The Modern Scottish Minstrel Volume Vi Part 18

The maidens are weeping in rocky Glencoe, From warriors' eyelids the bitter drops flow; They come--but, oh! where is their chieftain so dear?

The yellow-haired laddie is low on the bier.

The maidens are wailing in rocky Glencoe-- There 's gloom in the valley, at sunrise 'twill go; But no sun can the gloom from their hearts chase away-- The yellow-haired laddie lies cauld in the clay.

TELL ME, DEAR.

AIR--_"Loudon's bonnie Woods and Braes."_

Tell me dear! in mercy speak, Has Heaven heard my prayer, la.s.sie?

Faint the rose is on thy cheek, But still the rose is there, la.s.sie!

Away, away each dark foreboding, Heavy days with anguish clouding, Youthfu' love in sorrow shrouding, Heaven could ne'er allow, la.s.sie!

Day and night I've tended thee, Watching, love, thy changing e'e; Dearest gift that Heaven could gi'e, Say thou 'rt happy now, la.s.sie!

Willie, lay thy cheek to mine-- Kiss me, oh! my ain laddie!

Never mair may lip o' thine Press where it hath lain, laddie!

Hark! I hear the angels calling, Heavenly strains are round me falling, But the stroke--thy soul appalling-- 'Tis my only pain, laddie!

Yet the love I bear to thee Shall follow where I soon maun be; I 'll tell how gude thou wert to me-- We part to meet again, laddie!

Lay thine arm beneath my head-- Grieve na sae for me, laddie!

I'll thole the doom that lays me dead, But no a tear frae thee, laddie!

Aft where yon dark tree is spreading, When the sun's last beam is shedding, Where no earthly foot is treading, By my grave thou 'lt be, laddie!

Though my sleep be wi' the dead, Frae on high my soul shall speed, And hover nightly round thy head, Although thou wilt na see, laddie.

WILLIAM CADENHEAD.

William Cadenhead was born at Aberdeen on the 6th April 1819. With a limited education at school, he was put to employment in a factory in his ninth year. His leisure hours were devoted to mental culture, and ramblings in the country. The perusal of Beattie's _Minstrel_ inspired him with the love of poetry, and at an early age his compositions in verse were admitted in the Poet's Corner of the _Aberdeen Herald_. In 1819 he published a small poetical work, ent.i.tled "The Prophecy," which, affording decided evidence of power, established his local reputation.

Having contributed verses for some years to several periodicals and the local journals, he published a collection of these in 1853, with the t.i.tle, "Flights of Fancy, and Lays of Bon-Accord." "The New Book of Bon-Accord," a guide-book to his native town on an original plan, appeared from his pen in 1856. For three years he has held a comfortable and congenial appointment as confidential clerk to a merchant in his native city. He continues to contribute verses to the periodicals.

DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE BIRDS ARE SINGING?

Do you know what the birds are singing?

Can you tell their sweet refrains, When the green arch'd woods are ringing With a thousand swelling strains?

To the sad they sing of sadness, To the blythe, of mirth and glee, And to me, in my fond love's gladness, They sing alone of thee!

They sing alone of thee, love, Of thee, through the whole day long, And each its own dear charm extols, And each with its own sweet song!

Do you know what the soft winds whisper When they sigh through blooming trees-- When each bough is a choral lisper Of the woodland melodies?

To some they seem to be grieving For the summer's short-lived glee; But to me they are always weaving Sweet songs in praise of thee!

Sweet songs in praise of thee, love, And telling the flowers below, How far thy charms outs.h.i.+ne them all, Though brightly their soft leaves glow!

Do you know what the streamlet trilleth As it glides or leaps along, While the cool green nook it filleth With the gushes of its song?

Do you think it sings its dreaming Of its distant home, the sea?

Oh, no, but the voice of its streaming Is still of thee, of thee!

Is still of thee, of thee, love, Till echoes and woodland fays-- Yea, Nature all is eloquent And vocal in thy praise.

AN HOUR WITH AN OLD LOVE.

Lat me look into thy face, Jeanie, As I 've look'd in days gane by, When you gae me kiss for kiss, Jeanie, And answer'd sigh for sigh; When in our youth's first flame, Jeanie, Although poor and lane together, We had wealth in our ain love, Jeanie, And were a' to ane anither!

Oh, blessin's on thy lips, Jeanie, They ance were dear to me, As the honey-savour'd blossoms To the nectar-hunting bee!

It kens whar dwalls the banquets O' the sweetest dewy wine-- And as the chosen flower to it, Sae were thy lips to mine.

I see thy very thochts, Jeanie, Deep in thy clear blue e'e, As ye 'll see the silver fishes flash, When ye sail the midnicht sea; And ye needna close the lids, Jeanie, Though the thochts they are nae mine, For I see there 's nae repentant ane, That they ance were sae langsyne.

Oh, lat me hear thy voice, Jeanie-- Ay, that 's the very chime, Whase silver echoes haunted me Through a' my youthfu' prime.

Speak on! thy gentle words, Jeanie, Awake a blessed train Of memories that I thocht had slept To never wake again!

G.o.d's blessin's on your heart, Jeanie, And your face sae angel fair!

May the ane be never pierced wi' grief, Nor the ither blanch'd wi' care; And he wha has your love, Jeanie, May he be dear to thee, As I may aiblins ance have been-- And as thou 'rt still to me!

ALLAN GIBSON.

A poet of sentiment and moral feeling, Allan Gibson was removed from the scene at the threshold of a promising career. He was born at Paisley on the 2d October 1820. In his boyhood he devoted himself to the perusal of works of history and romance; and he acquired a familiarity with the more distinguished British poets. It was his delight to stray amidst rural scenes, and to imbibe inspiration among the solitudes of nature.

His verses were composed at such periods. They are prefaced by prose reflections, and abound in delicate colouring and gentle pathos. Several detached specimens of his prose writing are elegant and masterly. He followed an industrial occupation, but was unfortunate in business.

After an illness of two years, he died on the 9th August 1849, at the early age of twenty-nine. He was possessed of much general talent; was fond of society, fluent in conversation, and eloquent as a public speaker. His habits were sober and retiring. He left a widow and four children. A thin 8vo volume of his "Literary Remains" was published in 1850, for the benefit of his family.

THE LANE AULD MAN.

He sorrowfu' sat by the ingle cheek, Its hearth was cauld to his weary feet, For a' were gane, an' nae mair would meet By the side o' the lane auld man.

To the wreck o' his hopes fond memory clung When flowers o' his heart on his hearthstane sprung; But death's cauld hand had cruelly wrung The heart o' the lane auld man.

A leafless tree in life's wintry blast, He stood alane o' his kin the last, For ane by ane frae his side they pa.s.s'd, An' left him a lane auld man.

His bonnie bairns, o' his heart the prize, Wi' their bounding step and sunny eyes, Hae left his hearth for hame in the skies; Alack for the lane auld man!