The sailor spreads the daring sail, Through billows chafed and foaming, But lays, wi' pride, his laurels down, The monarch leaves his golden throne, Though all were mine e'er man possess'd, Barbarian, Greek, or Roman, What would earth be, frae east to west, This very clever song has failed to find public favour: the ladies, on whom it lavishes such praise, have treated it with coldness and neglect. It first appeared in Johnson's Musical Museum: the author's name is John Learmont, and he was a gardener at Dalkeith. He was one of those lesser spirits whom the success of Burns called into the world for a little space. He seems to have had some of the right stuff about him for a lyric poet. This song is very happily imagined, but the execution is unequal. THE WAYWARD WIFE. Alas! my son, you little know Your hopes are high, your wisdom small, Stay Solway's tide, rule Criffel's wind, Whate'er you love she'll mock and scorn, When I, like you, was young and free, Great Hercules and Sampson too Stout gates of brass, and well-built walls, This clever song was written by Miss Jenny Grahame of Dumfries, a maiden lady of lively wit, fascinating manners, and in her youth one of the most accomplished dancers in the district. She composed many other verses, but the present song alone escaped from her hand into popularity. In the Orlando Furioso of Sir John Harrington we meet with the proverbial line, The black oxe has not trod on their toe; and in the north of England it still continues to be applied in the manner of the song. THE MILLER. merry may the maid be For foul day or fair day He's ay bringing till her; Has ay a penny in his pouch, Has something het for supper, Wi' beef and pease, and melting cheese, An' lumps o' yellow butter. Behind the door stand bags o' meal, And in the ark is plenty; And good hard cakes his mither bakes, A good fat sow, a sleeky cow, Good signs are these, my mither says, She'll ay hae eggs in plenty. In winter time, when wind and sleet Before a rousing fire; O'er foaming ale he tells his tale; And ay to show he's happy, He claps his weans, and dawtes his wife The Miller was written by Sir John Clerk of Pennycuick, and first made its appearance in Yair's Charmer, in the year 1751. The commencing lines form part of a more ancient song, into the peculiar tact of which the poet has entered with much truth and felicity. The present copy varies from other versions; it has spared a verse from the narrative which the story seemed not to want, and where it departs from the earlier copies it departs for the sake of nature and truth. On the whole, it presents a very pleasing picture of rustic enjoyment. |