Chapter 9

This night I ween we've had the heart To gar auld Time tak' to his feet; That makes us a' fu' laith to part, But aye mair fain again to meet! To dree the winter's drift and weet For sic a night is nocht ava, For hours the sweetest o' the sweet; Guid night, an' joy be wi' you a'!

Our bald-pow'd daddies here we've seen, In younker revels fidgin' fain; Our gray-hair'd grannies here hae been, Like daffin hizzies, young again! To mony a merrie auld Scot's strain We've deftly danced the time awa': We met in mirth--we part wi' pain, Guid night, an' joy be wi' you a'!

My nimble gray neighs at the yett, My shouthers roun' the plaid I throw; I've clapt the spur upon my buit, The guid braid bonnet on my brow! Then night is wearing late I trow-- My hame lies mony a mile awa'; The mair's my need to mount and go, Guid night, an' joy be wi' you a'!

THE GATHERING.[12]

Rise, rise! Lowland and Highlandman, Bald sire to beardless son, each come and early; Rise, rise! mainland and islandmen, Belt on your broad claymores--fight for Prince Charlie; Down from the mountain steep, Up from the valley deep, Out from the clachan, the bothie, and shieling, Bugle and battle-drum Bid chief and vassal come, Bravely our bagpipes the pibroch is pealing.

Men of the mountains--descendants of heroes! Heirs of the fame as the hills of your fathers; Say, shall the Southern--the Sassenach fear us When to the war-peal each plaided clan gathers? Too long on the trophied walls Of your ancestral halls, Red rust hath blunted the armour of Albin; Seize then, ye mountain Macs, Buckler and battle-axe, Lads of Lochaber, Braemar, and Breadalbin!

When hath the tartan plaid mantled a coward? When did the blue bonnet crest the disloyal? Up, then, and crowd to the standard of Stuart, Follow your leader--the rightful--the royal! Chief of Clanronald, Donald Macdonald! Lovat! Lochiel! with the Grant and the Gordon! Rouse every kilted clan, Rouse every loyal man, Gun on the shoulder, and thigh the good sword on!

FOOTNOTES:

[12] A MS. copy of this song had been sent by the author to the Ettrick Shepherd. Having been found among the Shepherd's papers after his decease, it was regarded as his own composition, and has consequently been included in the posthumous edition of his songs, published by the Messrs Blackie. The song appears in Imlah's "May Flowers," published in 1827.

MARY.

AIR--_"The Dawtie."_

There lives a young lassie Far down yon lang glen, How I lo'e that lassie There's nae ane can ken! Oh! a saint's faith may vary, But faithfu' I'll be-- For weel I lo'e Mary, And Mary lo'es me.

Red, red as the rowan Her smiling wee mou, An' white as the gowan Her breast and her brow; Wi' the foot o' a fairy She links o'er the lea-- Oh! weel I lo'e Mary, An' Mary lo'es me.

Where yon tall forest timmer, An' lowly broom bower, To the sunshine o' simmer, Spread verdure an' flower; There, when night clouds the cary, Beside her I'll be-- For weel I lo'e Mary, An' Mary lo'es me!

OH! GIN I WERE WHERE GADIE RINS.[13]

Oh! gin I were where Gadie rins, Where Gadie rins, where Gadie rins-- Oh, gin I were where Gadie rins By the foot o' Bennachie.

I've roam'd by Tweed, I've roam'd by Tay, By Border Nith, and Highland Spey, But dearer far to me than they The braes o' Bennachie.

When blade and blossoms sprout in spring, And bid the burdies wag the wing, They blithely bob, and soar, and sing By the foot o' Bennachie.

When simmer cleeds the varied scene Wi' licht o' gowd and leaves o' green, I fain would be where aft I've been At the foot o' Bennachie.

When autumn's yellow sheaf is shorn, And barn-yards stored wi' stooks o' corn, 'Tis blithe to toom the clyack horn At the foot o' Bennachie.

When winter winds blaw sharp and shrill O'er icy burn and sheeted hill, The ingle neuk is gleesome still At the foot o' Bennachie.

Though few to welcome me remain, Though a' I loved be dead and gane, I'll back, though I should live alane, To the foot o' Bennachie.

Oh, gin I were where Gadie rins, Where Gadie rins, where Gadie rins-- Oh, gin I were where Gadie rins By the foot o' Bennachie.

FOOTNOTES:

[13] The chorus of this song, which is said to have been originally connected with a plaintive Jacobite ditty, now lost, has suggested several modern songs similar in manner and sentiment. Imlah composed two songs with this chorus. The earlier of these compositions appears in the "May Flowers." It is evidently founded upon a rumour, which prevailed in Aberdeenshire during the first quarter of the century, to the effect, that a Scottish officer, serving in Egypt, had been much affected on hearing a soldier's wife _crooning_ to herself the original words of the air. We have inserted in the text Imlah's second version, as being somewhat smoother in versification. It is the only song which we have transcribed from his volume, published in 1841. But the most popular words which have been attached to the air and chorus were the composition of a student in one of the colleges of Aberdeen, nearly thirty years since, who is now an able and accomplished clergyman of the Scottish Church. Having received the chorus and heard the air from a comrade, he immediately composed the following verses, here printed from the author's MS.:--

Oh, an' I were where Gadie rins, Where Gadie rins, where Gadie rins, Oh, an' I were where Gadie rins, At the back o' Bennachie!

I wish I were where Gadie rins, 'Mong fragrant heath and yellow whins, Or, brawlin' doun the bosky lins At the back o' Bennachie;

To hear ance mair the blackbird's sang, To wander birks and braes amang, Wi' friens and fav'rites, left sae lang, At the back o' Bennachie.

How mony a day, in blithe spring-time, How mony a day, in summer's prime, I wil'd awa' my careless time On the heights o' Bennachie.

Ah! Fortune's flowers wi' thorns are rife, And walth is won wi' grief and strife-- Ae day gie me o' youthfu' life At the back o' Bennachie.

Oh, Mary! there, on ilka nicht, When baith our hearts were young and licht, We've wander'd whan the moon was bricht Wi' speeches fond and free.

Oh! ance, ance mair where Gadie rins, Where Gadie rins, where Gadie rins-- Oh! micht I dee where Gadie rins At the back o' Bennachie.

"The air," communicates the reverend author of this song, "is undoubtedly old, from its resemblance to several Gaelic and Irish airs. 'Cuir's chiste moir me,' and several others, might be thought to have been originally the same _in the first part_. The second part of the air is, I think, modern." The Gadie is a rivulet, and Bennachie a mountain, in Aberdeenshire.

JOHN TWEEDIE.

John Tweedie was born in the year 1800, in the vicinity of Peebles, where his father was a shepherd. Obtaining a classical education, he proceeded to the University of Edinburgh, to prosecute his studies for the Established Church. By acting as a tutor during the summer months, he was enabled to support himself at the university, and after the usual curriculum, he was licensed as a probationer. Though possessed of popular talents as a preacher, he was not successful in obtaining a living in the Church. During his probationary career, he was employed as a tutor in the family of the minister of Newbattle, assisted in the parish of Eddleston, and ultimately became missionary at Stockbridge, Edinburgh. He died at Linkfieldhall, Musselburgh, on the 29th February 1844. Tweedie was a person of amiable dispositions and unaffected piety; he did not much cultivate his gifts as a poet, but the following song from his pen, to the old air, "Saw ye my Maggie," has received a considerable measure of popularity.[14]

FOOTNOTES:

[14] In the "Cottagers of Glendale," Mr H. S. Riddell alludes to two of Tweedie's brothers, who perished among the snow in the manner described in that poem. The present memoir is prepared from materials chiefly supplied by Mr Riddell.

SAW YE MY ANNIE?

Saw ye my Annie, Saw ye my Annie, Saw ye my Annie, Wading 'mang the dew? My Annie walks as light As shadow in the night Or downy cloudlet light Alang the fields o' blue.

What like is your Annie, What like is your Annie, What like is your Annie, That we may ken her be? She's fair as nature's flush, Blithe as dawning's blush, And gentle as the hush When e'ening faulds her e'e.

Yonder comes my Annie, Yonder comes my Annie, Yonder comes my Annie, Bounding o'er the lea. Lammies play before her, Birdies whistle o'er her, I mysell adore her, In heavenly ecstasy.

Come to my arms, my Annie, Come to my arms, my Annie, Come to my arms, my Annie, Speed, speed, like winged day. My Annie's rosy cheek Smiled fair as morning's streak, We felt, but couldna speak, 'Neath love's enraptured sway.

THOMAS ATKINSON.

Thomas Atkinson, a respectable writer of prose and verse, was born at Glasgow about the year 1800. Having completed an apprenticeship to Mr Turnbull, bookseller, Trongate, he entered into copartnership with Mr David Robertson, subsequently King's publisher in the city. Of active business habits, he conducted, along with his partner, an extensive bookselling trade, yet found leisure for the pursuits of elegant literature. At an early age he published "The Sextuple Alliance," a series of poems on the subject of Napoleon Bonaparte, which afforded considerable promise, and received the commendation of Sir Walter Scott. In 1827, he published "The Ant," a work in two volumes, one of which consists of entirely original, and the other of selected matter. "The Chameleon," a publication of the nature of an annual, commenced in 1831, and extended to three octavo volumes. Of this work, a _melange_ of prose and poetry, the contents for the greater part were of his own composition. The last volume appeared in September 1833, shortly before his death.

Deeply interested in the public affairs, Atkinson was distinguished as a public speaker. At the general election, subsequent to the passing of the Reform Bill, he was invited to become a candidate in the liberal interest for the parliamentary representation of the Stirling burghs, in opposition to Lord Dalmeny, who was returned. Naturally of a sound constitution, the exertions of his political canvass superinduced an illness, which terminated in pulmonary consumption. During a voyage he had undertaken to Barbadoes for the recovery of his health, he died at sea on the 10th October 1833. His remains, placed in an oaken coffin, which he had taken along with him, were buried in the deep. He bequeathed a sum, to be applied, after accumulation, in erecting a building in Glasgow for scientific purposes. A monument to his memory has been erected in the Glasgow Necropolis. The following stanzas were composed by the dying poet at the outset of his voyage, and less than three weeks prior to his decease; they are dated the "River Mersey," 21st September 1833:--

I could not, as I gazed my last--there was on me a spell, In all its simple agony--breathe that lone word--"Farewell," Which hath no hope that clings to it, the closer as it dies, In song alone 'twould pass the lips that loved the dear disguise.

I go across a bluer wave than now girds round my bark, As forth the dove went trembling--but to my Father's ark Shall I return? I may not ask my doubting heart, but yet To hope and wish in one--how hard the lesson to forget.

* * * * *

But drooping head and feeble limbs--and, oh! a beating heart, Remind the vow'd to sing no more of all his weary part; Yet, with a voice that trembles as the sounds unloose the spell, In this, his last and rudest lay, he now can breathe--"Farewell."

In the "Chameleon" several of Mr Atkinson's songs are set to music, but, with the exception of "Mary Shearer," none of them are likely to obtain popularity.

MARY SHEARER.

She's aff and awa', like the lang summer-day, And our hearts and our hills are now lanesome and dreary; The sun-blinks o' June will come back ower the brae, But lang for blithe Mary fu' mony may weary. For mair hearts than mine Kenn'd o' nane that were dearer; But nane mair will pine For the sweet Mary Shearer!

She cam' wi' the spring, just like ane o' its flowers, And the blue-bell and Mary baith blossom'd thegither; The bloom o' the mountain again will be ours, But the rose o' the valley nae mair will come hither. Their sweet breath is fled-- Her kind looks still endear her; For the heart maun be dead That forgets Mary Shearer!

Than her brow ne'er a fairer wi' jewels was hung; An e'e that was brighter ne'er glanced on a lover; Sounds safter ne'er dropt frae an aye-saying tongue, Nor mair pure is the white o' her bridal-bed cover. Oh! he maun be bless'd Wha's allow'd to be near her; For the fairest and best O' her kind 's Mary Shearer!

But farewell Glenlin, and Dunoon, and Loch Striven, My country and kin,--since I 've sae lov'd the stranger; Whare she 's been maun be either a pine or a heaven-- Sae across the braid warld for a while I'm a ranger. Though I try to forget, In my heart still I 'll wear her, For mine may be yet-- Name and a'--Mary Shearer!

WILLIAM GARDINER.

William Gardiner, the author of "Scotland's Hills," was born at Perth about the year 1800. He established himself as a bookseller in Cupar-Fife. During a period of residence in Dundee, in acquiring a knowledge of his trade, he formed the acquaintance of the poet Vedder. With the assistance of this gifted individual, he composed his popular song of "Scotland's Hills." Introduced at a theatre in Dundee, it was received with marked approbation. It was first printed, in January 1829, in the _Fife Herald_ newspaper, with a humorous preface by Vedder, and was afterwards copied into the _Edinburgh Literary Gazette_. It has since found a place in many of the collections of Scottish song, and has three different times been set to music.

Gardiner was unfortunate as a bookseller, and ultimately obtained employment in the publishing office of the _Fife Herald_. He died at Perth on the 4th July 1845. Some years before his death, he published a volume of original and selected compositions, under the title of "Gardiner's Miscellany." He was a person of amiable dispositions; and to other good qualities of a personal character, added considerable skill in music.

O SCOTLAND'S HILLS FOR ME![15]

O these are not my country's hills, Though they seem bright and fair; Though flow'rets deck their verdant sides, The heather blooms not there. Let me behold the mountain steep, And wild deer roaming free-- The heathy glen, the ravine deep-- O Scotland's hills for me!

The rose, through all this garden-land, May shed its rich perfume, But I would rather wander 'mong My country's bonnie broom. There sings the shepherd on the hill, The ploughman on the lea; There lives my blithesome mountain maid, O Scotland's hills for me!

The throstle and the nightingale May warble sweeter strains Than thrills at lovely gloaming hour O'er Scotland's daisied plains; Give me the merle's mellow note, The linnet's liquid lay; The laverocks on the roseate cloud-- O Scotland's hills for me!

And I would rather roam beneath Thy scowling winter skies, Than listlessly attune my lyre Where sun-bright flowers arise. The baron's hall, the peasant's cot Protect alike the free; The tyrant dies who breathes thine air; O Scotland's hills for me!

FOOTNOTES:

[15] At the request of one Roger, a music-master in Edinburgh, who had obtained a copy of the first two stanzas, a third was added by Mr Robert Chambers, and in this form the song appears in some of the collections. Mr Chambers's stanza proceeds thus:--

In southern climes the radiant sun A brighter light displays; But I love best his milder beams That shine on Scotland's braes. Then dear, romantic native land If e'er I roam from thee, I'll ne'er forget the cheering lay; O Scotland's hills for me!

ROBERT HOGG.

Robert Hogg was born in the parish of Stobo, about the close of the century. His father was William Hogg, eldest brother of the Ettrick Shepherd. William Hogg was also a shepherd, a sensible, well-conducted man, and possessed of considerable literary talent. Receiving a classical education at the grammar-school of Peebles, Robert proceeded to the University of Edinburgh, with the intention of studying for the Church. Abandoning his original views, he became corrector of the press, or reader in the printing-office of Messrs Ballantyne. John Wilson, the future vocalist, was his yoke-fellow in office. His official duties were arduous, but he contrived to find leisure for contributing, both in prose and verse, to the periodicals. His literary talents attracted the favourable notice of Mr J. G. Lockhart, who, on being appointed, in 1825, to conduct the _Quarterly Review_, secured his services as secretary or literary assistant. He therefore proceeded to London, but as it was found there was not sufficient occasion for his services in his new appointment, he returned in a few months to the duties of his former situation. For a short period he acted as amanuensis to Sir Walter Scott, while the "Life of Napoleon" was in progress. According to his own account,[16] this must have been no relief from his ordinary toils, for Sir Walter was at his task from early morning till almost evening, excepting only two short spaces for meals. When _Chambers's Edinburgh Journal_ was commenced, Hogg was asked by his former schoolfellow, Mr Robert Chambers, to undertake the duties of assistant editor, on a salary superior to that which he then received; but this office, from a conscientious scruple about his ability to give satisfaction, he was led to decline. He was an extensive contributor, both in prose and verse, to the two first volumes of this popular periodical; but before the work had gone further, his health began to give way, and he retired to his father's house in Peeblesshire, where he died in 1834. He left a young wife and one child.

Robert Hogg was of low stature and of retiring manners. He was fond of humour, but was possessed of the strictest integrity and purity of heart. His compositions are chiefly scattered among the contemporary periodical literature. He contributed songs to the "Scottish and Irish Minstrels" and "Select Melodies" of R. A. Smith; and a ballad, entitled "The Tweeddale Raide," composed in his youth, was inserted by his uncle in the "Mountain Bard." Those which appear in the present work are transcribed from a small periodical, entitled "The Rainbow," published at Edinburgh, in 1821, by R. Ireland; and from the Author's Album, in the possession of Mr Henry Scott Riddell, to whom it was presented by his parents after his decease. In the "Rainbow," several of Hogg's poetical pieces are translations from the German, and from the Latin of Buchanan. All his compositions evince taste and felicity of expression, but they are defective in startling originality and power.[17]

FOOTNOTES:

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

[17] We have to acknowledge our obligations to Mr Robert Chambers for many of the particulars contained in this memoir.

QUEEN OF FAIRIE'S SONG.

Haste, all ye fairy elves, hither to me, Over the holme so green, over the lea, Over the corrie, and down by the lake, Cross ye the mountain-burn, thread ye the brake, Stop not at muirland, wide river, nor sea: Hasten, ye fairy elves, hither to me!

Come when the moonbeam bright sleeps on the hill; Come at the dead of night when all is still; Come over mountain steep, come over brae, Through holt and valley deep, through glen-head gray; Come from the forest glade and greenwood tree; Hasten, ye fairy elves, hither to me!

Were ye by woodland or cleugh of the brae, Were ye by ocean rock dash'd by the spray, Were ye by sunny dell up in the ben, Or by the braken howe far down the glen, Or by the river side; where'er ye be, Hasten, ye fairy elves, hither to me!

Hasten, ye fairy elves, hither to-night, Haste to your revel sports gleesome and light, To bathe in the dew-drops, and bask in the Leven, And dance on the moonbeams far up the heaven, Then sleep on the rosebuds that bloom on the lea; Hasten, ye fairy elves, hither to me!

WHEN AUTUMN COMES.

When autumn comes an' heather bells Bloom bonnie owre yon moorland fells, An' corn that waves on lowland dales Is yellow ripe appearing;

Bonnie lassie will ye gang Shear wi' me the hale day lang; An' love will mak' us eithly bang The weary toil o' shearing?

An' if the lasses should envy, Or say we love, then you an' I Will pass ilk ither slyly by, As if we werena caring.

But aye I wi' my heuk will whang The thistles, if in prickles strang Your bonnie milk-white hands they wrang, When we gang to the shearing.

An' aye we'll haud our rig afore, An' ply to hae the shearing o'er, Syne you will soon forget you bore Your neighbours' jibes and jeering.

For then, my lassie, we'll be wed, When we hae proof o' ither had, An' nae mair need to mind what's said When we're thegither shearing.

BONNIE PEGGIE, O!

Gang wi' me to yonder howe, bonnie Peggie, O! Down ayont the gowan knowe, bonnie Peggie, O! When the siller burn rins clear, When the rose blooms on the brier, An' where there is none to hear, bonnie Peggie, O!

I hae lo'ed you e'en an' morn, bonnie Peggie, O! You hae laugh'd my love to scorn, bonnie Peggie, O! My heart's been sick and sair, But it shall be sae nae mair, I've now gotten a' my care, bonnie Peggie, O!

You hae said you love me too, bonnie Peggie, O! An' you've sworn you will be true, bonnie Peggie, O! Let the world gae as it will, Be it weel or be it ill, Nae hap our joy shall spill, bonnie Peggie, O!

Gang wi' me to yonder howe, bonnie Peggie, O! Where the flowers o' simmer grow, bonnie Peggie, O! Nae mair my love is cross'd, Sorrow's sairest pang is past, I am happy at the last, bonnie Peggie, O!

A WISH BURST.

Oh, to bound o'er the bonnie blue sea, With the winds and waves for guides, From all the wants of Nature free And all her ties besides. Beyond where footstep ever trode Would I hold my onward way, As wild as the waves on which I rode, And fearless too as they.

The angry winds with lengthen'd sweep Were music to mine ear; I'd mark the gulfs of the yawning deep Close round me without fear. When winter storms burst from the cloud And trouble the ocean's breast, I'd joy me in their roaring loud, And mid their war find rest.