Part 15

The bonnie rowan bush In yon lane glen, Where the burnie clear doth gush In yon lane glen; My head is white and auld, An' my bluid is thin an' cauld; But I lo'e the bonnie rowan bush In yon lane glen.

My Jeanie first I met In yon lane glen, When the grass wi' dew was wet In yon lane glen; The moon was shining sweet, An' our hearts wi' love did beat, By the bonnie, bonnie rowan bush In yon lane glen.

Oh! she promised to be mine, In yon lane glen; Her heart she did resign, In yon lane glen; An' mony a happy day Did o'er us pass away, Beside the bonnie rowan bush In yon lane glen.

Sax bonnie bairns had we In yon lane glen-- Lads an' lassies young an' spree, In yon lane glen; An' a blither family Than ours there cou'dna be, Beside the bonnie rowan bush In yon lane glen.

Now my auld wife's gane awa' Frae yon lane glen, An' though summer sweet doth fa' On yon lane glen-- To me its beauty's gane, For, alake! I sit alane Beside the bonnie rowan bush In yon lane glen.

BONNIE BESSIE LEE.

Bonnie Bessie Lee had a face fu' o' smiles, And mirth round her ripe lip was aye dancing slee; And light was the footfa', and winsome the wiles, O' the flower o' the parochin, our ain Bessie Lee! Wi' the bairns she would rin, and the school laddies paik, And o'er the broomy braes like a fairy would flee, Till auld hearts grew young again wi' love for her sake-- There was life in the blithe blink o' bonnie Bessie Lee!

She grat wi' the waefu', and laughed wi' the glad, And light as the wind 'mang the dancers was she; And a tongue that could jeer, too, the little limmer had, Whilk keepit aye her ain side for bonnie Bessie Lee! She could sing like the lintwhite that sports 'mang the whins, An' sweet was her note as the bloom to the bee-- It has aft thrilled my heart whaur our wee burnie rins, Where a' thing grew fairer wi' bonnie Bessie Lee.[27]

And she whiles had a sweetheart, and sometimes had twa, A limmer o' a lassie; but atween you and me, Her warm wee bit heartie she ne'er threw awa', Though mony a ane had sought it frae bonnie Bessie Lee. But ten years had gane since I gazed on her last-- For ten years had parted my auld hame and me-- And I said to mysel', as her mither's door I passed, Will I ever get anither kiss frae bonnie Bessie Lee?

But Time changes a' thing--the ill-natured loon! Were it ever sae rightly, he 'll no let it be; And I rubbit at my e'en, and I thought I would swoon, How the carle had come roun' about our ain Bessie Lee! The wee laughing lassie was a gudewife grown auld, Twa weans at her apron, and ane on her knee, She was douce too, and wise-like--and wisdom's sae cauld; I would rather hae the ither ane than this Bessie Lee.

FOOTNOTES:

[27] The last four lines of this stanza are not the production of Nicoll, but have been contributed for the present work by Mr Alexander Wilson, of Perth. The insertion of the lines prevents the occurrence of a half stanza, which has hitherto interfered with the singing of this popular song.

ARCHIBALD STIRLING IRVING.

Archibald Stirling Irving was born in Edinburgh on the 18th of December 1816. His father, John Irving, Writer to the Signet, was the intimate early friend of Sir Walter Scott, and is "the prosperous gentleman" referred to in the general Introduction to the Waverley Novels. Having a delicate constitution, young Irving was unable to follow any regular profession, but devoted himself, when health permitted, to the concerns of literature. He made himself abundantly familiar with the Latin classics, and became intimately conversant with the more distinguished British poets. Possessed of a remarkably retentive memory, he could repeat some of the longest poems in the language. Receiving a handsome annuity from his father, he resided in various of the more interesting localities of Scottish scenery, some of which he celebrated in verse. He published anonymously, in 1841, a small volume of "Original Songs," of which the song selected for the present work may be regarded as a favourable specimen. He died at Newmills, near Ardrossan, on the 20th September 1851, in his thirty-fifth year. Some time before his death, he exclusively devoted himself to serious reflection and Scriptural reading. He married in October 1850, and his widow still survives.

THE WILD-ROSE BLOOMS.

TUNE--_"Caledonia."_

The wild-rose blooms in Drummond woods, The trees are blossom'd fair, The lake is smiling to the sun, And Mary wand'ring there. The powers that watch'd o'er Mary's birth Did nature's charms despoil; They stole for her the rose's blush, The sweet lake's dimpled smile.

The lily for her breast they took, Nut-brown her locks appear; But when they came to make her eyes, They robb'd the starry sphere. But cruel sure was their design, Or mad-like their device-- For while they filled her eyes with fire, They made her heart of ice.

ALEXANDER A. RITCHIE.[28]

Alexander Abernethy Ritchie, author of "The Wells o' Wearie," was born in the Canongate, Edinburgh, in 1816. In early youth he evinced a lively appreciation of the humorous and the pathetic, and exhibited remarkable artistic talent, sketching from nature with fidelity and ease. His parents being in humble circumstances, he was apprenticed as a house-painter, and soon became distinguished for his skill in the decorative branch of his profession. On the expiry of his apprenticeship, he cultivated painting in a higher department of the art, and his pictures held a highly respectable place at the annual exhibitions of the Scottish Academy. Among his pictures which became favourites may be mentioned the "Wee Raggit Laddie," "The Old Church Road," "The Gaberlunzie," "Tak' your Auld Cloak about ye," and "The Captive Truant." His illustrations of his friend, Mr James Ballantine's works, "The Gaberlunzie's Wallet" and "The Miller of Deanhaugh," and of some other popular works, evince a lively fancy and keen appreciation of character. He executed a number of water-colour sketches of the more picturesque and interesting lanes and alleys of Edinburgh; and contributed to the _Illustrated London News_ representations of remarkable events as they occurred in the Scottish capital. He died suddenly at St John's Hill, Canongate, Edinburgh, in 1850, in the thirty-fourth year of his age. Ritchie was possessed of a vast fund of humour, and was especially esteemed for the simplicity of his manners and his kindly dispositions. He excelled in reading poetry, whether dramatic or descriptive, and sung his own songs with intense feeling. He lived with his aged mother, whom he regarded with dutiful affection, and who survives to lament his loss. Shortly before his death he composed the following hymn, which has been set to appropriate music:--

Father of blissfulness, Grant me a resting-place Now my sad spirit is longing for rest. Lord, I beseech Thee, Deign Thou to teach me Which path to heaven is surest and best: Lonely and dreary, Laden and weary, Oh! for a home in the land of the blest!

Father of holiness, Look on my lowliness; From this sad bondage, O Lord, set me free; Grant that, 'mid love and peace, Sorrow and sin may cease, While in the Saviour my trust it shall be. When Death's sleep comes o'er me, On waking--before me The portals of glory all open I 'll see.

FOOTNOTES:

[28] We are indebted to Mr James Ballantine, of Edinburgh, for the particulars contained in this memoir.

THE WELLS O' WEARIE.

AIR--_"Bonnie House o' Airlie."_

Sweetly shines the sun on auld Edinbro' toun, And mak's her look young and cheerie; Yet I maun awa' to spend the afternoon At the lanesome Wells o' Wearie.

And you maun gang wi' me, my winsome Mary Grieve, There 's nought in the world to fear ye; For I ha'e ask'd your minnie, and she has gi'en ye leave To gang to the Wells o' Wearie.

Oh, the sun winna blink in thy bonnie blue e'en, Nor tinge the white brow o' my dearie, For I 'll shade a bower wi' rashes lang and green By the lanesome Wells o' Wearie.

But, Mary, my love, beware ye dinna glower At your form in the water sae clearly, Or the fairy will change you into a wee, wee flower, And you 'll grow by the Wells o' Wearie.

Yestreen as I wander'd there a' alane, I felt unco douf and drearie, For wanting my Mary, a' around me was but pain At the lanesome Wells o' Wearie.

Let fortune or fame their minions deceive, Let fate look gruesome and eerie; True glory and wealth are mine wi' Mary Grieve, When we meet by the Wells o' Wearie.

Then gang wi' me, my bonnie Mary Grieve, Nae danger will daur to come near ye; For I ha'e ask'd your minnie, and she has gi'en ye leave, To gang to the Wells o' Wearie.

ALEXANDER LAING.

One of the simplest and most popular of the living national song-writers, Alexander Laing, was born at Brechin on the 14th May 1787. His father, James Laing, was an agricultural labourer. With the exception of two winters' schooling, he was wholly self-taught. Sent to tend cattle so early as his eighth year, he regularly carried books and writing-materials with him to the fields. His books were procured by the careful accumulation of the halfpence bestowed on him by the admirers of his juvenile tastes. In his sixteenth year, he entered on the business of a flax-dresser, in his native town--an occupation in which he was employed for a period of fourteen years. He afterwards engaged in mercantile concerns, and has latterly retired from business. He now resides at Upper Tenements, Brechin, in the enjoyment of a well-earned competency.

Mr Laing early wrote verses. In 1819, several songs from his pen appeared in the "Harp of Caledonia"--a respectable collection of minstrelsy, edited by John Struthers. He subsequently became a contributor to the "Harp of Renfrewshire" and the "Scottish Minstrel," edited by R. A. Smith. His lyrics likewise adorn the pages of Robertson's "Whistle Binkie" and the "Book of Scottish Song." He published, in 1846, a collected edition of his poems and songs, in a duodecimo volume, under the designation of "Wayside Flowers." A second edition appeared in 1850. He has been an occasional contributor to the local journals; furnished a number of anecdotes for the "Laird of Logan," a humorous publication of the west of Scotland; and has compiled some useful elementary works for the use of Sabbath-schools. His lyrics are uniformly pervaded by graceful simplicity, and the chief themes of his inspiration are love and patriotism. Than his song entitled "My Ain Wife," we do not know a lay more beautifully simple. His "Hopeless Exile" is the perfection of tenderness.

AE HAPPY HOUR.

AIR--_"The Cock Laird."_

The dark gray o' gloamin', The lone leafy shaw, The coo o' the cushat, The scent o' the haw; The brae o' the burnie, A' bloomin' in flower, An' twa' faithfu' lovers, Make ae happy hour.

A kind winsome wifie, A clean canty hame, An' smilin' sweet babies To lisp the dear name; Wi' plenty o' labour, An' health to endure, Make time to row round aye The ae happy hour.

Ye lost to affection, Whom avarice can move To woo an' to marry For a' thing but love; Awa' wi' your sorrows, Awa' wi' your store, Ye ken na the pleasure O' ae happy hour.

LASS, GIN YE WAD LO'E ME.

AIR--_"Lass, gin I come near you."_

"Lass, gin ye wad lo'e me, Lass, gin ye wad lo'e me, Ye'se be ladye o' my ha', Lass, gin ye wad lo'e me. A canty but, a cosie ben, Weel plenish'd ye may trow me; A brisk, a blithe, a kind gudeman-- Lass, gin ye wad lo'e me!"

"Walth, there 's little doubt ye ha'e, An' bidin' bein an' easy; But brisk an' blithe ye canna be, An' you sae auld an' crazy. Wad marriage mak' you young again? Wad woman's love renew you? Awa', ye silly doitet man, I canna, winna lo'e you!"

"Witless hizzie, e'en 's you like, The ne'er a doit I 'm carin'; But men maun be the first to speak, An' wanters maun be speerin'. Yet, lassie, I ha'e lo'ed you lang, An' now I'm come to woo you; I 'm no sae auld as clashes gang, I think you 'd better lo'e me."

"Doitet bodie! auld or young, Ye needna langer tarry, Gin ane be loutin' o'er a rung, He 's no for me to marry. Gae hame an' ance bethink yoursel' How ye wad come to woo me, An' mind me i' your latter-will, Bodie, gin ye lo'e me!"

LASS OF LOGIE.

AIR--_"Lass of Arranteenie."_

I 've seen the smiling summer flower Amang the braes of Yarrow; I 've heard the raving winter wind Amang the hills of Barra; I 've wander'd Scotland o'er and o'er, Frae Teviot to Strathbogie; But the bonniest lass that I ha'e seen Is bonnie Jean of Logie.

Her lips were like the heather bloom, In meekest dewy morning; Her cheeks were like the ruddy leaf, The bloomy brier adorning; Her brow was like the milky flower That blossoms in the bogie; And love was laughing in her een-- The bonnie lass of Logie.

I said, "My lassie, come wi' me, My hand, my hame are ready; I ha'e a lairdship of my ain, And ye shall be my ladye. I 've ilka thing baith out and in, To make you blithe and vogie;" She hung her head and sweetly smiled-- The bonnie lass of Logie!

But she has smiled, and fate has frown'd, And wrung my heart with sorrow; The bonnie lass sae dear to me Can never be my marrow. For, ah! she loves another lad-- The ploughman wi' his cogie; Yet happy, happy may she be, The bonnie lass of Logie!

MY AIN WIFE.

AIR--_"John Anderson, my Jo."_

I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see; For, Oh! my dainty ain wife, She 's aye sae dear to me. A bonnier yet I 've never seen, A better canna be; I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see.

Though beauty is a fadin' flower, As fadin' as it 's fair, It looks fu' well in ony wife, An' mine has a' her share. She ance was ca'd a bonnie lass-- She 's bonnie aye to me; I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see.

Oh, couthy is my ingle-cheek, An' cheery is my Jean; I never see her angry look, Nor hear her word on ane. She 's gude wi' a' the neebours roun', An' aye gude wi' me; I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see.

But Oh, her looks sae kindly, They melt my heart outright, When ower the baby at her breast She hangs wi' fond delight. She looks intill its bonnie face, An' syne looks to me; I wadna gi'e my ain wife For ony wife I see.

THE MAID O' MONTROSE.

AIR--_"O tell me the Way for to Woo."_

O sweet is the calm dewy gloaming, When saftly by Rossie-wood brae, The merle an' mavis are hymning The e'en o' the lang summer's day! An' sweet are the moments when o'er the blue ocean, The full moon arising in majesty glows; An' I, breathing o'er ilka tender emotion, Wi' my lovely Mary, the Maid o' Montrose.

The fopling sae fine an' sae airy, Sae fondly in love wi' himsel', Is proud wi' his ilka new dearie, To shine at the fair an' the ball; But gie me the grove where the broom's yellow blossom Waves o'er the white lily an' red smiling rose, An' ae bonnie lassie to lean on my bosom-- My ain lovely Mary, the Maid o' Montrose.

O what is the haill warld's treasure, Gane nane o' its pleasures we prove? An' where can we taste o' true pleasure, Gin no wi' the lassie we love? O sweet are the smiles an' the dimples o' beauty, Where lurking the loves an' the graces repose; An' sweet is the form an' the air o' the pretty, But sweeter is Mary, the Maid o' Montrose.

O Mary, 'tis no for thy beauty, Though few are sae bonnie as thee; O Mary, 'tis no for thy beauty, Though handsome as woman can be. The rose bloom is gane when the chill autumn's low'ring; The aik's stately form when the wild winter blows; But the charms o' the mind are the ties mair enduring-- These bind me to Mary, the Maid o' Montrose.

JEAN OF ABERDEEN.

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

Ye 've seen the blooming rosy brier, On stately Dee's wild woody knowes; Ye 've seen the op'ning lily fair, In streamy Don's gay broomy howes: An' ilka bonnie flower that grows, Amang their banks and braes sae green-- These borrow a' their finest hues Frae lovely Jean of Aberdeen.

Ye 've seen the dew-ey'd bloomy haw, When morning gilds the welkin high; Ye 've heard the breeze o' summer blaw, When e'ening steals alang the sky. But brighter far is Jeanie's eye, When we 're amang the braes alane, An' softer is the bosom-sigh Of lovely Jean of Aberdeen.

Though I had a' the valleys gay, Around the airy Bennochie; An' a' the fleecy flocks that stray Amang the lofty hills o' Dee; While Mem'ry lifts her melting ee, An' Hope unfolds her fairy scene, My heart wi' them I'd freely gie To lovely Jean of Aberdeen.

THE HOPELESS EXILE.

AIR--_"Alas! for Poor Teddy Macshane."_

Oh! where has the exile his home? Oh! where has the exile his home? Where the mountain is steep, Where the valley is deep, Where the waves of the Ohio foam; Where no cheering smile His woes may beguile-- Oh! there has the exile his home.

Oh! when will the exile return? Oh! when will the exile return? When our hearts heave no sigh, When our tears shall be dry, When Erin no longer shall mourn; When his name we disown, When his mem'ry is gone-- Oh! then will the exile return!

GLEN-NA-H'ALBYN.[29]

AIR--_"O rest thee, my Darling."_

On the airy Ben-Nevis the wind is awake, The boat 's on the shallow, the ship on the lake; Ah! now in a moment my country I leave; The next I am far away--far on the wave! Oh! fare thee well, fare thee well, Glen-na-h'Albyn! Oh! fare thee well, fare thee well, Glen-na-h'Albyn!

I was proud of the power and the fame of my chief, And to build up his House was the aim of my life; And now in his greatness he turns me away, When my strength is decay'd and my locks worn gray. Oh! fare thee well!

Farewell the gray stones of my ancestors' graves, I go to my place 'neath the foam of the waves; Or to die unlamented on Canada's shore, Where none of my fathers were gathered before! Oh! fare thee well, fare thee well, Glen-na-h'Albyn! Oh! fare thee well, fare thee well, Glen-na-h'Albyn!

FOOTNOTES:

[29] "Glen-na-h'Albyn, or Glen-more-na-h'Albyn, the great Glen of Caledonia, is a name applied to the valley which runs in a direction from north-east to south-west, the whole breadth of the kingdom, from the Moray Firth at Inverness to the Sound of Mull below Fort-William, and is almost filled with lakes."

ALEXANDER CARLILE.

Alexander Carlile was born at Paisley in the year 1788. His progenitors are said to have been remarkable for their acquaintance with the arts, and relish for elegant literature. His eldest brother, the late Dr Carlile of Dublin attained much eminence as a profound thinker and an accomplished theologian. Having received a liberal education, first at the grammar-school of Paisley, and afterwards in the University of Glasgow, the subject of this sketch settled as a manufacturer in his native town. Apart from the avocations of business, much of his time has been devoted to the concerns of literature; he has contributed to the more esteemed periodicals, and composed verses for several works on the national minstrelsy. At an early period he composed the spirited and popular song, beginning "Oh, wha's at the window, wha, wha?" which has since obtained a place in all the collections. His only separate publication, a duodecimo volume of "Poems," appeared in 1855, and has been favourably received. Mr Carlile is much devoted to the interests of his native town, and has sedulously endeavoured to promote the moral and social welfare of his fellow-townsmen. His unobtrusive worth and elegant accomplishments have endeared him to a wide circle of friends. His latter poetical compositions have been largely pervaded by religious sentiment.

WHA'S AT THE WINDOW?[30]

Oh, wha's at the window, wha, wha? Oh, wha's at the window, wha, wha? Wha but blithe Jamie Glen, He 's come sax miles and ten, To tak' bonnie Jeannie awa, awa, To tak' bonnie Jeannie awa.

He has plighted his troth, and a', and a', Leal love to gi'e, and a', and a', And sae has she dune, By a' that 's abune, For he lo'es her, she lo'es him, 'bune a', 'bune a', He lo'es her, she lo'es him, 'bune a'.

Bridal-maidens are braw, braw, Bridal-maidens are braw, braw, But the bride's modest e'e, And warm cheek are to me 'Bune pearlins, and brooches, and a', and a', 'Bune pearlins, and brooches, and a'.

It 's mirth on the green, in the ha', the ha', It 's mirth on the green, in the ha', the ha'; There 's quaffing and laughing, There 's dancing and daffing, And the bride's father 's blithest of a', of a', The bride's father 's blithest of a'.

It 's no that she 's Jamie's ava, ava, It 's no that she 's Jamie's ava, ava, That my heart is sae eerie When a' the lave 's cheerie, But it 's just that she 'll aye be awa, awa, It 's just that she 'll aye be awa.

FOOTNOTES:

[30] The title of this song seems to have been suggested by that of a ballad recovered by Cromek, and published in his "Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song," p. 219. The first line of the old ballad runs thus: "Oh, who is this under my window."--ED.

MY BROTHERS ARE THE STATELY TREES.

My brothers are the stately trees That in the forests grow; The simple flowers my sisters are, That on the green bank blow. With them, with them, I am a child Whose heart with mirth is dancing wild.

The daisy, with its tear of joy, Gay greets me as I stray; How sweet a voice of welcome comes From every trembling spray! How light, how bright, the golden-wing'd hours I spend among those songs and flowers!

I love the Spirit of the Wind, His varied tones I know; His voice of soothing majesty, Of love and sobbing woe; Whate'er his varied theme may be, With his my spirit mingles free.

I love to tread the grass-green path, Far up the winding stream; For there in nature's loneliness, The day is one bright dream. And still the pilgrim waters tell Of wanderings wild by wood and dell.

Or up the mountain's brow I toil Beneath a wid'ning sky, Seas, forests, lakes, and rivers wide, Crowding the wondering eye. Then, then, my soul on eagle's wings, To cloudless regions upwards springs!

The stars--the stars! I know each one, With all its soul of love, They beckon me to come and live In their tearless homes above; And then I spurn earth's songs and flowers, And pant to breathe in heaven's own bowers.

THE VALE OF KILLEAN.