AFTON WATER.* BURNS. TUNE-The Yellow-hair'd Laddie. FLOW gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes, Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds through the glen, How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills, How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes; "The pastoral feeling which Burns infused into this song, is in strict conformity with nature. The woodland primrose, the scented birk, the note of the blackbird, the call of the lapwing and the cushat, the flowery MACPHERSON'S FAREWELL. BURNS. TUNE-Macpherson's Rant. FAREWEIL, ye prisons dark and strong, Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, He play'd a spring, and danced it round, Oh, what is death, but parting breath? I've daur'd his face, and in this place Untie these bands frae aff my hands, I've lived a life of sturt and strife; I die by treacherie : It burns my heart I must depart, And not avenged be. Now fareweil, light, thou sunshine bright, And all beneath the sky! brae, and a fair heroine, are found now, as they were then, on the banks of this little stream. Time, which works such havoc with pastoral landscape, can take nothing away from Afton, unless it dries up the stream, and strikes the land with barrenness. Afton Water is in Ayrshire, and is one of the numerous streams which augment the Nith. The song was written in honour of Mrs Dugald Stewart, of Afton Lodge-an accomplished lady, and excellent lyric poetess; and the first person of any note who perceived and acknowledged the genius of Burns."--Cunningham's Songs of Scotland, Vol. IV. p. 45. May coward shame distain his name, The wretch that dares not die !* The story of Macpherson is thus detailed by a person signing himself B. G., New Monthly Magazine, vol. I. p. 142:-" James Macpherson was born of a beautiful gipsy, who, at a great wedding, attracted the notice of a half-intoxicated Highland gentleman. He acknowledged the child, and had him reared in his house, until he lost his life in bravely pursuing a hostile clan, to recover a spreach of cattle taken from Badenoch. The gipsy woman, hearing of this disaster, in her rambles the following summer, came and took away her boy; but she often returned with him, to wait upon his relations and clansmen, who never failed to clothe him well, besides giving money to his mother. He grew up to beauty, strength, and stature, rarely equalled. His sword is still preserved at Duff House, a residence of the Earl of Fife, and few men of our day could carry, far less wield it, as a weapon of war; and if it must be owned that his prowess was debased by the exploits of a free-booter, it is certain, no act of cruelty, no robbery of the widow, the fatherless, or distressed, and no murder, were ever perpetrated under his command. He often gave the spoils of the rich to relieve the poor; and all his tribe were restrained from many atrocities of rapine by the awe of his mighty arm. Indeed, it is said that a dispute with an aspiring and savage man of his tribe, who wished to rob a gentleman's house while his wife and two children lay on the bier for interment, was the cause of his being betrayed to the vengeance of the law. The Magistrates of Aberdeen were exasperated at Macpherson's escape, and bribed a girl in that city to allure and deliver him into their hands. There is a platform before the jail, at the top of a stair, and a door below. When Macpherson's capture was made known to his comrades by the frantic girl, who had been so credulous as to believe the magistrates only wanted to hear the wonderful performer on the violin, his cousin, Donald Macpherson, a gentleman of Herculean powers, did not disdain to come from Badenoch, and to join a gipsy, Peter Brown, in liberating the prisoner. On a market-day they brought several assistants; and swift horses were stationed at a convenient distance. Donald Macpherson and Peter Brown forced the jail; and while Peter Brown went to help the heavily-fettered James Macpherson in moving away, Donald Macpherson guarded the jaildoor with a drawn sword. Many persons assembled at the market had experienced James Macpherson's humanity, or had shared his bounty; and they crowded round the jail as in mere curiosity, but, in fact, to obstruct the civil authorities in their attempts to prevent a rescue. A butcher, however, was resolved to detain Macpherson, expecting a large recompense from the magistrates: he sprung up the stairs, and leaped from the platform upon Donald Macpherson, whom he dashed to the ground by the force and weight of his body. Donald Macpherson soon recovered, to make a desperate resistance; and the combatants tore off each other's clothes. The butcher got a glimpse of his dog upon the platform, and called him to his aid: but Macpherson, with admirable presence of mind, snatched up his own plaid, which lay near, and threw it over the butcher, thus misleading the instinct of his canine adversary. The dog darted with fury upon the plaid, and terribly lacerated his master's thigh. In the meantime, James Macpherson had been carried out by Peter Brown, and was soon joined by Donald Macpherson, who was quickly covered by some friendly spectator with a hat and great coat. The magistrates ordered webs from the shops to be drawn across the Gallowgate; but Donald Macpherson cut them asunder with his sword, and James, the late prisoner, got off on horseback. He was, some time after, betrayed by a man of his own tribe; and was the last person executed at Banff, previous to the abolition of hereditable jurisdiction. He was an admirable performer on the violin; and his talent for composition is still evidenced by Macpherson's Rant, and Macpherson's Pibroch. He performed these tunes at the foot of the fatal tree; and then asked if he had any friend in the crowd to whom a last gift of his instrument would be acceptable. No man had hardihood to claim MACPHERSON'S RANT. I've spent my time in rioting, I'm brought to punishment direct; To hang upon a tree, a tree! That cursed unhappy death! Did not my courage singular No man on earth, that draweth breath, I dared my foes unto their face, Then wonder one like me so stout Should hang upon a tree. The Egyptian band I did command, With courage more by far, friendship with a delinquent, in whose crimes the acknowledgment might implicate an avowed acquaintance. As no friend came forward, Macplierson said, the companion of so many gloomy hours should perish with him; and, breaking the violin over his knee, he threw away the fragments. Donald Macpherson picked up the neck of the violin, which to this day is preserved, as a valuable memento, by the family of Cluny, chieftain of the Macphersons." The old ballad, for which Burns substituted the above beautiful verses, is given, in continuation, from Herd's Collection of Scottish Songs [1776.] H Than ever did a general Being fear'd by all, both great and small, As for my life I do not care, But Peter Brown, that notour loun, Both law and justice buried are, The Laird of Grant, that Highland saunt, He pleads the cause of Peter Brown, The destiny of my life, contrived But Braco Duff, in rage enough, As for my life, it is but short, |