Chapter 6

Next to Robert Burns, the Ettrick Shepherd is unquestionably the most distinguished of Scottish bards, sprung from the ranks of the people: in the region of the imagination he stands supreme. A child of the forest, nursed amidst the wilds and tutored among the solitudes of nature, his strong and vigorous imagination had received impressions from the mountain, the cataract, the torrent, and the wilderness, and was filled with pictures and images of the mysterious, which those scenes were calculated to awaken. "Living for years in solitude," writes Professor Wilson,[47] "he unconsciously formed friendships with the springs, the brooks, the caves, the hills, and with all the more fleeting and faithless pageantry of the sky, that to him came in place of those human affections, from whose indulgence he was debarred by the necessities that kept him aloof from the cottage fire, and up among the mists on the mountain top. The still green beauty of the pastoral hills and vales where he passed his youth, inspired him with ever-brooding visions of fairy-land, till, as he lay musing in his lonely shieling, the world of phantasy seemed, in the clear depths of his imagination, a lovelier reflection of that of nature, like the hills and heavens more softly shining in the water of his native lake." Hogg was in his element, as he revelled amid the supernatural, and luxuriated in the realms of faery: the mysterious gloom of superstition was lit up into brilliancy by the potent wand of his enchantment, and before the splendour of his genius. His ballad of "Kilmeny," in the "Queen's Wake," is the emanation of a poetical mind evidently of the most gifted order; never did bard conceive a finer fairy tale, or painter portray a picture of purer, or more spiritual and exquisite sweetness. "The Witch of Fife," another ballad in "The Wake," has scarcely a parallel in wild unearthliness and terror; and we know not if sentiments more spiritual or sublime are to be found in any poetry than in some passages of "The Pilgrims of the Sun." His ballads, generally in his peculiar vein of the romantic and supernatural, are all indicative of power; his songs are exquisitely sweet and musical, and replete with pathos and pastoral dignity. Though he had written only "When the kye comes hame," and "Flora Macdonald's Lament," his claims to an honoured place in the temple of Scottish song had been unquestioned. As a prose-writer, he does not stand high; many of his tales are interesting in their details, but they are too frequently disfigured by a rugged coarseness; yet his pastoral experiences in the "Shepherd's Calendar" will continue to find readers and admirers while a love for rural habits, and the amusing arts of pastoral life, finds a dwelling in the Scottish heart.

Of the Shepherd it has been recorded by one[48] who knew him well, that at the time of his death he had certainly the youngest heart of all who had ever attained his age; he was possessed of a buoyancy which misfortune might temporarily depress, but could not subdue. To the close of his career, he rejoiced in the sports and field exercises of his youth; in his best days he had, in the games of leaping and running, been usually victorious in the annual competitions at Eskdalemuir; in his advanced years, he was constituted judge at the annual Scottish games at Innerleithen. A sportsman, he was famous alike on the moor and by the river; the report of his musket was familiar on his native hills; and hardly a stream in south or north but had yielded him their finny brood. By young authors he was frequently consulted, and he entered with enthusiasm into their concerns; many poets ushered their volumes into the world under his kindly patronage. He had his weaker points; but his worth and genius were such as to extort the reluctant testimony of one who was latterly an avowed antagonist, that he was "the most remarkable man that ever wore the _maud_ of a Shepherd."[49]

Hogg left some MSS. which are still unpublished,--the journals of his Highland tours being in the possession of Mr Peter Cunningham of London. Since his death, a uniform edition of many of his best works, illustrated with engravings from sketches by Mr D. O. Hill, has been published, with the concurrence of the family, by the Messrs Blackie of Glasgow, in eleven volumes duodecimo. A Memoir, undertaken for that edition by the late Professor Wilson, was indefinitely postponed. A pension on the Civil List of L50 was conferred by the Queen on Mrs Hogg, the poet's widow, in October 1853; and since her husband's death, she has received an annuity of L40 from the Duke of Buccleuch. Of a family of five, one son and three daughters survive, some of whom are comfortably settled in life.

[28] The Shepherd entertained the belief that he was born on the 25th of January 1772.

[29] Mr Macturk is well remembered in Dumfriesshire as a person of remarkable shrewdness and unbounded generosity.

[30] Mr Gray was the author of "Cona, or the Vale of Clywyd," "A Sabbath among the Mountains," and other poems.

[31] The ballad of "Gilmanscleuch" appeared in "The Mountain Bard." See "The Ettrick Shepherd's Poems," vol. ii., p. 203. Blackie and Son.

[32] "The Poetic Mirror," for which the Shepherd had begun to collect contributions.

[33] Jeffrey reviewed Wordsworth's "Excursion" in the _Edinburgh Review_ for November 1814, and certainly had never used more declamatory language against any poem.

[34] In a letter to Mr Grosvenor C. Bedford, dated Keswick, December 22, 1814, Southey thus writes:--"Had you not better wait for Jeffrey's attack upon 'Roderick.' I have a most curious letter upon this subject from Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, a worthy fellow, and a man of very extraordinary powers. Living in Edinburgh, he thinks Jeffrey the greatest man in the world--an intellectual Bonaparte, whom nobody and nothing can resist. But Hogg, notwithstanding this, has fallen in liking with me, and is a great admirer of 'Roderick.' And this letter is to request that I will not do anything to _nettle_ Jeffrey while he is deliberating concerning 'Roderick,' for he seems favourably disposed towards me! Morbleu! it is a rich letter! Hogg requested that he himself might review it, and gives me an extract from Jeffrey's answer, refusing him. 'I have, as well as you, a great respect for Southey,' he says, 'but he is a most provoking fellow, and at least as conceited as his neighbour Wordsworth.' But he shall be happy to talk to Hogg upon this and other _kindred_ subjects, and he should be very glad to give me a lavish allowance of praise, if I would afford him occasion, &c.; but he must do what he thinks his duty, &c.! I laugh to think of the effect my reply will produce upon Hogg. How it will make every bristle to stand on end like quills upon the fretful porcupine!"--_Life and Correspondence of Robert Southey, edited by his Son_, vol. iv., p. 93. London: 6 vols. 8vo.

[35] The first edition of "Roderick" was in quarto,--a shape which the Shepherd deemed unsuitable for poetry.

[36] Murray of Abermarle Street, the famous publisher.

[37] Hogg evinced his strong displeasure with Sir Walter for his refusal, by writing him a declamatory letter, and withdrawing from his society for several months. The kind inquiries which his old benefactor had made regarding him during a severe illness, afterwards led to a complete reconciliation,--the Shepherd apologising by letter for his former rashness, and his illustrious friend telling him "to think no more of the business, and come to breakfast next morning."

[38] See Hogg's autobiography, prefixed to the fifth volume of Blackie's edition of his poems, p. 107.

[39] See the Works of Professor Wilson, edited by his Son-in-law, Professor Ferrier, vol. i., p. xvi. Edinburgh: 1855. 8vo.

[40] When the Shepherd was tending the flocks of Mr Harkness of Mitchel-slack, on the great hill of Queensberry, in Nithsdale, he was visited by Allan Cunningham, then a lad of eighteen, who came to see him, moved with admiration for his genius.--(See Memoir of Allan Cunningham, _postea_). [Transcriber's Note: This Memoir appears in Volume III.]

[41] Thomas Mouncey Cunningham. See _postea_.

[42] The Shakspeare Club of Alloa, which is here referred to, took its origin early in the century--being composed of admirers of the illustrious dramatist, and lovers of general literature in that place. The anniversary meeting was usually held on the 23d of April, generally supposed to be the birth-day of the poet. The Shepherd was laureate of the club, and was present at many of the meetings. On these occasions he shared the hospitality of Mr Alexander Bald, now of Craigward Cottage--"the Father of the Club," and one of his own attached literary friends. Mr Bald formed the Shepherd's acquaintance in 1803, when on a visit to his friend Grieve, at Cacrabank. This venerable gentleman is in possession of the original M.S. of the "Ode to the Genius of Shakspeare," which Hogg wrote for the Alloa Club in 1815. In a letter, addressed to Mr Bald, accompanying that composition, he wrote as follows: "_Edin., April 23d, 1815._--Let the bust of Shakspeare be crowned with laurel on Thursday, for I expect it will be a memorable day for the club, as well as in the annals of literature,--for I yesterday got the promise of being accompanied by both _Wilson_, and _Campbell_, the bard of Hope. I must, however, remind you that it was very late, and over a bottle, when I extracted this promise--they both appeared, however, to swallow the proposal with great avidity, save that the latter, in conversing about our means of conveyance, took a mortal disgust at the word _steam_, as being a very improper agent in the wanderings of poets. I have not seen either of them to-day, and it is likely that they will be in very different spirits, yet I think it not improbable that one or both of them may be induced to come." The club did not on this occasion enjoy the society of any of the three poets.

[43] Hogg used to say that his face was "out of all rule of drawing," as an apology for artists, who so generally failed in transferring a correct representation of him to canvas. There were at least four oil-paintings of the poet: the first executed by Nicholson in 1817, for Mr Grieve; the second by Sir John Watson Gordon for Mr Blackwood; the third by a London artist for Allan Cunningham; and the fourth by Mr James Scott of Edinburgh, for the poet himself. The last is universally admitted to be the most striking likeness, and, with the permission of Mrs Hogg, it has been very successfully lithographed for the present volume.

[44] See "Memoir and Correspondence of Mrs Grant of Laggan." 1844.

[45] See Lockhart's "Life of Sir Walter Scott."

[46] "The Domestic Memoirs and Private Life of Sir Walter Scott, by James Hogg," p. 118. Glasgow, 1834. 16mo.

[47] _Blackwood's Magazine_, vol. iv., p. 521.

[48] Mr H. S. Riddell.

[49] Mr J. G. Lockhart.

DONALD MACDONALD.

AIR--_"Woo'd, and married, and a'."_

My name it is Donald Macdonald, I leeve in the Highlands sae grand; I hae follow'd our banner, and will do, Wherever my master[50] has land. When rankit amang the blue bonnets, Nae danger can fear me ava; I ken that my brethren around me Are either to conquer or fa': Brogues an' brochin an' a', Brochin an' brogues an' a'; An' is nae her very weel aff, Wi' her brogues and brochin an' a'?

What though we befriendit young Charlie?-- To tell it I dinna think shame; Poor lad! he cam to us but barely, An' reckon'd our mountains his hame. 'Twas true that our reason forbade us, But tenderness carried the day; Had Geordie come friendless amang us, Wi' him we had a' gane away. Sword an' buckler an' a', Buckler an' sword an' a'; Now for George we 'll encounter the devil, Wi' sword an' buckler and a'!

An' O, I wad eagerly press him The keys o' the East to retain; For should he gie up the possession, We 'll soon hae to force them again, Than yield up an inch wi' dishonour, Though it were my finishing blow, He aye may depend on Macdonald, Wi' his Hielanders a' in a row: Knees an' elbows an' a', Elbows an' knees an' a'; Depend upon Donald Macdonald, His knees an' elbows an' a'.

Wad Bonaparte land at Fort William, Auld Europe nae langer should grane; I laugh when I think how we 'd gall him Wi' bullet, wi' steel, an wi' stane; Wi' rocks o' the Nevis and Garny We 'd rattle him off frae our shore, Or lull him asleep in a cairny, An' sing him--"Lochaber no more!" Stanes an' bullets an a', Bullets an' stanes an' a'; We 'll finish the Corsican callan Wi' stanes an' bullets an' a'.

For the Gordon is good in a hurry, An' Campbell is steel to the bane, An' Grant, an' Mackenzie, an' Murray, An' Cameron will hurkle to nane; The Stuart is sturdy an' loyal, An' sae is Macleod an' Mackay; An' I, their gude-brither Macdonald, Shall ne'er be the last in the fray! Brogues and brochin an' a', Brochin an' brogues an' a'; An' up wi' the bonny blue bonnet, The kilt an' the feather an' a'.

[50] This is the term by which the Highlander was wont to designate his lawful prince. The word "maker," which appears in former editions of the song, was accidentally printed in the first edition, and the Shepherd never had the confidence to alter it.

FLORA MACDONALD'S FAREWELL.[51]

Far over yon hills of the heather sae green, An' down by the corrie that sings to the sea, The bonny young Flora sat sighing her lane, The dew on her plaid, and the tear in her e'e. She look'd at a boat wi' the breezes that swung, Away on the wave, like a bird of the main; An' aye as it lessen'd she sigh'd and she sung, Fareweel to the lad I shall ne'er see again! Fareweel to my hero, the gallant and young, Fareweel to the lad I shall ne'er see again!

The moorcock that craws on the brows of Ben-Connal, He kens of his bed in a sweet mossy hame; The eagle that soars o'er the cliffs of Clan-Ronald, Unawed and unhunted his eyrie can claim; The solan can sleep on the shelve of the shore, The cormorant roost on his rock of the sea, But, ah! there is one whose hard fate I deplore, Nor house, ha', nor hame in his country has he: The conflict is past, and our name is no more-- There 's nought left but sorrow for Scotland and me!

The target is torn from the arm of the just, The helmet is cleft on the brow of the brave, The claymore for ever in darkness must rust, But red is the sword of the stranger and slave; The hoof of the horse, and the foot of the proud, Have trod o'er the plumes on the bonnet of blue, Why slept the red bolt in the breast of the cloud, When tyranny revell'd in blood of the true? Fareweel, my young hero, the gallant and good! The crown of thy fathers is torn from thy brow!

[51] Was composed to an air handed me by the late lamented Neil Gow, junior. He said it was an ancient Skye air, but afterwards told me it was his own. When I first heard the song sung by Mr Morison, I never was so agreeably astonished--I could hardly believe my senses that I had made so good a song without knowing it.--_Hogg._

BONNY PRINCE CHARLIE.

Cam ye by Athol, lad wi' the philabeg, Down by the Tummel or banks o' the Garry, Saw ye our lads wi' their bonnets and white cockades, Leaving their mountains to follow Prince Charlie? Follow thee! follow thee! wha wadna follow thee? Lang hast thou loved and trusted us fairly! Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee, King o' the Highland hearts, bonnie Prince Charlie?

I hae but ae son, my gallant young Donald; But if I had ten they should follow Glengarry! Health to M'Donnell and gallant Clan-Ronald-- For these are the men that will die for their Charlie! Follow thee! follow thee! &c.

I 'll to Lochiel and Appin, and kneel to them, Down by Lord Murray, and Roy of Kildarlie; Brave M'Intosh, he shall fly to the field with them, These are the lads I can trust wi' my Charlie! Follow thee! follow thee! &c.

Down through the Lowlands, down wi' the Whigamore! Loyal true Highlanders, down wi' them rarely! Ronald and Donald, drive on, wi' the broad claymore, Over the necks o' the foes o' Prince Charlie! Follow thee! follow thee! wha wadna follow thee? Long hast thou loved and trusted us fairly! Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee, King o' the Highland hearts, bonny Prince Charlie?

THE SKYLARK.[52]

Bird of the wilderness, Blithesome and cumberless, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea! Emblem of happiness, Bless'd is thy dwelling-place-- O to abide in the desert with thee! Wild is thy lay and loud, Far in the downy cloud, Love gives it energy, love gave it birth. Where on thy dewy wing, Where art thou journeying? Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. O'er fell and mountain sheen, O'er moor and mountain green, O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, Over the cloudlet dim, Over the rainbow's rim, Musical cherub, soar, singing, away! Then, when the gloaming comes, Low in the heather blooms, Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling-place-- O to abide in the desert with thee!

[52] For the fine original air, see Purdie's "Border Garland."--_Hogg._

CALEDONIA.[53]

Caledonia! thou land of the mountain and rock, Of the ocean, the mist, and the wind-- Thou land of the torrent, the pine, and the oak, Of the roebuck, the hart, and the hind: Though bare are thy cliffs, and though barren thy glens, Though bleak thy dun islands appear, Yet kind are the hearts, and undaunted the clans, That roam on these mountains so drear!

A foe from abroad, or a tyrant at home, Could never thy ardour restrain; The marshall'd array of imperial Rome Essay'd thy proud spirit in vain! Firm seat of religion, of valour, of truth, Of genius unshackled and free, The Muses have left all the vales of the south, My loved Caledonia, for thee!

Sweet land of the bay and the wild-winding deeps, Where loveliness slumbers at even, While far in the depth of the blue water sleeps, A calm little motionless heaven! Thou land of the valley, the moor, and the hill, Of the storm, and the proud-rolling wave-- Yes, thou art the land of fair liberty still, And the land of my forefathers' grave!

[53] An appropriate air has just been composed for this song by Mr Walter Burns of Cupar-Fife, which has been arranged with symphonies and accompaniments for the pianoforte by Mr Edward Salter, of St Andrews.

O, JEANIE, THERE 'S NAETHING TO FEAR YE!

AIR--_"Over the Border."_

O, my lassie, our joy to complete again, Meet me again i' the gloamin', my dearie; Low down in the dell let us meet again-- O, Jeanie, there 's naething to fear ye! Come, when the wee bat flits silent and eiry, Come, when the pale face o' Nature looks weary; Love be thy sure defence, Beauty and innocence-- O, Jeanie, there 's naething to fear ye!

Sweetly blaw the haw an' the rowan tree, Wild roses speck our thicket sae breery; Still, still will our walk in the greenwood be-- O, Jeanie, there 's naething to fear ye! List when the blackbird o' singing grows weary, List when the beetle-bee's bugle comes near ye, Then come with fairy haste, Light foot, an' beating breast-- O, Jeanie, there 's naething to fear ye!

Far, far will the bogle and brownie be, Beauty an' truth, they darena come near it; Kind love is the tie of our unity, A' maun love it, an' a' maun revere it. 'Tis love maks the sang o' the woodland sae cheery, Love gars a' Nature look bonny that 's near ye; That makes the rose sae sweet, Cowslip an' violet-- O, Jeanie, there 's naething to fear ye!

WHEN THE KYE COMES HAME.[54]

AIR--_"Shame fa' the gear and the blathrie o't."_

Come all ye jolly shepherds, That whistle through the glen, I 'll tell ye of a secret That courtiers dinna ken: What is the greatest bliss That the tongue o' man can name? 'Tis to woo a bonny lassie When the kye comes hame. When the kye comes hame, When the kye comes hame, 'Tween the gloamin' an' the mirk, When the kye comes hame.

'Tis not beneath the coronet, Nor canopy of state, 'Tis not on couch of velvet, Nor arbour of the great-- 'Tis beneath the spreadin' birk, In the glen without the name, Wi' a bonny, bonny lassie, When the kye comes hame. When the kye comes hame, &c.

There the blackbird bigs his nest For the mate he lo'es to see, And on the topmost bough, O, a happy bird is he; Where he pours his melting ditty, And love is a' the theme, And he 'll woo his bonny lassie When the kye comes hame. When the kye comes hame, &c.

When the blewart bears a pearl, And the daisy turns a pea, And the bonny lucken gowan Has fauldit up her e'e, Then the laverock frae the blue lift Doops down, an' thinks nae shame To woo his bonny lassie When the kye comes hame. When the kye comes hame, &c.

See yonder pawkie shepherd, That lingers on the hill, His ewes are in the fauld, An' his lambs are lying still; Yet he downa gang to bed, For his heart is in a flame, To meet his bonny lassie When the kye comes hame. When the kye comes hame, &c.

When the little wee bit heart Rises high in the breast, An' the little wee bit starn Rises red in the east, O there 's a joy sae dear That the heart can hardly frame, Wi' a bonny, bonny lassie, When the kye comes hame! When the kye comes hame, &c.

Then since all Nature joins In this love without alloy, O, wha would prove a traitor To Nature's dearest joy? Or wha would choose a crown, Wi' its perils and its fame, And miss his bonny lassie When the kye comes hame? When the kye comes hame, When the kye comes home, 'Tween the gloamin' an' the mirk, When the kye comes hame!

[54] In the title and chorus of this favourite pastoral song, I choose rather to violate a rule in grammar, than a Scottish phrase so common, that when it is altered into the proper way, every shepherd and shepherd's sweetheart account it nonsense. I was once singing it at a wedding with great glee the latter way, "When the kye come hame," when a tailor, scratching his head, said, "It was a terrible affectit way that!" I stood corrected, and have never sung it so again.--_Hogg._

THE WOMEN FOLK.[55]

O sarely may I rue the day I fancied first the womenkind; For aye sinsyne I ne'er can hae Ae quiet thought or peace o' mind! They hae plagued my heart, an' pleased my e'e, An' teased an' flatter'd me at will, But aye, for a' their witchery, The pawky things I lo'e them still. O, the women folk! O, the women folk! But they hae been the wreck o' me; O, weary fa' the women folk, For they winna let a body be!