The Modern Scottish Minstrel Volume V Part 34

Jane Cross Bell, better known by her a.s.sumed name of "Gertrude," is the daughter of the late James Bell, Esq., Advocate, and was born in Glasgow. Her first effusions, written in early youth, were published in the _Greenock Advertiser_, while her father for a short time resided in that town, as a.s.sessor to the Magistrates. To the pages of the _Edinburgh Literary Journal_ she afterwards contributed numerous poetical compositions, and subsequently various articles in prose and verse to the _Scottish Christian Herald_, then under the able editors.h.i.+p of the Rev. Dr Gardner. In 1836, "Gertrude" published a small volume of tales and sketches, ent.i.tled, "The Piety of Daily Life;" and, in 1838, a duodecimo volume of lyric poetry, named, "April Hours." Her latest work, "Woman's History," appeared in 1848.

In July 1837, Miss Bell was married to her cousin, Mr J. B. Simpson, and has since resided chiefly in Glasgow. Amidst numerous domestic avocations in which she has latterly been involved, Mrs Simpson continues to devote a considerable portion of her time to literary pursuits. She is at present engaged in a poetical work of a more ambitious description than any she has yet offered to the public.

GENTLENESS.

Oh! the winning charm of gentleness, so beautiful to me, 'Tis this has bound my soul so long, so tenderly, to thee; The gentle heart, like jewel bright, beneath the ocean blue, In every look and tone of thine, still s.h.i.+ning sweetly through!

What though the crowd with wonder bow, before great genius' fire, And wit, with lightning flash, commands to reverence and admire; 'Tis gentleness alone that gains the tribute of our love, And falls upon the ear, like dew on flowers, from heaven above!

Ah! many a day has pa.s.s'd since then, yet I remember well, Once from my lips an angry thought, in hasty accents fell; A word of wrath I utter'd, in a light and wayward mood-- Of wrath to thee, my earliest friend, the n.o.ble and the good!

No answering words were given for mine, but, calm and bright as now, Thy speaking eyes a moment dwelt upon my ruffled brow, And then a sweet, forgiving smile came o'er thy pensive face, And thy hand was softly tender'd me, with melancholy grace.

An instant mute and motionless, before thee did I stand, And gazed upon thy placid mien, thy smile, thy proffer'd hand-- Ah! ne'er could angel, sent to walk this earth of sinful men, Look lovelier in his robes of light, than thou to me wert then!

I long'd to weep--I strove to speak--no words came from my tongue, Then silently to thy embrace, I wildly, fondly sprung; The sting of guilt, like lightning, struck to my awaken'd mind; I could have borne to meet thy wrath--'twas death to see thee kind!

'Tis ever thus! when anger wins but anger in return, A trifle grows a thing of weight, and fast the fire will burn; But when reproachful words are still in mild forgiveness past, The proudest soul will own his fault, and melt in tears at last!

O Gentleness! thy gentleness, so beautiful to me!

It will ever bind my heart in love and tenderness to thee; I bless thee for all high-born thoughts, that fill that breast of thine, But most, I bless thee for that gift of gentleness divine!

HE LOVED HER FOR HER MERRY EYE.

He loved her for her merry eye, That, like the vesper star, In evening's blue and deepening sky, Shed light and joy afar!

He loved her for her golden hair, That o'er her shoulders hung; He loved her for her happy voice, The music of her tongue.

He loved her for her airy form Of animated grace; He loved her for the light of soul, That brighten'd in her face.

He loved her for her simple heart, A shrine of gentle things; He loved her for her sunny hopes, Her gay imaginings.

But not for him that bosom beat, Or glanced that merry eye, Beneath whose diamond light he felt It would be heaven to die.

He never told her of his love, He breathed no prayer--no vow; But sat in silence by her side, And gazed upon her brow.

And when, at length, she pa.s.s'd away, Another's smiling bride, He made his home 'mid ocean's waves-- He died upon its tide.

LIFE AND DEATH.

To live in cities--and to join The loud and busy throng, Who press with mad and giddy haste, In pleasure's chase along; To yield the soul to fas.h.i.+on's rules, Ambition's varied strife; Borne like a leaf upon the stream-- Oh! no--this is not life!

To pa.s.s the calm and pleasant hours, By wild wood, hill, and grove, And find a heaven in solitude, With one we deeply love; To know the wealth of happiness, That each to each can give, And feel no power can sever us-- Ah! this it is to live!

It is not death, when on the couch Of sickness we are laid, With all our spirit wasted, And the bloom of youth decay'd; To feel the shadow dim our eyes, And pant for failing breath; Then break at length life's feeble hain-- Oh, no! this is not death!

To part from one beneath whose smiles We long were used to dwell, To hear the lips we love p.r.o.nounce A pa.s.sionate farewell; To catch the last _too_ tender glance Of an adoring eye, And weep in solitude of heart-- Ah! this it is to die!

GOOD NIGHT.

Good night! the silver stars are clear, On evening's placid brow; We have been long together, love-- We must part now.

Good night! I never can forget This long bright summer day, We pa.s.s'd among the woods and streams, Far, far away!

Good night! we have had happy smiles, Fond dreams, and wishes true, And holier thoughts and communings, And weeping too.

Good night! perchance I ne'er may spend Again so sweet a time, Alone with Nature and with thee, In my life's prime!

Good night! yet e'er we sever, love, Take thou this faded flower, And lay it next thy heart, against Our meeting hour.

Good night! the silver stars are clear, Thy homeward way to light; Remember this long summer day-- Good night! good night!

ANDREW PARK.

The author of numerous poetical works, Andrew Park was born at Renfrew, on the 7th March 1811. After an ordinary education at the parish school, he attended during two sessions the University of Glasgow. In his fifteenth year he entered a commission warehouse in Paisley, and while resident in that town, published his first poem, ent.i.tled the "Vision of Mankind." About the age of twenty he went to Glasgow, as salesman in a hat manufactory; and shortly after, he commenced business on his own account. At this period he published several additional volumes of poems. His business falling off in consequence of a visitation of cholera in the city, he disposed of his stock and proceeded to London, to follow the career of a man of letters. After some years' residence in the metropolis, he returned to Glasgow in 1841; and having purchased the stock of the poet Dugald Moore, recently deceased, he became a bookseller in Ingram Street. The speculation proved unfortunate, and he finally retired from the concerns of business. He has since lived princ.i.p.ally in Glasgow, but occasionally in London. In 1856 he visited Egypt and other Eastern countries, and the following year published a narrative of his travels in a duodecimo volume, ent.i.tled, "Egypt and the East."

Of the twelve volumes of poems which Mr Park has given to the public, that ent.i.tled "Silent Love" has been the most popular. It has appeared in a handsome form, with ill.u.s.trations by J. Noel Paton, R.S.A. In one of his poems, ent.i.tled "Veritas," published in 1849, he has supplied a narrative of the princ.i.p.al events of his life up to that period. Of his numerous songs, several have obtained a wide popularity. The whole of his poetical works were published in 1854, by Bogue of London, in a handsome volume, royal octavo.

HURRAH FOR THE HIGHLANDS.

Hurrah for the Highlands! the stern Scottish Highlands, The home of the clansmen, the brave and the free; Where the clouds love to rest, on the mountain's rough breast Ere they journey afar o'er the islandless sea.

'Tis there where the cataract sings to the breeze, As it dashes in foam like a spirit of light; And 'tis there the bold fisherman bounds o'er the seas, In his fleet tiny bark, through the perilous night.