Chapter 15

Hech! what a change hae we now in this town! The lads a' sae braw, the lasses sae glancin', Folk maun be dizzie gaun aye in the roun' For deil a haet 's done now but feastin' and dancin'.

Gowd 's no that scanty in ilk siller pock, When ilka bit laddie maun hae his bit staigie; But I kent the day when there was nae a Jock, But trotted about upon honest shank's naigie.

Little was stown then, and less gaed to waste, Barely a mullin for mice or for rattens; The thrifty housewife to the flesh-market paced, Her equipage a'--just a gude pair o' pattens.

Folk were as good then, and friends were as leal, Though coaches were scant, wi' their cattle a-cantrin'; Right air we were tell 't by the housemaid or chiel', Sir, an' ye please, here 's your lass and a lantern.

The town may be clouted and pieced, till it meets A' neebours benorth and besouth, without haltin'; Brigs may be biggit ower lums and ower streets, The Nor' Loch itsel' heaped heigh as the Calton.

But whar is true friendship, and whar will you see, A' that is gude, honest, modest, and thrifty? Tak' gray hairs and wrinkles, and hirple wi' me, And think on the seventeen hundred and fifty.

[102] Contributed to the fourth volume of Mr George Thomson's Collection.

BANNOCKS O' BARLEY MEAL.[103]

AIR--_"Bannocks o' Barley Meal."_

Argyle is my name, and you may think it strange To live at a court, and yet never to change; To faction, or tyranny, equally foe, The good of the land 's the sole motive I know. The foes of my country and king I have faced, In city or battle I ne'er was disgraced; I 've done what I could for my country's weal, Now I 'll feast upon bannocks o' barley meal.

Ye riots and revels of London, adieu! And folly, ye foplings, I leave her to you! For Scotland, I mingled in bustle and strife; For myself, I seek peace and an innocent life: I 'll haste to the Highlands, and visit each scene, With Maggie, my love, in her rockley o' green; On the banks of Glenary what pleasure I 'll feel, While she shares my bannock o' barley meal!

And if it chance Maggie should bring me a son, He shall fight for his king, as his father has done; I 'll hang up my sword with an old soldier's pride-- O! may he be worthy to wear 't on his side. I pant for the breeze of my loved native place; I long for the smile of each welcoming face; I 'll aff to the Highlands as fast 's I can reel, And feast upon bannocks o' barley meal.

[103] This song was contributed by Sir Alexander Boswell to the third volume of Thomson's Collection. It is not wholly original, but an improved version of former words to the same air, which are understood to be the composition of John Campbell, the celebrated Duke of Argyle and Greenwich, who died on the 4th October 1743.

WILLIAM GILLESPIE.

William Gillespie was born in the manse of Kells, in Galloway, on the 18th February 1776. His father, John Gillespie, minister of Kells, was the intimate friend of Robert Burns; and likewise an early patron of John Low, the ingenious, but unfortunate author of "Mary's Dream." Receiving the rudiments of education at the parish school, William proceeded, in 1792, to the University of Edinburgh, to prosecute his studies for the Church. Obtaining licence as a probationer, he was, in 1801, ordained assistant and successor to his father, on whose death, in 1806, he succeeded to the full benefits of the charge. Inheriting from his father an elegant turn of mind and a devotedness to literary composition, he was induced to publish, in his twenty-ninth year, an allegorical poem, entitled "The Progress of Refinement." A higher effort from his pen appeared in 1815, under the title of "Consolation, and other Poems." This volume, which abounds in vigorous sentiment and rich poetical description, evincing on the part of the author a high appreciation of the beauties of nature, considerably extended his reputation. He formed habits of intimacy with many of his poetical contemporaries, by whom he was beloved for the amenity of his disposition. He largely contributed to various periodicals, especially the agricultural journals; and was a zealous member of the Highland Society of Scotland.

In July 1825, Mr Gillespie espoused Miss Charlotte Hoggan. Soon after this event, he was attacked with erysipelas,--a complaint which, resulting in general inflammation, terminated his promising career on the 15th of October, in his fiftieth year. The following lyrics evince fancy and deep pathos, causing a regret that the author did not more amply devote himself to the composition of songs.

THE HIGHLANDER.[104]

From the climes of the sun, all war-worn and weary, The Highlander sped to his youthful abode; Fair visions of home cheer'd the desert so dreary, Though fierce was the noon-beam, and steep was the road.

Till spent with the march that still lengthen'd before him, He stopp'd by the way in a sylvan retreat; The light shady boughs of the birch-tree waved o'er him, The stream of the mountain fell soft at his feet.

He sunk to repose where the red heaths are blended, On dreams of his childhood his fancy past o'er; But his battles are fought, and his march it is ended, The sound of the bagpipes shall wake him no more.

No arm in the day of the conflict could wound him, Though war launch'd her thunder in fury to kill; Now the Angel of Death in the desert has found him, And stretch'd him in peace by the stream of the hill.

Pale Autumn spreads o'er him the leaves of the forest, The fays of the wild chant the dirge of his rest; And thou, little brook, still the sleeper deplorest, And moistens the heath-bell that weeps on his breast.

[104] Many years ago, a poor Highland soldier, on his return to his native hills, fatigued, as was supposed, by the length of the march and the heat of the weather, sat down under the shade of a birch tree on the solitary road of Lowran, that winds along the margin of Loch Ken, in Galloway. Here he was found dead; and this incident forms the subject of these verses.--_Note by the Author._ "The Highlander" is set to a Gaelic air in the fifth volume of R. A. Smith's "Scottish Minstrel."

ELLEN.

The moon shone in fits, And the tempest was roaring, The Storm Spirit shriek'd, And the fierce rain was pouring; Alone in her chamber, Fair Ellen sat sighing, The tapers burn'd dim, And the embers were dying.

"The drawbridge is down, That spans the wide river; Can tempests divide, Whom death cannot sever? Unclosed is the gate, And those arms long to fold thee, 'Tis midnight, my love; O say, what can hold thee?"

But scarce flew her words, When the bridge reft asunder, The horseman was crossing, 'Mid lightning and thunder, And loud was the yell, As he plunged in the billow, The maid knew it well, As she sprang from her pillow.

She scream'd o'er the wall, But no help was beside her; And thrice to her view Rose the horse and his rider. She gazed at the moon, But the dark cloud pass'd over; She plunged in the stream, And she sunk to her lover.

Say, what is that flame, O'er the midnight deep beaming? And whose are those forms, In the wan moonlight gleaming? That flame gilds the wave, Which their pale corses cover; And those forms are the ghosts Of the maid and her lover.

THOMAS MOUNSEY CUNNINGHAM.

Thomas Mounsey Cunningham, an elder brother of Allan Cunningham, is entitled to commemoration among the modern song-writers of his country. His ancestors were lords of that district of Ayrshire which still bears their family name; and a small inheritance in that county, which belonged to his more immediate progenitors, was lost to the name and race by the head of the family having espoused the cause and joined the army of the Duke of Montrose. For several generations his forefathers were farmers at Gogar, in the parish of Ratho, Midlothian. John Cunningham, his father, was born at Gogar on the 26th March 1743, whence he removed in his twenty-third year to fill the situation of land-steward on the estate of Lumley, in the parish of Chester, and county of Durham. He next became overseer on the property of Mr Mounsey of Ramerscales, near Lochmaben, Dumfriesshire. He married Elizabeth Harley, a lady of good connexions and of elegant personal accomplishments, and with the view of acquiring a more decided independence in his new condition, took in lease the farm of Culfaud, in the stewartry of Kirkcudbright. Of a family of ten, Thomas was the second son; he was born at Culfaud on the 25th June 1776. During his infancy the farming speculations of his father proved unfortunate, and the lease of Culfaud was abandoned. Returning to his former occupation as a land-steward, John Cunningham was employed in succession by the proprietors of Barncaillie and Collieston, and latterly by the ingenious Mr Miller of Dalswinton.

Thomas was educated at the village-school of Kellieston, and subsequently at the academy of Dumfries. The circumstances of his parents required that he should choose a manual profession; and he was apprenticed by his own desire to a neighbouring mill-wright. It was during his intervals of leisure, while acquiring a knowledge of this laborious occupation, that he first essayed the composition of verses; he submitted his poems to his father, who mingled judicious criticism with words of encouragement. "The Har'st Home," one of his earliest pieces of merit, was privileged with insertion in the series of "Poetry, Original and Selected," published by Brash & Reid, booksellers in Glasgow. Proceeding to England in 1797, he entered the workshop of a mill-wright in Rotherham. Under the same employer he afterwards pursued his craft at King's Lynn; in 1800 he removed to Wiltshire, and soon after to the neighbourhood of Cambridge. He next received employment at Dover, and thence proceeded to London, where he occupied a situation in the establishment of Rennie, the celebrated engineer. He afterwards became foreman to one Dickson, an engineer, and superintendent of Fowler's chain-cable manufactory. In 1812 he returned to Rennie's establishment as a clerk, with a liberal salary. On leaving his father's house to seek his fortune in the south, he had been strongly counselled by Mr Miller of Dalswinton to abjure the gratification of his poetical tendencies, and he seems to have resolved on the faithful observance of this injunction. For a period of nine years his muse was silent; at length, in 1806, he appeared in the _Scots Magazine_ as the contributor of some of the best verses which had ever adorned the pages of that periodical. The editor was eloquent in his commendations; and the Ettrick Shepherd, who was already a contributor to the magazine, took pains to discover the author, and addressed him a lengthened poetical epistle, expressive of his admiration. A private intimacy ensued between the two rising poets; and when the Shepherd, in 1809, planned the "Forest Minstrel," he made application to his ingenious friend for contributions. Cunningham sanctioned the republication of such of his lyrics as had appeared in the _Scots Magazine_, and these proved the best ornaments of the work.

Impatient of criticism, and of a whimsical turn of mind, Cunningham was incapable of steadfastly pursuing the career of a man of letters. Just as his name was becoming known by his verses in the _Scots Magazine_, he took offence at some incidental allusions to his style, and suddenly stopped his contributions. Silent for a second period of nine years, the circumstance of the appropriation of one of his songs in the "Nithsdale Minstrel," a provincial collection of poetry, published at Dumfries, again aroused him to authorship. He made the publishers the subject of a satirical poem in the _Scots Magazine_ of 1815. On the origin of the _Edinburgh Magazine_, in 1817, he became a contributor, and under the title of the "Literary Legacy," wrote many curious snatches of antiquities, sketches of modern society, and scraps of song and ballad, which imparted a racy interest to the pages of the new periodical. A slight difference with the editor at length induced him to relapse into silence. Fitful and unsettled as a cultivator of literature, he was in the business of life a model of regularity and perseverance. He was much esteemed by his employer, and was ultimately promoted to the chief clerkship in his establishment. He fell a victim to the Asiatic cholera on the 28th October 1834, in the 58th year of his age. During his latter years he was in the habit of examining at certain intervals the MSS. of prose and poetry, which at a former period he had accumulated. On those occasions he uniformly destroyed some which he deemed unworthy of further preservation. During one of these purgations, he hastily committed to the flames a poem on which he had bestowed much labour, and which contained a humorous description of scenes and characters familiar to him in youth. The poem was entitled "Braken Fell;" and his ingenious brother Allan, in a memoir of the author, has referred to its destruction in terms of regret.[105] The style of Thomas Cunningham seems, however, to have been lyrical, and it may be presumed that his songs afford the best evidence of his power. In private life he was much cherished by a circle of friends, and his society was gay and animated. He was rather above the middle height, and latterly was corpulent. He married in 1804, and has left a family.

[105] See _Scottish Monthly Magazine_, August 1836.

ADOWN THE BURNIE'S FLOWERY BANK.[106]

Adown the burnie's flowery bank, Or through the shady grove, Or 'mang the bonnie scroggie braes, Come, Peggy, let us rove. See where the stream out ower the linn Deep headlong foamin' pours, There let us gang and stray amang The bloomin' hawthorn bowers.

We 'll pu' the rose frae aff the brier, The lily frae the brae; We 'll hear the birdies blithely sing, As up the glen we gae. His yellow haughs o' wavin' grain The farmer likes to see, But my ain Peggy's artless smile Is far mair dear to me.

[106] Written when the author was quite a youth.

THE HILLS O' GALLOWA'.[107]

TUNE--_"The Lea Rig."_

Amang the birks sae blithe an' gay, I met my Julia hameward gaun; The linties chantit on the spray, The lammies loupit on the lawn; On ilka swaird the hay was mawn, The braes wi' gowans buskit bra', An' ev'ning's plaid o' gray was thrawn Out ower the hills o' Gallowa'.

Wi' music wild the woodlands rang, An' fragrance wing'd alang the lea, As down we sat the flowers amang, Upon the banks o' stately Dee. My Julia's arms encircled me, An' saftly slade the hours awa', Till dawning coost a glimm'rin' e'e Upon the hills o' Gallowa'.

It isna owsen, sheep, an' kye, It isna gowd, it isna gear, This lifted e'e wad hae, quo' I, The warld's drumlie gloom to cheer; But gie to me my Julia dear, Ye powers wha rowe this yirthen ba', An' oh, sae blithe through life I 'll steer, Amang the hills o' Gallowa'.

When gloamin' daunders up the hill, An' our gudeman ca's hame the yowes, Wi' her I 'll trace the mossy rill That through the muir meand'ring rowes; Or tint amang the scroggie knowes, My birken pipe I 'll sweetly blaw, An' sing the streams, the straths, and howes, The hills an' dales o' Gallowa'.

An' when auld Scotland's heathy hills, Her rural nymphs an' jovial swains, Her flowery wilds an' wimpling rills, Awake nae mair my canty strains; Where friendship dwells an' freedom reigns, Where heather blooms an' muircocks craw, Oh, dig my grave, and lay my banes Amang the hills o' Gallowa'.

[107] Like many other Scottish songs composed early in the century, and which at the time of publication were unacknowledged by their authors, the "Hills o' Gallowa'" came to be attributed to Burns. It is included among his songs in Orphoot's edition of his poetical works, which was published at Edinburgh in 1820. In the "Harp of Caledonia," the editor, Mr Struthers, assigns it to the Ettrick Shepherd. Along with those which follow, the song appeared in the "Forest Minstrel." The heroine was Julia Curtis, a maiden in Galloway, to whom Cunningham was early attached. She is also celebrated by the poet in the "Braes of Ballahun," and her early demise is lamented in the tender stanzas of "Julia's Grave." The latter composition first appeared in the _Scots Magazine_ for 1807, p. 448.

THE BRAES OF BALLAHUN.[108]

TUNE--_"Roslin Castle."_

Now smiling summer's balmy breeze, Soft whispering, fans the leafy trees; The linnet greets the rosy morn, Sweet in yon fragrant flowery thorn; The bee hums round the woodbine bower, Collecting sweets from every flower; And pure the crystal streamlets run Among the braes of Ballahun.

Oh, blissful days, for ever fled, When wand'ring wild, as fancy led, I ranged the bushy bosom'd glen, The scroggie shaw, the rugged linn, And mark'd each blooming hawthorn bush, Where nestling sat the speckled thrush; Or, careless roaming, wander'd on Among the braes of Ballahun.

Why starts the tear, why bursts the sigh, When hills and dales rebound with joy? The flowery glen and lilied lea, In vain display their charms to me. I joyless roam the heathy waste, To soothe this sad, this troubled breast; And seek the haunts of men to shun, Among the braes of Ballahun.

The virgin blush of lovely youth, The angel smile of artless truth, This breast illumed with heavenly joy, Which lyart time can ne'er destroy. Oh, Julia dear! the parting look, The sad farewell we sorrowing took, Still haunt me as I stray alone, Among the braes of Ballahun.

[108] Ballahun is a romantic glen, near Blackwood House, on the river Nith.

THE UNCO GRAVE.[109]

TUNE--_"Crazy Jane."_

Bonnie Clouden, as ye wander Hills, an' haughs, an' muirs amang, Ilka knowe an' green meander, Learn my sad, my dulefu' sang! Braes o' breckan, hills o' heather, Howms whare rows the gowden wave; Blissful scenes, fareweel for ever! I maun seek an unco grave.

Sair I pled, though fate, unfriendly, Stang'd my heart wi' waes and dules, That some faithfu' hand might kindly Lay 't among my native mools. Cronies dear, wha late an' early Aye to soothe my sorrows strave, Think on ane wha lo'es ye dearly, Doom'd to seek an unco grave.

Torn awa' frae Scotia's mountains, Far frae a' that 's dear to dwall, Mak's my e'en twa gushin' fountains, Dings a dirk in my puir saul. Braes o' breckan, hills o' heather, Howms whare rows the gowden wave, Blissful scenes, fareweel for ever! I maun seek an unco grave.

[109] The Clouden is a stream which flows into the Nith, at Lincluden College, near Dumfries.

JULIA'S GRAVE.

TUNE--_"Logan Water."_

Ye briery bields, where roses blaw! Ye flowery fells, and sunny braes, Whase scroggie bosoms foster'd a' The pleasures o' my youthfu' days! Amang your leafy simmer claes, And blushing blooms, the zephyr flies, Syne wings awa', and wanton plays Around the grave whare Julia lies.

Nae mair your bonnie birken bowers, Your streamlets fair, and woodlands gay, Can cheer the weary winged hours, As up the glen I joyless stray; For a' my hopes hae flown away, And when they reach'd their native skies, Left me amid the world o' wae, To weet the grave where Julia lies.

It is na beauty's fairest bloom, It is na maiden charms consign'd, And hurried to an early tomb, That wrings my heart and clouds my mind; But sparkling wit, and sense refined, And spotless truth, without disguise, Make me with sighs enrich the wind That fans the grave whare Julia lies.

FAREWEEL, YE STREAMS.

AIR--_"Lassie wi' the Yellow Coatie."_

Fareweel, ye streams sae dear to me, My bonnie Clouden, Kith, and Dee; Ye burns that row sae bonnily, Your siller waves nae mair I 'll see. Yet though frae your green banks I 'm driven, My saul away could ne'er be riven; For still she lifts her e'en to heaven, An' sighs to be again wi' thee.

Ye canty bards ayont the Tweed, Your skins wi' claes o' tartan cleed, An' lilt alang the verdant mead, Or blithely on your whistles blaw, An' sing auld Scotia's barns an ha's, Her bourtree dykes an mossy wa's, Her faulds, her bughts, an' birken shaws, Whare love an' freedom sweeten a'.

Sing o' her carles teuch an' auld, Her carlines grim that flyte an' scauld, Her wabsters blithe, an' souters bauld, Her flocks an' herds sae fair to see. Sing o' her mountains bleak an high; Her fords, whare neigh'rin' kelpies ply; Her glens, the haunts o' rural joy; Her lasses lilting o'er the lea.

To you the darling theme belangs, That frae my heart exulting spangs; Oh, mind, amang your bonnie sangs, The lads that bled for liberty. Think o' our auld forbears o' yore, Wha dyed the muir wi' hostile gore; Wha slavery's bands indignant tore, An' bravely fell for you an' me.

My gallant brithers, brave an' bauld, Wha haud the pleugh, or wake the fauld, Until your dearest bluid rin cauld, Aye true unto your country be. Wi' daring look her dirk she drew, An' coost a mither's e'e on you; Then let na ony spulzien crew Her dear-bought freedom wrest frae thee.

JOHN STRUTHERS.