Hae ye marked the dews o' morning Hae ye seen the bird, fast fleeing, Drap, when pierced by death mair fleet? After three lang years' affliction A' their waes now hushed to restJean ance mair, in fond affection, Clasps her Willie to her breast. 'Is it my wee thing, is it my ain thing, Is it my true love here that I see? 'O Jamie, forgie me; your heart's constant to me; I'll never mair wander, dear laddie, frae thee.' JOHN MAYNE. JOHN MAYNE, author of the Siller Gun, Glasgow, and other poems, was a native of Dumfriesborn in the year 1761-and died in London in 1836. He was brought up to the printing business, and whilst apprentice in the Dumfries Journal office in 1777, in his sixteenth year, he published the germ of his Siller Gun in a quarto page of twelve stanzas. The subject of the poem is an ancient custom in Dumfries, called 'Shooting for the Siller Gun,' the gun being a small silver tube presented by James VI. to the incorporated trades as a prize to the best marksman. This poem Mr Mayne continued to enlarge and improve up to the time of his death. The twelve stanzas expanded in two years to two cantos; in another year (1780) the poem was published-enlarged to three cantos-in Ruddiman's Magazine; and in 1808 it was published in London in four cantos. This edition was seen by Sir Walter Scott, who said (in one of his notes to the Lady of the Lake) The simple truth and pathos of descriptions like these appealed to the heart, and soon rendered Macneill's poem universally popular in Scotland. Its moral tendency was also a strong recommendation, and the same causes still operate in procuring readers for the tale, especially in that class best fitted to appreciate its rural beauties and homely pictures, and to receive benefit from the lessons it inculcates. Macneill wrote several Scottish lyrics, and published a descriptive poem, entitled The Links of Forth, or a Parting Peep at the Carse of Stirling; and some prose tales, in which he laments the effect of modern change and improvement. The latter years of the poet'that it surpassed the efforts of Fergusson, and were spent in comparative comfort in Edinburgh. The came near to those of Burns.' Mr Mayne was Logan Braes. By Logan's streams, that rin sae deep, Nae mair at Logan kirk will he At e'en, when hope amaist is gane, Helen of Kirkconnel. Helen Irving, a young lady of exquisite beauty and accomplishments, daughter of the Laird of Kirkconnel, in Annandale, was betrothed to Adam Fleming de Kirkpatrick, a young gentleman of rank and fortune in that neighbourhood. Walking with her lover on the sweet banks of the Kirtle, she was murdered by a disappointed and sanguinary rival. This catastrophe took place during the reign of Mary, Queen of Scots, and is the subject of three different ballads: the first two are old, the third is the composition of the author of the Siller Gun. It was first inserted in the Edinburgh Annual Register (1815) by Sir Walter Scott. I wish I were where Helen lies, Still seems to beckon me! Where Kirtle waters gently wind, On fair Kirkconnel-Lee! Though Heaven forbids my wrath to swell, Ah, what avails it that, amain, I clove the assassin's head in twain ; I see her spirit in the air- Oh! when I'm sleeping in my grave, Unite my love and me! Then from this world of doubts and sighs, Forget Kirkconnel-Lee !* Mustering of the Trades to Shoot for the Siller Gun. The lift was clear, the morn serene, The concluding verse of the old ballad is finer: For her sake that died for me. Also an earlier stanza: Curst be the heart that thought the thought, When James M'Noe began again To beat to arms, Rousing the heart o' man and wean Frae far and near the country lads And mony a beau and belle were there, For, lest they 'd, sleeping, spoil their hair, The gowks, like bairns before a fair, Wi' hats as black as ony raven, Fresh as the rose, their beards new shaven, Forth cam our Trades, some orra saving Fair fa' ilk canny, caidgy carle, But, blest in pantry, barn, and barrel, Hech, sirs! what crowds cam into town, At first, forenent ilk Deacon's hallan, Het-pints, weel spiced, to keep the saul in, Broiled kipper, cheese, and bread, and ham, O' whisky, gin frae Rotterdam, Whilk after, a' was fish that cam Oh! weel ken they wha lo'e their chappin, And even the thowless cock their tappin, The muster ower, the different bands Reviews them, and their line expands But ne'er, for uniform or air, Was sic a group reviewed elsewhere! Round hats and cockit! As to their guns-thae fell engines, Maist feck, though oiled to mak them glimmer, That some o' them had bits o' timmer Some guns, she threeps, within her ken, Sae, here and there, a rozit-end And then, to shew what difference stands Were furbished up, to grace the hands 'Ohon!' says George, and ga'e a grane, The hale surveyed, Their route, and a' things else, made plain, 'Now, gentlemen! now, mind the motion, Wheel wi' your left hands to the ocean, Wi' that, the dinlin drums rebound, Trudge aff, while Echo's self is drowned BARONESS NAIRNE. CAROLINA OLIPHANT (1766-1845), of the family of Oliphant of Gask, and justly celebrated for her beauty, talents, and worth, wrote several lyrical pieces, which enjoy great popularity. These are, The Land o' the Leal, The Laird o' Cockpen, Caller Herrin', The Lass o' Gowrie, &c. In 1806 she was married to Major William Murray Nairne, who, in 1824, on the restoration of the attainted Scottish peerages, became Baron Nairne. Shortly before her death, this excellent and accomplished lady gave the Rev. Dr Chalmers a sum of £300, to assist in his schemes for the amelioration of the poorer classes in Edinburgh. The Land o' the Leal. I'm wearin' awa', John, To the land o' the leal. There's nae sorrow there, John ; There's neither cauld nor care, John ; The day's aye fair I' the land o' the leal. Our bonny bairn's there, John; She was baith gude and fair, John; And, oh! we grudged her sair To the land o' the leal. But sorrow's sel' wears past, John And joy's a-comin' fast, John The joy that's aye to last In the land o' the leal. Sae dear's that joy was bought, John, Sae free the battle fought, John, To the land o' the leal. Oh, dry your glistening ee, John ! To the land o' the leal. Oh, haud ye leal and true, John! To the land o' the leal. In the land o' the leal. The Laird o' Cockpen. The Laird o' Cockpen he's proud and he's great, Down by the dyke-side a lady did dwell, A penniless lass wi' a lang pedigree. His wig was weel pouthered, and as gude as new ; He took the gray mare, and rade cannilie, Mistress Jean she was makin' the elder-flower wine: And when she cam ben, he bowed fu' low, Dumfoundered he was, but nae sigh did he gie; And now that the Laird his exit had made, Next time that the Laird and the lady were seen, But as yet there's nae chickens appeared at Cockpen.* Caller Herrin'.† Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? They're bonny fish and halesome farin'; Wha 'll buy my caller herrin', New drawn frae the Forth? When ye were sleepin' on your pillows, Dreamed ye aught o' our puir fellows, The last two verses were added by Miss Ferrier, authoress of Marriage. They are quite equal to the original, † Caller, cool, fresh; herring new caught. Darkling as they faced the billows, Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? &c. Hauled through wind and rain. Wha 'll buy my caller herrin'? &c. Wha 'll buy my caller herrin'? Wha 'll buy my caller herrin'? &c. When the creel o' herrin' passes, Wha'll buy my caller herrin'? &c. ROBERT TANNAHILL. ROBERT TANNAHILL, a lyrical poet of a superior order, whose songs rival all but the best of Burns's in popularity, was born in Paisley, on the 3d of June 1774. His education was limited, but he was a diligent reader and student. He was early sent to the loom, weaving being the staple trade of Paisley, and continued to follow his occupation in his native town until his twentysixth year, when, with one of his younger brothers, he removed to Lancashire. There he continued two years, when the declining state of his father's health induced him to return. He arrived in time to receive the dying blessing of his parent, and a short time afterwards we find him writing to a friend: 'My brother Hugh and I are all that now remain at home with our old mother, bending under age and frailty; and but seven years back, nine of us used to sit at dinner together.' Hugh married, and the poet was left alone with his widowed mother. În a poem, The Filial Vow, he says: 'Twas hers to guide me through life's early day, The filial piety of Tannahill is strikingly apparent from this effusion, but the inferiority of the lines to any of his Scottish songs shews how little at home he was in English. His mother outlived him thirteen years. Though Tannahill had occasionally composed verses from a very early age, it was not till after this time that he attained Neil Gow (1727-1807), a distinguished Scottish violinist, famous for playing the livelier airs known as strathspeys and reels. to anything beyond mediocrity. Becoming acquainted with Mr R. A. Smith, a musical composer, the poet applied himself sedulously to lyrical composition, aided by the encouragement and the musical taste of his friend. Smith set some of his songs to original and appropriate airs, and in 1807 the poet ventured on the publication of a volume of poems and songs, of which the first impression, consisting of 900 copies, was sold in a few weeks. It is related that in a solitary walk on one occasion, his musings were interrupted by the voice of a country-girl in an adjoining field singing by herself a song of his own We'll meet beside the dusky glen, on yon burn-side; and he used to say he was more pleased at this evidence of his popularity, than at any tribute which had ever been paid him. He afterwards contributed some songs to Mr George Thomson's Select Melodies, and exerted himself to procure Irish airs, of which he was very fond. Whilst delighting all classes of his countrymen with his native songs, the poet fell into a state of morbid despondency, aggravated by bodily weakness and a tendency to consumption. He had prepared a new edition of his poems for the press, and sent the manuscript to Mr Constable the publisher; but it was returned by that gentleman, in consequence of his having more new works on hand than he could undertake that season. This disappointment preyed on the spirits of the sensitive poet, and his melancholy became deep and habitual. He burned all his manuscripts, and sank into a state of mental derangement. Returning from a visit to Glasgow on the 17th of May 1810, the unhappy poet retired to rest; but 'suspicion having been excited, in about an hour afterwards it was discovered that he had stolen out unperceived. Search was made in every direction, and by the dawn of the morning, the coat of the poet was discovered lying at the side of the tunnel of a neighbouring brook, pointing out but too surely where his body was to be found.'* Tannahill was a modest and temperate man, devoted to his kindred and friends, and of unblemished purity and correctness of conduct. His lamentable death arose from no want or irregularity, but was solely caused by that morbid disease of the mind which had overthrown his reason. The poems of this ill-starred son of genius are greatly inferior to his songs. They have all a common-place artificial character. His lyrics, on the other hand, are rich and original, both in description and sentiment. His diction is copious and luxuriant, particularly in describing natural objects and the peculiar features of the Scottish landscape. His simplicity is natural and unaffected; and though he appears to have possessed a deeper sympathy with nature than with the workings of human feeling, or even the passion of love, he is often tender and pathetic. His Gloomy Winter's now Awa' is a beautiful concentration of tenderness and melody. The Braes o' Balquhither. Let us go, lassie, go, To the braes o' Balquhither, 'Mang the bonny Highland heather; * Memoir prefixed to Tannahill's Works. Glasgow, 1838. Where the deer and the roe, I will twine thee a bower By the clear siller fountain, And I'll cover it o'er Wi' the flowers of the mountain; I will range through the wilds, And the deep glens sae drearie, And return wi' the spoils To the bower o' my dearie. When the rude wintry win' Idly raves round our dwelling, And the roar of the linn On the night-breeze is swelling, So merrily we 'll sing, As the storm rattles o'er us, Till the dear sheiling ring Wi' the light lilting chorus. Now the summer's in prime Wi' the flowers richly blooming, And the wild mountain thyme A' the moorlands perfuming; To our dear native scenes Let us journey together, Where glad innocence reigns 'Mang the braes o' Balquhither. The Braes o' Gleniffer. Keen blaws the win' o'er the braes o' Gleniffer; Then ilk thing around us was blithesome and cheerie, 'Tis winter wi' them, and 'tis winter wi' me. Yon cauld sleety cloud skiffs alang the bleak mountain, And shakes the dark firs on the steep rocky brae, While down the deep glen bawls the snaw-flooded fountain, That murmured sae sweet to my laddie and me. It's no its loud roar on the wintry wind swellin', It's no the cauld blast brings the tear i' my ee; For oh! gin I saw but my bonny Scots callan, The dark days o' winter were summer to me. The Flower o' Dumblane. The sun has gane down o'er the lofty Ben-Lomond, And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene, While lanely I stray in the calm summer gloamin, To muse on sweet Jessie, the flower o' Dumblane. How sweet is the brier, wi' its sauft fauldin' blossom! And sweet is the birk, wi' its mantle o' green; Yet sweeter and fairer, and dear to this bosom, Is lovely young Jessie, the flower o' Dumblane. She's modest as ony, and blithe as she 's bonny; For guileless simplicity marks her its ain: And far be the villain, divested of feeling, Wha'd blight in its bloom the sweet flower o' Dumblane. Sing on, thou sweet mavis, thy hymn to the e'ening; Thou'rt dear to the echoes of Calderwood glen : Sae dear to this bosom, sae artless and winning, Is charming young Jessie, the flower o' Dumblane. I ne'er saw a nymph I would ca' my dear lassie, Though mine were the station o' loftiest grandeur, And reckon as naething the height o' its splendour, Gloomy Winter's now Awa'. The mavis sings fu' cheerie O. My young, my artless dearie O. Midst joys that never wearie O. Towering o'er the Newton woods, Adorn the banks sae brierie O. And ilka thing is cheerie O. Trees may bud, and birds may sing, Flowers may bloom, and verdure spring, Joy to me they canna bring, Unless wi' thee, my dearie O. SIR ALEXANDER BOSWELL. SIR ALEXANDER BOSWELL (1775-1822), the eldest son of Johnson's biographer, was author of some amusing songs, which are still very popular. Auld Gudeman, ye're a Drucken Carle; Jenny's considerable comic humour, and coarse but charBawbee; Jenny dang the Weaver, &c., display acteristic painting. The higher qualities of simple rustic grace and elegance he seems never to have attempted. In 1803 Sir Alexander collected his fugitive pieces, and published them under the title of Songs chiefly in the Scottish Dialect. In 1810, he published a Scottish dialogue, in the style of Fergusson, called Edinburgh, or the Ancient Royalty; a Sketch of Manners, by Simon Gray. This Sketch is greatly overcharged. Sir Alexander was an ardent lover of our early literature, and reprinted several works at his private printingpress at Auchinleck. When politics ran high, he unfortunately wrote some personal satires, for one of which he received a challenge from Mr Stuart of Dunearn. The parties met at Auchtertool, in Fifeshire. Conscious of his error, Sir Alexander resolved not to fire at his opponent; but Mr Stuart's shot took effect, and the unfortunate baronet fell. He died from the wound on the following day, the 26th of March 1822. He had |