We've pass'd twenty years since we buckled thegither, An' ten bonnie bairns, lispin' faither an' mither, Hae toddled fu' fain atween Maggie an' me. THE BRAES O' BEDLAY.1 When I think on the sweet smiles o' my lassie, My cares flee awa' like a thief frae the day; My heart loups licht, an' I join in a sang Amang the sweet birds on the braes o' Bedlay. How sweet the embrace, yet how honest the wishes, When luve fa's a-wooing, and modesty blushes, Whaur Mary an' I meet amang the green bushes That screen us sae weel on the braes o' Bedlay. There's nane sae trig or sae fair as my lassie, An' meet me nae mair on the bracs o' Bedlay. 1 The Braes of Bedlay are situated near Chryston, about seven miles to the north of Glasgow. Hugh Macdonald, a friend of the poet, relates the following amusing incident connected with the origin of this song:-"A rumour having reached Watson that the laird of Bedlay House had expressed a favourable opinion of some of his verses, nothing would serve him, in the vanity of his heart, but that he should write something new, and present it to the great man in person. Casting about for a subject, he at length came to the conclusion that were he to compose a song the scene of which was laid on the gentleman's own estate, he would be quite certain of a favourable reception. The Braes o' Bedlay' was accordingly written, and *snodding' himself up with his Sunday braws, the young poet took the road one evening to the big house. On coming to the door he tirled bravely at the knocker, and was at once ushered into the presence of the laird. In the eyes of the young weaver he looked exceedingly grand, and he almost began to repent his temerity in having ventured into such company. Well, who are yon, and what do you want?' said the laird (who was evidently in one of his bad moods), with a voice of thunder. My name's Walter Watson,' faltered the poet, and I was wanting you to look at this bit paper.' 'What paper,' said the grandee, can you have to show me? But let me see it.' The manuscript was placed in his hands, and, stepping close to the candle, he proceeded to peruse it. 'It'll be a' richt noo,' thinks his bardship. The laird, reading to himself, had got through with the first verse, when he repeated aloud the last two lines "Whaur Mary and I meet amang the green bushes That screen us sae weel on the braes o' Bedlay." Nae vauntin' can buy her, nae threatnin' can sell her- It's luve leads her out to the braes o' Bedlay, We'll gang by the links o' the wild rowin' burnie, Whaur aft in my mornin' o' life I did stray; Whaur luve was invited and cares were beguiled By Mary an' me, on the bracs o' Bedlay. Sae luvin', sae movin', I'll tell her my story, Unmixt wi' the deeds o' ambition for glory, Whaur wide-spreadin' hawthorns, sae ancient and hoary, Enrich the sweet breeze on the braes o' Bedlay. SAE WILL WE YET. Sit ye down here, my cronies, and gi'e us your crack, Let the win' tak' the care o' this life on its back; Our hearts to despondency we never will submit, For we've aye been provided for, and sae will we yet. And sae will we yet, &c. 'Who is Mary?' quoth he abruptly. Oh, I dinna ken,' said the poet; but Mary's a nice poetical name, and it suited my measure.' 'And you actually wrote this!' added the laird. Yes,' replied the poet, gaining confidence; you'll see I've put my name to the verses.' 'Well,' vociferated his lairdship, raising himself to his full altitude, are you not a most impudent fellow to come here and tell me that you have been breaking my fences and strolling over my grounds without leave? I'm just pestered with such interlopers as you on my property, and now that I have the acknowledgment of the offence under your own hand, I've really a very good mind to prosecute you for trespass! Get away with you to your loom! and if ever I catch either you or your Mary among my green bushes again, depend upon it I'll make you repent it.' Saying this, he flung the manuscript scornfully at the poet (who stood trembling, half in fear and half in indignation), and ringing the bell, ordered him at once to be ejected from the house. Alas! poor fellow, he went home that night with an aching heart and sadly crest-fallen. His song was given to the world, however, and immediately attained a considerable degree of popularity, a great portion of which, we are happy to say, it still retains. The laird has left the land which he so churlishly guarded, and his memory is fast falling into oblivion, while that of Walter Watson, who sung its beauties, will be entwined with the spot for ages. Truly there is a lairdship in genius which is more potent and lasting than that which is associated with rent rolls and title deeds! It is but fair to state, however, that the laird and the poet afterwards became good friends, and that the friendship was in many respects beneficial to the humble bard."-ED. MY JOCKIE'S FAR AWA'. Now simmer decks the fields wi' flowers, When Jockie's far awa' on sea, When Jockie's far awa'; Last May mornin', how sweet to see Did kindly walk this way! On yon green bank wild flowers he pou'd, Sweet, sweet he talk'd, and aft he vow'd, O gentle peace, return again, Gin e'er we meet, nae mair we'll part My Jockie's far awa', &c. WILLIAM LAIDLAW. BORN 1780- DIED 1845. WILLIAM LAIDLAW, the author of the beautiful song of "Lucy's Flittin'," and the trusted friend of Sir Walter Scott, was the son of James Laidlaw, a respectable sheep-farmer at Blackhouse, in the Yarrow district, Selkirk shire, where he was born November 19, 1780. He was the eldest of three sons, and received part of his education at the grammar-school of Peebles. Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, was for some years servant to his father, and the two young men formed here a lasting friendship. "He was," says the Shepherd, "the only person who for many years ever pretended to discover the least merit in my essays, either in verse or prose." In 1801, when Sir Walter Scott visited Ettrick and Yarrow to collect materials for his Border Minstrelsy, he made the acquaintance of young Laidlaw, from whom he received much assistance. Laidlaw began life by leasing a farm at Traquair, and afterwards one at Liberton, near Edinburgh, but the business proving unsuccessful he gave up the lease in 1817, and accepted an invitation from Sir Walter Scott to act as his steward at Abbotsford. Here he continued for some years, being held in high esteem and confidence by his employer, whom he in turn greatly loved | James at Contin, near Dingwall, where he and revered. Whilst at Abbotsford part of Laidlaw's time was occupied in writing under Sir Walter's direction for the Edinburgh Annual Register. After the unhappy reverse in the affairs of his benefactor Laidlaw left Abbotsford for a time, but returned in 1830, and continued there till Sir Walter's death in 1832. He afterwards acted as factor for Sir Charles Lockhart Ross of Balnagowan, Rossshire; but his health failing, he gave up this position, and went to reside with his brother died May 18, 1845, aged sixty-five. Besides the far-famed song of "Lucy's Flittin'," which was first printed in 1810 in Hogg's Forest Minstrel, Laidlaw was the author of the sweet and simple songs "Her bonnie black E'e" and "Alake for the Lassie." He also wrote on Scottish superstitions for the Edinburgh Monthly Magazine, contributed several articles to the Edinburgh Encyclopædia, and was the author of a geological description of his native county. Though now he said nacthing but Fare-ye-weel, My heart it grew fain, an' lapt light at the Lucy! It made me I neither could speak, hear, nor see; He cudna say mair but just Fare-ye-weel, Lucy! Yet that I will mind till the day that I dee. thought O' milkin' the ewes my dear Jamie wad bught. The bonnie gray morn scarce had open'd her e'e, When we set to the gate, a' wi' nae little glee; The lamb likes the gowan wi' dew when it's I was blythe, but my mind aft misga'e me richt droukit; sair, The hare likes the brake, and the braird on the For I hadna seen Jamie for five months an' mair. lea; But Lucy likes Jamie;-she turn'd and she lookit, sce. Ah, weel may young Jamie gang dowie and cheerless! And weel may he greet on the bank o' the For bonnie sweet Lucy, sae gentle and peerless, ALAKE FOR THE LASSIE! Alake for the lassie! she's no right at a', The fair was just comin', my heart it grew fain ROBERT JAMIESON. BORN 1780 DIED 1844. served. Much of Jamieson's materials was obtained from Mrs. Brown of Falkland in Fifeshire, a lady who was remarkable for the extent of her legendary lore and the accuracy of her memory. ROBERT JAMIESON, an accomplished scholar | The collection is one of great value, and is and antiquary, was born in Morayshire in ably illustrated with notes, but it was not the year 1780. When a young man he became | greeted by the public with the attention it declassical assistant in a school at Macclesfield, and during this time he set himself to collect all the Scottish ballads he could meet with. He tells us that his object in doing this was to preserve the traditions of habits and customs of his countrymen that were fast disappearing, and so help to fill up the great outlines of history handed down by contemporary writers. After some years' labour the work appeared at Edinburgh in 1806, under the title of Popular Ballads and Songs, from Tradition, Manuscripts, and scarce Editions; with Translations of similar pieces from the ancient Danish Language, and a few Originals by the Editor." On the completion of his book Jamieson proceeded to Riga in Russia, there to push his fortune; but he does not appear to have met with success, and on his return to Scotland he obtained, through the influence of Sir Walter Scott, a post in the General Register House at Edinburgh, which he held for many years. He died in London, September 24, 1844, aged sixty-four. Jamieson's acquaintance with the Northern languages enabled him to share with | lies before us. He also edited an edition of Walter Scott and Henry Weber the editorship Burt's "Letters from the North of Scotland." SIR OLUF AND THE ELF-KING'S DAUGHTER. (FROM THE DANISH.) Sir Oluf the hend has ridden sae wide, And lightly the elves, sae feat and free, To dance wi' thee ne dare I, ne may; "O come, Sir Oluf, and dance wi' me; "A silken sark, sae white and fine, That my mother bleached in the moonshine." "I darena, I maunna come dance wi' thee; For the morn my bridal day maun be.” "O hear ye, Sir Oluf! come dance wi' me, And a helmet o' gowd I'll give to thee." "A helmet o' gowd I well may hae; But dance wi' thee, ne dare I, ne may." And winna thou dance, Sir Oluf, wi' me? Then sickness and pain shall follow thee!" She's smitten Sir Oluf-it strak to his heart; He never before had kent sic a smart; Then lifted him up on his ambler red; **And now, Sir Oluf, ride hame to thy bride." And whan he came till the castell yett, "O hear ye, Sir Oluf, my ain dear son, Whareto is your lire sae blae and wan?" "O well may my lire be wan and blae, For I hae been in the elf-woman's play." "O hear ye, Sir Oluf, my son, my pride, And what shall I say to thy young bride?" "Ye'll say that I've ridden but into the wood, To prieve gin my horse and hounds are good." Ear on the morn, when night was gane, The bride she cam' wi' the bridal train. They skinked the mead, and they skinked the wine: "O whare is Sir Oluf, bridegroom mine?" "Sir Oluf has ridden but into the wood, To prieve gin his horse and hounds are good." And she took up the scarlet red, And there lay Sir Oluf, and he was dead! Ear on the morn, whan it was day, Sir Oluf the leal, and his bride sae fair, ANNIE O THARAW. (FROM THE PRUSSIAN LOW DUTCH.) Annie o' Tharaw, I've waled for my fere, My life and my treasure, my gudes and my gear. Annie o' Tharaw, come weal or come wae, Has set her leal heart on me ever and aye. Annie o' Tharaw, my riches, my gude, Ye're the saul o' my saul, ye're my flesh and my blude. Come wind or come weather, how snell sae or cald, We'll stand by ilk ither, and closer ay hald. Pain, sickness, oppression, and fortune unkind, Our true-love knot ay but the faster sall bind. |