Chapter 4

Oh for a soft and gentle wind! I hear a fair one cry; But give to me the snoring breeze, And white waves heaving high; And white waves heaving high, my boys, The good ship tight and free-- The world of waters is our home, And merry men are we.

There 's tempest in yon horned moon, And lightning in yon cloud; And hark the music, mariners! The wind is piping loud; The wind is piping loud, my boys, The lightning flashing free-- While the hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea.

THE BONNIE BARK.

O come, my bonnie bark! O'er the waves let us go, With thy neck like the swan, And thy wings like the snow. Spread thy plumes to the wind, For a gentle one soon Must welcome us home, Ere the wane of the moon.

The proud oak that built thee Was nursed in the dew, Where my gentle one dwells, And stately it grew. I hew'd its beauty down; Now it swims on the sea, And wafts spice and perfume, My fair one, to thee.

Oh, sweet, sweet 's her voice, As a low warbled tune; And sweet, sweet her lips, Like the rose-bud of June. She looks to sea, and sighs, As the foamy wave flows, And treads on men's strength, As in glory she goes.

Oh haste, my bonnie bark, O'er the waves let us bound, As the deer from the horn, Or the hare from the hound. Pluck down thy white plumes, Sink thy keel in the sand, Whene'er ye see my love, And the wave of her hand.

THOU HAST SWORN BY THY GOD, MY JEANIE.

Thou hast sworn by thy God, my Jeanie, By that pretty white hand o' thine, And by a' the lowing stars in heaven, That thou would aye be mine; And I hae sworn by my God, my Jeanie, And by that kind heart o' thine, By a' the stars sown thick owre heaven, That thou would aye be mine.

Then foul fa' the hands that loose sic bands, And the heart that would part sic love; But there 's nae hand can loose my band But the finger o' God above. Though the wee, wee cot maun be my bield, And my claithing e'er sae mean, I wad lap me up rich i' the faulds o' luve, Heaven's armfu' o' my Jean.

Her white arm wad be a pillow for me, Fu' safter than the down; And luve wad winnow owre us his kind, kind wings, And sweetly I 'll sleep, an' soun'. Come here to me, thou lass o' my love, Come here and kneel wi' me; The morn is fu' o' the presence o' God, And I canna pray without thee.

The morn-wind is sweet 'mang the beds o' new flowers, The wee birds sing kindlie an' hie; Our gudeman leans owre his kale-yard dyke, And a blithe auld bodie is he. The Beuk maun be ta'en when the carle comes hame, Wi' the holie psalmodie, And thou maun speak o' me to thy God, And I will speak o' thee.

YOUNG ELIZA.[9]

Come, maid, upon yon mountain brow, This day of rest I 'll give to you, And clasp thy waist with many a vow, My loved, my young Eliza.

'Tis not that cheek, that bosom bare, That high arch'd eye, that long brown hair, That fair form'd foot, thine angel air,-- But 'tis thy mind, Eliza.

Think not to charm me with thine eye, Those smiling lips, that heaving sigh, My heart 's charm'd with a nobler tie,-- It is thy mind, Eliza.

This heart, which every love could warm, Which every pretty face could charm, No more will beat the sweet alarm, But to my young Eliza.

The peasant lad unyokes his car, The star of even shines bright and far, And lights me to the flood-torn scaur, To meet my young Eliza.

There is the smile to please, where truth And soft persuasion fills her mouth, While warm with all the fire of youth, She clasps me, young Eliza.

My heart's blood warms in stronger flow, My cheeks are tinged with redder glow, When sober matron, Evening slow, Bids me to meet Eliza.

The bard can kindle his soul to flame, The patriot hunts a deathless name; Give me the peasant's humble fame, And give me young Eliza.

The warlock glen has tint its gloom, The fairie burn the witching broom, All wear a lovelier, sweeter bloom, For there I meet Eliza.

Then come that mind, so finely form'd, By native truth and virtue warm'd, With love's soft simplest lay is charm'd, Come to my breast, Eliza.

[9] This song, which is a juvenile production of the poet, has been communicated by his niece, Miss Pagan of Dumfries. The heroine of the song, Eliza Neilson, eldest daughter of the Reverend Mr Neilson of Kirkbean, still lives, and is resident in Dumfries.

LOVELY WOMAN.[10]

I 've rock'd me on the giddy mast, Through seas tempestuous foamin', I 've braved the toil of mountain storm, From dawning to the gloamin'; Round the green bosom'd earth, sea-swept, In search of pleasure roamin', And found the world a wilderness, Without thee, lovely woman!

The farmer reaps his golden fields, The merchant sweeps the ocean; The soldier's steed, gore-fetlock'd, snorts Through war-field's wild commotion; All combat in eternal toil, Mirk midnight, day, and gloamin', To pleasure Heaven's divinest gift, Thee, lovely, conquering woman!

The savage in the desert dark, The monster's den exploring; The sceptre-swaying prince, who rules The nations round adoring; Nay, even the laurell'd-templed bard Dew-footed at the gloamin', Melodious wooes the world's ear, To please thee, lovely woman!

[10] This song appeared in the _London Magazine_, new edit., No. xxx. It was addressed to Mrs Pagan of Curriestanes, the poet's sister, who, it may be remarked, possessed a large share of the family talent. She died on the 5th February 1854, and her remains rest in the Pagan family's burying-ground, in Terregles' churchyard.

EBENEZER PICKEN.

Ebenezer Picken was the only son of a silk-weaver in Paisley, who bore the same Christian name. He was born at the _Well-meadow_ of that town, about the year 1769. Intending to follow the profession of a clergyman, he proceeded to the University of Glasgow, which he attended during five or six sessions. With talents of a high order, he permitted an enthusiastic attachment to verse-making to interfere with his severer studies and retard his progress in learning. Contrary to the counsel of his father and other friends, he published, in 1788, while only in his nineteenth year, a thin octavo volume of poems; and afterwards gave to the gay intercourse of lovers of the muse, many precious hours which ought to have been applied to mental improvement. Early in 1791 he became teacher of a school at Falkirk; and on the 14th of April of the same year appeared at the Pantheon, Edinburgh, where he delivered an oration in blank verse on the comparative merits of Ramsay and Fergusson, assigning the pre-eminence to the former poet. In this debate his fellow-townsman and friend, Alexander Wilson, the future ornithologist, advocated in verse the merits of Fergusson; and the productions of both the youthful adventurers were printed in a pamphlet entitled the "Laurel Disputed." In occupying the position of schoolmaster at Falkirk, Picken proposed to raise funds to aid him in the prosecution of his theological studies; but the circumstance of his having formed a matrimonial union with a young lady, a daughter of Mr Beveridge of the Burgher congregation in Falkirk, by involving him in the expenses of a family, proved fatal to his clerical aspirations. He accepted the situation of teacher of an endowed school at Carron, where he remained till 1796, when he removed to Edinburgh. In the capital he found employment as manager of a mercantile establishment, and afterwards on his own account commenced business as a draper. Unsuccessful in this branch of business, he subsequently sought a livelihood as a music-seller and a teacher of languages. In 1813, with the view of bettering his circumstances, he published, by subscription, two duodecimo volumes of "Poems and Songs," in which are included the pieces contained in his first published volume. His death took place in 1816.

Picken is remembered as a person of gentlemanly appearance, endeavouring to confront the pressure of unmitigated poverty. His dispositions were eminently social, and his love of poetry amounted to a passion. He is commemorated in the poetical works of his early friend, Wilson, who has addressed to him a lengthened poetical epistle. In 1818, a dictionary of Scottish words, which he had occupied some years in preparing, was published at Edinburgh by "James Sawers, Calton Street," and this publication was found of essential service by Dr Jamieson in the preparation of his "Supplement" to his "Dictionary of the Scottish Language." Among Picken's poetical compositions are a few pieces bearing the impress of genius.[11]

[11] Andrew Picken, the only son of Ebenezer, a person of somewhat unprepossessing appearance, contrived to derive a tolerable livelihood by following the conjunct occupation of an itinerant player and portrait-painter. He was the writer of some good poetry, and about 1827 published a respectable volume of verses, entitled, "The Bedouin, and other Poems." He soon afterwards proceeded to America.

PEGGIE WI' THE GLANCIN' E'E.

Walkin' out ae mornin' early, Ken ye wha I chanced to see? But my lassie, gay and frisky, Peggie wi' the glancin' e'e. Phoebus, left the lap o' Thetis, Fast was lickin' up the dew, Whan, ayont a risin' hilloc, First my Peggie came in view.

Hark ye, I gaed up to meet her; But whane'er my face she saw, Up her plaidin' coat she kiltit, And in daffin' scour'd awa'. Weel kent I that though my Peggie Ran sae fast out owre the mead, She was wantin' me to follow-- Yes, ye swains, an' sae I did.

At yon burnie I o'ertook her, Whare the shinin' pebbles lie; Whare the flowers, that fringe the border, Soup the stream, that wimples by. While wi' her I sat reclinin', Frae her lips I staw a kiss; While she blush'd, I took anither,-- Shepherds, was there ill in this?

Could a lass, sae sweet an' comely, Ever bless a lover's arms? Could the bonnie wife o' Vulcan Ever boast o' hauf the charms? While the zephyrs fan the meadows, While the flow'rets crown the lea, While they paint the gowden simmer, Wha sae blest as her an' me?

WOO ME AGAIN.

TUNE--_"On a Primrosy Bank."_

Whan Jamie first woo'd me, he was but a youth: Frae his lips flow'd the strains o' persuasion and truth; His suit I rejected wi' pride an' disdain, But, oh! wad he offer to woo me again!

He aft wad hae tauld me his love was sincere, And e'en wad hae ventured to ca' me his dear: My heart to his tale was as hard as a stane; But, oh! wad he offer to woo me again!

He said that he hoped I would yield an' be kind, But I counted his proffers as light as the wind; I laugh'd at his grief, whan I heard him complain; But, oh! wad he offer to woo me again!

He flatter'd my locks, that war black as a slae, And praised my fine shape, frae the tap to the tae; I flate, an' desired he wad let me alane; But, oh! wad he offer to woo me again!

Repulsed, he forsook me, an' left me to grieve, An' mourn the sad hour that my swain took his leave; Now, since I despised, an' was deaf to his maen, I fear he 'll ne'er offer to woo me again!

Oh! wad he but now to his Jean be inclined, My heart in a moment wad yield to his mind; But I fear wi' some ither my laddie is taen, An' sae he 'll ne'er offer to woo me again.

Ye bonnie young lasses, be warn'd by my fate, Despise not the heart you may value too late; Improve the sweet sunshine that now gilds the plain; With you it may never be sunshine again.

The simmer o' life, ah! it soon flits awa', An' the bloom on your cheek will soon dow in the snaw; Oh! think, ere you treat a fond youth wi' disdain, That, in age, the sweet flower never blossoms again.

STUART LEWIS.

Stuart Lewis, the mendicant bard, was the eldest son of an innkeeper at Ecclefechan in Annandale, where he was born about the year 1756. A zealous Jacobite, his father gave him the name of Stuart, in honour of Prince Charles Edward. At the parish school, taught by one Irving, an ingenious and learned person of eccentric habits, he received a respectable ground-work of education; but the early deprivation of his father, who died bankrupt, compelled him to relinquish the pursuit of learning. At the age of fifteen, with the view of aiding in the support of his widowed mother, with her destitute family of other five children, he accepted manual employment from a relation in the vicinity of Chester. Subsequently, along with a partner, he established himself as a merchant-tailor in the town of Chester, where he remained some years, when his partner absconded to America with a considerable amount, leaving him to meet the demands of the firm. Surrendering his effects to his creditors, he returned to his native place, almost penniless, and suffering mental depression from his misfortunes, which he recklessly sought to remove by the delusive remedy of the bottle. The habit of intemperance thus produced, became his scourge through life. At Ecclefechan he commenced business as a tailor, and married a young country girl, for whom he had formed a devoted attachment. He established a village library, and debating club, became a diligent reader, a leader in every literary movement in the district, and a writer of poetry of some merit. A poem on the melancholy story of "Fair Helen of Kirkconnel," which he composed at this period, obtained a somewhat extensive popularity. To aid his finances, he became an itinerant seller of cloth,--a mode of life which gave him an opportunity of studying character, and visiting interesting scenery. The pressure of poverty afterwards induced him to enlist, as a recruit, in the Hopetoun Fencibles; and, in this humble position, he contrived to augment his scanty pay by composing acrostics and madrigals for the officers, who rewarded him with small gratuities. On the regiment being disbanded in 1799, he was entrusted by a merchant with the sale of goods, as a pedlar, in the west of England; but this employment ceased on his being robbed, while in a state of inebriety. Still descending in the social scale, he became an umbrella-maker in Manchester, while his wife was employed in some of the manufactories. Some other odd and irregular occupations were severally attempted without success, till at length, about his fiftieth year, he finally settled into the humble condition of a wandering poet. He composed verses on every variety of theme, and readily parted with his compositions for food or whisky. His field of wandering included the entire Lowlands, and he occasionally penetrated into Highland districts. In his wanderings he was accompanied by his wife, who, though a severe sufferer on his account, along with her family of five or six children, continued most devoted in her attachment to him. On her death, which took place in the Cowgate, Edinburgh, early in 1817, he became almost distracted, and never recovered his former composure. He now roamed wildly through the country, seldom remaining more than one night in the same place. He finally returned to Dumfriesshire, his native county; and accidentally falling into the Nith, caught an inflammatory fever, of which he died, in the village of Ruthwell, on the 22d September 1818. Lewis was slender, and of low stature. His countenance was sharp, and his eye intelligent, though frenzied with excitement. He always expressed himself in the language of enthusiasm, despised prudence and common sense, and commended the impulsive and fanciful. He published, in 1816, a small volume, entitled "The African Slave; with other Poems and Songs." Some of his lyrics are not unworthy of a place in the national minstrelsy.

LANARK MILLS.

AIR--_"Miss Forbes' Farewell to Banff."_

Adieu! romantic banks of Clyde, Where oft I 've spent the joyful day; Now, weary wand'ring on thy side, I pour the plaintive, joyless lay. To other lands I 'm doom'd to rove, The thought with grief my bosom fills; Why am I forced to leave my love, And wander far from Lanark Mills?

Can I forget th' ecstatic hours, When ('scaped the village evening din) I met my lass 'midst Braxfield bowers, Or near the falls of Corhouse Linn! While close I clasp'd her to my breast, (Th' idea still with rapture thrills!) I thought myself completely blest, By all the lads of Lanark Mills.

Deceitful, dear, delusive dream, Thou 'rt fled--alas! I know not where, And vanish'd is each blissful gleam, And left behind a load of care. Adieu! dear winding banks of Clyde, A long farewell, ye rising hills; No more I 'll wander on your side, Though still my heart 's at Lanark Mills.

While Tintock stands the pride of hills, While Clyde's dark stream rolls to the sea, So long, my dear-loved Lanark Mills, May Heaven's best blessings smile on thee. A last adieu! my Mary dear, The briny tear my eye distils; While reason's powers continue clear, I 'll think of thee, and Lanark Mills.

O'ER THE MUIR.[12]

Ae morn of May, when fields were gay, Serene and charming was the weather, I chanced to roam some miles frae home, Far o'er yon muir, amang the heather. O'er the muir amang the heather, O'er the muir amang the heather, How healthsome 'tis to range the muirs, And brush the dew from vernal heather.

I walk'd along, and humm'd a song, My heart was light as ony feather, And soon did pass a lovely lass, Was wading barefoot through the heather. O'er the muir amang the heather, O'er the muir amang the heather; The bonniest lass that e'er I saw I met ae morn amang the heather.

Her eyes divine, mair bright did shine, Than the most clear unclouded ether; A fairer form did ne'er adorn A brighter scene than blooming heather. O'er the muir amang the heather, O'er the muir amang the heather; There 's ne'er a lass in Scotia's isle, Can vie with her amang the heather.

I said, "Dear maid, be not afraid; Pray sit you down, let 's talk together; For, oh! my fair, I vow and swear, You 've stole my heart amang the heather." O'er the muir amang the heather, O'er the muir amang the heather; Ye swains, beware of yonder muir, You 'll lose your hearts amang the heather.

She answer'd me, right modestly, "I go, kind sir, to seek my father, Whose fleecy charge he tends at large, On yon green hills beyond the heather." O'er the muir amang the heather, O'er the muir amang the heather; Were I a king, thou shou'dst be mine, Dear blooming maid, amang the heather.

Away she flew out of my view, Her home or name I ne'er could gather, But aye sin' syne I sigh and pine For that sweet lass amang the heather. O'er the muir amang the heather, O'er the muir amang the heather, While vital heat glows in my heart, I 'll love the lass amang the heather.

[12] The more popular words to the same tune and chorus, beginning, "Comin' through the Craigs o' Kyle," are believed, on the authority of Burns, to have been the composition of Jean Glover, a girl of respectable parentage, born at Kilmarnock in 1758, who became attached to a company of strolling players. Lewis is said to have claimed priority for his verses, and the point is not likely ever to be decided. This much may be said in favour of Lewis's claims, that he had long been the writer of respectable lyrics; while Jean Glover, though well skilled as a musician, is not otherwise known to have composed verses. One of the songs is evidently an echo of the other.

DAVID DRUMMOND.

David Drummond, author of "The Bonnie Lass o' Levenside," a song formerly of no inconsiderable popularity, was a native of Crieff, Perthshire. Along with his four brothers, he settled in Fifeshire, about the beginning of the century, having obtained the situation of clerk in the Kirkland works, near Leven. In 1812, he proceeded to India, and afterwards attained considerable wealth as the conductor of an academy and boarding establishment at Calcutta. A man of vigorous mind and respectable scholarship, he had early cultivated a taste for literature and poetry, and latterly became an extensive contributor to the public journals and periodical publications of Calcutta. The song with which his name has been chiefly associated, was composed during the period of his employment at the Kirkland works,--the heroine being Miss Wilson, daughter of the proprietor of Pirnie, near Leven, a young lady of great personal attractions, to whom he was devotedly attached. The sequel of his history, in connexion with this lady, forms the subject of a romance, in which he has been made to figure much to the injury of his fame. The correct version of this story, in which Drummond has been represented as faithless to the object of his former affections, we have received from a gentleman to whom the circumstances were intimately known. In consequence of a proposal to become his wife, Miss Wilson sailed for Calcutta in 1816. On her arrival, she was kindly received by her affianced lover, who conducted her to the house of a respectable female friend, till arrangements might be completed for the nuptial ceremony. In the interval, she became desirous of withdrawing from her engagement; and Drummond, observing her coldness, offered to pay the expense of her passage back to Scotland. Meanwhile, she was seized with fever, of which she died. Report erroneously alleged that she had died of a broken heart on account of her lover being unfaithful, and hence the memory of poor Drummond has been most unjustly aspersed. Drummond died, at Calcutta, in 1845, about the age of seventy. He was much respected among a wide circle of friends and admirers. His personal appearance was unprepossessing, almost approaching to deformity,--a circumstance which may explain the ultimate hesitation of Miss Wilson to accept his hand. "The Bonnie Lass o' Levenside" was first printed, with the author's consent, though without acknowledgment, in a small volume of poems, by William Rankin, Leven, published in 1812. The authorship of the song was afterwards claimed by William Glass,[13] an obscure rhymster of the capital.

[13] Glass was a house-painter in Edinburgh; he ultimately became very dissipated, and died in circumstances of penury about 1840. He published, in 1811, "The Album, a Collection of Poems and Songs," 12mo; in 1814, "Scenes of Gloamin'," 12mo; and in 1816, a third volume, entitled "Songs of Edina." The last is dedicated, by permission, to the Duke of Gordon. In the "Scenes of Gloamin'," Glass has included the "Bonnie Lass o' Levenside," as a song of his own composition.

THE BONNIE LASS O' LEVENSIDE.

AIR--_"Up amang the Cliffy Rocks."_

How sweet are Leven's silver streams, Around her banks the wild flowers blooming; On every bush the warblers vie, In strains of bosom-soothing joy. But Leven's banks that bloom sae bra, And Leven's streams that glide sae saucy, Sic joy an' beauty couldna shaw, An 't were not for my darling lassie; Her presence fills them a' wi' pride, The bonnie lass o' Levenside.