The Modern Scottish Minstrel Volume Vi Part 21

OUR NATIVE HILLS AGAIN.

Oh, swiftly bounds our gallant bark Across the ocean drear, While manly cheeks are pale wi' grief, And wet wi' sorrow's tear.

The flowers that spring upon the Clyde Will bloom for us in vain; Nae mair wi' lightsome step we 'll climb Our native hills again.

Amang their glens our fathers sleep, Where mony a thistle waves; And roses fair and gowans meek Bloom owre their lowly graves.

But we maun dree a sadder fate Far owre the stormy main; We lang may look, but never see Our native hills again.

Yet, 'mid the forests o' the west, When starnies light the sky, We'll gather round the ingle's side, And sing o' days gane by; And sunny blinks o' joy will come To soothe us when alane, And aft, in nightly dreams, we'll climb Our native hills again.

HERE 'S A HEALTH TO SCOTIA'S Sh.o.r.e.

_Music by Alexander Hume._

Sing not to me of sunny sh.o.r.es Or verdant climes where olives bloom, Where, still and calm, the river pours Its flood, 'mid groves of rich perfume; Give me the land where torrents flash, Where loud the angry cat'racts roar, As wildly on their course they dash-- Then here's a health to Scotia's sh.o.r.e.

Sing not to me of sunny isles, Though there eternal summers reign, Where many a dark-eyed maiden smiles, And gaudy flow'rets deck the plain; Give me the land of mountains steep, Where wild and free the eagles soar, The dizzy crags, where tempests sweep-- Then here's a health to Scotia's sh.o.r.e.

Sing not to me of sunny lands, For there full often tyrants sway Who climb to power with blood-stain'd hands, While crouching, trembling slaves obey; Give me the land unconquer'd still, Though often tried in days of yore, Where freedom reigns from plain to hill-- Then here's a health to Scotia's sh.o.r.e.

THE DAYS WHEN WE WERE YOUNG.

The happy days of yore!

Will they ever come again, To shed a gleam of joy on us, And win the heart from pain?

Or will they only come in dreams, When nicht's black curtain 's hung?

Yet even then 'tis sweet to mind The days when we were young.

Fond mem'ry, wi' its mystic power, Brings early scenes to view-- Again we roam among the hills, Sae wat wi' morning dew-- Again we climb the broomy knowes, And sing wi' prattlin' tongue, For we had nae cares to fash us In the days when we were young.

How aft, when we were callants, Hae we sought the ocean's sh.o.r.e, And launch'd wi' glee our tiny boats, And heard the billows roar?

And aft amang the glancin' waves In daring sport we 've sprung, And swam till we were wearied, In the days when we were young.

In winter, round the ingle side, We 've read wi' kindling e'e, How Wallace Wight, and Bruce the Bold, Aft made the southrons flee; Or listen'd to some bonnie sang, By bonnie la.s.sie sung: Oh! love and happiness were ours, In days when we were young.

Oh! his maun be a waefu' heart That has nae sunny gleams Of by-gane joys in early days, Though it be but in dreams: Wha thinks nae o' his mither's arms, Sae aft around him flung, To s.h.i.+eld him safe frae earthly harms, In days when he was young:

Wha thinks nae o' his sisters fair, That toddled out and in, And ran about the braes wi' him, And play'd wi' meikle din; And his maun be a barren heart, Where love has never sprung, Wha thinks nae o' the days gane by The days when he was young.

LIZZIE FREW.

'Twas a balmy summer gloamin', When the sun had gane to rest, And his gowden beams were glintin'

Owre the hills far in the west; And upon the snawy gowan Saftly fell the pearly dew, When I met my heart's best treasure, Gentle, winsome Lizzy Frew.

Light she tripp'd amang the bracken, While her glossy waving hair Play'd around her gentle bosom, Dancing in the summer air.

Love laugh'd in her een sae paukie, Smiles play'd round her rosy mou', And my heart was led a captive By the charms o' Lizzie Frew.

Thochts o' her can mak' me cheerie, As I toil the lee-lang day; And at nicht, though e'er sae wearie, Gladly out wi' her I stray.

I ask nae for a greater pleasure, Than to ken her heart is true-- I ask nae for a greater treasure, Than my gentle Lizzie Frew.

COLIN RAE BROWN.

The son of a respectable s.h.i.+powner and captain in the merchant service, Colin Rae Brown was born at Greenock on the 19th of December 1821.

Having completed his education in Glasgow, whither the family removed in 1829, he entered a mercantile warehouse. In 1842, he formed a connexion with the publis.h.i.+ng house of Messrs Murray and Sons, Glasgow, and undertook the management of a branch of the business at Greenock. On the establishment in Glasgow of the _North British Daily Mail_, he accepted an offer by the proprietor to become the publisher of that newspaper.

When the _Mail_ pa.s.sed into the hands of other proprietors, Mr Brown established, in conjunction with a partner, the Fine Art Gallery in St Vincent Street, with which he continues to be connected. In 1848 he published a volume of lyrics, which was well received; a second poetical work from his pen, which appeared in 1855, with the t.i.tle, "Lays and Lyrics," has met with similar success. A number of songs from both volumes have been published separately with music. On the abolition of the stamp-duty on newspapers in 1855, Mr Brown originated the _Bulletin_ and _Workman_, a daily and a weekly newspaper, both published in Glasgow.

CHARLIE 'S COMIN'.

Charlie 's comin' o'er the sea, Soon, he 'll set the country free From those that bear the rule and gree In bonnie Caledonia!

Gentle breezes, softly blow, We burn until we meet the foe, And strike the bold decisive blow For king and Caledonia!

n.o.ble hearts are beating high, All will fight, none basely fly, For if they conquer not, they 'll die For ancient Caledonia!

Oh, that Charlie were but here!

The base usurper then might fear-- As loud the din fell on his ear Of joy in Caledonia!

Heard ye not that distant hum?

And now the pipe, and now the drum, Proclaim the news that Charlie 's come To gladden Caledonia!

Tyrants, tremble, Charlie 's here!

Now, indeed, ye 've cause to fear; Hielan' hearts be of good cheer, And on for Caledonia!

THE WIDOW'S DAUGHTER.

Why gaze on that pale face, Childless one, childless one?