Part 6

No more by the banks of the streamlet we 'll wander, And smile at the moon's rimpled face in the wave; No more shall my arms cling with fondness around her, For the dew-drops of morning fall cold on her grave. No more shall the soft thrill of love warm my breast-- I haste with the storm to a far distant shore, Where, unknown, unlamented, my ashes shall rest, And joy shall revisit my bosom no more.

FOOTNOTES:

[8] This song has been erroneously assigned to Burns.

O! LASSIE, I LO'E DEAREST!

O! lassie, I lo'e dearest! Mair fair to me than fairest, Mair rare to me than rarest, How sweet to think o' thee. When blythe the blue e'ed dawnin' Steals saftly o'er the lawnin', And furls night's sable awnin', I love to think o' thee.

An' while the honey'd dew-drap Still trembles at the flower-tap, The fairest bud I pu't up, An' kiss'd for sake o' thee. An' when by stream or fountain, In glen, or on the mountain, The lingering moments counting, I pause an' think o' thee.

When the sun's red rays are streamin', Warm on the meadow beamin', Or o'er the loch wild gleamin', My heart is fu' o' thee. An' tardy-footed gloamin', Out o'er the hills slow comin', Still finds me lanely roamin', And thinkin' still o' thee.

When soughs the distant billow, An' night blasts shake the willow, Stretch'd on my lanely pillow, My dreams are a' o' thee. Then think when frien's caress thee, Oh, think when cares distress thee, Oh, think when pleasures bless thee, O' him that thinks o' thee.

CHARLES JAMES FINLAYSON.

Charles James Finlayson was born on the 27th August 1790, in the parish of Larbert, and county of Stirling. Owing to the death of his father during his childhood, and the poverty of the family, he was never at school. While a cow-herd to a farmer, he taught himself letters in the fields. With a fine ear for music and an excellent voice, he took delight in singing such scraps of old ballads as he had learned from the cottage matrons. The small gratuities which he procured for holding the horses of the farmers at the annual Falkirk _trysts_, put him in possession of all the printed ballad literature which that town could supply. In his eleventh year he entered, in a humble capacity, the Carron Iron Works; where he had some opportunity of improving himself in scholarship, and gratifying his taste for books. He travelled from Carron to Glasgow, a distance of twenty-three miles, to procure a copy of Ossian. Improving his musical predilections, he was found qualified, while still a young man, to officiate as precentor, or leader of the psalmody, in the church of his native parish. Resigning this appointment, and his situation in the Carron Works, he for some time taught church music in the neighbouring towns. On an invitation from the Kirk-session and congregation, he became precentor in the Old Kirk, Edinburgh; and in this office gained the active friendship of the respected clergyman, Dr Macknight.

Having attained a scientific acquaintance with the theory and practice of his art, Mr Finlayson resigned his appointment in the capital, and proceeded to the provinces as an instructor in vocal music. He visited the principal towns in the east and southern districts of Scotland, and was generally successful. During his professional visit to Dumfries in 1820, he became one of the founders of the Burns' Club in that town. After a short absence in Canada, he settled in Kircudbright as a wine and spirit merchant. In 1832 he was appointed to the office of postmaster. Having retired from business a few years since, he enjoys the fruits of a well-earned competency. He has contributed songs to Blackie's "Book of Scottish Song," and other collections. His song beginning "Oh, my love 's bonnie!" has been translated into German, and published with music at Leipsic.

THE BARD STRIKES HIS HARP.

The bard strikes his harp, the wild woods among, And echo repeats to the breezes his strain; Enraptured, the small birds around his seat throng, And the lambkins, delighted, stand mute on the plain. He sings of the pleasures his young bosom knew, When beauty inspired him, and love was the theme; While his harp, ever faithful, awakes them anew, And a tear dims his eye as he breathes the loved name.

The hearths that bade welcome, the tongues that gave praise, Are now cold to his sorrows, and mute to his wail! E'en the oak, his sole shelter, rude winter decays, And the wild flowers he sung are laid scentless and pale. Too oft thus in misery, the minstrel must pine; Neglected by those whom his song wont to cheer, They think not, alas! as they view his decline, That his heart still can feel, and his eye shed a tear.

Yet sweet are the pleasures that spring from his woes, And which souls that are songless can never enjoy; They know not his joy, for each sweet strain that flows Twines a wreath round his name time can never destroy. Sing on, then, sweet bard! though thus lonely ye stray, Yet ages unborn, thy name shall revere; While the names that neglect thee have melted away, As the snowflakes which fall in the stream disappear.

PH[OE]BUS, WI' GOWDEN CREST.

Ph[oe]bus, wi' gowden crest, leaves ocean's heaving breast An' frae the purple east smiles on the day; Laverocks wi' blythesome strain, mount frae the dewy plain, Greenwood and rocky glen echo their lay; Wild flowers, wi' op'ning blooms, woo ilka breeze that comes, Scattering their rich perfumes over the lea; But summer's varied dye, lark's song, and breezes' sigh, Only bring sorrow and sadness to me.

Blighted, like autumn's leaf, ilk joy is changed to grief-- Day smiles around, but no pleasure can gie; Night on his sable wings, sweet rest to nature brings-- Sleep to the weary, but waukin' to me. Aften has warldly care wrung my sad bosom sair; Hope's visions fled me, an' friendship's untrue; But a' the ills o' fate never could thus create Anguish like parting, dear Annie, frae you.

Farewell, those beaming eyes, stars in life's wintry skies-- Aft has adversity fled frae your ray; Farewell, that angel smile, stranger to woman's wile, That ever could beguile sorrow away; Farewell, ilk happy scene, wild wood, an' valley green, Where time, on rapture's wing, over us flew; Farewell, that peace of heart, thou only could'st impart-- Farewell, dear Annie--a long, long adieu!

OH, MY LOVE'S BONNIE.

Oh! my love's bonnie, bonnie, bonnie; Oh! my love's bonnie and dear to me; The smile o' her face, and her e'e's witchin' grace, Are mair than the wealth o' this warld can gie.

Her voice is as sweet as the blackbird at gloamin', When echo repeats her soft notes to the ear, And lovely and fresh as the wild roses blooming, That dip in the stream o' the Carron so clear.

But poortith 's a foe to the peace o' this bosom, That glows sae devoutly, dear lassie, for thee; Alas! that e'er poortith should blight love's young blossom, When riches nae lasting contentment can gie.

Yet hope's cheerfu' sun shall aboon my head hover, And guide a lone wanderer, when far frae thee; For ne'er, till it sets, will I prove a false lover, Or think o' anither, dear lassie, but thee.

WILLIAM DOBIE.

An accomplished antiquary, and writer of verses, William Dobie was born in 1790, in the village of Beith, Ayrshire. Educated at the parish school, he was in his thirteenth year apprenticed to a mechanical profession. At the close of his apprenticeship, he commenced business in his native district. In 1822, the munificence of a wealthy relative enabled him to retire from his occupation, which had proved unsuitable to his tastes. For several years he resided in London. He subsequently made a tour through Britain, and visited the Continent. His "Perambulations in Kintyre," a manuscript volume, is frequently quoted by Mr Cosmo Innes, in his "Origines Parochiales Scotiæ," a valuable work printed for the Bannatyne Club. In 1840 he prepared a history of the parish of Kilbirnie, for the "New Statistical Account." He afterwards published an account of the church and churchyard of Kilbirnie, in an interesting pamphlet. Recently Mr Dobie has superintended the erection of a monument to Sir William Wallace, on Barnweil Hill, near Kilmarnock, which has been reared at the entire cost of William Patrick, Esq., of Roughwood. The greater number of the many spirited inscriptions on the monument are the composition of Mr Dobie.

THE DREARY REIGN OF WINTER 'S PAST.

AIR--_'Loch Errochside.'_

The dreary reign of Winter 's past, The frost, the snow, the surly blast, To polar hills are scouring fast; For balmy Spring 's returning. Adown Glen-Garnock's lonely vale, The torrent's voice has ceased to wail; But soft low notes, borne on the gale, Dispel dull gloom and mourning.

With toil and long fatigue depress'd, Exhausted nature sunk oppress'd, Till waken'd from her slumbering rest, By balmy Spring returning. Now in flower'd vesture, green and gay, Lovelier each succeeding day; Soon from her face shall pass away, Each trace of Winter's mourning.

Lo, at her mild benign command, Life rouses up on every hand; While bursts of joy o'er all the land, Hail balmy Spring returning. E'en murmuring stream and raving linn, And solemn wood in softened din, All join great Nature's praise to hymn, That fled is Winter's mourning.

While all on earth, and in the skies, In transports fervently rejoice, Shall man refuse to raise his voice, And welcome Spring returning? If such ingrates exist below, They ne'er can feel the sacred glow, That Nature and the Muse bestow, To cheer the gloom of mourning.

ROBERT HENDRY, M.D.

A man of unobtrusive literary merit, and no inconsiderable poetical ability, Robert Hendry was born at Paisley on the 7th October 1791. Descended from a respectable family in Morayshire, his paternal great-grandfather fixed his residence in Glasgow. His grandfather, after serving as a lieutenant under the Duke of Cumberland in Holland, quitted the army, and settled as a silk manufacturer in Paisley. Under the name of "The Hollander," this gentleman had the distinction of being lampooned by Alexander Wilson, during the days of his hot youth, prior to his embarkation for America. Of his two sons, the elder removed to London, where he became senior Alderman, and died on the eve of his nomination as Lord Mayor.

The grandson of "The Hollander," by his second son, the subject of this memoir, was, in his twelfth year, apprenticed to his maternal uncle, a medical practitioner. On the completion of a course of philosophical and medical study at the University of Glasgow, he obtained his diploma, and settled as a surgeon in his native town. Amidst due attention to his professional duties, he became ardently devoted to literary pursuits. Besides conducting several local periodicals, he contributed to some of the more important serials. During the year 1826, which proved so disastrous to the manufacturing interests in Paisley, he devised a scheme for the relief of the unemployed, and his services were appropriately acknowledged by the magistrates. He afterwards sought the general improvement of the burgh, and among many other fiscal and sanitary reforms, succeeded in introducing into the place a supply of excellent water. Declining the provostship offered him by the Town Council, he retired a few years since to the village of Helensburgh, where he continues to reside.

Dr Hendry was an intimate acquaintance of Tannahill; and afterwards ranked among his friends the poet Motherwell and Robert Archibald Smith. He has at various time contributed verses to the periodicals. Latterly his attention has been more especially directed to scientific pursuits.

OH, LET NA GANG YON BONNIE LASSIE.

Oh, let na gang yon bonnie lassie Cam' to see you a' yestreen; A winning gate 's about that lassie, Something mair than meets the een. Had she na baked the Christmas pasty, Think ye it had been sae fine? Or yet the biscuit sae delicious That we crumpit to the wine?

Her ringlets are the gift o' nature, Flowing gracefu' o'er her brow; The turn, the hue o' ilka feature, Form, and colour, nature drew. She 's meikle sought, and meikle thought o', Lang unwedded canna be; Wi' kindness court the comely creature, Cast the glaumrie o'er her e'e.

Have ye an ear can be delighted? Like a seraph she can sing, Wi' charming grace and witching manner, Thrilling o'er the music string. Her tell the tale that moves to pity, But wi' heart and feeling speak; Then watch the turn o' ilka feature, Kiss the tear that weets her cheek.

She sooms na aye in silk or satin, Flaunting like a modern belle; Her robe and plaid 's the simple tartan, Sweet and modest like hersel'. The shapely robe adorns her person That her eident hand wad sew; The plaid sae graceful flung around her, 'Twas her tastefu' manner threw.

She 'll mak' a thrifty loving woman To a kind weel-doing man, Forby a tender-hearted mother-- Win the lassie if ye can. For weel she 's worth your heart and treasure; May your bridal day be near-- Then half a score o' bairns hereafter-- May ye live a hunder year.

HEW AINSLIE.

Hew Ainslie was born on the 5th April 1792, at Bargeny Mains, in the parish of Dailly, and county of Ayr. Receiving the rudiments of education from a private teacher in his father's house, he entered the parish school of Ballantrae in his tenth year, and afterwards became a pupil in the academy of Ayr. A period of bad health induced him to forego the regular prosecution of learning, and, having quitted the academy, he accepted employment as an assistant landscape gardener on the estate of Sir Hew Dalrymple Hamilton. At the age of sixteen he entered the writing chambers of a legal gentleman in Glasgow, but the confinement of the office proving uncongenial, he took a hasty departure, throwing himself on the protection of some relatives at Roslin, near Edinburgh. His father's family soon after removed to Roslin, and through the kindly interest of Mr Thomas Thomson, Deputy-Clerk Register, he procured a clerkship in the General Register House, Edinburgh. For some months he acted as amanuensis to Professor Dugald Stewart, in transcribing his last work for the press.

Having entered into the married state, and finding the salary of his office in the Register House unequal to the comfortable maintenance of his family, he resolved to emigrate to the United States, in the hope of bettering his circumstances. Arriving at New York in July 1822, he made purchase of a farm in that State, and there resided the three following years. He next made a trial of the Social System of Robert Owen, at New Harmony, but abandoned the project at the close of a year. In 1827 he entered into partnership with Messrs Price & Wood, brewers, in Cincinnati, and set up a branch of the establishment at Louisville. Removing to New Albany, Indiana, he there built a large brewery for a joint-stock company, and in 1832 erected in that place similar premises on his own account. The former was ruined by the great Ohio flood of 1832, and the latter perished by fire in 1834. He has since followed the occupation of superintending the erection of mills and factories; and has latterly fixed his abode in Jersey, a suburb of New York.

Early imbued with the love of song, Mr Ainslie composed verses when a youth on the mountains of Carrick. A visit to his native country in 1820 revived the ardour of his muse; and shortly before his departure to America, he published the whole of his rhyming effusions in a duodecimo volume, with the title, "Pilgrimage to the Land of Burns." A second volume from his pen, entitled, "Scottish Songs, Ballads, and Poems," was in 1855 published at New York.

THE HAMEWARD SANG.

Each whirl of the wheel, Each step brings me nearer The hame of my youth-- Every object grows dearer. Thae hills and thae huts, And thae trees on that green, Losh! they glower in my face Like some kindly auld frien'.

E'en the brutes they look social, As gif they would crack; And the sang o' the birds Seems to welcome me back. Oh, dear to our hearts Is the hand that first fed us, And dear is the land And the cottage that bred us.

And dear are the comrades With whom we once sported, And dearer the maiden Whose love we first courted. Joy's image may perish, E'en grief die away; But the scenes of our youth Are recorded for aye.

DOWIE IN THE HINT O' HAIRST.

Its dowie in the hint o' hairst, At the wa'-gang o' the swallow, When the wind grows cauld, and the burns grow bauld, And the wuds are hingin' yellow; But oh, its dowier far to see The wa-gang o' her the heart gangs wi', The dead-set o' a shinin' e'e-- That darkens the weary warld on thee.

There was mickle love atween us twa-- Oh, twa could ne'er be fonder; And the thing on yird was never made, That could hae gart us sunder. But the way of heaven's aboon a' ken, And we maun bear what it likes to sen'-- It's comfort, though, to weary men, That the warst o' this warld's waes maun en'.

There's mony things that come and gae, Just kent, and just forgotten; And the flowers that busk a bonnie brae, Gin anither year lie rotten. But the last look o' that lovely e'e, And the dying grip she gae to me, They're settled like eternitie-- Oh, Mary! that I were wi' thee.

ON WI' THE TARTAN.

Can you lo'e, my dear lassie, The hills wild and free; Whar' the sang o' the shepherd Gars a' ring wi' glee? Or the steep rocky glens, Where the wild falcons bide? Then on wi' the tartan, And, fy, let us ride!

Can ye lo'e the knowes, lassie, That ne'er war in rigs? Or the bonnie loune lee, Where the sweet robin bigs? Or the sang o' the lintie, Whan wooin' his bride? Then on wi' the tartan, And, fy, let us ride!

Can ye lo'e the burn, lassie, That loups amang linns? Or the bonnie green howmes, Where it cannilie rins, Wi' a cantie bit housie, Sae snug by its side? Then on wi' the tartan, And, fy, let us ride!

THE ROVER O' LOCHRYAN.

The Rover o' Lochryan, he's gane, Wi' his merry men sae brave; Their hearts are o' the steel, an' a better keel Ne'er bowl'd owre the back o' a wave. Its no when the loch lies dead in his trough When naething disturbs it ava; But the rack and the ride o' the restless tide, Or the splash o' the gray sea-maw.

Its no when the yawl an' the light skiffs crawl Owre the breast o' the siller sea; That I look to the west for the bark I lo'e best, An' the rover that's dear to me, But when that the clud lays its cheek to the flud, An' the sea lays its shouther to the shore; When the win' sings high, and the sea-whaup's cry, As they rise frae the whitening roar.

Its then that I look to the thickening rook, An' watch by the midnight tide; I ken the wind brings my rover hame, An' the sea that he glories to ride. Oh, merry he sits 'mang his jovial crew, Wi' the helm heft in his hand, An' he sings aloud to his boys in blue, As his e'e's upon Galloway's land:

"Unstent and slack each reef an' tack, Gae her sail, boys, while it may sit; She has roar'd through a heavier sea afore, An' she'll roar through a heavier yet. When landsmen sleep, or wake an' creep, In the tempest's angry moan, We dash through the drift, and sing to the lift O' the wave that heaves us on."

THE LAST LOOK O' HAME.

Bare was our burn brae, December's blast had blawn, The last flower was dead, An' the brown leaf had fa'n: It was dark in the deep glen, Hoary was our hill; An' the win' frae the cauld north, Cam' heavy and chill:

When I said fare-ye-weel, To my kith and my kin; My barque it lay ahead, An' my cot-house ahin'; I had nought left to tine, I'd a wide warl' to try; But my heart it wadna lift, An' my e'e it wadna dry.

I look'd lang at the ha', Through the mist o' my tears, Where the kind lassie lived, I had run wi' for years; E'en the glens where we sat, Wi' their broom-covered knowes, Took a haud on this heart That I ne'er can unloose.

I hae wander'd sin' syne, By gay temples and towers, Where the ungather'd spice Scents the breeze in their bowers; Oh! sic scenes I could leave Without pain or regret; But the last look o' hame I ne'er can forget.

THE LADS AN' THE LAND FAR AWA'.

AIR--_'My ain fireside.'_

When I think on the lads an' the land I hae left, An' how love has been lifted, an' friendship been reft; How the hinnie o' hope has been jumbled wi' ga', Then I sigh for the lads an' the land far awa'.

When I think on the days o' delight we hae seen, When the flame o' the spirit would spark in the e'en; Then I say, as in sorrow I think on ye a', Where will I find hearts like the hearts far awa?

When I think on the nights we hae spent hand in hand, Wi' mirth for our sowther, and friendship our band, This world gets dark; but ilk night has a daw', And I yet may rejoice in the land far awa'!

MY BONNIE WEE BELL.

My bonnie wee Bell was a mitherless bairn, Her aunty was sour, an' her uncle was stern; While her cousin was aft in a cankersome mood; But that hinder'd na Bell growing bonnie and gude.

When we ran to the schule, I was aye by her han', To wyse off the busses, or help owre a stran'; An' as aulder we grew, a' the neighbours could tell Hoo my liking grew wi' thee, my bonnie wee Bell.

Thy cousin gangs dinkit, thy cousin gangs drest, In her silks and her satins, the brawest and best; But the gloss o' a cheek, the glint o' an e'e, Are jewels frae heaven, nae tocher can gie.

Some goud, an' some siller, my auld gutcher left, An' in houses an' mailins I'll soon be infeft; I've a vow in the heaven, I've an aith wi' thysel', I'll make room in this world for thee, bonnie Bell.

WILLIAM THOMSON.

William Thomson was born in 1797, in the village of Kennoway, Fifeshire. He has constantly resided in his native place. After obtaining an ordinary education at the parish school, he engaged in the business of a manufacturer. Relinquishing this occupation, he became a grocer and general merchant; and since 1824, he has held the office of Postmaster. He composed verses at an early period. In 1825, some of his verses appeared in the _Paisley Advertiser_, and the favour with which they were received induced him to offer some poetical compositions to the _Fife Herald_, a newspaper which had just been established in the capital of his native county. Under the signature of _Theta_, he has since been a regular contributor of verses to that journal. He has likewise contributed articles in prose and poetry to other newspapers and some of the periodicals.

THE MAIDEN TO HER REAPING HOOK.