The Modern Scottish Minstrel Volume Iv Part 8

Leafless and bare were the shrub and the flower, Cauld was the drift that blew over yon mountain, But caulder my heart at his last ling'ring hour, Though warm was the tear-drap that fell frae my e'e.

O saft is the tint o' the gowan sae bonny, The blue heather-bell and the rose sweet as ony, But softer the blink o' his bonnie blue e'e, And sweeter the smile o' young Jamie.

Dark lowers the cloud o'er yon mountain sae hie, Faint gloams the sun through the mists o' the ocean, Rough rows the wave on whose bosom I see The wee bit frail bark that bears Jamie frae me.

Oh, lang may I look o'er yon wild waste sae dreary, And lang count the hours, now so lonesome and weary, And oft may I see the leaf fade frae the tree, Ere I see the blithe blink o' his bonnie blue e'e.

Cheerless and wae, on yon snaw-cover'd thorn, Mournfu' and lane is the chirp o' the Robin, He looks through the storm, but nae shelter can see; Come, Robin, and join the sad concert wi' me.

Oh, lang may I look o'er yon foam-crested billow, And Hope dies away like a storm-broken willow; Sweet Robin, the blossom again ye may see, But I'll ne'er see the blink o' his bonnie blue e'e.

FOOTNOTES:

[9] Printed for the first time.

CHARLIE'S BONNET'S DOWN, LADDIE.

AIR--_"Tullymet."_

Let Highland lads, wi' belted plaids, And bonnets blue and white c.o.c.kades, Put on their s.h.i.+elds, unsheathe their blades, And conquest fell begin; And let the word be Scotland's heir: And when their swords can do nae mair, Lang bowstrings o' their yellow hair Let Hieland la.s.ses spin, laddie.

Charlie's bonnet's down, laddie, Kilt yer plaid and scour the heather; Charlie's bonnet's down, laddie, Draw yer dirk and rin.

Mind Wallace wight, auld Scotland's light, And Douglas bright, and Scrymgeour's might, And Murray Bothwell's gallant knight, And Ruthven light and trim-- Kirkpatrick black, wha in a crack Laid Cressingham upon his back, Garr'd Edward gather up his pack, And ply his spurs and rin, laddie.

Charlie's bonnet's down, &c.

HEARD YE THE BAGPIPE?

Heard ye the bagpipe, or saw ye the banners That floated sae light o'er the fields o' Kildairlie; Saw ye the broadswords, the s.h.i.+elds and the tartan hose, Heard ye the muster-roll sworn to Prince Charlie?

Saw ye brave Appin, wi' bonnet and belted plaid, Or saw ye the Lords o' Seaforth and Airlie; Saw ye the Glengarry, M'Leod, and Clandonachil, Plant the white rose in their bonnets for Charlie?

Saw ye the halls o' auld Holyrood lighted up, Kenn'd ye the n.o.bles that revell'd sae rarely; Saw ye the chiefs of Lochiel and Clanronald, Wha rush'd frae their mountains to follow Prince Charlie?

But saw ye the blood-streaming fields of Culloden, Or kenn'd ye the banners were tatter'd sae sairly; Heard ye the pibroch sae wild and sae wailing, That mourn'd for the chieftains that fell for Prince Charlie.

Wha, in yon Highland glen, weary and shelterless, Pillows his head on the heather sae barely; Wha seeks the darkest night, wha maunna face the light, Borne down by lawless might--gallant Prince Charlie?

Wha, like the stricken deer, chased by the hunter's spear, Fled frae the hills o' his father sae scaredly; But wha, by affection's chart, reigns in auld Scotland's heart-- Wha but the royal, the gallant Prince Charlie?

BRUCE'S ADDRESS.

When the morning's first ray saw the mighty in arms, And the tyrant's proud banners insultingly wave, And the slogan of battle from beauty's fond arms Roused the war-crested chieftain, his country to save; The sunbeam that rose on our mountain-clad warriors, And reflected their s.h.i.+elds in the green rippling wave, In its course saw the slain on the fields of their fathers, And shed its last ray on their cold b.l.o.o.d.y graves.

O'er those green beds of honour our war-song prepare, And the red sword of vengeance triumphantly wave, While the ghosts of the slain cry aloud--Do not spare, Lead to victory and freedom, or die with the brave; For the high soul of freedom no tyrant can fetter, Like the unshackled billows our proud sh.o.r.es that lave; Though oppressed, he will watch o'er the home of his fathers, And rest his wan cheek on the tomb of the brave.

To arms, then! to arms! Let the battle-cry rise, Like the raven's hoa.r.s.e croak, through their ranks let it sound; Set their knell on the wing of each arrow that flies, Till the shouts of the free shake the mountains around; Let the cold-blooded, faint-hearted changeling now tremble, For the war-shock shall reach to his dark-centered cave, While the laurels that twine round the brows of the victors Shall with rev'rence be strew'd o'er the tombs of the brave.

REMOVED FROM VAIN FAs.h.i.+ON.

Removed from vain fas.h.i.+on, From t.i.tle's proud ken, In a straw-cover'd cottage, Deep hid in yon glen, There dwells a sweet flow'ret, Pure, lovely, and fair, Though rear'd, like the snowdrop, 'Midst hards.h.i.+ps' chill air.

No soft voice of kindred, Or parent she knows-- In the desert she blooms, Like the sweet mountain rose, Like the little stray'd lammie That bleats on the lea; She's soft, kind, and gentle, And dear, dear to me.

Though the rich dews of fortune Ne'er water'd this stem, Nor one fostering sunbeam Matured the rich gem-- Oh! give me that pure bosom, Her lot let me share, I'll laugh at distinction, And smile away care.

WHEN SHALL WE MEET AGAIN?

When shall we meet again, Meet ne'er to sever?

When shall Peace wreath her chain Round us for ever?

When shall our hearts repose, Safe from each breath that blows, In this dark world of woes?

Never! oh, never!

Fate's unrelenting hand Long may divide us, Yet in one holy land One G.o.d shall guide us.

Then, on that happy sh.o.r.e, Care ne'er shall reach us more, Earth's vain delusions o'er, Angels beside us.

There, where no storms can chill, False friends deceive us, Where, with protracted thrill, Hope cannot grieve us; There with the pure in heart, Far from fate's venom'd dart, There shall we meet to part Never! oh, never!

JAMES KING.

James King was born in Paisley in 1776. His paternal ancestors, for a course of centuries, were farmers in the vicinity of Gleniffer Braes.

Having been only one year at school, he was, at the age of eight, required to a.s.sist his father in his trade of muslin-weaving. Joining a circulating library, he soon acquired an acquaintance with books; he early wrote verses, and became the intimate a.s.sociate of Tannahill, who has honourably mentioned him in one of his poetical epistles. In his fifteenth year he enlisted in a fencible regiment, which was afterwards stationed at Inverness. On its being disembodied in 1798, he returned to the loom at Paisley, where he continued till 1803, when he became a recruit in the Renfrews.h.i.+re county militia. He accompanied this regiment to Margate, Deal, Dover, Portsmouth, and London, and subsequently to Leith, the French prisoners' depot at Penicuick, and the Castle of Edinburgh. At Edinburgh his poetical talents recommended him to some attention from Sir Walter Scott, the Ettrick Shepherd, and several others of the poets of the capital.

Accused of exciting disaffection, and promoting an attempt made by a portion of his comrades to resist lawful authority while the regiment was stationed at Perth, King, though wholly innocent of the charge, fearing the vengeance of the adjutant, who was hostile to him, contrived to effect his escape. By a circuitous route, so as to elude the vigilance of parties sent to apprehend him, he reached the district of Galloway, where he obtained employment as a shepherd and agricultural labourer. He subsequently wrought as a weaver at Crieff till 1815, when, on his regiment being disembodied, he was honourably acquitted from the charge preferred against him, and granted his discharge. He now settled as a muslin-weaver, first at Glasgow, and afterwards at Paisley and Charleston. He died at Charleston, near Paisley, on the 27th September 1849, in his seventy-third year.

Of vigorous intellect, lively fancy, and a keen appreciation of the humorous, King was much esteemed among persons of a rank superior to his own. His mind was of a fine devotional cast, and his poetical compositions are distinguished by earnestness of expression and sentiment.

THE LAKE IS AT REST.