The Modern Scottish Minstrel Volume Iii Part 29

BONNIE PEGGY.[46]

AIR--_"Bonnie la.s.sie, O."_

Oh, we aft hae met at e'en, bonnie Peggy, O!

On the banks of Cart sae green, bonnie Peggy, O!

Where the waters smoothly rin, Far aneath the roarin' linn, Far frae busy strife and din, bonnie Peggy, O!

When the lately crimson west, bonnie Peggy, O!

In her darker robe was dress'd, bonnie Peggy, O!

And a sky of azure blue, Deck'd with stars of golden hue, Rose majestic to the view, bonnie Peggy, O!

When the sound of flute or horn, bonnie Peggy, O!

On the gale of ev'ning borne, bonnie Peggy, O!

We have heard in echoes die, While the wave that rippled by, Sung a soft and sweet reply, bonnie Peggy, O!

Then how happy would we rove, bonnie Peggy, O!

Whilst thou, blus.h.i.+ng, own'd thy love, bonnie Peggy, O!

Whilst thy quickly throbbing breast To my beating heart I press'd, Ne'er was mortal half so blest, bonnie Peggy, O!

Now, alas! these scenes are o'er, bonnie Peggy, O!

Now, alas! we meet no more, bonnie Peggy, O!

Oh! never again, I ween, Will we meet at summer e'en On the banks of Cart sae green, bonnie Peggy, O!

Yet had'st thou been true to me, bonnie Peggy, O!

As I still hae been to thee, bonnie Peggy, O!

Then with bosom, oh, how light, Had I hail'd the coming night, And yon evening star so bright, bonnie Peggy, O!

[46] This song is much in the strain of the popular song of "Kelvin Grove," which, it may here be remarked, has often been erroneously ascribed to Sim. It was contributed to the "Harp of Renfrews.h.i.+re," then under his editorial care, by his townsman, cla.s.s-fellow, and professional brother, Mr Thomas Lyle, surgeon, Glasgow, and was published in that work (p. 144) by Mr John Murdoch, the successor of Sim in the editors.h.i.+p, with a number of alterations by that gentleman. Of these alterations Mr Lyle complained to Mr Sim, and received a letter from him attributing them to Mr Murdoch. On the completion of the work, Sim was mentioned in the index as the author of the song--by the poet Motherwell, the third and last editor, who, not unnaturally, a.s.signed to the original editor those songs which appeared anonymously in the earlier portion of the volume. The song being afterwards published with music by Mr Purdie, musicseller in Edinburgh, Mr Lyle was induced to adopt measures for establis.h.i.+ng his t.i.tle to the authors.h.i.+p. In the absence of the original MS., the claim was sufficiently made out by the production of Mr Sim's letter on the subject of the alterations. (See Memoir of Mr Lyle, _postea_.)

NOW, MARY, NOW THE STRUGGLE 'S O'ER.[47]

_Gaelic Air._

Now, Mary, now the struggle 's o'er-- The war of pride and love; And, Mary, now we meet no more, Unless we meet above.

Too well thou know'st how much I loved!

Thou knew'st my hopes how fair!

But all these hopes are blighted now, They point but to despair.

Thus doom'd to ceaseless, hopeless love, I haste to India's sh.o.r.e; For here how can I longer stay, And call thee mine no more?

Now, Mary, now the struggle 's o'er; And though I still must love, Yet, Mary, here we meet no more, Oh, may we meet above!

[47] This song was addressed to a young lady to whom the author was attached, and who had agreed to marry him on an improvement in his worldly circ.u.mstances. A desire speedily to gain her hand is said to have been the cause of his proceeding to the West Indies. The prediction in the song was sadly realised.

WILLIAM MOTHERWELL.

William Motherwell was born in High Street, Glasgow, on the 13th October 1797. For thirteen generations, his paternal ancestors were owners of the small property of Muirsmill, on the banks of the Carron, Stirlings.h.i.+re. His father, who bore the same Christian name, carried on the business of an ironmonger in Glasgow. His mother, whose maiden name was Elizabeth Barnet, was the daughter of a prosperous farmer in the parish of Auchterarder, Perths.h.i.+re, from whom she inherited a considerable fortune. Of a family of six, William was the third son. His parents removed to Edinburgh early in the century; and in April 1805, he became a pupil of Mr William Lennie, a successful private teacher in Crichton Street. In October 1808, he entered the High-school of Edinburgh; but was soon after placed at the Grammar-school of Paisley, being entrusted to the care of an uncle in that place. In his fifteenth year, he became clerk in the office of the Sheriff-clerk of Paisley, and in this situation afforded evidence of talent by the facility with which he deciphered the more ancient doc.u.ments. With the view of obtaining a more extended acquaintance with cla.s.sical literature, he attended the Latin and Greek cla.s.ses in the University of Glasgow, during the session of 1818-19, and had the good fortune soon thereafter to receive the appointment of Sheriff-clerk-depute of the county of Renfrew.

From his boyhood fond of literature, Motherwell devoted his spare hours to reading and composition. He evinced poetical talent so early as his fourteenth year, when he produced the first draught of his beautiful ballad of "Jeanie Morrison." Many of his earlier sketches, both in prose and verse, were inconsiderately distributed among his friends. In 1818, he made some contributions in verse to the "Visitor," a small work published at Greenock; and in the following year became the third and last editor of the "Harp of Renfrews.h.i.+re," an esteemed collection of songs, to which he supplied an interesting introductory essay and many valuable notes. Pursuing his researches on the subject of Scottish song and ballad, he appeared in 1827 as the editor of an interesting quarto volume, ent.i.tled "Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern,"--a work which considerably extended his reputation, and secured him the friendly correspondence of Sir Walter Scott. In 1828, he originated the _Paisley Magazine_, which was conducted by him during its continuance of one year; it contains several of his best poetical compositions, and a copy is now extremely rare. During the same year, he was appointed editor of the _Paisley Advertiser_, a Conservative newspaper; and this office he exchanged, in January 1830, for the editors.h.i.+p of the _Glasgow Courier_, a more influential journal in the same political interests.

On his removal to Glasgow, Motherwell rapidly extended the circle of his literary friends, and began to exercise no unimportant influence as a public journalist. To _The Day_, a periodical published in the city in 1832, he contributed many poetical pieces with some prose sketches; and about the same time furnished a preface of some length to a volume of Scottish Proverbs, edited by his ingenious friend, Andrew Henderson.

Towards the close of 1832, he collected his best poetical compositions into a small volume, with the t.i.tle of "Poems, Narrative and Lyrical."

In 1835, he became the coadjutor of the Ettrick Shepherd in annotating an edition of Burns' Works, published by Messrs Fullarton of Glasgow; but his death took place before the completion of this undertaking. He died of apoplexy, after a few hours' illness, on the 1st of November 1835, at the early age of thirty-eight. His remains were interred in the Necropolis, where an elegant monument, with a bust by Fillans, has been erected to his memory.

Motherwell was of short stature, but was well-formed. His head was large and forehead ample, but his features were somewhat coa.r.s.e; his cheek-bones were prominent, and his eyes small, sunk in his head, and surmounted by thick eye-lashes. In society he was reserved and often taciturn, but was free and communicative among his personal friends. He was not a little superst.i.tious, and a firm believer in the reality of spectral illusions. Desultory in some of his literary occupations, he was laborious in pruning and perfecting his poetical compositions. His claims as a poet are not inconsiderable; "Jeanie Morrison" is unsurpa.s.sed in graceful simplicity and feeling, and though he had not written another line, it had afforded him a t.i.tle to rank among the greater minstrels of his country. Eminent pathos and earnestness are his characteristics as a song-writer. The translations of Scandinavian ballads which he has produced are perhaps the most vigorous and successful efforts of the kind which have appeared in the language. An excellent edition of his poetical works, with a memoir by Dr M'Conechy, was published after his death by Mr David Robertson of Glasgow.

JEANIE MORRISON.[48]

I 've wander'd east, I 've wander'd west, Through mony a weary way, But never, never can forget The luve o' life's young day!

The fire that 's blawn on Beltane e'en, May weel be black gin Yule; But blacker fa' awaits the heart Where first fond luve grows cule.

O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison, The thochts o' bygane years Still fling their shadows owre my path, And blind my een wi' tears; They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears; And sair and sick I pine, As memory idly summons up The blithe blinks o' langsyne.

'Twas then we luvit ilk ither weel, 'Twas then we twa did part; Sweet time--sad time! twa bairns at schule, Twa bairns, and but ae heart!

'Twas then we sat on ae laigh bink, To leir ilk ither lear; And tones, and looks, and smiles were shed, Remember'd evermair.

I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet, When sitting on that bink, Cheek touchin' cheek, loof lock'd in loof, What our wee heads could think.

When baith bent doun owre ae braid page, Wi' ae buik on our knee, Thy lips were on thy lesson--but My lesson was in thee.

Oh, mind ye how we hung our heads, How cheeks brent red wi' shame, Whene'er the schule-weans, laughin', said We cleek'd thegither hame?

And mind ye o' the Sat.u.r.days (The schule then skailt at noon) When we ran aff to speel the braes-- The broomy braes o' June?

My head rins round and round about, My heart flows like a sea, As ane by ane the thoughts rush back O' schule-time and o' thee.

Oh, mornin' life! oh, mornin' luve!

Oh, lichtsome days and lang, When hinnied hopes around our hearts, Like simmer blossoms sprang!

Oh, mind ye, luve, how aft we left The deavin', dinsome toun, To wander by the green burnside, And hear its waters croon?

The simmer leaves hung owre our heads, The flowers burst round our feet, And in the gloamin o' the wood, The throssil whusslit sweet.

The throssil whusslit in the wood, The burn sang to the trees, And we, with nature's heart in tune, Concerted harmonies; And on the knowe abune the burn, For hours thegither sat In the silentness o' joy, till baith Wi' very gladness grat.

Aye, aye, dear Jeanie Morrison, Tears trickled doun your cheek, Like dew-beads on a rose, yet nane Had ony power to speak!

That was a time, a blessed time, When hearts were fresh and young, When freely gush'd all feelings forth, Unsyllabled--unsung!