The Modern Scottish Minstrel Volume V Part 7

'Twas for her, the Maid of Islay, Time flew o'er me wing'd with joy; 'Twas for her, the cheering smile aye Beam'd with rapture in my eye.

Not the tempest raving round me, Lightning's flash or thunder's roll; Not the ocean's rage could wound me, While her image fill'd my soul.

Farewell, days of purest pleasure, Long your loss my heart shall mourn!

Farewell, hours of bliss the measure, Bliss that never can return!

Cheerless o'er the wild heath wand'ring, Cheerless o'er the wave-worn sh.o.r.e, On the past with sadness pond'ring, Hope's fair visions charm no more.

WILLIAM JERDAN.

The well known editor of the _Literary Gazette_, William Jerdan, was born at Kelso, Roxburghs.h.i.+re, on the 16th April 1782. The third son and seventh child of John Jerdan, a small land proprietor and baron-bailie under the Duke of Roxburghe, his paternal progenitors owned extensive possessions in the south-east of Scotland. His mother, Agnes Stuart, a woman of superior intelligence, claimed descent from the Royal House of Stuart. Educated at the parochial school of his native town, young Jerdan entered a lawyer's office, with a view to the legal profession.

Towards literary pursuits his attention was directed through the kindly intercourse of the Rev. Dr Rutherford, author of the "View of Ancient History," who then a.s.sisted the minister of Kelso, and subsequently became inc.u.mbent of Muirkirk. In 1801 he proceeded to London, where he was employed as clerk in a mercantile establishment. Returning to Scotland, he entered the office of a Writer to the Signet; but in 1804 he resumed his connexion with the metropolis. Suffering from impaired health, he was taken under the care of a maternal uncle, surgeon of the _Gladiator_ guard-s.h.i.+p. On the recommendation of this relative, he served as a seaman for a few months preceding February 1806. A third time seeking the literary world of London, he became reporter to the _Aurora_, a morning paper, of temporary duration. In January 1807, he joined the _Pilot_, an evening paper. Subsequently, he was one of the conductors of the _Morning Post_ and a reporter for the _British Press_. Purchasing the copyright of the _Satirist_, he for a short time edited that journal. In May 1813, he became conductor of _The Sun_, an appointment which he retained during a period of four years, but was led to relinquish from an untoward dispute with the publisher. He now entered on the editors.h.i.+p of the _Literary Gazette_, which he conducted till 1850, and with which his name will continue to be a.s.sociated.

During a period of nearly half a century, Mr Jerdan has occupied a prominent position in connexion with literature and politics. He was the first person who seized Bellingham, the murderer of Percival, in the lobby of the House of Commons. With Mr Canning he was on terms of intimacy. In 1821 he aided in establis.h.i.+ng the Royal Society of Literature. He was one of the founders of the Melodist's Club, for the promotion of harmony, and of the Garrick Club, for the patronage of the drama. In the affairs of the Royal Literary Fund he has manifested a deep interest. In 1830 he originated, in concert with other literary individuals, the _Foreign Literary Gazette_, of which he became joint-editor. About the same period, he wrote the biographical portion of Fisher's "National Portrait Gallery." In 1852-3 appeared his "Autobiography," in four volumes; a work containing many curious details respecting persons of eminence. In 1852 Mr Jerdan's services to literature were acknowledged by a pension of 100 on the Civil List, and about the same time he received a handsome pecuniary testimonial from his literary friends.

THE WEE BIRD'S SONG.[6]

I heard a wee bird singing, In my chamber as I lay; The cas.e.m.e.nt open swinging, As morning woke the day.

And the boughs around were twining, The bright sun through them s.h.i.+ning, And I had long been pining, For my Willie far away-- When I heard the wee bird singing.

He heard the wee bird singing, For its notes were wondrous clear; As if wedding bells were ringing, Melodious to the ear.

And still it rang that wee bird's song; Just like the bells--dong-ding, ding-dong; While my heart beat so quick and strong-- It felt that he was near!

And he heard the wee bird singing.

We heard the wee bird singing, After brief time had flown; The true bells had been ringing, And Willie was my own.

And oft I tell him, jesting, playing, I knew what the wee bird was saying, That morn, when he, no longer straying, Flew back to me alone.

And we love the wee bird singing.

FOOTNOTES:

[6] Here first published.

WHAT MAKES THIS HOUR?

What makes this hour a day to me?

What makes this day a year?

My own love promised we should meet-- But my own love is not here!

Ah! did she feel half what I feel, Her tryst she ne'er would break; She ne'er would lift this heart to hope, Then leave this heart to ache; And make the hour a day to me, And make the day a year; The hour she promised we should meet-- But my own love is not here.

Alas! can she inconstant prove?

Does sickness force her stay?

Or is it fate, or failing love, That keeps my love away, To make the hour a day to me, And make the day a year?

The hour and day we should have met-- But my own love is not here.

ALEXANDER BALD.

Alexander Bald was born at Alloa, on the 9th June 1783. His father, who bore the same Christian name, was a native of Culross, where he was originally employed in superintending the coal works in that vicinity, under the late Earl of Dundonald. He subsequently became agent for the collieries of John Francis Erskine, afterwards Earl of Mar. A book of arithmetical tables and calculations from his pen, ent.i.tled, "The Corn-dealer's a.s.sistant," was long recognised as an almost indispensable guide for tenant farmers.

The subject of this notice was early devoted to literary pursuits. Along with his friend, Mr John Grieve, the future patron of the Ettrick Shepherd, he made a visit to the forest bard, attracted by the merit of his compositions, long prior to his public recognition as a poet. He established a literary a.s.sociation in his native town, ent.i.tled, "The Shakspeare Club;" which, at its annual celebrations, was graced by the presence of men of genius and learning. To the _Scots' Magazine_ he became a poetical contributor early in the century. A man of elegant tastes and Christian worth, Mr Bald was a cherished a.s.sociate of the more distinguished literary Scotsmen of the past generation. During the period of half a century, he has conducted business in his native town as a timber merchant and brick manufacturer. His brother, Mr Robert Bald, is the distinguished mining engineer.

THE LILY OF THE VALE.[7]

TUNE--_'Ye banks and braes o' bonny Doon.'_

The lily of the vale is sweet, And sweeter still the op'ning rose, But sweeter far my Mary is Than any blooming flower that blows.

Whilst spring her fragrant blossoms spreads, I'll wander oft by Mary's side; And whisper saft the tender tale, By Forth, sweet Forth's meandering tide.

There will we walk at early dawn, Ere yet the sun begins to s.h.i.+ne; At eve oft, too, the lawn we'll tread, And mark that splendid orb's decline.

The fairest, choicest flowers I'll crop, To deck my lovely Mary's hair; And while I live, I vow and swear, She'll be my chief--my only care.

FOOTNOTES:

[7] This song was originally Published in the _Scots' Magazine_ for October 1806. In the "Book of Scottish Song," it has been attributed to Allan Ramsay.

HOW SWEET ARE THE BLUSHES OF MORN.

How sweet are the blushes of morn, And sweet is the gay blossom'd grove; The linnet chants sweet from the thorn, But sweeter's the smile of my love.

Awhile, my dear Mary, farewell, Since fate has decreed we should part; Thine image shall still with me dwell, Though absent, you'll reign in my heart.

But by winding Devon's green bowers, At eve's dewy hour as I rove, I'll grieve for the pride of her flowers, And the pride of her maidens, my love.

The music shall cease in the grove, Thine absence the linnet shall mourn; But the lark, in strains bearing love, Soft warbling, shall greet thy return.