At the foot of a rock, where the wild rose was growing, I sat myself down on the banks of the Dee. Flow on, lovely Dee, flow on, thou sweet river, Thy banks, purest stream, shall be dear to me ever: For there first I gain'd the affection and favour Of Jamie, the glory and pride of the Dee. But now he's gone from me, and left me thus mourning, To quell the proud rebels for valiant is he; And ah! there's no hope of his speedy returning, To wander again on the banks of the Dec. He's gone, hapless youth, o'er the loud roaring billows, The kindest and sweetest of all the gay fellows, And left me to stray 'mongst the once loved willows, The loneliest maid on the banks of the Dee. But time and my prayers may perhaps yet restore him, Blest peace may restore my dear shepherd to me; And when he returns, with such care I'll watch o'er him, He never shall leave the sweet banks of the Dee. The Dee then shall flow, all its beauties displaying, The lambs on its banks shall again be seen playing, While I with my Jamie am carelessly straying, And tasting again all the sweets of the Dee. I HAVE LAID A HERRING IN SAUT. James Tytler, born at Brechin in 1747; died in Massachusetts, North America, in 1805. Though educated first for the Church, and afterwards for the medical profession, he was mainly employed through life in literary and chemical speculations. He was commonly called Balloon Tutler, from having been the first in Scotland who ascended in a fire balloon upon the plan of Montgolfier. Burns describes him as "a mortal who, though he drudges about Edinburgh as a common printer, with leaky shoes, a sky-lighted hat, and kneebuckles as unlike as George by-the-grace of-God and Solomon-the-son-of-David, yet that same unknown drunken mortal is author and compiler of three fourths of Elliot's pompous Encyclopedia Britannica, which he composed at half a-guinea a week!" Mr. Mackay of the Edinburgh theatre used to sing this song with pawkie glee, and was instrumental in rendering it popular. I ha'e laid a herring in saut, I've a house on yonder muir, I've a hen wi' a happity leg, An' I winna come ony mair to woo. GRIZELL COCHRANE; OR, THE DAUGHTER DEAR.1 Charlotte, Lady Wake, born 1801; second daughter of Crawford Tait, Esq. of Harvieston, Clackmannanshire, and sister of the Archbishop of Canterbury. Her mother was a daughter of Sir Islay Campbell, Bart, Lord-president of the Court of Session, son of the only daughter of John Wallace of Ellerslie, lineal descendant of the eldest brother of Sir William Wallace. Miss Charlotte Tait married in 1822 Charles Wake, eldest son of Sir William Wake, Bart. of Courteen Hall, Northamptonshire, formerly of Clevedon, Somersetshire, who succeeded to his father's title and estate in 1846, and died in 1864. Lady Wake informs the Editor that "Grizell Cochrane; or the Daughter Dear," was written when she was only fifteen, to please her father, in whose family (on the mother's side) the circumstances related in the ballad took place. Frae morning clouds, wi' gladsome ray, "Keep up your heart, my father dear, The morning sun shines sweet and fair""It weel may shine this day, my bairn, For it maun shine for me nae mair. The intrepid act of filial devotion which is the subject of this ballad took place in July, 1685. The heroine was a daughter of Sir John Cochrane of Ochiltree, who was found guilty of high treason for accession to the plot entered into towards the end of Charles II.'s reign, chiefly for the purpose of excluding the Duke of York (James II.) from succeeding to the throne. It was for their alleged connection with the same plot that Lord William Russell and Algernon Sidney were executed in 1683; and it was afterwards followed by the rising of Argyle in Scotland. Andrew Wanless, of Detroit, Michigan; born in Berwickshire, May 25, 1824. He is the author of Poems and Songs, second edition, Detroit, 1873. It's monie a day since first we left When life and hope were young, Can we forget the summer days Whan we got leave frae schule, Or to the glen we'd slip awa', Where hazel clusters hung, Can we forget the lonesome kirk Where gloomy ivies creep? Where our forefathers sleep? Where Scott and Burns sung- Auld Scotland! land o' mickle fame! Land where the martyrs sleep in peace, Where infant freedom sprung, Where Knox in tones of thunder spoke In our auld mither tongue! Now Scotland dinna ye be blate, 'Mang nations crousely craw, Your callants are nae donnert sumphs, Your lasses bang them a'. The glisks o' heaven will never fade, That hope around us flungWhen first we breathed the tale o' love In our auld mither tongue. O let us ne'er forget our hame, Aye strive to be guid bairns!" A-hirpling ower a rung, We'll tak' their part and cheer their heart Wi' our auld mither tongue. THE LOG.1 Thomas Watson, the Arbroath poet, a painter by trade; born March 10, 1807; died January 26, 1875. In 1851 he published the Rlymer's Family, which includes his best-known poem "The Deil in Love," and In 1873 Mr. Watson other pieces of sterling merit. issued a new and enlarged edition of his works, entitled Homely Pearls at Random Strung, consisting of poems, songs, and prose sketches. I was a nursling of untrodden soil; I grew, and reared aloft my leafy crest, And when the spring had clad my branches bare, I waved them in the breeze, all blossom-laden, And shook my green locks like a gleesome maiden Whose light heart flouts at care. And when, impervious to the summer heat, 1 The author explains the origin of this song as follows:- Chancing to be in the workshop of a young friend who was fond of writing verses, he suggested that we should try to string together a few lines on a given subject. I agreed. 'Well, what shall it be?' I inquired. There is a log of wood lying on the floor; what say you to that for a subject?' In short, the log was taken up and done for with pens instead of edge tools."-ED. Then in my green recesses carolled free And silvery threads, by fairy fingers drawn, When the old forest heard the pealing thunder, Sear autumn came, like Death in fair disguise, With tints of many dyes: And in her withering breath my branches waved, And every twig its leafy honours shed In rustling showers, until the ground was clad, With wreck of summer paved. Cold winter came! I was a naked tree, Like the loud moaning sea. And thus return the seasons, o'er and o'er, The spoilers came, the ruthless pioneers, My giant stem, that bent not to the breeze, Fell by the axe: the crash of falling trees, Was music to their ears. They lopped my boughs, and launched me on the river: With many a lifeless log I floated down, Through mangled woods, by many a mushroom town, Leaving my home for ever. TAK' IT, MAN, TAK' IT. David Webster, born in Dunblane, Sept. 25, 1787; died January 22, 1837. He was apprenticed to a weaver in Paisley, and continued to work at the loom through a life much chequered by misfortune. In 1835 he published a small volume of poems entitled Original Sot tish Rhymes. Many of the pieces are marked by keen satire and humour. When I was a miller in Fife, Losh! I thought that the sound o' the happer When manhood declines, and the gray hairs of age Come to tell that we tread on life's last leaden stage When the lights of the heart all in darkness subside, And the gay hours no more winged with ecstacy glide- When death's semblance rests on the spiritless frame Fill the bowl, fill it high!-and rekindle the flame. TWEEDSIDE. Lord Yester, afterwards Marquis of Tweeddale; born 1645, died 1713. The air to this song is very beautiful, and is traditionally ascribed to the unfortunate David Rizzio. Another lyric with the same title appears in page 135 of vol. i. When Maggy and I were acquaint, Nae gowdspink sae bonnie as she! I woo'd, but I cam' nae great speed; Therefore I maun wander abroad, And lay my banes far frae the Tweed. To Maggy my love I did tell; My tears did my passion express: Alas! for I lo'ed her ower weel, And the women lo'e sic a man Jess. Her heart it was frozen and cauld; Her pride had my ruin decreed; Therefore I maun wander abroad, And lay my banes far frae the Tweed. THE HAPPY LAND. Andrew Young, formerly head-master of the City School, Edinburgh, and late head English master of Madras College, St. Andrews; author of a volume of University prize poems and other poetical productions. Mr. Young's earliest hymn, "There is a Happy Land." composed in 1838, has been translated into nearly every modern language, though comparatively few are aware that its author is living, and now residing in Edinburgh, in which city he was born early in the present century. In 1876 Mr. Young published a volume entitled The Scottish Highlands and other Poems, which was most favourably noticed by the press, and has obtained a large circulation. There is a happy land Far, far away, Come to this happy land, Come, come away; Why will ye doubting stand- O we shall happy be, When, from sin and sorrow free, Bright in that happy land On then to glory run; Be a crown and kingdom won; Reign, reign for aye. |