Part 16

John Struthers, whose name is familiar as the author of "The Poor Man's Sabbath," was born on the 18th July 1776, in the parish of East Kilbride, Lanarkshire. His parents were of the humbler rank, and were unable to send him to school; but his mother, a woman of superior intelligence, was unremitting in her efforts to teach him at home. She was aided in her good work by a benevolent lady of the neighbourhood, who, interested by the boy's precocity, often sent for him to read to her. This kind-hearted individual was Mrs Baillie, widow of the Rev. Dr Baillie of Hamilton, who was then resident at Longcalderwood, and whose celebrated daughter, Joanna Baillie, afterwards took a warm interest in the fame and fortunes of her mother's _protege_. From the age of eight to fourteen, young Struthers was engaged as a cowherd and in general work about a farm; he then apprenticed himself to a shoemaker. On the completion of his indenture, he practised his craft several years in his native village till September 1801, when he sought a wider field of business in Glasgow. In 1804, he produced his first and most celebrated poem, "The Poor Man's Sabbath," which, printed at his own risk, was well received, and rapidly passed through two editions. On the recommendation of Sir Walter Scott, to whom the poem was made known by Joanna Baillie, Constable published a third edition in 1808, handing the author thirty pounds for the copyright. Actively employed in his trade, Struthers continued to devote his leisure hours to composition. In 1816 he published a pamphlet "On the State of the Labouring Poor." A more ambitious literary effort was carried out in 1819; he edited a collection of the national songs, which was published at Glasgow, under the title of "The Harp of Caledonia," in three vols. 18mo. To this work Joanna Baillie, Mrs John Hunter, and Mr William Smyth of Cambridge contributed songs, while Scott and others permitted the re-publication of such of their lyrics as the author chose to select.

Struthers married early in life. About the year 1818 his wife and two of his children were snatched from him by death, and these bereavements so affected him, as to render him unable to prosecute his labours as a tradesman. He now procured employment as a corrector of the press, in the printing-office of Khull, Blackie, & Co. During his connexion with this establishment he assisted in preparing an edition of "Wodrow's History," and produced a "History of Scotland" from the political Union in 1707 to the year 1827, the date of its publication. These works--the latter extending to two octavo volumes--were published by his employers. On a dissolution of their co-partnership, in 1827, Struthers was thrown out of employment till his appointment, in 1832, to the Keepership of Stirling's Library, a respectable institution in Glasgow. This situation, which yielded him a salary of about L50 a-year, he retained till 1847, when he was led to tender his resignation. In his seventy-first year he returned to his original trade, after being thirty years occupied with literary concerns. He died suddenly on the 30th July 1853, at the advanced age of seventy-seven.

A man of strong intellect and vigorous imagination, John Struthers was industrious in his trade, and persevering as an author, yet he failed to obtain a competency for the winter of life; his wants, however, were few, and he never sought to complain. Inheriting pious dispositions from his parents, he excelled in familiarity with the text of Scripture, and held strong opinions on the subject of morality. Educated in the communion of the Original Secession Church, he afterwards joined the Establishment, and ultimately retired from it at the Disruption in 1843. He was a zealous member of the Free Church, and being admitted to the eldership, was on two occasions sent as a representative to the General Assembly of that body. An enthusiast respecting the beauties of external nature, he was in the habit of undertaking lengthened pedestrian excursions into the country, and took especial delight in rambling by the sea-shore, or climbing the mountain-tops. His person was tall and slight, though abundantly muscular, and capable of undergoing the toil of extended journeys. Three times married, he left a widow, who has lately emigrated to America; of his children two sons and two daughters survive.

Besides the works already enumerated, Struthers was the author of other compositions, both in prose and verse. He wrote an octavo pamphlet of 96 pages in favour of National Church Establishments; contributed memoirs of James Hogg, minister of Carnock, and Principal Robertson to the _Christian Instructor_, and prepared various lives of deceased worthies, which were included in the "Illustrious and Distinguished Scotsmen," edited by Mr Robert Chambers. At the period of his death, he was engaged in preparing a continuation of his "History of Scotland," to the era of the Disruption; he also meditated the publication of a volume of essays. His poetical works, which appeared at various intervals, were re-published in 1850, in two duodecimo volumes, with an interesting autobiographical sketch. Of his poems those most deserving of notice, next to the "Sabbath," are "The House of Mourning, or the Peasant's Death," and "The Plough," both evincing grave and elevated sentiment, expressed in correct poetical language. The following songs are favourable specimens of his lyrical compositions.

ADMIRING NATURE'S SIMPLE CHARMS.

TUNE--_"Gramachre."_

Admiring Nature's simple charms, I left my humble home, Awhile my country's peaceful plains With pilgrim step to roam. I mark'd the leafy summer wave On flowing Irvine's side, But richer far 's the robe she wears Within the vale of Clyde.

I roam'd the braes o' bonnie Doon, The winding banks o' Ayr, Where flutters many a small bird gay, Blooms many a flow'ret fair. But dearer far to me the stem That once was Calder's pride, And blossoms now the fairest flower Within the vale of Clyde.

Avaunt, thou life-repressing north, Ye withering east winds too; But come, thou all-reviving west, Breathe soft thy genial dew. Till at the last, in peaceful age, This lovely flow'ret shed Its last green leaf upon my grave, Within the vale of Clyde.

OH, BONNIE BUDS YON BIRCHEN TREE.

TUNE--_"The mill, mill, O."_

Oh, bonnie buds yon birchen tree, The western breeze perfuming; And softly smiles yon sunny brae, Wi' gowans gaily blooming. But sweeter than yon birchen tree, Or gowans gaily blooming, Is she, in blushing modesty, Wha meets me there at gloaming.

Oh, happy, happy there yestreen, In mutual transport ranging, Among these lovely scenes, unseen, Our vows of love exchanging. The moon, with clear, unclouded face, Seem'd bending to behold us; And breathing birks, with soft embrace, Most kindly to enfold us.

We bade each tree record our vows, And each surrounding mountain, With every star on high that glows From light's o'erflowing fountain. But gloaming gray bedims the vale, On day's bright beam encroaching; With rapture once again I hail The trysting hour approaching.

RICHARD GALL.

Richard Gall was born in December 1776, at Linkhouse, near Dunbar. His father was a notary; but, being in poor circumstances, he apprenticed his son, in his eleventh year, to a relative, who followed the conjoined business of a builder and house-carpenter. The drudgery of heavy manual labour proved very uncongenial; and the apprentice suddenly took his departure, walking a long distance to Edinburgh, whither his parents had removed their residence. He now selected the profession of a printer, and entered on an indenture to Mr David Ramsay of the _Edinburgh Evening Courant_. At the close of his apprenticeship, he became Mr Ramsay's travelling clerk.

In the ordinary branches of education, young Gall had been instructed in a school at Haddington; he took lessons in the more advanced departments from a private tutor during his apprenticeship. He wrote verses from his youth, and several of his songs became popular, and were set to music. His poetical talents attracted the attention of Robert Burns and Hector Macneill, both of whom cherished his friendship,--the former becoming his correspondent. He also shared the intimacy of Thomas Campbell, and of Dr Alexander Murray, the distinguished philologist.

His promising career was brief; an abscess broke out in his breast, which medical skill could not subdue. After a lingering illness, he died on the 10th of May 1801, in his twenty-fifth year. He had joined a Highland volunteer regiment; and his remains were accompanied by his companions-in-arms to the Calton burial-ground, and there interred with military honours.

Possessed of a lively and vigorous fancy, a generous warmth of temperament, and feelings of extreme sensibility, Richard Gall gave promise of adorning the poetical literature of his country. Patriotism and the beauties of external nature were the favourite subjects of his muse, which, as if premonished of his early fate, loved to sing in plaintive strains. Gall occasionally lacks power, but is always pleasing; in his songs (two of which have frequently been assigned to Burns) he is uniformly graceful. He loved poetry with the ardour of an enthusiast; during his last illness he inscribed verses with a pencil, when no longer able to wield the pen. He was thoroughly devoid of personal vanity, and sought to advance the poetical reputation of his country rather than his own. In his lifetime, his pieces were printed separately; a selection of his poems and songs, with a memoir by Alexander Balfour, was published in 1819.

HOW SWEET IS THE SCENE.

How sweet is the scene at the waking o' morning! How fair ilka object that lives in the view! Dame Nature the valley an' hillock adorning, The wild-rose an' blue-bell yet wet wi' the dew. How sweet in the morning o' life is my Anna! Her smiles like the sunbeam that glints on the lea; To wander an' leave the dear lassie, I canna; Frae Truth, Love, an' Beauty, I never can flee.

O lang hae I lo'ed her, and lo'ed her fu' dearly, For saft is the smile o' her bonny sweet mou'; An' aft hae I read in her e'en, glancing clearly, A language that bade me be constant an' true. Then ithers may doat on their gowd an' their treasure; For pelf, silly pelf, they may brave the rude sea; To lo'e my sweet lassie, be mine the dear pleasure; Wi' her let me live, an' wi' her let me die.

CAPTAIN O'KAIN.

Flow saftly, thou stream, through the wild spangled valley; Oh green be thy banks, ever bonny an' fair! Sing sweetly, ye birds, as ye wanton fu' gaily, Yet strangers to sorrow, untroubled by care. The weary day lang I list to your sang, An' waste ilka moment, sad, cheerless, alane; Each sweet little treasure O' heart-cheering pleasure, Far fled frae my bosom wi' Captain O'Kain.

Fu' aft on thy banks hae we pu'd the wild gowan, An' twisted a garland beneath the hawthorn; Ah! then each fond moment wi' pleasure was glowing, Sweet days o' delight, which can never return! Now ever, wae's me! The tear fills my e'e, An sair is my heart wi' the rigour o' pain; Nae prospect returning, To gladden life's morning, For green waves the willow o'er Captain O'Kain.

MY ONLY JO AND DEARIE, O'.

Thy cheek is o' the rose's hue, My only jo an' dearie, O; Thy neck is like the siller dew Upon the banks sae briery, O; Thy teeth are o' the ivory, O, sweet 's the twinkle o' thine e'e! Nae joy, nae pleasure, blinks on me, My only jo an' dearie, O.

The birdie sings upon the thorn, Its sang o' joy, fu' cheerie, O, Rejoicing in the simmer morn, Nae care to make it eerie, O; But little kens the sangster sweet, Ought o' the care I hae to meet, That gars my restless bosom beat, My only jo an' dearie, O.

Whan we were bairnies on yon brae, An' youth was blinking bonny, O, Aft we wad daff the lee lang day, Our joys fu' sweet an' mony, O; Aft I wad chase thee o'er the lea, An' round about the thorny tree; Or pu' the wild flowers a' for thee, My only jo an' dearie, O.

I hae a wish I canna tine, 'Mang a' the cares that grieve me, O; I wish that thou wert ever mine, An' never mair to leave me, O; Then I wad dawt thee night an' day, Nae ither warldly care wad hae, Till life's warm stream forgat to play, My only jo an' dearie, O.

THE BONNIE BLINK O' MARY'S E'E.[110]

Now bank an' brae are clad in green, An' scatter'd cowslips sweetly spring; By Girvan's fairy-haunted stream, The birdies flit on wanton wing; By Cassillis' banks, when e'ening fa's, There let my Mary meet wi' me, There catch her ilka glance o' love, The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e.

The chiel' wha boasts o' warld's wealth Is aften laird o' meikle care; But Mary she is a' my ain, An' Fortune canna gie me mair. Then let me stray by Cassillis' banks, Wi' her, the lassie dear to me, An' catch her ilka glance o' love, The bonnie blink o' Mary's e'e.

[110] Cromeck in his "Reliques," erroneously attributes this song to Burns.

THE BRAES O' DRUMLEE.

Ere eild wi' his blatters had warsled me down, Or reft me o' life's youthfu' bloom, How aft hae I gane, wi' a heart louping light, To the knowes yellow tappit wi' broom! How aft hae I sat i' the beild o' the knowe, While the laverock mounted sae hie, An' the mavis sang sweet in the plantings around, On the bonnie green braes o' Drumlee.

But, ah! while we daff in the sunshine of youth, We see na' the blasts that destroy; We count na' upon the fell waes that may come, An eithly o'ercloud a' our joy. I saw na the fause face that fortune can wear, Till forced from my country to flee; Wi' a heart like to burst, while I sobbed, "Farewell, To the bonnie green braes o' Drumlee!

"Fareweel, ye dear haunts o' the days o' my youth, Ye woods and ye valleys sae fair; Ye 'll bloom whan I wander abroad like a ghaist, Sair nidder'd wi' sorrow an' care. Ye woods an' ye valleys, I part wi' a sigh, While the flood gushes down frae my e'e; For never again shall the tear weet my cheek, On the bonnie green braes o' Drumlee.

"O Time, could I tether your hours for a wee! Na, na, for they flit like the wind!"-- Sae I took my departure, an' saunter'd awa', Yet aften look'd wistfu' behind. Oh, sair is the heart of the mither to twin, Wi' the baby that sits on her knee; But sairer the pang, when I took a last peep, O' the bonnie green braes o' Drumlee.

I heftit 'mang strangers years thretty-an'-twa, But naething could banish my care; An' aften I sigh'd when I thought on the past, Whare a' was sae pleasant an' fair. But now, wae 's my heart! whan I 'm lyart an' auld, An' fu' lint-white my haffet-locks flee, I 'm hamewards return'd wi' a remnant o' life, To the bonnie green braes o' Drumlee.

Poor body! bewilder'd, I scarcely do ken The haunts that were dear ance to me; I yirded a plant in the days o' my youth, An' the mavis now sings on the tree. But, haith! there 's nae scenes I wad niffer wi' thae; For it fills my fond heart fu' o' glee, To think how at last my auld banes they will rest, Near the bonnie green braes o' Drumlee.

I WINNA GANG BACK TO MY MAMMY AGAIN.

I winna gang back to my mammy again, I 'll never gae back to my mammy again; I 've held by her apron these aught years an' ten, But I 'll never gang back to my mammy again. I 've held by her apron, &c.

Young Johnnie cam' down i' the gloamin' to woo, Wi' plaidie sae bonny, an' bannet sae blue: "O come awa, lassie, ne'er let mammy ken;" An' I flew wi' my laddie o'er meadow an' glen. "O come awa, lassie," &c.

He ca'd me his dawtie, his dearie, his doo, An' press'd hame his words wi' a smack o' my mou'; While I fell on his bosom heart-flicher'd an' fain, An' sigh'd out, "O Johnnie, I 'll aye be your ain!" While I fell on his bosom, &c.

Some lasses will talk to their lads wi' their e'e, Yet hanker to tell what their hearts really dree; Wi' Johnnie I stood upon nae stapping-stane, Sae I 'll never gae back to my mammy again. Wi' Johnnie I stood, &c.

For many lang year sin' I play'd on the lea, My mammy was kind as a mither could be; I 've held by her apron these aught years an' ten, But I 'll never gang back to my mammy again. I 've held by her apron, &c.

THE BARD.

IRISH AIR--_"The Brown Maid."_

The Bard strikes his harp the wild valleys amang, Whare the tall aiken trees spreading leafy appear; While the murmuring breeze mingles sweet wi' his sang, An' wafts the saft notes till they die on the ear; But Mary, whase presence sic transport conveys, Whase beauties my moments o' pleasure control, On the strings o' my heart ever wantonly plays, An' each languishing note is a sigh frae my soul!

Her breath is as sweet as the sweet-scented brier, That blossoms and blaws in yon wild lanely glen; When I view her fair form which nae mortal can peer, A something o'erpowers me I dinna weel ken. What sweetness her snawy white bosom displays! The blink o' her bonny black e'e wha' can thole! On the strings o' my heart she bewitchingly plays, An' each languishing note is a sigh frae my soul!

LOUISA IN LOCHABER.

Can ought be constant as the sun, That makes the world sae cheerie? Yes, a' the powers can witness be, The love I bear my dearie. But what can make the hours seem lang, An' rin sae wondrous dreary? What but the space that lies between Me an' my only dearie.

Then fare ye weel, wha saw me aft, Sae blythe, baith late and early; An' fareweel scenes o' former joys, That cherish life sae rarely; Baith love an' beauty bid me flee, Nor linger lang an' eerie, But haste, an' in my arms enfauld, My only pride an' dearie.

I 'll hail Lochaber's valleys green, Where many a rill meanders; I 'll hail wi' joy, its birken bowers, For there Louisa wanders. There will I clasp her to my breast, An' tent her smile fu' cheerie; An' thus, without a wish or want, Live happy wi' my dearie.

THE HAZELWOOD WITCH.

For mony lang year I hae heard frae my grannie Of brownies an' bogles by yon castle wa', Of auld wither'd hags that were never thought cannie, An' fairies that danced till they heard the cock caw. I leugh at her tales; an' last owk, i' the gloamin', I daunder'd, alane, down the hazelwood green; Alas! I was reckless, and rue sair my roamin', For I met a young witch, wi' twa bonnie black e'en.

I thought o' the starns in a frosty night glancing, Whan a' the lift round them is cloudless an' blue; I looked again, an' my heart fell a-dancing, When I wad hae spoken, she glamour'd my mou'. O wae to her cantrips! for dumpish I wander, At kirk or at market there 's nought to be seen; For she dances afore me wherever I daunder, The hazelwood witch wi' the bonnie black e'en.

FAREWELL TO AYRSHIRE.[111]

Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, Scenes that former thoughts renew; Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, Now a sad and last adieu! Bonny Doon, sae sweet at gloamin', Fare thee weel before I gang; Bonny Doon, whare, early roamin', First I weaved the rustic sang.

Bowers, adieu! where, love decoying, First enthrall'd this heart o' mine; There the saftest sweets enjoying, Sweets that memory ne'er shall tine. Friends sae near my bosom ever, Ye hae render'd moments dear; But, alas! when forced to sever, Then the stroke, O how severe!

Friends, that parting tear reserve it, Though 'tis doubly dear to me; Could I think I did deserve it, How much happier would I be. Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, Scenes that former thoughts renew; Scenes of woe and scenes of pleasure, Now a sad and last adieu!

[111] This is another song of Richard Gall which has been assigned to Burns; it has even been included in Dr Currie's edition of his works. It was communicated anonymously by Gall to the publisher of the "Scots Musical Museum," and first appeared in that work. The original MS. of the song was in the possession of Mr Stark, the author of a memoir of Gall in the "Biographia Scotica."

GEORGE SCOTT.

George Scott was the son of a small landowner in Roxburghshire. He was born at Dingleton, near Melrose, in 1777; and after attending the parish-schools of Melrose and Galashiels, became a student in the University of Edinburgh. On completing a curriculum of classical study, he was in his twenty-second year appointed parochial schoolmaster of Livingstone, West Lothian; and in six years afterwards was preferred to the parish-school of Lilliesleaf, in his native county. He was an accomplished scholar, and had the honour of educating many individuals who afterwards attained distinction. With Sir Walter Scott, who appreciated his scholarship, he maintained a friendly correspondence. In 1820, he published a small volume of poems, entitled, "Heath Flowers; or, Mountain Melodies," which exhibits considerable poetical talent. Having discharged the duties of an instructor of youth for half a century, he retired from his public avocations in November 1850. He survived till the 23d of February 1853, having attained his seventy-sixth year.

THE FLOWER OF THE TYNE.

AIR--_"Bonnie Dundee."_

Now rests the red sun in his caves of the ocean, Now closed every eye but of misery and mine; While, led by the moonbeam, in fondest devotion, I doat on her image, the Flower of the Tyne. Her cheek far outrivals the rose's rich blossom, Her eyes the bright gems of Golconda outshine; The snow-drop and lily are lost on her bosom, For beauty unmatched is the Flower of the Tyne.

So charming each feature, so guileless her nature, A thousand fond voices pronounce her divine; So witchingly pretty, so modestly witty, That sweet is thy thraldom, fair Flower of the Tyne! Thine aspect so noble, yet sweetly inviting, The loves and the graces thy temples entwine; In manners the saint and the syren uniting, Bloom on, dear Louisa, the Flower of the Tyne.

Though fair, Caledonia, the nymphs of thy mountains, And graceful and straight as thine own silver pine, Though fresh as thy breezes, and pure as thy fountains, Yet fairer to me is the Flower of the Tyne. This poor throbbing heart as an offering I give her, A temple to love is this bosom of mine; Then smile on thy victim, Louisa, for ever, I 'll kneel at thine altar, sweet Flower of the Tyne.

THOMAS CAMPBELL.