Part 5

When sober eve begins her reign, The little birds to cease their singing, The flowers their beauty to renew, Their bosoms bathe in diamond dew; When far behind the Lomonds high, The wheels of day are downwards rowing, And a' the western closing sky Wi' varied tints of glory lowing, 'Tis then my eager steps I guide, To meet the lass o' Levenside.

The solemn sweetness nature spreads, The kindly hour to bliss inviting, Within our happy bosoms move, The softest sigh o' purest love; Reclined upon the velvet grass, Beneath the balmy, birken blossom, What words could a' my joy express, When clasped to her beating bosom; How swells my heart with rapture's tide, When wi' the lass o' Levenside.

She never saw the splendid ball, She never blazed in courtly grandeur, But like her native lily's bloom, She cheerfu' gilds her humble home; The pert reply, the modish air, To soothe the soul were never granted, When modest sense and love are there, The guise o' art may well be wanted; O Fate! gi'e me to be my bride The bonnie lass o' Levenside.

JAMES AFFLECK.

The "Posthumous Poetical Works" of James Affleck, tailor in Biggar, with a memoir of his life by his son, were published at Edinburgh in 1836. Affleck was born in the village of Drummelzier, in Peeblesshire, on the 8th September 1776. His education was scanty; and after some years' occupation as a cowherd, he was apprenticed to a tailor in his native village. He afterwards prosecuted his trade in the parish of Crawfordjohn, and in the town of Ayr. In 1793, he established himself as master tailor in Biggar. Fond of society, he joined the district lodge of freemasons, and became a leading member of that fraternity. He composed verses for the entertainment of his friends, which he was induced to give to the world in two separate publications. He possessed considerable poetical talent, but his compositions are generally marked by the absence of refinement. The song selected for the present work is the most happy effort in his posthumous volume. His death took place at Biggar, on the 8th September 1835.

HOW BLEST WERE THE DAYS!

How blest were the days o' langsyne when a laddie! Alane by a bush wi' my dog and my plaidie; Nae fop was sae happy, though dress'd e'er sae gaudy, Sae sweet were the days o' langsyne when a laddie.

Whiles croonin' my sonnet amang the whin bushes, Whiles whistling wi' glee as I pou'd the green rashes; The whim o' the moment kept me aye frae sorrow, What I wanted at night was in prospect to-morrow.

The nest o' a lintie I fondly explored, And plundering bykes was the game I adored; My pleasures did vary, as I was unsteady, Yet I always found something that pleased when a laddie.

The boy with great pleasure the butterfly chases; When manhood approaches, the maid he embraces; But view him at once baith the husband and daddie, He fondly looks back to the joys o' a laddie.

When childhood was over my prospects were greater, I tried to be happy, but, alas, foolish creature! The sports of my youth were my sweetest employment-- Much sweetness in prospect embitters enjoyment.

But now I 'm grown auld, and wi' cares I 'm perplex'd, How numerous the woes are by which I am vex'd! I 'm tentin' the kye wi' my dog, staff, and plaidie; How changed are the days since langsyne when a laddie!

JAMES STIRRAT.

James Stirrat was born in the village of Dalry, Ayrshire, on the 28th March 1781. His father was owner of several houses in the place, and was employed in business as a haberdasher. Young Stirrat was educated at the village school; in his 17th year, he composed verses which afforded some indication of power. Of a delicate constitution, he accepted the easy appointment of village postmaster. He died in March 1843, in his sixty-second year. Stirrat wrote much poetry, but never ventured on a publication. Several of his songs appeared at intervals in the public journals, the "Book of Scottish Song," and the "Contemporaries of Burns." The latter work contains a brief sketch of his life. He left a considerable number of MSS., which are now in the possession of a relative in Ayr. Possessed of a knowledge of music, he excelled in playing many of the national airs on the guitar. His dispositions were social, yet in society he seldom talked; among his associates, he frequently expressed his hope of posthumous fame. He was enthusiastic in his admiration of female beauty, but died unmarried.

HENRY.[14]

AIR--_"Roy's Wife of Aldivalloch."_

Can my dearest Henry leave me? Why, ah! why would he deceive me? Whence this cold and cruel change, That bids him thus forsake and grieve me?

Can he the hours of love forget, The stolen hours I 'll mind for ever, When down the burn we fondly met, And aften vow'd we ne'er should sever? Will my Henry then deceive me, Faithless laddie, can he leave me? Ne'er till now did fancy dream, My dearest laddie sae would grieve me.

And will he then me aye forsake? Must I for ever, ever lose him? And can he leave this heart to break, That swells and bursts within my bosom? Never, Henry, could I leave thee, Never could this heart deceive thee, Why then, laddie, me forsake, And sae wi' cruel absence grieve me?

[14] This song and that following are printed from the original MSS.

MARY.[15]

"In life's gay morn," when hopes beat high, And youthfu' love's endearing tie Gave rapture to the mutual sigh, Within the arms of Mary, My ain dear Mary; Nae joys beneath the vaulted sky, Could equal mine wi' Mary.

The sacred hours like moments flew, Soft transports thrill'd my bosom through, The warl' evanish'd frae my view Within the arms of Mary, My ain dear Mary; Nae gloomy cares my soul e'er knew Within the arms of Mary.

Young fancy spread her visions gay, Love fondly view'd the fair display, Hope shew'd the blissfu' nuptial day, And I was rapt with Mary, My ain dear Mary; The flowers of Eden strew'd the way That led me to my Mary.

But life is now a dreary waste, I lanely wander sair depress'd, For cold and lifeless is that breast Where throbb'd the heart of Mary, My ain dear Mary; She 's gane to seats o' blissfu' rest, And I hae lost my Mary.

[15] This song was set to music by R. A. Smith.

JOHN GRIEVE.

John Grieve, whose name is especially worthy of commemoration as the generous friend of men of genius, was born at Dunfermline on the 12th September 1781. He was the eldest son of the Rev. Walter Grieve, minister of the Cameronian or Reformed Presbyterian church in that place; his mother, Jane Ballantyne, was the daughter of Mr George Ballantyne, tenant at Craig, in the vale of Yarrow. While he was very young, his father retired from the ministerial office, and fixed his residence at the villa of Cacrabank, in Ettrick. After an ordinary education at school, young Grieve became clerk to Mr Virtue, shipowner and wood-merchant in Alloa: and, early in 1801, obtained a situation in a bank at Greenock. He soon returned to Alloa, as the partner of his friend Mr Francis Bald, who had succeeded Mr Virtue in his business as a wood-merchant. On the death of Mr Bald, in 1804, he proceeded to Edinburgh to enter into copartnership with Mr Chalmers Izzet, hat-manufacturer on the North Bridge. The firm subsequently assumed, as a third partner, Mr Henry Scott, a native of Ettrick.

Eminently successful in business, Mr Grieve found considerable leisure for the cultivation of strong literary tastes. Though without pretension as a man of letters, he became reputed as a contributor to some of the more respectable periodicals.[16] In his youth he had been a votary of the Muse, and some of his early lyrics he was prevailed on to publish anonymously in Hogg's "Forest Minstrel." The songs marked C., in the contents of that work, are from his pen. In the encouragement of men of genius he evinced a deep interest, affording them entertainment at his table, and privately contributing to the support of those whose circumstances were less fortunate. Towards the Ettrick Shepherd his beneficence was munificent. Along with his partner, Mr Scott, a man of kindred tastes and of ample generosity, he enabled Hogg to surmount the numerous difficulties which impeded his entrance into the world of letters. In different portions of his works, the Shepherd has gracefully recorded his gratitude to his benefactors. In his "Autobiography," after expressing the steadfast friendship he had experienced from Mr Grieve, he adds, "During the first six months that I resided in Edinburgh, I lived with him and his partner Mr Scott, who, on a longer acquaintance, became as firmly attached to me as Mr Grieve; and I believe as much so as to any other man alive.... In short, they would not suffer me to be obliged to any one but themselves for the value of a farthing; and without this sure support, I could never have fought my way in Edinburgh. I was fairly starved into it, and if it had not been for Messrs Grieve and Scott, would, in a very short time, have been starved out of it again." To Mr Grieve, Hogg afterwards dedicated his poem "Mador of the Moor;" and in the character of one of the competing bards in the "Queen's Wake," he has thus depicted him:--

"The bard that night who foremost came Was not enroll'd, nor known his name; A youth he was of manly mould, Gentle as lamb, as lion bold; But his fair face, and forehead high, Glow'd with intrusive modesty. 'Twas said by bank of southland stream Glided his youth in soothing dream; The harp he loved, and wont to stray Far to the wilds and woods away, And sing to brooks that gurgled by Of maiden's form and maiden's eye; That when this dream of youth was past, Deep in the shade his harp he cast; In busy life his cares beguiled, His heart was true, and fortune smiled."

Affected with a disorder in the spine, Mr Grieve became incapacitated for business in his thirty-seventh year. In this condition he found an appropriate solace in literature; he made himself familiar with the modern languages, that he might form an acquaintance with the more esteemed continental authors. Retaining his usual cheerfulness, he still experienced satisfaction in intercourse with his friends; and to the close of his life, his pleasant cottage at Newington was the daily resort of the _savans_ of the capital. Mr Grieve died unmarried on the 4th April 1836, in the fifty-fifth year of his age. His remains were interred in the sequestered cemetery of St Mary's, in Yarrow. The few songs which he has written are composed in a vigorous style, and entitle him to rank among those whom he delighted to honour.[17]

[16] In the "Key to the Chaldee MS.," he is described as the author of "The White Cottage, a Tale;" this was not written by him, but was the production of one More, a native of Berwickshire, whose literary aspirations he had promoted.

[17] For a number of particulars in this memoir, we are indebted to our venerated friend Mr Alexander Bald, of Alloa.

CULLODEN; OR, LOCHIEL'S FAREWELL.

AIR--_"Fingal's Lament."_

Culloden, on thy swarthy brow Spring no wild flowers nor verdure fair; Thou feel'st not summer's genial glow, More than the freezing wintry air. For once thou drank'st the hero's blood, And war's unhallow'd footsteps bore; Thy deeds unholy, nature view'd, Then fled, and cursed thee evermore.

From Beauly's wild and woodland glens, How proudly Lovat's banners soar! How fierce the plaided Highland clans Rush onward with the broad claymore! Those hearts that high with honour heave, The volleying thunder there laid low; Or scatter'd like the forest leaves, When wintry winds begin to blow!

Where now thy honours, brave Lochiel? The braided plumes torn from thy brow, What must thy haughty spirit feel, When skulking like the mountain roe! While wild birds chant from Locky's bowers, On April eve, their loves and joys, The Lord of Locky's loftiest towers To foreign lands an exile flies.

To his blue hills that rose in view, As o'er the deep his galley bore, He often look'd and cried, "Adieu! I 'll never see Lochaber more! Though now thy wounds I cannot feel, My dear, my injured native land, In other climes thy foe shall feel The weight of Cameron's deadly brand.

"Land of proud hearts and mountains gray, Where Fingal fought, and Ossian sung! Mourn dark Culloden's fateful day, That from thy chiefs the laurel wrung. Where once they ruled and roam'd at will, Free as their own dark mountain game, Their sons are slaves, yet keenly feel A longing for their father's fame.

"Shades of the mighty and the brave, Who, faithful to your Stuart, fell! No trophies mark your common grave, Nor dirges to your memory swell. But generous hearts will weep your fate, When far has roll'd the tide of time; And bards unborn shall renovate Your fading fame in loftiest rhyme."

LOVELY MARY.[18]

AIR--_"Gowd in gowpens."_

I 've seen the lily of the wold, I 've seen the opening marigold, Their fairest hues at morn unfold, But fairer is my Mary. How sweet the fringe of mountain burn, With opening flowers at spring's return! How sweet the scent of flowery thorn! But sweeter is my Mary.

Her heart is gentle, warm, and kind; Her form 's not fairer than her mind; Two sister beauties rarely join'd, But join'd in lovely Mary. As music from the distant steep, As starlight on the silent deep, So are my passions lull'd asleep By love for bonnie Mary.

[18] This song was written during the author's first residence at Alloa. The heroine was Miss Mary Douglas, a young lady of great personal attractions, daughter of Captain Douglas, of the East India Company's Marine Service, who resided in the village of Sauchie, in the vicinity. She became the wife of a Mr Rhind, an Edinburgh gentleman, but died soon after her marriage. Her remains were brought for interment to the churchyard of Alloa.

HER BLUE ROLLIN' E'E.

AIR--_"Banks of the Devon."_

My lassie is lovely, as May day adorning Wi' gowans an' primroses ilka green lee; Though sweet is the violet, new blown i' the morning, As tender an' sweet is her blue rollin' e'e. O, say what is whiter than snaw on the mountain? Or what wi' the red rose in beauty can vie? Yes, whiter her bosom than snaw on the mountain, An' bonnie her face as the red rose can be.

See yon lowly cottage that stands by the wild-wood, Hedged round wi' the sweetbriar and green willow-tree, 'Twas yonder I spent the sweet hours of my childhood, An' first felt the power of a love-rollin' e'e. Though soon frae my hame an' my lassie I wander'd; Though lang I 've been tossing on fortune's rough sea; Aye dear was the valley where Ettrick meander'd; Aye dear was the blink o' her blue-rollin' e'e.

Oh! for the evening, and oh! for the hour, When down by yon greenwood she promised to be; When quick as the summer-dew dries on the flower, A' earthly affections and wishes wad flee. Let Art and let Nature display their proud treasures; Let Paradise boast o' what ance it could gie; As high is my bliss, an' as sweet are my pleasures, In the heart-melting blink o' my lassie's blue e'e.

CHARLES GRAY.

Charles Gray was born at Anstruther-wester, on the 10th March 1782. He was the schoolfellow and early associate of Dr Thomas Chalmers, and Dr William Tennant, the author of "Anster Fair," who were both natives of Anstruther. He engaged for some years in a handicraft occupation; but in 1805, through the influence of Major-General Burn,[19] his maternal uncle, was fortunate in procuring a commission in the Woolwich division of the Royal Marines. In 1811 he published an octavo volume of "Poems and Songs," of which a second edition was called for at the end of three years. In 1813 he joined Tennant and some other local poets in establishing the "Musomanik Society of Anstruther,"--an association which existed about four years, and gave to the world a collection of respectable verses.[20] After thirty-six years' active service in the Royal Marines, he was enabled to retire in 1841, on a Captain's full pay. He now established his head-quarters in Edinburgh, where he cultivated the society of lovers of Scottish song. In 1841, in compliance with the wishes of numerous friends, expressed in the form of a _Round Robin_, he published a second volume of verses, with the title of "Lays and Lyrics." This work appeared in elegant duodecimo, illustrated with engravings of the author's portrait and of his birthplace. In the _Glasgow Citizen_ newspaper, he subsequently published "Cursory Remarks on Scottish Song," which have been copiously quoted by Mr Farquhar Graham, in his edition of the "Songs of Scotland."

Of cheerful and amiable dispositions, Captain Gray was much cherished by his friends. Intimately acquainted with the productions of the modern Scottish poets, he took delight in discussing their merits; and he enlivened the social circle by singing his favourite songs. Of his lyrical compositions, those selected for this work have deservedly attained popularity. An ardent admirer of Burns, he was led to imitate the style of the great national bard. In person he was of low stature; his gray weather-beaten countenance wore a constant smile. He died, after a period of declining health, on the 13th April 1851. He married early in life, and his only son is now a Captain of Marines.

[19] A memoir of this estimable individual, chiefly from materials found in his Diary, has been published by the London Tract Society.

[20] This volume of the merry Anstruther rhymers is entitled "Bouts-Rimes, or Poetical Pastimes of a few Hobblers round the base of Parnassus;" it is dedicated "To the Lovers of Rhyme, Fun, and Good-Fellowship throughout the British Empire."

MAGGIE LAUDER.[21]

The cantie Spring scarce rear'd her head, And Winter yet did blaud her, When the Ranter came to Anster fair, And speir'd for Maggie Lauder; A snug wee house in the East Green,[22] Its shelter kindly lent her; Wi' canty ingle, clean hearth-stane, Meg welcomed Rob the Ranter!

Then Rob made bonnie Meg his bride, And to the kirk they ranted; He play'd the auld "East Nook o' Fife;" And merry Maggie vaunted, That Hab himsel' ne'er play'd a spring, Nor blew sae weel his chanter, For he made Anster town to ring-- And wha 's like Rob the Ranter?

For a' the talk and loud reports, That ever gaed against her, Meg proves a true and carefu' wife, As ever was in Anster; And since the marriage-knot was tied, Rob swears he coudna want her; For he loves Maggie as his life, And Meg loves Rob the Ranter.

[21] These stanzas are an appropriate addition to the well-known song of "Maggie Lauder," composed by Francis Semple, about 1660.

[22] The _East Green_ of Anstruther is now a low street connecting the town with the adjoining village of Cellardyke. The site of Maggie Lauder's house,--which is said to have been a cot of one storey,--is pointed out in a small garden opposite a tannery, and on the north side of the street. Maggie Lauder is the heroine of Dr Tennant's poem of "Anster Fair."

CHARLIE IS MY DARLING.

O Charlie is my darling, My darling, my darling; O Charlie is my darling, The young Chevalier!

When first his standard caught the eye, His pibroch met the ear, Our hearts were light, our hopes were high For the young Chevalier. O Charlie is my darling, &c.

The plaided chiefs cam frae afar, Nae doubts their bosoms steir; They nobly drew the sword for war And the young Chevalier! O Charlie is my darling, &c.

But he wha trusts to fortune's smile Has meikle cause to fear; She blinket blithe but to beguile The young Chevalier! O Charlie is my darling, &c.

O dark Culloden--fatal field! Fell source o' mony a tear; There Albyn tint her sword and shield, And the young Chevalier! O Charlie is my darling, &c.

Now Scotland's "flowers are wede away;" Her forest trees are sere; Her Royal Oak is gane for aye, The young Chevalier! O Charlie is my darling, My darling, my darling; O Charlie is my darling, The young Chevalier.

THE BLACK-E'ED LASSIE.[23]

AIR--_"My only Jo and Dearie O!"_

Wi' heart sincere I love thee, Bell, But dinna ye be saucy, O! Or a' my love I winna tell To thee, my black-e'ed lassie, O! It 's no thy cheek o' rosy hue, It 's no thy little cherrie mou'; Its a' because thy heart 's sae true, My bonnie black-e'ed lassie, O!

It 's no the witch-glance o' thy e'e, Though few for that surpass ye, O! That maks ye aye sae dear to me, My bonnie black-e'ed lassie, O! It 's no the whiteness o' thy skin, It 's no love's dimple on thy chin; Its a' thy modest worth within, My bonnie black-e'ed lassie, O!

Ye smile sae sweet, ye look sae kind, That a' wish to caress ye, O! But O! how I admire thy mind, My bonnie black-e'ed lassie, O! I 've seen thine e'en like crystal clear, Shine dimly through soft pity's tear; These are the charms that mak thee dear, To me, my black-e'ed lassie, O!

[23] The heroine of this song subsequently became the author's wife.

GRIM WINTER WAS HOWLIN'.

AIR--_"Bonnie Dundee."_

Grim winter was howlin' owre muir and owre mountain, And bleak blew the wind on the wild stormy sea; The cauld frost had lock'd up each riv'let and fountain, As I took the dreich road that leads north to Dundee. Though a' round was dreary, my heart was fu' cheerie, And cantie I sung as the bird on the tree; For when the heart 's light, the feet winna soon weary, Though ane should gang further than bonnie Dundee!

Arrived at the banks o' sweet Tay's flowin' river, I look'd, as it rapidly row'd to the sea; And fancy, whose fond dream still pleases me ever, Beguiled the lone passage to bonnie Dundee. There, glowrin' about, I saw in his station Ilk bodie as eydent as midsummer bee; When fair stood a mark, on the face o' creation, The lovely young Peggy, the pride o' Dundee!

O! aye since the time I first saw this sweet lassie, I 'm listless, I 'm restless, wherever I be; I 'm dowie, and donnart, and aften ca'd saucy; They kenna its a' for the lass o' Dundee! O! lang may her guardians be virtue and honour; Though anither may wed her, yet well may she be; And blessin's in plenty be shower'd down upon her-- The lovely young Peggie, the pride o' Dundee!

JOHN FINLAY.