Chapter 14

[95] Leyden was assisted in his outfit for India by Sir Walter Scott and Sydney Smith, the latter contributing forty pounds. (See "Memoir of the Rev. Sydney Smith," by his daughter, Lady Holland, vol. i. p. 21. London: 1855. 2 vols. 8vo.)

[96] Thomas Campbell was one of Leyden's early literary friends; they had quarrelled, but continued to respect each other's talents. The following anecdote is recorded by Sir Walter Scott in his diary:--"When I repeated 'Hohenlinden' to Leyden, he said, 'Dash it, man, tell the fellow that I hate him; but, dash him, he has written the finest verses that have been published these fifty years.' I did mine errand as faithful as one of Homer's messengers, and had for answer:--'Tell Leyden that I detest him, but I know the value of his critical approbation.'"--_Lockhart's Life of Scott._

ODE TO THE EVENING STAR.

How sweet thy modest light to view, Fair star! to love and lovers dear; While trembling on the falling dew, Like beauty shining through a tear.

Or hanging o'er that mirror-stream, To mark that image trembling there, Thou seem'st to smile with softer gleam, To see thy lovely face so fair.

Though, blazing o'er the arch of night, The moon thy timid beams outshine As far as thine each starry light, Her rays can never vie with thine.

Thine are the soft, enchanting hours When twilight lingers on the plain, And whispers to the closing flowers That soon the sun will rise again.

Thine is the breeze that, murmuring bland As music, wafts the lover's sigh, And bids the yielding heart expand In love's delicious ecstasy.

Fair star! though I be doom'd to prove That rapture's tears are mix'd with pain, Ah, still I feel 'tis sweet to love-- But sweeter to be loved again.

THE RETURN AFTER ABSENCE.

Oh! the breeze of the mountain is soothing and sweet, Warm breathing of love, and the friends we shall meet; And the rocks of the desert, so rough when we roam, Seem soft, soft as silk, on the dear path of home; The white waves of the Jeikon, that foam through their speed, Seem scarcely to reach to the girth of my steed.

Rejoice, O Bokhara, and flourish for aye! Thy King comes to meet thee, and long shall he stay. Our King is our moon, and Bokhara our skies, Where soon that fair light of the heavens shall arise-- Bokhara our orchard, the cypress our king, In Bokhara's fair orchard soon destined to spring.

LAMENT FOR RAMA.

FROM THE BENGALI.

I warn you, fair maidens, to wail and to sigh, For Rama, our Rama, to greenwood must fly; Then hasten, come hasten, to see his array, Ayud'hya is dark when our chief goes away.

All the people are flocking to see him pass by; They are silent and sad, with the tear in their eye: From the fish in the streamlets a broken sigh heaves, And the birds of the forest lament from the leaves.

His fine locks are matted, no raiment has he For the wood, save a girdle of bark from the tree; And of all his gay splendour, you nought may behold, Save his bow and his quiver, and ear-rings of gold.

Oh! we thought to have seen him in royal array Before his proud squadrons his banners display, And the voice of the people exulting to own Their sovereign assuming the purple and crown; But the time has gone by, my hope is despair,-- One maiden perfidious has wrought all my care.

Our light is departing, and darkness returns, Like a lamp half-extinguished, and lonely it burns; Faith fades from the age, nor can honour remain, And fame is delusive, and glory is vain.

JAMES SCADLOCK.

James Scadlock, a poet of considerable power, and an associate of Tannahill, was born at Paisley on the 7th October 1775. His father, an operative weaver, was a person of considerable shrewdness; and the poet M'Laren, who became his biographer, was his uterine brother. Apprenticed to the loom, he renounced weaving in the course of a year, and thereafter was employed in the establishment of a bookbinder. At the age of nineteen he entered on an indenture of seven years to a firm of copperplate engravers at Ferenize. He had early been inclined to verse-making, and, having formed the acquaintance of Tannahill, he was led to cultivate with ardour his native predilection. He likewise stimulated his ingenious friend to higher and more ambitious efforts in poetry. Accomplished in the elegant arts of drawing and painting, Scadlock began the study of classical literature and the modern languages. A general stagnation of trade, which threw him out of employment, checked his aspirations in learning. After an interval attended with some privations, he heard of a professional opening at Perth, which he proceeded to occupy. He returned to Paisley, after the absence of one year; and having married in 1808, his attention became more concentrated in domestic concerns. He died of fever on the 4th July 1818, leaving a family of four children.

Scadlock was an upright member of society, a sincere friend, a benevolent neighbour, and an intelligent companion. In the performance of his religious duties he was regular and exemplary. Desirious of excelling in conversation, he was prone to evince an undue formality of expression. His poetry, occasionally deficient in power, is uniformly distinguished for smoothness of versification.

ALONG BY LEVERN STREAM SO CLEAR.[97]

Along by Levern stream so clear, When Spring adorns the infant year, And music charms the list'ning ear, I 'll wander with my Mary, My bonny blooming Mary; Not Spring itself to me is dear, When absent from my Mary.

When Summer's sun pours on my head His sultry rays, I 'll seek the shade, Unseen upon a primrose bed I 'll sit with little Mary, My bonny blooming Mary, Where fragrant flowers around are spread, To charm my little Mary.

She 's mild 's the sun through April shower That glances on the leafy bower, She 's sweet as Flora's fav'rite flower, My bonny little Mary, My blooming little Mary; Give me but her, no other dower I 'll ask with little Mary.

Should fickle fortune frown on me, And leave me bare 's the naked tree, Possess'd of her, how rich I 'd be, My lovely little Mary, My bonny blooming Mary; From gloomy care and sorrow free, I 'd ever keep my Mary.

[97] Set to music by R. A. Smith.

HARK, HARK, THE SKYLARK SINGING.

WELSH AIR--_"The rising of the Lark."_

Hark, hark the skylark singing, While the early clouds are bringing Fragrance on their wings; Still, still on high he 's soaring, Through the liquid haze exploring, Fainter now he sings. Where the purple dawn is breaking, Fast approaches morning's ray, From his wings the dew he 's shaking, As he joyful hails the day, While echo, from his slumbers waking, Imitates his lay.

See, see the ruddy morning, With his blushing locks adorning Mountain, wood, and vale; Clear, clear the dew-drop 's glancing, As the rising sun 's advancing O'er the eastern hill; Now the distant summits clearing, As the vapours steal their way, And his heath-clad breast 's appearing, Tinged with Phoebus' golden ray, Far down the glen the blackbird 's cheering Morning with her lay.

Come, then, let us be straying, Where the hazel boughs are playing, O'er yon summits gray; Mild now the breeze is blowing, And the crystal streamlet 's flowing Gently on its way. On its banks the wild rose springing Welcomes in the sunny ray, Wet with dew its head is hinging, Bending low the prickly spray; Then haste, my love, while birds are singing, To the newborn day.

OCTOBER WINDS.

AIR--_"Oh, my love's bonnie."_

October winds, wi' biting breath, Now nip the leaves that 's yellow fading; Nae gowans glint upon the green, Alas! they 're co'er'd wi' winter's cleading. As through the woods I musing gang, Nae birdies cheer me frae the bushes, Save little robin's lanely sang, Wild warbling where the burnie gushes.

The sun is jogging down the brae, Dimly through the mist he 's shining, And cranreugh hoar creeps o'er the grass, As Day resigns his throne to E'ening. Oft let me walk at twilight gray, To view the face of dying nature, Till Spring again, wi' mantle green, Delights the heart o' ilka creature.

SIR ALEXANDER BOSWELL, BART.

Alexander Boswell was the eldest son of James Boswell, the celebrated biographer of Dr Johnson, and grandson of Lord Auchinleck, one of the senators of the College of Justice. He was born on the 9th October 1775. His mother, a daughter of Sir Walter Montgomery, Bart., of Lainshaw, was a woman of superior intelligence, and of agreeable and dignified manners. Along with his only brother James, he received his education at Westminster School and the University of Oxford. In 1795, on the death of his father, he succeeded to the paternal estate of Auchinleck. He now made the tour of Europe, and on his return took up his residence in the family mansion.

Inheriting his father's love of literature, and deriving from his mother a taste for elegant accomplishments, Alexander Boswell diligently applied himself to the cultivation of his mind, by an examination of the stores of the famous "Auchinleck Library." From his youth he had been ardent in his admiration of Burns, and had written verses for the amusement of his friends. A wooer of the lyric Muse, many of his lays rapidly obtained circulation, and were sung with a gusto not inferior to that inspired by the songs of the Bard of Coila. In 1803 he published, without his name, in a thin octavo volume, "Songs, chiefly in the Scottish Dialect," and subsequently contributed a number of lyrics of various merit to the Musical Collection of Mr George Thomson, and Campbell's "Albyn's Anthology." Several other poetical works proceeded from his pen. In 1803, shortly after the appearance of his songs, he published a ballad entitled "The Spirit of Tintoc; or, Johnnie Bell and the Kelpie," with notes, 16 pp. 8vo: Mundell and Son, Edinburgh. This performance, in which are humorously related the adventures of a drunken tailor with the brownies and other denizens of the unseen world, on the summit of Tintoc Hill, was followed in 1810 by another amusing poem, bearing the title of "Edinburgh, or the Ancient Royalty, a Sketch of Former Manners, with Notes by Simon Gray." In this poem, the changes which had occurred in the habits of the citizens of Edinburgh are pourtrayed in a colloquy between an old farmer and his city friend. In 1811 appeared "Clan-Alpin's Vow, a Fragment," with the author's name prefixed. This production, founded upon a horrible tragedy connected with the history of the Clan Macgregor, proved one of the most popular of the author's works; it was reprinted in 1817, by Bentley and Son, London. His future publications may be simply enumerated; they were generally issued from a printing press which he established in the mansion of Auchinleck. In 1812 he printed, for private circulation, a poetical fragment entitled "Sir Albon," intended to burlesque the peculiar style and rhythm of Sir Walter Scott; in 1815, "The Tyrant's Fall," a poem on the battle of Waterloo; in 1816, "Skeldon Haughs, or the Sow is Flitted," a tale in verse founded on an old Ayrshire tradition; and in the same year another poetical tale, after the manner of Allan Ramsay's "Monk and Miller's Wife," entitled, "The Woo'-creel, or the Bull o' Bashun." From his printing office at Auchinleck, besides his poetical tales and pasquinades, he issued many curious and interesting works, chiefly reprints of scarce tracts on different subjects, preserved in the Auchinleck Library. Of these the most remarkable was the disputation between John Knox and Quentin Kennedy, at Maybole, in 1562, of which the only copy then known to exist was deposited in his paternal library.[98]

Amidst his devotedness to the pursuits of elegant literature, Mr Boswell bestowed much attention on public affairs. He was M.P. for the county of Ayr; and though silent in the House of Commons, was otherwise indefatigable in maintaining his political sentiments. He supported strict conservative principles, and was not without the apprehension of civil disturbance through the impetuosity of the advocates of reform. As Lieutenant-Colonel of the Ayrshire Yeomanry Cavalry, he was painstaking in the training of his troops; the corps afterwards acknowledging his services by the presentation of a testimonial. In 1821, his zeal for the public interest was rewarded by his receiving the honour of a Baronetcy.

One of the most substantial of Sir Alexander's patriotic achievements was the erection of an elegant monument to Robert Burns on the banks of the Doon. The mode in which the object was accomplished is sufficiently interesting. Along with a friend who warmly approved of the design, Sir Alexander advertised in the public prints that a meeting would be held at Ayr, on a particular day, to take into consideration the proposal of rearing a monument to the great national bard. The day and hour arrived, but, save the projectors, not a single individual attended. Nothing disheartened, Sir Alexander took the chair, and his friend proceeded to act as clerk; resolutions were proposed, seconded, and recorded, thanks were voted to the chairman, and the meeting separated. These resolutions being printed and circulated, were the means of raising by public subscription the sum of nearly two thousand pounds for the erection of the monument. Sir Alexander laid the foundation stone on the 25th of January 1820.

The literary and patriotic career of Sir Alexander Boswell was brought to a sudden termination. Prone to indulge a strong natural tendency for sarcasm, especially against his political opponents, he published, in a Glasgow newspaper, a severe poetical pasquinade against Mr James Stuart, younger of Dunearn, a leading member of the Liberal party in Edinburgh. The discovery of the authorship was followed by a challenge from Mr Stuart, which being accepted, the hostile parties met near the village of Auchtertool, in Fife. Sir Alexander fell, the ball from the pistol of his antagonist having entered near the root of his neck on the right side. He was immediately carried to Balmuto, a seat of his ancestors in the vicinity, where he expired the following day. The duel took place on the 26th March 1822.

The remains of the deceased Baronet were solemnly deposited in the family vault of Auchinleck. In personal appearance, Sir Alexander presented a powerful muscular figure; in society, he was fond of anecdote and humour. In his youth he was keen on the turf and in field sports; he subsequently found his chief entertainment in literary avocations. As a poet, he had been better known if his efforts had been of a less fragmentary character. The general tendency of his Muse was drollery, but some of his lyrics are sufficiently touching.

[98] Another copy has since been discovered.

JENNY'S BAWBEE.

I met four chaps yon birks amang, Wi' hanging lugs and faces lang; I spier'd at neighbour Bauldy Strang, Wha 's they I see? Quoth he, Ilk cream-faced, pawky chiel' Thinks himsel' cunnin' as the deil, And here they cam awa' to steal Jenny's bawbee.

The first, a Captain to his trade, Wi' ill-lined skull, but back weel clade, March'd round the barn, and by the shed, And papped on his knee: Quoth he, My goddess, nymph, and queen, Your beauty 's dazzled baith my e'en! Though ne'er a beauty he had seen But Jenny's bawbee.

A Norland Laird neist trotted up, Wi' bawsint naig and siller whup; Cried--There 's my beast, lad, haud the grup, Or tie it to a tree. What 's gowd to me? I 've wealth o' lan', Bestow on ane o' worth your han': He thought to pay what he was awn Wi' Jenny's bawbee.

A Lawyer neist, wi' bleth'rin' gab, Wha speeches wove like ony wab; O' ilk ane's corn aye took a dab, And a' for a fee; Accounts he owed through a' the toun, And tradesmen's tongues nae mair could drown; But now he thought to clout his goun Wi' Jenny's bawbee.

Quite spruce, just frae the washin' tubs, A fool came neist; but life has rubs; Foul were the roads, and fu' the dubs, And jaupit a' was he: He danced up, squintin' through a glass, And grinn'd, i' faith, a bonnie lass! He thought to win, wi' front o' brass, Jenny's bawbee.

She bade the laird gae kaim his wig, The sodger not to strut sae big, The lawyer not to be a prig; The fool he cried, Te-hee! I kenn'd that I could never fail! But she pinn'd the dishclout to his tail, And soused him frae the water-pail, And kept her bawbee.

Then Johnnie came, a lad o' sense, Although he had na mony pence; And took young Jenny to the spence, Wi' her to crack a wee. Now Johnnie was a clever chiel', And here his suit he press'd sae weel That Jenny's heart grew saft as jeel, And she birl'd her bawbee.[99]

[99] The last stanza does not appear in the original version of the song; it is here added from Allan Cunningham's collection. The idea of the song, Cunningham remarks, was probably suggested to the author by an old fragment, which still lives among the peasantry:--

"And a' that e'er my Jenny had, My Jenny had, my Jenny had, A' that e'er my Jenny had, Was ae bawbee. There 's your plack and my plack, And your plack and my plack, And my plack and your plack, And Jenny's bawbee.

We 'll put it in the pint stoup, The pint stoup, the pint stoup, We 'll put it in the pint stoup, And birl 't a' three."

JENNY DANG THE WEAVER.[100]

At Willie's weddin' o' the green, The lasses, bonnie witches, Were busked out in aprons clean, And snaw-white Sunday mutches; Auld Mysie bade the lads tak' tent, But Jock wad na believe her; But soon the fool his folly kent, For Jenny dang the weaver.

In ilka country dance and reel Wi' her he wad be babbin'; When she sat down, then he sat down, And till her wad be gabbin'; Where'er she gaed, or butt or ben, The coof wad never leave her, Aye cacklin' like a clockin' hen, But Jenny dang the weaver.

Quoth he, My lass, to speak my mind, In troth I needna swither, Ye 've bonnie e'en, and, gif ye 're kind, I needna court anither! He humm'd and haw'd, the lass cried "pheugh," And bade the coof no deave her, Syne crack'd her thumb, and lap and leugh, And dang the silly weaver.

[100] The origin of the air is somewhat amusing. The Rev. Mr Gardner, minister of Birse, in Aberdeenshire, known for his humour and musical talents, was one evening playing over on his Cremona the notes of an air he had previously jotted down, when a curious scene arrested his attention in the courtyard of the manse. His man "Jock," who had lately been a weaver in the neighbouring village, had rudely declined to wipe the minister's shoes, as requested by Mrs Gardner, when the enraged matron, snatching a culinary utensil, administered a hearty drubbing to the shoulders of the impudent boor, and compelled him to execute her orders. The minister witnessing the proceeding from the window, was highly diverted, and gave the air he had just completed the title of "Jenny Dang the Weaver." This incident is said to have occurred in the year 1746.

THE LASS O' ISLA.

"Ah, Mary, sweetest maid, farewell! My hopes are flown, for a 's to wreck; Heaven guard you, love, and heal your heart, Though mine, alas, alas! maun break."

"Dearest lad, what ills betide? Is Willie to his love untrue? Engaged the morn to be his bride, Ah! hae ye, hae ye, ta'en the rue?"

"Ye canna wear a ragged gown, Or beggar wed wi' nought ava; My kye are drown'd, my house is down, My last sheep lies aneath the snaw."

"Tell na me o' storm or flood, Or sheep a' smoor'd ayont the hill; For Willie's sake I Willie lo'ed, Though poor, ye are my Willie still."

"Ye canna thole the wind and rain, Or wander friendless far frae hame; Cheer, cheer your heart, some other swain Will soon blot out lost Willie's name."

"I 'll tak my bundle in my hand, An' wipe the dew-drop frae my e'e; I 'll wander wi' ye ower the land; I 'll venture wi' ye ower the sea."

"Forgi'e me, love, 'twas all a snare, My flocks are safe, we needna part; I 'd forfeit them and ten times mair To clasp thee, Mary, to my heart."

"How could ye wi' my feelings sport, Or doubt a heart sae warm and true? I maist could wish ye mischief for 't, But canna wish ought ill to you."

TASTE LIFE'S GLAD MOMENTS.[101]

Taste life's glad moments, Whilst the wasting taper glows; Pluck, ere it withers, The quickly-fading rose.

Man blindly follows grief and care, He seeks for thorns, and finds his share, Whilst violets to the passing air Unheeded shed their blossoms. Taste life's, &c.

When tim'rous Nature veils her form, And rolling thunder spreads alarm, Then, ah! how sweet, when lull'd the storm, The sun shines forth at even. Taste life's, &c.

How spleen and envy anxious flies, And meek content, in humble guise, Improves the shrub, a tree shall rise, Which golden fruits shall yield him. Taste life's, &c.

Who fosters faith in upright breast, And freely gives to the distress'd, There sweet contentment builds her nest, And flutters round his bosom. Taste life's, &c.

And when life's path grows dark and strait, And pressing ills on ills await, Then friendship, sorrow to abate, The helping hand will offer. Taste life's, &c.

She dries his tears, she strews his way, E'en to the grave, with flow'rets gay, Turns night to morn, and morn to day, And pleasure still increases. Taste life's, &c.

Of life she is the fairest band, Joins brothers truly hand in hand, Thus, onward to a better land, Man journeys light and cheerly. Taste life's, &c.

[101] These verses, which form a translation of _Freut euch des Libens_, were written at Leipsig in 1795, when the author was on his continental tour. He was then in his twentieth year.

GOOD NIGHT, AND JOY BE WI' YE A'.

Good night, and joy be wi' ye a', Your harmless mirth has cheer'd my heart; May life's fell blasts out o'er ye blaw; In sorrow may ye never part! My spirit lives, but strength is gone, The mountain-fires now blaze in vain; Remember, sons, the deeds I 've done, And in your deeds I 'll live again!

When on yon muir our gallant clan, Frae boasting foes their banners tore; Wha shew'd himself a better man, Or fiercer waved the red claymore? But when in peace--then mark me there-- When through the glen the wand'rer came, I gave him of our lordly fare, I gave him here a welcome hame.

The auld will speak, the young maun hear; Be cantie, but be gude and leal; Your ain ills aye hae heart to bear, Anither's aye hae heart to feel. So, ere I set, I 'll see ye shine; I 'll see ye triumph ere I fa'; My parting breath shall boast you mine-- Good night, and joy be wi' ye a'!

OLD AND NEW TIMES.[102]

AIR--_"Kellyburn Braes."_