
 The dill's of fame Avitli pastoral, 
 
 In worth, thinks none e'er riclicr ; 
 Yet never cliinb'd the npland steop, 
 Nor e'er beheld a Hock of sheep, 
 
 Save those driven by the batcher : 
 Nor e'er marked the gurgling stream, 
 
 Except the conmion sewer, 
 On rainy days when dirt and slime 
 Pour'd turbid past his door. 
 
 Choice epithets in store he gets 
 
 From Virgil, Shenstone, Pop-^, 
 AVith tailor art tacks part to p.irt, 
 And makes his pastoral up. 
 
 But see, rich clad in native worth, 
 Yon Bard of Nature ventures forth, 
 
 With simple inodest tale ; 
 Applauding millions catch the song, 
 The raptur'd rocks the notes prolong, 
 
 And hand them to the gale ; 
 Pegasus kneels — he takes his seat — 
 
 Now see — aloft he tow'rs. 
 To place him 'bove the reach of fate, 
 In Fame's ambrosial bow'rs ; 
 
 To be enroU'd with bards of old, 
 
 In ever-honour'd station ; 
 The gods, well-pleas'd, see mortals rais'd 
 Worthy of their creation. 
 
 Now mark what crowds of hackney scribblers, 
 Imitators, rhyming dabblers, 
 
 Still follow in the rear ! 
 Pegasus spurns us one by one. 
 Yet still, fame-struck, we follow on, 
 
 And tempt our fate severe : 
 In many a dogg'rel epitaph, 
 
 And short-lin'd mournful ditty. 
 Our " Ahs ! — Alases !" raise the laugh, 
 
 Kevert the tide of pity : 
 
 Yet still we write in nature's spite, 
 Our last piece aye the best ;
 
 TAlfNAHTLL'S POEMS. 125 
 
 Arraigning still, complaijiing still, 
 The world for want of taste ! * 
 
 Observe yon poor deluded man, 
 "With thread-bare coat and visage wan. 
 
 Ambitious of a name ; 
 The nat'ral claims of meat and deeding, 
 He reckons these not worth the heeding, 
 
 But presses on for fame ! 
 The public voice, touchstone of worth. 
 
 Anonymous he cries. 
 But draws the critic's vengeance fortb — 
 His fancied glory dies ; 
 
 Neglected now, dejected now, 
 
 He gives his spleen full scope ; 
 In solitude he chews his cud, 
 A downright misanthrope. 
 
 Then, brother rhymsters, ob beware ! 
 In' or tempt unscar'd the specious snare. 
 
 Which self-love often weaves ; 
 Nor doat, with a fond father's pains, 
 Upon the offsipring of your brains, 
 
 For fancy oft deceives : 
 To lighten life, a wee bit sang 
 
 Is sure a sweet illusion ! 
 But ne'er provoke the critic's stang, 
 By premature intrusion : 
 
 Lock up your piece, let fondness cease, 
 
 Till mem'ry fail to bear it. 
 With critic lore then read it o'er. 
 Yourself may judge its merit. 
 
 ^omxd mxii Jflnrn: 
 
 A SCOTTISH LEGEND. 
 
 " The western sun shines o'er the loch, 
 And gilds the mountain's brow. 
 
 But what are Nature's smiles to me, 
 Without the smile of you ? 
 
 • " Still restless fancy drives us headlong on ; 
 With dreams of wealth, and friends, and laurels won, 
 On ruin's brink we sleep, and wake undone." — ^Autiior.
 
 126 tannahill's poEiia. 
 
 Oh, will ye go to Garnock side, 
 AVhcre birks and woodbines twine : 
 
 I've sought you oft to be my bride, 
 When, when will you be mine 1" 
 
 " Oft as ye sought me for your bride, 
 My mind spoke frae my e'e ; 
 
 Then wherefore seek to win a heart 
 That is not mine to gi'e 1 
 
 With Connel, down the dusky dale, 
 Long plighted are my vows ; 
 
 Ho won my heart before I wist 
 I had a heart to lose." 
 
 The fire flash' d from his eyes of wrath, 
 Dark gloom'd his heavy brow, 
 
 He grasped her in his arms of strength, 
 And strain'd to lay her low. 
 
 She wept and cried — the rocks replied : 
 
 The echoes from their cell, 
 On fairy wing, swift bore her voice 
 
 To Connel of the dell. 
 
 With vengeful haste he hied him up ; 
 
 But when stern Donald saw 
 The youth approach, deep-stung with guilt, 
 
 He shame-fac'd fled awa'. 
 
 "Ah ! stay, my Connel — sheath thy sword; 
 
 Oh, do not him pursue ! 
 For mighty are his arms of strength, 
 
 And thou the fight may'st rue." 
 
 " No ! wait thou here — I'll soon return : 
 I mark'd him from the wood ; 
 
 The lion heart of jealous love 
 Burns for its rival's blood. 
 
 Ho ! stop thee, coward ! — villain vile I 
 
 With all tliy boasted art, 
 My sword's blade soon sliall dim i'.s shine 
 
 Within thy reynard heart,"
 
 taitnahill's poems 127 
 
 " Ha ! foolish stripling, dost thou urge 
 
 The deadly fight with me ? 
 This arm strove hard in Flodden field, 
 
 Dost think 'twill shrink from thee ?" 
 
 " Thy frequent vaunts of Flodden field, 
 
 Were ever fraught with guile ; 
 For honour ever marks the brave. 
 
 But thou'rt a villain vile !" 
 
 Their broad blades glitter to the sun, 
 
 The woods resound each clash, 
 Young Counel sinks 'neath Donald's sword, 
 
 With deep and deadly gash. 
 
 " Ah ! dearest Flora, soon our morn 
 
 Of love is overcast ! 
 The hills look dim ; alas ! my love !" 
 
 He groaned — and l^reathecl his last. 
 
 " Stay, ruthless ruffian ! murderer ! 
 
 Here glut thy savage wrath ! 
 Be thou the baneful minister 
 
 To join us low in death !" 
 
 In wild despair she tore her hair, 
 
 Sunk speechless by his side : 
 Mild evening wept in dewy tears, 
 
 And, wrapt in night, she died. 
 
 f ^£ €0ck-ptt. 
 
 The barbarons amugement of seeing two animala instinctively destroying 
 each other, certainly affords sufficient scope for the pen of the salinst 
 The author thought he could not do it more effectually than by givii'g 
 a picture of the cock-pit, and describing a few of the characters who 
 generally may be seen at such glorious contests. 
 
 " The great, the important hour is come, 
 
 Oh, hope ! thou wily nurse ; 
 See bad luck behind thy back. 
 
 Dark-breeding, deep remorse."
 
 128 tannaiiill's poems. 
 
 No fancied muso will I invoke 
 
 To grace my humble strain, 
 But sing my song in homely phrase, 
 
 Inspir'd by what I've seen. 
 
 Here comes a feeder with his charge, 
 'Mong friends 'tis whisper'd straight, 
 
 How long he swung him on a string, 
 To bring him to his weight. 
 
 The carpet's laid — pit money drawn- 
 All's high with expectation ; 
 
 With bird's bereft of Nature's garb, 
 The " handlers" take their station. 
 
 What roaring, betting, bawling, swearing, 
 
 Now assail the ear ! 
 " Three pounds! — four pounds on Philips' cock, 
 
 — Done ! done, by G — d, sir, here !" 
 
 Now cast a serious eye around — 
 
 Behold the motley group, 
 All gamblers, swindlers, ragamuffins, 
 
 Votaries of the stoup. 
 
 Here sits a wretch with meagre face. 
 
 And sullen drowsy eye ; 
 Nor speaks he much — last night, at cards, 
 
 A gamester drain'd him dry. 
 
 Here bawls another vent'rous soul, 
 
 Who risks his every farthing ; 
 What de'il's the matter ! though at homo 
 
 His wife and brats are starving. 
 
 See, here's a father 'gainst a son, 
 
 A brother 'gainst a brother ; 
 Who e'en with more than common spito. 
 
 Bark hard at one another ! 
 
 But see yon fellow all in black. 
 
 His looks speak inward joy ; 
 Mad happy since his father's deaf 
 
 Sporting his legacy.
 
 TANITAniLL's TOEMS. 129 
 
 And, mark — that aged debauchee, 
 
 With red bepimpl'd face — 
 He fain would bet a crown or two, 
 
 But purse is not in case. 
 
 But hark, that cry ! — " He's run, he's run !" — 
 
 And loud huzzas take place — 
 Now mark what deep dejection sits 
 
 On every loser's face. 
 
 Observe the owner — frantic man, 
 "With imprecations dread. 
 He grasps his vanquish'd idol-god, 
 And twirls off his head. 
 
 But, bliss attend their feeling souls, 
 
 Who no such deeds delight in ! 
 Brutes are but brutes, let men be men, 
 
 Nor pleasure in cock-fighting. 
 
 SPOKEN IN A PROVINCIAL THEATRE. 
 
 Te patronizers of our little party, 
 
 My heart's e'en light to see you a' sae hearty, 
 
 I'm fain indeed, and troth ! I've meikle cause, 
 
 Since your blithe faces half insure applause. 
 
 We come this night wi' nae new-fangl'd story. 
 
 Of knave's deceit, or fop's vain blust'ring glory. 
 
 Nor harlequin's wild pranks, with skin like leopard,- 
 
 We're come to gi'e your ain auld Gentle Shepherd, 
 
 Whilk aye will charm, and will be read, and acket. 
 
 Till Time himsel' turn auld, and kick the bucket. 
 
 I mind, langsyne, when I was just a callan. 
 
 That a' the kintra rang in praise o' Allan ; 
 
 Ilk rising generation toots his fame. 
 
 And, hun'er years to come, 'twill be the same: 
 
 For wha has read, though e'er sae lang sinsyne 
 
 But keeps the living picture on his min'; 
 
 Approves bauld Patie's clever manly turn. 
 
 And maist thinks Roger cheap o' Jenny's scorn ; 
 
 His dowless gait, the cause of a' his care, 
 
 K
 
 130 TA2WAHILL'S POEMS. 
 
 For " nane except tlie brave, deserve the fair." 
 Hence sweet young Peggy lo'ed her manly Pate, 
 And Jenny geck'd at Eoger, dowf and blate. 
 
 Our gude Sir AV^illiam stands a lesson leal 
 To lairds wha'd ha'o their vassals lo'e them weel ; 
 To prince and peer, this maxim it imparts, 
 Their greatest treasures are the pcojjle's hearts. 
 
 Trae Gland and Simon would we draw a moral, 
 <'The virtuous youth-time mak's the canty carl ;" 
 The twa auld birkies caper blithe and bauld, 
 Nor shaw the least regret that they're turu'd auld. 
 
 Poor Bauldy ! oh, 'tis like to split my jaws ! 
 I think I see him under Madge's claws : 
 Sae may Misfortune tear him spawl and plack, 
 Wha'd wrang a bonnie lassie, and syne draw bacl:. 
 
 But sirs, to you T maist forgat my mission ; 
 I'm sent to beg a truce to criticism : 
 "We don't pretend to speak by square and rule, 
 Like yon wise chaps bred up in Thespian school ; 
 And to your wishes should we not succeed, 
 Pray be sae kind as tak' the will for deed. 
 
 Clje Contnrst. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO JAMES SCADLOCK. — AUGUST, 1803. 
 
 "When Love proves false, and friends betray us, 
 All nature seems a dismal chaos 
 
 Of wretchedness and woe ; 
 We stamp mankind a base ingrate, 
 Half loathing life, we challenge fate 
 To strike the final blow. 
 
 Then settled grief, with wild despair, 
 
 Stares from our blood-shot eyes. 
 Though oft we try to hide our care. 
 And check our bursting sighs, 
 Still vexed, sae wretched, 
 
 We seek some lonely wood, 
 There sighing, and crying, 
 We pour the briny flood.
 
 tannahill's poems. 131 
 
 The contrast mark — what joys we find, 
 With friends sincere and beauty kind, 
 
 Congenial to our wishes ; 
 Then lite appears a summer's day, 
 Adown Time's crystal stream we play, 
 As sportive's little fishes. 
 
 We see nought then but general good, 
 
 Which warm pervades all nature ; 
 Our hearts expand with gratitude 
 Unto the great Creator. 
 
 Then let's revere the virtuous fair, 
 The friend whose truth is tried, 
 For, without these, go where we please. 
 We'll always find a void. 
 
 ia Jciilousir. 
 
 Makk what demon hither bends, 
 Gnawing still his finger ends, 
 Wrapt in contemplation deep. 
 Wrathful, yet iuclin'd to weep. 
 
 Thy wizard gait, thy breath-check'd broken sigh. 
 Thy burning cheeks, thy lips, black, wither'd, dry ; 
 Thy side-thrown glance, with wild malignant eye, 
 Betray thy foul intent, infernal Jealousy. 
 
 Hence, thou self-tormenting fiend, 
 To thy spleen-dug cave descend ; 
 Fancying wrongs that never were, 
 Rend thy bosom, tear thy hair. 
 Brood fell hate within thy den. 
 Come not near the haunts of men. 
 
 Let man be faithful to his brother man. 
 Nor, guileful, still pervert kind Heaven's plan ; 
 Then slavish fear, and mean distrust shall cease, 
 And confidence confix*m a lasting mental peace.
 
 132 tannahill's poems. 
 
 Loud sounds the deep-mouthed parish bell, 
 
 Religion kirkward hies, 
 John lies in bed and counts each knell, 
 
 And thinks 'tis time to rise.- 
 
 But, oh how -weak are man's resolves ! 
 
 His projects ill to keep, 
 John thrusts his nose beneath the clothes, 
 
 And dozes o'er asleep. 
 
 Now fairy fancy plays her freaks 
 
 Upon iiis sleep-swell'd brain ; 
 He dreams— he starts — he mutt'ring speaks. 
 
 And waukens Avi' a grane. 
 
 He rubs his ecu — the clock strikes Twelve — 
 
 Impcll'd by hunger's gripe, 
 One mighty effort backs resolve — 
 
 He's up — at last he's up ! 
 
 Hunger appeased, his cutty pipe 
 
 Employs his time till Two, — 
 And now he saunters through the house, 
 
 And knows not what to do. 
 
 He baits the trap — catches a mouse — 
 
 He sports it round the floor ; 
 He swims it in a water tub — 
 
 Gets glorious fun till Four ! 
 
 And now of cats, and mice, and rats, 
 
 He tells a thousand tricks, 
 Till oven dullness tires himself, 
 
 For, hark — the clock strikes Six ! 
 
 Now view him in his easy chair 
 
 Eecliue his pond'rous head ; 
 'Tis Eight — now Bessie rakes the fire, 
 
 And John must go to bed !
 
 tannaiiill's poems 133 
 
 IN IMITATION' or PETER PINDAR (dR. WALCOTT). 
 
 The simile's a very useful thiug ; 
 
 This, ])riests and poets needs must own ; 
 For when the clockwork of their brains runs down, 
 A simile winds u]) the mental spring. 
 For instance, when a priest does scan 
 
 The fall of man, 
 And all its consequences dire, 
 He inalies him first a little sportive pig, 
 So clean, so innocent, so trig, 
 
 And then, an aged sow, deep wallowing in the mire ! 
 Yes, sure the simile's a useful thing, 
 Another instance I will bring. 
 Thou'st seen a cork tost on the rain-swell'd stream, 
 Now, up, now down, now whirl'd round and round, 
 
 Yet still 'twould swim, 
 And all the torrent's fury could not drown't : 
 So have I seen a forward empty fop 
 Tost in Wit's blanket, ridicul'd, et cetera ; 
 Yet, after all the banter, off he'd hop. 
 Quite confident in self-sufficiency. 
 Ah ! had kind Heaven, 
 For a defence, 
 Allow'd me half the brazen confidence 
 That she to many a cork-brain'd fool had given ! 
 
 IN IMITATION OF M. G. LEWIS. 
 
 'TwAS night, and the winds through the dark forest roar'd, 
 From Heaven's wide cat'racts the torrents down pour'd, 
 
 And blue lightnings flash'd on the eye ; 
 Demoniac bowlings were heard in the air, 
 With «^roans of deep anguish, and shrieks of despair, 
 
 And hoarse thunders growl'd through the sky.
 
 134 tannatitll's poems. 
 
 Pale, breathless, and trembUnLi; the dark villain stood, 
 His hands and liis clothes all bespottcd with blood, 
 
 His cjes wild with terror did stare ; 
 The earth yawn'd around him, and sulphurous blue, 
 Prom the flame-boiling ^'aps, did expose to his view, 
 
 A gibbet and skeleton bare. 
 
 With horror he shrunk from a prospect so dread. 
 The blast swung the clanking chains over his head, 
 
 The rattling bones sung in the wind ; 
 The lone bird of night from the abbey did cry, 
 lie looked o'er bis shoulder intending to fly, 
 
 But a spectre stood ghastly behind. 
 
 "Stop, deep hell-taught villain!" the ghost did exclaim, 
 "With thy brother of guilt here to expiate thy crime, 
 
 And atone for thy treacherous vow : 
 'Tis here thou shalt hang to the vultures a prey, 
 Till piece-meal they tear thee and bear thee away, 
 
 And thy bones rot unburied below." 
 
 Now closing all round him fierce demons did throng, 
 In sounds all unholy they howl'd theli death-song. 
 
 And the vultures around them did scream ; 
 Now clenching their claws in his fear-bristled hair, 
 Loud yelling they bore Inm aloft in the air, 
 
 And the murd'rcr awoke — 'twas a dream. 
 
 ^Ijc IJauntct WxiH: 
 
 IN IMITATION OF JOHN BARBOUR. 
 
 Qunx screim the crowis owr yonder wud, 
 With loude and clamourynge dynne, 
 
 Ilaf deifenynge the torrentis roar, 
 Quhilk dashis owr you linne 1 
 
 Quhy straye the flokis far outowr, 
 
 Alang the stanery lee. 
 And wil nocht gra/c ancar the wud, 
 
 Thof ryclic the pasturis be?
 
 TANNAHILJ.'S POEMS. 135 
 
 And quhy dis oft the sbeiplierdis dog, 
 
 Git' that ane lamikyne straye, 
 Aye yamf and yowl besyde the wud, 
 
 Nae farther yn wil gaye ? 
 
 " Marvil thee nocht at quhat thou seist," 
 
 The tremblynge rusticke sayde. 
 " For yn that feiudis-hauntet wnd, 
 
 Hath guyltlesse blude been sched, 
 
 " Thou seist far down yon buschye howe, 
 
 An eldrin castil greye, 
 With teth of tyme, and weir of wyndis, 
 
 Fast mould'ryng yn decaye. 
 
 " 'Twas thair the jealous Barronne livit, 
 
 With Ladie Anne hys wyfe ; 
 He fleichit her neath that wudis dark glume, 
 
 And revit her ther of lyffe. 
 
 " And eir hyr fayre bodye was found, 
 
 The flesch cam frae the bane, 
 The snailis sat feistyng onne hyr cheikis. 
 
 The spydiris velit hyr ein. 
 
 " And evir syne nae beisfc nor byrde 
 
 Will byde twa nichtis thair, 
 For fearful yellis and screichis wylde 
 
 Are heird throuch nicht sae dreir." 
 
 WRITTEN FOR, AND READ AT THE CELEBRATION OP ROBERT BURNS 
 BIRTH-DAY, BY THE PAISLEY BURNS* CLUB, 1805. 
 
 Once on a time, almighty Jove 
 Invited all the minor gods above, 
 To spend one day in social festive pleasure : 
 His legal robes were laid aside. 
 His crown, liis sceptre, and his pride ; 
 And wing'd with joy, 
 The hours did fly. 
 The happiest ever Time did measure.
 
 136 tannahill's poems. 
 
 Of love and social harmony they sung, 
 
 Till heav'n's lii"h troldcn arches echointr ninsr ; 
 
 And as they quaff'd the nectar-flowing can, 
 
 Their toast was, 
 " Universal peace 'twixt man and man." 
 
 Their godshi]>s' eyes beam'd gladness with the wish, 
 And Mars half-redden'd witli a guilty hlush ; 
 Jove swore he'd hurl each rascal to perdition, 
 Who'd dare deface his works with wild ambition; 
 But pour'd encomiums on each patriot hand, 
 Who, hating conquest, guard their native land . 
 
 Loud thund'rinc: plaudits shook the bright abodco, 
 Till Merc'ry, solemn-voiced, assail'd their ears, 
 Informing, that a stranger, all in tears, 
 Weeping, implored an audience of the gods. 
 Jove, ever prone to succour the distrest, 
 A swell redressive glow'd within his breast, 
 He pitied much the stranger's sad condition. 
 And ordered his immediate admission. 
 
 The stranger enter'd, bow'd respect to all, 
 Respectful silence reign'd throughout the hall : 
 His chequer'd robes excited their surprise. 
 Richly transvers'd with various glowing dyes ; 
 A target on his strong left arm he bore. 
 Broad as the shield the mighty Fingal wore ; 
 The glowing landscape on its centre sliin'd, 
 And massy thistles round the borders twin'd ; 
 His broAvs were bound with ycUow-blossom'd broom, 
 Green birch and roses blending in perfume ; 
 His eyes beam'd honour, though all red with grief, 
 And thus heaven's King spake comfort to the chief : 
 " My son, let speech unfold thy cause of woe, 
 S,ay, why does melancholy cloud thy brow 1 
 'Tis mine the wrongs of virtue to redress ; 
 Speak, for 'tis mine to succour deep distress." 
 
 Then thus he spake : " King ! by thy couixnand, 
 I am the guardian of that far-fam'd land 
 Nam'd Caledonia, >:;reat in arts and arms. 
 And every worth that social fondness charms,
 
 tannahill's poems. 137 
 
 With every virtue that tlie lieart approves, 
 
 Warm in tlieir friendsliips, ra|)t'rou.s in tlieir loves, 
 
 Profusely generous, obstinately just, 
 
 Inflexible as death their vows of trust ; 
 
 For independence fires their noble minds, 
 
 Scorning deceit, as gods do scorn the fiends. 
 
 But what avail the virtues of the North, 
 
 No patriot bard to celebrate their worth, 
 
 No heav'n-taught mistrel, with the voice of song. 
 
 To hymn their deeds, and make their names live lou;; 1 
 
 And ah ! should Luxury, with soft winning wiles, 
 
 Spread her contagion o'er my subject isles, 
 
 My hardy sons, no longer Valour's boast. 
 
 Would sink despis'd, their wonted greatness lost. 
 
 Forgive my wish, King ! I speak with awe, 
 
 Thy will is fate, thy word is sovereign law ! 
 
 Oh ! would'st thou deign thy suppliant to regard, 
 
 And grant my country one true patriot bard. 
 
 My sons would glory in the blessing given. 
 
 And virtuous deeds spring from tlie gift of Heaven !" 
 
 To which the god : " My son, cease to deplore, 
 Thy name in song shall sound the world all o'er ; 
 Thy bard shall rise, full fraught with all the fire 
 That Heav'n and free-born nature can inspire : 
 Ye sacred Nine, your golden harps prepare, 
 T' insti'uct the fav'rite of my special care, 
 That whether the song be rais'd to war or love, 
 His soul-wing'd strains may equal those above. 
 Now faithful to thy trust, from sorrow free, 
 Go wait the issue of our high degree." — 
 Speechless the Genius stood, in glad surprise, 
 Adorning gratitude beam'd in his eyes ; 
 The promis'd bard his soul Avith transport fills. 
 And light with joy he sought his native hills. 
 
 'Twas from regard to Wallace and his worth, 
 Jove honour'd Coila with his birth ; 
 
 And on that morn, 
 
 When Burns was born, 
 
 Each Muse with joy, 
 
 Did hail the boy ;
 
 138 tannahill's toems. 
 
 And Famo, on tiptoe, fain would blown her horn, 
 But Fate I'urbadt.' the blast, so premature, 
 Till worth should simctioa it beyond the critic's [)OiVjr. 
 His merits proven — Fami- her blast hath blown, 
 Now Scotia's Bard o'er all the world is known — 
 But trembling doubts here check my uupolisluid lay;, 
 What can they add to a whole world's praise 1 
 Yet, while riivolviiiij; tiiui; this day returns, 
 Let Scotsmen glory in the name of Burns. 
 
 WRrrXEX FOR, AND PEIIFOIIMKU AC TriR CELEBRATION OF BURNS 
 BIRTU-DAV, BY THE rAISLEY BURNS' CLUB, 1807- 
 
 RECITATIVK. 
 
 AVtttle Gallia's chief, with cruel conquests vain, 
 
 I'ids clanging trumpets rend the skies, 
 
 The widow's, orphan's, and the father's sighs, 
 
 f reathe, hissing through the gu ilty strain ; 
 
 Mild Pity hears the harrowing tones, 
 
 Mix'd with shrieks and dying groans ; 
 
 While warm Humanity, afar, 
 
 Weeps o'er the ravages of war, 
 
 And shudd'ring hears Ambition's servile train, 
 
 Rejoicing o'er their thousands slain. 
 
 But when the song to worth is given, 
 
 The grateful anthem wings its way to heaven : 
 
 Rings through the mansions of the bright abodes, 
 
 And melts to ecstasy the list'ning gods : 
 
 Apollo, on fire, 
 
 Strikes with rapture the lyre. 
 And the Muses the summons obey ; 
 
 Joy wings the glad sound, 
 
 To the Avorld's around. 
 Till all nature re-echoes the lay. — 
 Then raise the song, }c vocal few, 
 Give the praise to merit due.
 
 tannahill's rOEMS. 139 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Thnuijli (lark scowling Winter, in dismal army. 
 
 Reniarsbals his storms on the bleak linary liill, 
 With joy we assemble to bail the grctit day 
 
 That gave birth to the Bard who ennobles our ijle : 
 Then loud to his merits the song let ns raise, 
 
 Let each true Caledonian exult in his praise ; 
 For tho glory of genius, its dearest reward, 
 
 Is the laurel eutwin'd by his country's regard. 
 
 Lot the Muse bring fresh honours his name to adorn, 
 
 Let the voice of glad melody pride in the theme, 
 For tho genius of Scotia, in ages unborn, 
 
 Will light up her torch at the bliuze of his fame. 
 When the dark mist of ages lies turbid between, 
 Still his star of renown through tho gloom shall be seen. 
 And his rich blooming laurels, so dear to the Bard, 
 Will be chcrish'd for aye by his country's regard. 
 
 RECITATIVE. 
 
 Yes, Burns, " thou dear departed shade !" 
 When rolling centuries have tied, 
 Thy name shall still survive the wreck of time, 
 Shall rouse the genius of thy native clime ; 
 Bards yet unborn, and patriots shall come, 
 And catch fresh jirdour at thy hallow'd tomb ! 
 There's not a cairn -1)uilt cottage on our hills, 
 
 Nor niral hamlet on our fertile plains. 
 
 But echoes to the magic of thy strains, 
 While every heart with highest transport thrills. 
 Our country's melodies shall perish never, 
 For, Burns, thv -songs shall live for ever, 
 
 Then, once agj a, ye vocal few, 
 
 Give the song d merit due. 
 
 SONG, 
 
 Hail, ye glorious sons of song, 
 
 Who wrote to humanize the soul! 
 To you our highest strains belong, 
 Your names shall crown our friendly bowl : 
 But chiefly Burns, above the rest. 
 
 We dedicate this night to thee ; 
 Engrav'd in every Scotsman's breast, 
 'iiiy name, thy worth, shall ever bo ! 
 
 Fathers of our country's weal. 
 
 Sternly virtuous, bold and free ? 
 Ye taught your sons to fight, yet feel 
 
 The dictates of humanity :
 
 liO tannahill's poems. 
 
 But chiefly, Tli'uv;, al)ovo the rest, 
 Wo (lediciite this night to thoo ; 
 
 Enirr.ivVl in every Scotsni;iii'a breast, 
 Thy iianio, thy wortli, shall ever bo! 
 
 Iliincrhty Gallia threats our coa.st, 
 
 We liear hor vaunts with disregard, 
 Secure in valour, still wo l)oast 
 
 "The Patriot, and the Patriot-bard." 
 But, cliiolly. Burns, above the rest. 
 
 Wo dedicate this niprht to thee : 
 Encrrav'd in every Scotsman's breast, 
 Thy name, thy worth, shall ever be ! 
 
 Yos, Calorlonians ! to our country true, 
 Wliicli Danes nor Unmans never could subline, 
 Firmly resolv'd oui- native ri.c^hts to guard. 
 Let's toast " The Patriot, and the Patriot-bard." 
 
 KKCITED BY THE PREStDEXT AT TFIK CELEBRATION OF lUJRXs' BIRTH-DAY, 
 BY TIIR PAISLEY BURNs' CLU15, 1810. 
 
 AoATTf the happy day returns, 
 A day to Scotsmen ever dear ; 
 Though bleakest of the changeful year, 
 It blest us with a Bfrxs. 
 
 Fierce the whirling blast may blow, 
 Drifting wide the crispy snow ; 
 Eude the ruthless storms may sweep, 
 Howling round our mountains steep, 
 "While the heavy lashing rains, 
 Swell our rivers, drench our plains, 
 And the angry ocean roars 
 Round our broken, craggy shores ; 
 But mindful of our poet's worth, 
 We hail the honour'd day that gave him birth. 
 
 Come, ye vot'ries of the lyre. 
 Trim the torch of heav'nly fire, 
 Eaise the song in Scotia's praise. 
 Sing anew her bonnie braes, 
 Sing her thousand siller streams,
 
 tatwahill's poems. 141 
 
 Bickering to the sunny beams ; 
 
 Sing her sons beyond compare, 
 
 Sing her dochters, peerless, fair ; 
 
 Sing, till winter's storms be o'er, 
 
 The matchless bards that sung before ; 
 
 And I, the meanest of the Muse's train, _ 
 
 Shall join my feeble aid to swell the strain. 
 
 Dear Scotia, though thy clime be cauld, 
 Thy sons were ever brave and bauld, 
 Thy dochters modest, kind, and leal, 
 The fairest in creation's fiel' ; 
 Alike inur'd to every toil, 
 Thou'rt foremost in the battle broil ; 
 Prepar'd alike in peace and weir, 
 To guid the plough or wield the spear ; 
 As the mountain torrent raves, 
 Dashing through its rugged caves, 
 So the Scottish legions pour 
 Dreadful in the avenging hour ; 
 But when Peace, with kind accord, 
 Bids them sheath the sated sword, 
 See them in their native vales, 
 Jocund as the summer gales, 
 Cheering labour all the day. 
 With some merry roundelay. 
 
 Dear Scotia, though thy nights bo drear, 
 When surly winter rules the year, 
 Around thy cottage hearth are seen 
 The glow of health, the cheerful mien ; 
 The mutual glance that fondly shares, 
 A neighbour's joys, a neighbour's cares ; 
 Here oft, while raves the wind and weet, 
 The canty lads and lasses meet. 
 Sae light of heart, sac full of glee, 
 Their gaits sae artless and sae free, 
 The hours of joy come dancing on, 
 To share their frolic and their fun. 
 Here many a song and jest goes round 
 With tales of ghosts and rites profound, 
 Perform'd in dreary wizard glen,
 
 142 TANNAHTLT/a POEMS, 
 
 By wrinlilecl hags and warlock men, 
 
 Or of the hell-fee'cl crew combin'd, 
 
 Carousinn: on the midnight -wind, 
 
 On some infernal errand bent, 
 
 While darkness shrouds their black intent ; 
 
 But chiefly, Burns, thy songs delight 
 
 To charm the weary winter night, 
 
 And bid the lingering moments flee, 
 
 Without a care unless for thee, 
 
 Wlia sang sac sweet and dec't sae soon. 
 
 And sought thy native sphere aboon. 
 
 " Thy lovely Jean," thy « Nannie, O," 
 
 Thy much lov'd " Caledonia," 
 
 Thy '' Wat ye wha's in yonder town," 
 
 Thy " Banks and Braes o' Bonnie Doon," 
 
 Thy " Shepherdess on Afton Braes," 
 
 Thy " Logan Lassie's " bitter waes. 
 
 Are a' gane o'er sae sweetly tun'd, 
 
 That e'en the storm, pleased with the sound, 
 
 Fa's lown and sings with eerie alight, 
 
 " O let me in this ae night." 
 
 Alas ! our best, our dearest Bard, 
 
 How poor, how great was his reward ; 
 
 Unaided he has fix'd his name, 
 
 Immortal, in the rolls of fame ; 
 
 Yet Avho can hear without a tear, 
 
 What sorrows wrung his manly breast, 
 To see his little helpless filial band, 
 Imploring succour from a father's hand. 
 
 And there no succour near? 
 Himself the while with sick'ning woes opprest, 
 
 Fast hast'ning on to where the weary rest: — 
 For this let Scotia's bitter tears atone, 
 She reck'd not half his worth till he was gone. 
 
 Almighty Power, who wing'st the storm, 
 And calm'st the raging wind, 
 
 Bestore health to my wasted form, 
 And trauquilizo my mind.
 
 tannahill's poems. 143 
 
 For, all ! how poignant is the grief, 
 
 Which self-misconduct brings, 
 When racking pains find no relief, 
 
 And injur'd conscience stings. 
 
 Let penitence forgiveness plead, 
 
 Hear lenient mercy's claims, 
 Thy justice let be satisfied, 
 
 And blotted out my crimes. 
 
 But should thy sacred law of right, 
 
 Seek life a sacrifice, 
 Oh ! haste that awful, solemn night 
 
 "When death shall veil mine eyes. 
 
 CIjc |)a0r gotolmaii's gcmonstrancc. 
 
 Through winter's cold and summer's heat, 
 
 I earn my scanty fare ; 
 
 Trom morn till night, along the street, 
 I cry my earthen ware : 
 
 Then, oh let pity sway your souls ! 
 A.nd mock not that decrepitude, 
 Which draws me from my solitude, 
 
 To cry my plates and bowls ! 
 
 From thoughtless youth I often brook 
 
 The tiick and taunt of scorn, 
 And though indiff'rence marks my look, 
 
 My heart with grief is torn : 
 Then, oh let pity sway your souls ! 
 
 Nor sneer contempt iu passing by; 
 
 Nor mock, derisive, while I cry, 
 "Come, buy my plates and bowls." 
 
 The potter moulds the passive clay, 
 
 To all the forms you see : 
 And that same Pow'r that formed you. 
 
 Hath likewise fashion'd me. 
 Then, oh let pity sway your souls ! 
 
 Though needy, poor as poor can be, 
 
 I stoop not to your charity, 
 But cry my plates and bowls.
 
 Ill tannaiiill's rOEMS. 
 
 ^Ijc €hom. 
 
 Te Totarics of pleasure and case, 
 
 Proud, wastinp; in riot tlic day, 
 Drive on your career as ye please, 
 
 Let me follow a dilferent way. 
 The woodland, the mountain, and lu'll, 
 
 AVith the birds singiiii2^ sweet from the tree. 
 The soul with serenity fill, 
 
 And have pleasures more pleasing to me. 
 
 "Wlien I see you parade through the streets, 
 
 With aftected, unnatural airs, 
 I smile at your low trilling gaits, 
 
 And could heartily lend you my prayers. 
 Great Jove ! was it ever designed 
 
 That man should his reason lay down, 
 And barter the peace of his mind 
 
 For the follies and fashions of town 1 
 
 I'll retire to yon broom-coloured fields, 
 
 On the green mossy turf I'll recline. 
 The pleasure's that solitude yields, 
 
 Composure and peace shall be mine. 
 There Thomson or Shenstone I'll read, 
 
 A\^ell pleased with each well-managed theme, 
 With nothing to trouble my head. 
 
 But ambition to imitate them. 
 
 #it IfnbotcttiaiT. 
 
 Let ithcr bards exhaust their stock 
 Of heavenly names on heavenly folk, 
 And gods and goddesses invoke 
 
 To guide the pen. 
 While, just as well, a barber's block 
 
 Would serve their en'. 
 
 Nao muse ha'c I like guid Scotch drink ; 
 It mak's the dormant soul to think, 
 Gars wit and rhyme thegither clink, 
 In canty measure ;
 
 tannaiiill's poems. 145 
 
 And even though half-fu' wo wink, 
 
 Inspires wi' pleasure. 
 
 Whyles dullness stands for modest merit, 
 And impudence for manly spirit ; 
 To ken what worth each does inherit, 
 
 Just try the bottle ; 
 Send round the glass, and dinna spare it, 
 
 Ye'll see their mettle. 
 
 Oh, would the gods but grant my wish. 
 My constant prayer would be for this : 
 That love sincere, with health and peace. 
 
 My lot they'd clink in, 
 With now and then the social joys 
 
 0' friendly drinkin'. 
 
 And when youth's rattlin' days are done, 
 And age brings on life's afternoon. 
 Then, like a summer setting sun. 
 
 Brightly serene. 
 Smiling look back, and slidder down, 
 
 To rise again. 
 
 Encircled in a cloud of smoke 
 
 Sat the convivial core, 
 Like lightning flashed the merry joke. 
 
 The thundering laugh did roar. 
 Blythe Bacchus pierced his favourite hoard, 
 
 The sparkling glasses shine : 
 " 'Tis this," they cry, " come, sweep the board, 
 
 Which makes us all divine ! " 
 
 Apollo tuned the vocal shell, 
 
 With song, with catch, and glee : 
 
 The sonorous hall tlie notes did swell, 
 And echoed merrily.
 
 U6 TANNAHILL'S POEMS. 
 
 Each sordid, solfisli, little thought, 
 For shame itself did drown ; 
 
 And social love, with every draught, 
 Approved them for her own. 
 
 " Come fill another bumper up, 
 And drink in Bacchus' i)raise, 
 
 Who sent the kind, congenial cup, 
 Such heavenly joys to raise ! " 
 
 Great Jove, quite mad to see such fun, 
 At Bacchus 'gan to curse, 
 
 And to remind they were but men, 
 Sent down tlie liend Eemorse. 
 
 Allan's %Il 
 
 Come a ye friendly, social pack, 
 
 Wha meet with glee to club your plack, 
 
 Attend while I rehearse a fact, 
 
 That winna fail ; 
 Nae drink can raise a canty crack 
 
 Like Allan's ale. 
 
 It waukens wit, and makes us merry, 
 As England's far-famed Canterbury ; 
 Eich wines, frae Lisbon, or Canary ; 
 
 Let gentles hail. 
 But we can be as brisk and airy 
 
 Wi' Allan's ale. 
 
 It bears the gree, I'se gi'e my aith. 
 Of Widow Dean's and Eollston's baith, 
 Wha may cast by their brewing graith, 
 
 Baith pat and pail, 
 Since Paisley wisely puts mair faith 
 
 In Allan's ale. 
 
 Unlike the poor, sma' penny-wheep, 
 Whilk wortldess, petty change-folk keep,
 
 tattwahtll's poems. 147 
 
 O'er whilk mirth never deigned to peep, 
 Sae sour and stale ; 
 
 I've seen me joyous frisk and leap 
 Wi' Allan's ale. 
 
 Whether a social friendly meeting, 
 
 Or politicians thrang debating, 
 
 Or benders, blessed your wizzens weeting, 
 
 Mark well my tale, 
 Te'll find nae drink half worth your getting 
 
 Like's Allan's ale. 
 
 When bleak December's blasts do blaw, 
 And nature's face is co'ered wi' snaw, 
 Poor bodies scarce do work at a'. 
 
 The cauld's sae snell, 
 But meet and drink their cares awa' 
 
 Wi' Allan's ale. 
 
 Let auld Kilmarnock make a fraise, 
 
 What she has done in better days, 
 
 Her threepenny ance her fame could raise. 
 
 O'er muir and dale, 
 But Paisley now may claim the praise 
 
 Wi' Allan's ale. 
 
 Let selfish wights impose their notions, 
 j^nd damn the man won't take their lessons, 
 I scorn their threats, I scorn their cautions, 
 
 Say what they will ; 
 Let friendship crown our best devotions 
 
 Wi' Allan's ale. 
 
 While sun, and moon, and stars endure. 
 And aid wi' light " a random splore," 
 Still let each future social core, 
 
 Its praises tell : 
 Adored aye, and for evermore, 
 
 Bo Allan's ale !
 
 1-18 ODE TO TANNAHILL. 
 
 €^t for ibc ^niub-trsarn of the Hivtlr of 
 S^mtnabiU. 
 
 BY ALEXANDKR RODGER. 
 
 "While certain parties in the state 
 
 Meet yearly to comniemm orate 
 
 The birtli of their great " heaven-horn " head, 
 
 Wlia lan!4 did Britain's councils lead, 
 
 And, in the face of downright facts. 
 
 Launch forth in praise of certain acts, 
 
 As deeds of first-rate magnitude, 
 
 Performed a' for the public good. 
 
 By this rare pink o' politicians, 
 
 This matcl less prince o' state physicians ; 
 
 Whose givatest skill in bleeding lay. 
 
 Bleeding the state into decay : 
 
 For, studying the great Sangrado, 
 
 There's litth; doubt but he got hand o' 
 
 The secret of that great man's art, 
 
 At which he soon grew most expert : 
 
 As his prescriptions, like his master's, 
 
 Still ran on lancets more than plasters ; 
 
 A proper mode, nae doubt, when nations, 
 
 Like men are fashed wi' inilammations ; 
 
 But somewhat dangerous when the patient, 
 
 From being rather scrimply rationed, 
 
 Has little blood to sj^are, and when 
 
 (AVith all respects for learned men) 
 
 lie has much less desire to look 
 
 To the physician than the cook. 
 
 While thus they meet and yearly dine, 
 
 And o'er the flowing cups o' wine, 
 
 By studied speech or well-timed toast. 
 
 Declare it is their greatest boast. 
 
 That they were friends o' that great pilot, 
 
 "Wlia brav'd tlie storm by his rare skill o't, 
 
 And brought the vessel fairly through, 
 
 Thougli mutinous were half the crew.
 
 ODE TO TANNAIIILL. 149 
 
 At then, these Pitt-adoring fellows 
 
 Are careful to forget to tell ns, 
 
 That running foul o' some rude rock, 
 
 He gied the vessel such a shock, 
 
 As shattered a' her stately hull, 
 
 So that her owner, Mr Bull, 
 
 80 terrible a loss sustaining, 
 
 Has ever since been sair complaining. 
 
 In fact this once brave, stout, plump fellow, 
 
 AVith face now of a sickly yellow ', 
 
 A constitution sadly shattered, 
 
 A frame wi' toil and sickness battered 
 
 AVearing away by constant wasting, 
 
 Down to the grave seems fast a-hasting ; 
 
 But yet he vows, if he be spared. 
 
 He'll have her thoroughly repaired ; 
 
 Nor weary out his gallant crew 
 
 By toiling mair than men can do ; 
 
 For now it tak's them ceaseless pumping 
 
 To keep the crazy hulk from swamping : 
 
 Na; trowtli, they tell us nought like that, 
 
 The're no sae candid, weel I wot. 
 
 But getting a' quite pack thegither, 
 
 They bandy compliments at ither, 
 
 Sae thick and fast, that mutual flatteries 
 
 Are playing-off like bomb-shell batteries : 
 
 Or rather, to come lower down, 
 
 For that's a similie too high flown, 
 
 It's somewhat like a boyish yoking 
 
 At battledore and shuttlecocking ; 
 
 For soon as this one gies his crack, 
 
 The next ane's ready to pay back 
 
 His fulsome compliments galore ; 
 
 And thus is blarney's battledore 
 
 Applied to flattery's shuttlecock. 
 
 Till ilk ane round gets stroke for stroke. 
 
 A different task is ours indeed ; 
 We meet to pay the grateful meed — 
 The meed of just esteem sincere, 
 To ane whose memory we hold dear ; 
 To ane whose name demands respect, 
 Although wi' nae court titles decked ;
 
 150 ODE TO TANNAIIILL. 
 
 To anc ■vvha never loarncMl tlic gate 
 
 Of fawning meanly on the great ; 
 
 To ane wlia never turned his coat, 
 
 To niak' a sinfii' penny o't ; 
 
 To ane wlia never .s])eeh'(l to favour 
 
 l>y turning mankind's chief enslaver ; 
 
 To ane wha never did aspire 
 
 To set and keep the world on fire ; 
 
 To ane wha ne'er, hy mischief brewing, 
 
 Ivaised himsel' on his country's ruin ; 
 
 But humbly glided on through life, 
 
 Kemote iVom jiarty jars and strife ; 
 
 A quite innolfensive man, 
 
 As ever life's short racecourse ran ; 
 
 A simple, honest child of nature still, — 
 
 In short, our ain dear minstrel, TannahilL 
 
 Tannahill ! thou bard revered, 
 Thy name shall ever be endeared 
 To Scotia, thy loved land of song, 
 While her pure river's glide along ; 
 While her bleak rugged mountains high 
 Point their rude summits to the sky • 
 While yellow harvests on her plains 
 Reward her children's toils and pains ; 
 And while her sons and daughters leal 
 The inborn glow of freedom feel, 
 Her woods, her rocks, her hills and glens, 
 Shall echo thy delightful strains. 
 While " Jura's cliti''s " are capped Avith snows, 
 While the " dark-winding Carron" Hows ; 
 While high " Benlomond " rears his head 
 To catch the sun's last radiance shed : 
 "\Miile sweet " Gleniffer's dewy dell " 
 Blooms wi' the " crawflower's early bell ;" 
 AVhile smiles " Glcnkilloch's sunny brae," 
 ]\Iade classic by thy tender lay ; 
 While Avaves tlie " w^ood of Craigielee," 
 Where " INFary's heart was won by thee ;" 
 Thy name, thy artless minstrelsy, 
 Sweet bard of nature, ne'er shall die, 
 But thou wil't be remembered still, 
 Meek, uuassuminij Tannahill.
 
 ODE TO TANNAHILL. 151 
 
 What though with Burns thou could'st not vie, 
 
 In diving deep or soaring high ; 
 
 What though thy genius did not blaze, 
 
 Like his to draw the public gaze, 
 
 Yet thy sweet numbers, free from art, 
 
 Like his can touch, can melt the heart, 
 
 The laverock may soar till he's lost in the sky, 
 
 Yet the modest wee lintie that sings frae the tree, 
 Although he aspire not to regions so high. 
 
 His song is as sweet as the laverock's to me : 
 And oh, thy wild Avarblings are sweet, Tannahill ! 
 
 Whatever thy theme be, love, grief, or despair, 
 The tones of thy IjTe move our feelings at will, 
 
 Foi nature, all-powerful, predominates there. 
 But while the bard we eulogize. 
 Shall we the man neglect to prize 1 
 No, perish every virtue first. 
 
 And every vice usurp its place ; 
 With every ill let man be cursed. 
 
 Ere we do ought so mean and base. 
 Shall bloody warriors fill the rolls of fame. 
 And niches in her lofty temple claim 1 
 Shall the unfeeling scourgers of mankind, 
 To mercy deaf, to their own interest blind 1 
 Shall the depopulators of the earth. 
 Without one particle of real worth. 
 Whose lives are one compounded mass of crime, 
 Be handed down by fame to latest time. 
 The admiration of each future age. 
 They whose vile names are blots on every page ! 
 And shall the child of virtue be forgot, 
 Because the inmate of an humble cot ? 
 Shall he wdiose heart was open, warm, sincere. 
 Vn^o gave to want his mite, to woe his tear ; 
 Whose friendship still was steady, warm, and sure ; 
 Whose love was tender, constant, ardent, pure ; 
 AVhose fine-toned feelings, generous and humane. 
 Were hurt to give the meanest reptile pain ; 
 Whose filial love for her who gave him birth 
 Has seldom found a parallel on earth : 
 Shall he, forgotten, in oblivion lie 1 
 Forbid it, every sacred powder on high 1
 
 152 
 
 ODE TO TANNAIIILL. 
 
 Forbid it, every virtue liero below. 
 
 Sliall such ;i precious gem lie buried ? no : 
 
 Historiiius may forget him, if they will, 
 
 But age will tell to age the worth of Tamiahill. 
 
 When mighty conquerors shall be forgot, 
 
 "When, like thei\iselvcs, their very name shall rot ; 
 
 When even the story of their deeds is lost, 
 
 Or only heard witli horror and disgust ; 
 
 When hai)i)y man, from tyranny set free, 
 
 Shall wonder if such things could really be ; 
 
 And bless his stars that ho wa,s not on earth 
 
 Wlien such destructive monsters \rere brouglit forth; 
 
 When the whole human family shall be one, 
 
 In every clime below the circling sun ; 
 
 And every man shall live secure and free. 
 
 Beneath his vine, beneath his own fig-tree ; 
 
 No savage hordes his dwelling to invade, 
 
 Nor plunderer, daring to make him afraid ; 
 
 When things are prized not by their showy dress, 
 
 But by the solid worth which they possess ; 
 
 Even then our nnich-lamented bard 
 
 Those times shall venerate with deep regard ; 
 
 Ilis songs shall charm, his virtues be revered. 
 
 And to his name shall monuments be reared.
 
 SKETCH OF THE TAN^/IHILL CLUB, 
 
 AND THE 
 
 /RRANGEMEI(TS FOR THE CEI{TENARY CELEBP^ATION. 
 
 On the Twenty-fifth day of May, Eigliteen Hundred and Fifty-eight, a 
 meeting of gentlemen, desirous of commemorating regularly the birth-day 
 of Kobert Tanuahill, was held in the Globe Hotel, of Paisley. There were 
 present on that occasion— Messrs. James J. Lamb, James Waterston, 
 John Crawford (now the only survdving member), James Motherwell, 
 James Lindsay, and William Pollock. Mr. Lamb was voted to the chair. 
 After many expressions of entire and hearty sympathy with the object 
 for which the meeting was called, it was unanimously agreed " that the 
 meeting resolve itself into 
 
 ^hz ^annakiU (Ehib, 
 
 the special object of which shall be to commemorate, in all time coming, 
 the birthday of Eobort Tanuahill, who entered this breathing world, 
 whose beauties of scenery he never tired of singing, on the 3rd day of 
 June, 1774." 
 
 The constitution adopted for the Club was a simple one : — The anni- 
 versary meeting was to be previously advertised, and all who attended 
 were to be held as members of the Club. The gentlemen present at the 
 preliminary meeting were to form a committee to carry out the arrange- 
 ments for the first anniversary. The chairman for the time to nominate 
 his croupier to be chairman on the following year, and also to appoint the 
 croupier for that year. 
 
 The first annual meeting was accordingly held in the Hall of the 
 Saracen's Head Inn, on the evening of Thursday, the 3rd day of June, 
 1858, since which time the celebration has been regularly held with an 
 amount of enthusiasm which augurs well for the realisation of the word 
 in the constitution of the Club, that it shall be held "in all time coming."
 
 154) TANNAHILL CLUD. 
 
 Tho following is a list of tlio cliairmcn of the Club since its coni- 
 luoucement : — 
 
 1858 ... Mr. James J. Lamr, Architect. 
 
 1859 ... „ James "Waterston, Editor. 
 ISGO ... „ Joiix Crawkoud, Writer. 
 
 18G1 .. „ James Fkkkie, Warehouseman. 
 
 1862 ... „ Robert L. Henderson, Writer. 
 
 1863 ... „ Richard Watson, Editor. 
 
 1864 ... „ Robert Cociiuan, Draper. 
 
 1865 ... „ William Fulton, of Glen. 
 
 1866 ... „ John Cook, Editor. 
 18G7 ... ,, David Campbell, Writer. 
 1SC3 ... „ Robert Hay, Lithographer. 
 1SG9 ... „ Willia:m Stewart, Architect. 
 ISrO ... „ John Fishek, Accountant. 
 
 1871 ... „ John S. Mitchell, Boot and Shoe Maker. 
 
 1872 ... „ James J. Lamb, Architect. 
 
 1873 ... „ James Reid, Bookseller. 
 
 1874 ... David Murray, Esq., Banker, Trovost of Paisley. 
 
 Mr. Lamb, besides occupying the chair on two different occasions, as 
 above stated, was Secretary to the Club from its institution, in 1858, till 
 the year 1870, and from that time till his death, in 1872, he hold the 
 office of Honorary Secretary— Mr. James Reid being, since 1870, Acting 
 Secretary. 
 
 At the Anniversary Celebration, held in 1873, it was suggested by the 
 Chairman that, as the following year would be the centenary of the birth 
 of Tannahill, the Committee of the Club, with power to add to its num- 
 ber, might be appointed to make arraugoiuents for a banquet or other 
 public entertainment worthy of tho occasion, the Provost to be Chairman. 
 This was unanimously agreed to. 
 
 Acting on this resolution, a Meeting of Committee of the Tannahill 
 Club was held on Wednesday, 22nd April last, to consider tho most ap- 
 propriate manner of observing tlie Centenary. Various opinions were 
 expressed as to the form the celebration should assume, and it was con- 
 sidered advisable that a number of the admirers of Tannahill should bo 
 invited to confer with the Committee, and assist in making necessary 
 arrangements. With this object in view, it was proposed by the Secre- 
 tary " that Provost Murray, as Chairman of tho Club, be requested to 
 convene a meeting of all interested in the approaching Centenary, and 
 that trades' delegates be specially invited to attend, in order to secure 
 their co-operation in making any arrangements that might be resolved
 
 TANNAHILL CLUB. 155 
 
 on." The motion was seconded by Councillor Coclirau, and unanimously 
 agreed to. 
 
 The proposed meeting, convened by the Provost, was held in the 
 Artizans' Institution, on Tuesday, 28th April. A large Committee, re- 
 presenting all classes in the community, was appointed to make the neces- 
 sary arrangements. The Committee met on the following week, and 
 resolved on a Procession to the " Braes o* Gleniffer," made classic by the 
 muse of Tannahill. They also agreed to hold a Soiree in the evening, at 
 which our Poet's Songs would be sung, and sub-Committees were ap- 
 pointed to carry out the arrangements. 
 
 A requisition, largely and inllueutially signed, was also presented to 
 the Provost, requesting him to call a meeting, to arrange for a Public 
 Banquet. The meeting having been held, it was resolved that the pro- 
 posed banquet should take the form of a public dinner, to be held in the 
 Abercorn Rooms. The Provost was nominated to preside, and a Com- 
 mittee formed to make the necessary arrangements. 
 
 Meantime, the various sub -Committees appointed by the enlarged 
 Committee of the Tannahill Club, set to work enthusiastically. The pro- 
 posed Procession, as now arranged, will muster some 3000 strong. After 
 marching through the town, it will proceed to Glenfield, where a grand 
 rural fete wiU be held on the plateau above "Tannahill's well." Floral 
 Arches will be erected at prominent points on the route of the procession ; 
 and the birthplace of the Poet in Castle Street, as well as his residence 
 and weaving shop, in Queen Street, will be decorated with flowers and 
 evergreens. The proposed Soiree has also assumed a definite form. 
 Accommodation will be provided in the Drill HaU for 1000 persons, pre- 
 fided over by Thomas Coats, Esq., of Ferguslie, a locality hallowed by 
 Tannahill in one of his earliest lyrics — 
 
 Sweet Ferguslie, hail ! thou'rt the dear sacred grove, 
 Where first my young muse spread her wing ; 
 
 Here nature first waked me to rapture and love, 
 And taught me her beauties to sing. 
 
 At the Soiree, addresses bearing on TannahiU will form a feature in 
 the programme, and his songs will be sung by sob vocalists, as well as 
 by a choir. 
 
 Thus will Paisley honour, most approprialiely, the birth-day Centenary 
 of one of her most gifted sons, and one of the sweetest singers that Scot- 
 land, so rich in sons of song, has produced. Though of humble birth, his 
 fame, like every true son of genius, has gone on increasing with the roll- 
 ing years ; and no doubt need now be entertained of posterity keeping 
 his memory green. 
 
 J. E. 
 
 Paisley, 2ath May, 1874.
 
 156 TANNAIIII.L CENTENARY. 
 
 The ceiitonary of the birHi of Robert T;mnahill was celebrated in 
 Paisley on tlie 3r(.l June, 1S7-1. For a cousideialile time before active 
 preparations were made to make an occasion wdrtliy of the poet, and 
 Worthy of the tnwii. A pul)lio meeting, hold to consider liow this could 
 best bo done, declared for a holiday and a procession, and a committee 
 was appointed tcj arrange all details. They set about their work with 
 a will, and when the day arrived it was apoaront they had fullilled tho 
 trust to the satisfaction of even the most critical. Seven very tine floral 
 arches were erected at various prominent parts of the town. These cost 
 a very considerable sum, which was defrayeel by public subscription. 
 Km- was private enterprise awanting in this direction, many houses being 
 very tastefully decorated with lliwcrs, evergrceus, &c. It were invidious 
 to name any, there being hundreds deserving their mead of praise. In 
 fact, it seemed as if the town had suddenly been transformed into a 
 shrubbery. The morning of Wednesday the 3rd found Paisley, therefoi'C, 
 iu her " braws." The sound of drums in almost every quarter of tho 
 tovra, and the tramp of hurrying feet, told there was something unusual 
 astir. The various trades in town, as well as the Freemasons, Odd- 
 fellows, &c., and deputies from other places, met iu their various 
 rendezvous, and marched, headed each by a band, to the place of 
 meeting — St. James' Street — where they were arranged in their bal- 
 lottcd order by Captain Sutherland of the burgh police. The number 
 who turned out from the vanous bodies was very considerable, and 
 their appearance was very pleasing. Perhaps the others will pardon 
 us if we say that the carters really attracted an unusual amount of 
 attention. They turned out to the number of 150, mounted on their 
 chargers, which were decked with ribbons of all the colours of the 
 rainbow, and more — as Paisley and her dyers really can do. There 
 were strong, powerfid animals, down to the tiniest Slielty, and each 
 one seemed to know it was a holiday. The riders were not less varied — 
 some dressed most fashionably, up to the satin hat, and others wore 
 the broadest Kibnarnocks ever Stewarton produced. Truly it was a 
 quaint scene, and will not easily be forgotten. After having paraded tho 
 town, they marched to Gleniifer Braes. Mr. Fulton of The Glen not 
 only threw open his grounds and erected some tasteful arches, but 
 actually constructed a road to eualile the processionists to gain the Braea 
 iu marching order, all which must have cost him a large sum of money. 
 On the summit a platform had been erected, from which a choir, uuder 
 the leadership of Mr. M'Gibbou, sang various songs of Tannahill's in line 
 style, and Provost Murray and other gentlemen gave short addresses. 
 The day, which was good, was spout by many in rambling over the Braes, 
 and by others in dancing on the green sward to the music of the bands 
 which were stationed all around, while others thronged the teats to slake 
 their thirst. Tho order, sobriety, and good conduct, however, of all 
 were tho subject of commendation. 
 
 In the evening a banquet was held in the Abercorn Rooms — Provost 
 Murray in the chair. 
 
 There was also a festival held in the Drill Hall at eight in the 
 evening, presided over by Thomas Coats, Esq. After tea short speeches 
 were delivered, but recitations and the singing of Tannahill's songs were 
 the order of tho day. Altogether, a jolly day was spent, and one which, 
 every one affirms, did honour to ourselves, as well as to tho memory of 
 our revered and lamented poet.
 
 iisrDEx:. 
 
 I'AOE 
 
 Memoir, iii. 
 
 SONGS. 
 
 Adieu, yo cheerful native plains, ... ... ... 40 
 
 All! Shcelali, tliou'rt my darling, ... 3^> 
 
 Anacreontic, 27 
 
 All hail ! ye dear romantic scenes, ... 50 
 
 Away, gloomy care, (jl 
 
 Barrochan Joan, lO 
 
 Bonnie winsome Mary, 4-^ 
 
 Bravo Lewie Roy, ... 57 
 
 Cauld gloomy Feberwar, ... 5t 
 
 Coggie, thou heals me, .. 30 
 
 Come hame to your lingc'ls. _ ... ... 54 
 
 Companion of ray youthful sports, ... ... ... ... ... 28 
 
 Cruiks'ton Castle's lonely wa's, ... ... ... ... ... ... 26 
 
 Davie Tulloch's bonnie Katy, 53 
 
 Dear Judy, I've taken a-thiuking, 14 
 
 Despairing Mary, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 9 
 
 Dircfo, ... G3 
 
 Ellen More, 30 
 
 Fair-liaired Nanny, ... ... ... ... o3 
 
 Fly we to some desert isle, 7 
 
 Fragment of a Scottish ballad, 35 
 
 Gloomy winter' s now aw a', 33 
 
 Green luismore, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 31 
 
 Hey, Donald! how, Donald, 21 
 
 I'll hie me to the sheeling hill, 27 
 
 I'll 1:1 y me on the wintry lea, . ... ... [,:', 
 
 I'll love my dear Jeanie, ... 59 
 
 I marked a gem of pearly dew ... ... i^ 
 
 Jessie, tlio flower o' Dumblane, 1 
 
 Johnnie, lad, 5 
 
 Keen blaws the wind o'er the braes o' GlenifTor, ... ... ... 4 
 
 Kitty Tyrell, 8 
 
 Lang syne, beside the woodland burn, ... ... 58 
 
 Let grief for ever cloud the day, ... ... ... ... ... ... 03 
 
 Lone in yon dark sequestered grove, (j2 
 
 Loudon's bonnie woods and braes, ... ... 3 
 
 Marion, dry your tearfu' e'e, 54 
 
 Meg o' the glen set afF to the fair, 21 
 
 Mine am dear somebody, ... ... 9 
 
 Molly, my dear, ... 37 
 
 My dear Highland laddie, O, ... 57 
 
 My heart is sair wi' heavy care, ... ... ... 48 
 
 My Mary is a bonnie lass, ... 42 
 
 Oh, are ye sleeping, Maggie? 15 
 
 Oh, how can you gang, lassie ? 22 
 
 Oh, laddie, can you leave ini'? ... 53 
 
 Oh, row thee in my ITiglilan 1 iilaid, 42 
 
 Oh, sair I rue the witless w-sh, 7
 
 158 
 
 INDEX. 
 
 Oh, wcop not, my love, 
 
 O lassie, will ye tak' a man ? 
 
 One night in my youth, 
 
 Our bonnie Scots lads, 
 
 Peprsy O'Ratt'erty, 
 
 Poor Tom, fare-thee-well, 
 
 Rab Roryson's bonnet, 
 
 Responsive, ye woods, 
 
 Sing on, thou sweet warbli;r, 
 
 The bard of Glcnullin, 
 
 The braes of Balquither, 
 
 The coggie, 
 
 The defeat, 
 
 The dirge of Carolan, 
 
 The evening sun's gaen down the west, 
 The farewell, 
 
 The five friends ... 
 
 The flower o' Levern side, 
 
 The Highlander's invitation, 
 
 The Irish farmer, ... 
 
 The Kebbuckstone wedding, 
 
 The lament of Wallace after the battle of Falkirk, 
 
 The lasses a' leugh, and the carlin fiate. 
 
 The lassie o' merry eighteen, 
 
 The lass o' Arranteenic, ... ... 
 
 The maniac's song,... 
 
 The midges dance aboon the burn, 
 
 The negro girl, 
 
 The soldier's adieu, 
 
 The soldier's widow, ... ... 
 
 The wandering bard, 
 
 The worn soldier, ... 
 
 Thou bonnie wood of Craigielee, 
 
 Though humble my lot, 
 
 Two original songs. 
 
 We'll meet beside the dusky glen, 
 
 Were ye at Duntocher Burn? 
 
 When John and me were married, 
 
 When Rosie was faithful, 
 
 While the gray-pinioned lark, 
 
 Why unite to banish care ? 
 
 Winter wi' his cloudy brow, 
 
 Wi' waefu' heart and sorrowing e'e, 
 
 Ye dear romantic shades, ... 
 
 Ye echoes that ring, ... 
 
 Ye friendly stars, 
 
 Yc wooer lads wha greet and grane, 
 
 Taga 
 61 
 58 
 29 
 2-1 
 38 
 10 
 11 
 43 
 61 
 50 
 
 G 
 51 
 39 
 41 
 62 
 17 
 20 
 25 
 14 
 13 
 19 
 16 
 23 
 22 
 
 4 
 46 
 32 
 47 
 61 
 29 
 34 
 17 
 49 
 45 
 62 
 25 
 53 
 12 
 55 
 
 2 
 56 
 35 
 18 
 44 
 4G 
 39 
 CO 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Allan's ale 
 
 A lesson. 
 
 Antipathy, 
 
 A resolve, 
 
 Baudnms nnd the hon-bird, 
 Couuel and Tlora, 
 
 146 
 
 94 
 
 79 
 
 89 
 
 110 
 
 "2 J
 
 DTDEX. 159 
 
 Page 
 
 Eild: a fragment, - 85 
 
 Epigrams, 94 
 
 Epistle to Alexander Borland, 101 
 
 Epistle to James Barr, i)7 
 
 Epistle to James Buchanan, ... 1U8 
 
 Epistle to James King, !>(> 
 
 Epistle to James Scadlock, 90 
 
 Epistle to James Scadlock, I'W 
 
 Epistle to Bobert Allan, lH 
 
 Epistle to William Thomson, 102 
 
 Epistle to WilUam WyUe, 103 
 
 Epitaphs, 95 
 
 Lines on a flatterer, ^9 
 
 Lines on a covTntry justice in the south, D3 
 
 Lines on seeing a fop pass an old beggar, ... ... ... ... 88 
 
 Lines to W. M' Laren SO 
 
 Lines wi-itten on reading the " Pleasures of Hope," ... 87 
 
 Lines written on seeing a spider d;irt out upon a fly, 88 
 
 Lines written on the back of a guinea note, ... ... 93 
 
 Lines written with a pencil iu 11 tap-rioui, ... ... ... ... 00 
 
 On Alexander Wilson's emigration to Amei'ica, 86 
 
 On a man of character, 79 
 
 On invocation, ... ... 144 
 
 Ode — celebration of Bums' birth-day, 1S03, 135 
 
 Ode — celebration of Burns' birth-day, 18' '7, 138 
 
 Ode — celebration of Burns' birth-day, IS U), 140 
 
 Ode — in imitation of Peter Pindar, ... 133 
 
 Ode for the anniversary of the birth of Tannahill, 148 
 
 Ode to jealousy, 131 
 
 Parody on " Lullaby," 89 
 
 Prayer under affliction, ... I'l^ 
 
 Prologue to the " Gentle Shepherd," ... _ 129 
 
 Rich Gripus pretends he is my patron and friend, 79 
 
 Sonnet to sincerity, 87 
 
 Stanzas written on the gravestone of a depaited friend, 85 
 
 The ambitious mite, 117 
 
 The bacchanalians, 145 
 
 The choice, 144 
 
 The cockpit, 127 
 
 The contrast, ... 130 
 
 The filial vow, 84 
 
 The hauntet wud, 134 
 
 The moralists, ..• 93 
 
 The Parnassiad, 122 
 
 The poor bowlman's remonstrance, 143 
 
 The portrait of guilt, 133 
 
 The promotion, ... 79 
 
 The resolve, 120 
 
 The soldier's return, 65 
 
 The storm, 119 
 
 The trifler's Sabbath-day, 132 
 
 To a person noted for his assumed sanctity, 80 
 
 Towser, 114 
 
 Will M'Ncil's elegy, 80
 
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