And thine eye grateful turn'd-oh, so sweet were its charms, That it more than atoned the delay. I fear'd not, too slow of belief I fear'd not, too proud of thy heart, That another would steal on the hour of thy grief, That thy grief would be soft to his art. Thou heardst-and how easy allured Every vow of the past to forswear; The love, which for thee would all pangs have endured, Thou couldst smile as thou gav'st to despair. Ah, think not my passion has flown! Why say that my vows now are free? Why say yes! I feel that my heart is my own, I feel it is breaking for thee. THE NON-DESCRIPT.1 Thou nameless loveliness, whose mind, With every grace to soothe, to warm, Has lavish Nature bless'd, and shrined The sweetness in as soft a form! Say on what wonder-beaming soil Her sportive malice wrought thy form— That haughty science long might toil, Nor learn to fix thy doubtful name! For this she cull'd, with eager care, The scatter'd glories of her plan,All that adorns the softer fair, All that exalts the prouder man. And gay she triumph'd-now no more Her works shall daring systems bound; As though her skill inventive o'er, She only traced the forms she found. In vain to seek a kindred race, Tired through her mazy realms I stray; Where shall I rank thy radiant place? Thou dear perplexing creature, say! Thy smile so soft, thy heart so kind, Thy voice for pity's tones so fit-All speak thee Woman; but thy mind Lifts thee where bards and sages sit. 1 These verses were addressed by their author to Mrs. Dugald Stewart, and were by him entitled "The NonDescript-To a very Charming Monster."-ED. CONSOLATION OF ALTERED FORTUNES. Yes! the shades we must leave which my childhood has haunted; Each charm by endearing remembrance improved; These walks of our love, the sweet bower thou hast planted, We must leave them to cyes that will view them unmoved. Oh, weep not, my Fanny! though changed be our dwelling, We bear with us all, in the home of our mind; In virtues will glow that heart, fondly swelling, Affection's best treasure we leave not behind. I shall labour, but still by thy image attended,Can toil be severe which a smile can repay? How glad shall we meet! every care will be ended, And our evening of bliss will be more than a day. Content's cheerful beam will our cottage enlighten; New charms the new cares of thy love will inspire; Thy smiles, 'mid the smiles of our offspring, will lighten; I shall see it and oh, can I feel a desire? THE LUTE. Ah! do not bid me wake the lute, The voice which Henry ne'er can hear. Though many a month has pass'd since spring, His grave's wan turf has bloom'd anew; One whisper of those chords will bring, In all its grief, our last adieu. The songs he loved-'twere sure profane Though not a sound thy soul hath caught, A sweeter tenderness of thought Than all its living strings have shed. 'Twould speak no longer to my heart. Yet once too blest!-the moonlit grot, Still, silent slumbering, let it keep That sacred touch! And oh as dim JOSEPH TRAIN. BORN 1779- DIED 1852. JOSEPH TRAIN was born in the parish of | for his distinguished friend, as well as various Sorn, Ayrshire, November 6, 1779. When he was eight years of age his parents removed to Ayr, where, after being a short time at school, he was apprenticed to a trade, at which he continued for some years, zealously devoting his leisure time to mental improvement. In 1799 he entered the Ayrshire militia, and remained with his regiment for three years, till it was disbanded. On one occasion, when stationed at Inverness, he ordered a copy of Currie's edition of Burns, then sold for a guinea and a half. This circumstance becoming known to Sir David Hunter Blair, colonel of the regiment, he not only presented the book to Train, but interested himself in his behalf, and on the disbanding of the regiment obtained for him an agency for an extensive manufacturing firm in Glasgow. In 1808, through Sir David's influence, he obtained an appointment in the excise, which he held for nearly thirty years, when his name was placed on the retired list. objects of antiquity for the armoury at Abbotsford. Train was a frequent contributor of both prose and verse to such periodicals as Chambers's Journal, the Dumfries Magazine, &c. Having obtained from Scott a copy of Waldron's Description of the Isle of Man, a very scarce and curious work, he formed the design of writing a history of that island, which appeared in 1845, in two large octavo volumes. In the course of his researches for materials he obtained possession of several ancient records relative to the annals of the island, and transmitted to Sir Walter some interesting particulars to be found in Peveril of the Peak. Train's last work was The Buchanites from First to Last (Edinburgh, 1846), being the history of a religious sect once well known in Scotland. He died at Lochvale, Castle-Douglas, December 7, 1852, aged seventy-three years. In 1803 he married Miss Mary Wilson, by whom he had five children; and after his death a pension of £50 was conferred upon his widow and daughter by the government "in consequence of his personal services to literature and the valuable aid derived by the late Sir Walter Scott from his antiquarian and literary researches prosecuted under Sir Walter's direction." Train's first work was a small volume entitled Poetical Reveries, published in 1806, followed in 1814 by Strains of the Mountain Muse, which brought him under the notice of Sir Walter Scott, and during a long series of years Scott was indebted to him for many curious legendary tales, historical facts, and antiquarian ana, the fruits of which are found in the "Lay of the Last Minstrel," Guy Mannering, Old Mortality, and many other of the Waverley Novels. In 1820, through the kindly offices of Sir Walter, he was promoted to the position of supervisor, and was stationed successively at Cupar-Fife, Kirkintilloch, Queens-be useful to the greater poet than he abandoned ferry, Falkirk, and lastly, Castle-Douglas, from all of which districts he obtained curious data A writer in 1873 remarks: "Train was no mere dry-as-dust antiquarian. He was a man of taste and of some poetical ability. Already he had published two successive volumes of poetry before his acquaintance with Scott began. His second volume met with a very favourable reception. But no sooner did he discover how he could all ambitious aims for himself, and turned his efforts to promote the literary projects of his `friend, and that without pay, and apparently without expectation that his name would ever be heard in connection with his work. I doubt whether history can adduce another such instance of a literary man so consecrating himself to be absorbed into the splendour of another." BLOOMING JESSIE. On this unfrequented plain, What can gar thee sigh alane, Bonnie blue-eyed lassie? Is thy mammy dead and gane, Or thy loving Jamie slain? Wed anither, mak nae main, Bonnie blooming Jessie. Though I sob and sigh alane, Quo' the blue-eyed lassie. O' poor hapless Jessie. Ere he cross'd the raging sea, Bonnie blooming Jessie? Ca' thee blooming Jessie? Ere he cross'd the raging sea, Aft he on the dewy lea Ca'd me blue-eyed lassie. Weel I mind his words to me, Were, if he abroad should die, His last throb and sigh should be-- Far frae hame, and far frae thee, Bonnie, blue-eyed lassie. Crying, "Blooming Jessie!" Of the blue-eyed lassie. Langer wi' sic grief oppress'd See the blue-eyed lassie. Fast he clasp'd her to his breast, Told her a' his dangers past, Vow'd that he would wed at last, Bonnie, blooming Jessie. WI' DRUMS AND PIPES. Wi' drums and pipes the clachan rang, I left my goats to wander wide; And e'en as fast as I could bang, I bickered down the mountain side. My hazel rung and haslock plaid Awa' I flang wi' cauld disdain, Ye barons bold, whose turrets rise Wha fight your battles far awa'. The auld thing weel done o'er again. Right far a-fiel' I freely fought 'Gainst mony an outlandish loon; An' wi' my good claymore I've brought Mony a beardy birkie down: While I had pith to wield it roun', In battle I ne'er met wi' ane Could danton me, for Britain's crown, To do the same thing o'er again. Although I'm marching life's last stage, Wi' sorrow crowded roun' my brow; And though the knapsack o' auld age Hangs heavy on my shoulders nowYet recollection, ever new, Discharges a' my toil and pain, When fancy figures in my view The pleasant auld thing o'er again. GARRYHORN. Gin ye wad gang, lassie, to Garryhorn, Ye might be happy, I ween; Albeit the cuckoo was never heard there, And a swallow there never was scen. Although my mither should skelp through the I've loved thee, old Scotia, and love thee I will, mire, With her coats kilted up to the knee. I woo not for siller, my bonnie May, Sae dinna my offer scorn; Till the heart that now beats in my bosom is still. My forefathers loved thee, for often they drew Their dirks in defence of thy banners of blue; Though murky thy glens, where the wolf prowl'd of yore, "No! but ye maun speer at my minny," quo' she, And craggy thy mountains, where cataracts war, "Ere I gang to Garryhorn." MY DOGGIE. The neighbours a' they wonder now How kind she's to my doggie. Yestreen, as we linked o'er the lea, To meet her in the gloamin', She fondly on my Bawtie cried, Whene'er she saw us comin'. But was the tyke not e'en as kind, The race of old Albyn, when danger was nigh, For thee stood resolved still to conquer or die. I love yet to roam where the beacon-light rose, Where waved the blue flag when the battle was o'er. I love yet to roam o'er each field of thy fame, But let a foe face thee, raise fire on each hill, WALTER WATSON. BORN 1780- DIED 1854. WALTER WATSON, the author of several ad- | lished. Ten years later a selection of his best mirable songs and poems abounding in pawky pieces, with a memoir by Hugh Macdonald, Scottish humour, was born in the village of was published in Glasgow. In 1820 Watson Chryston, Lanarkshire, March 29, 1780. His left Chryston for Kilsyth, and after many father being in very humble circumstances migrations during the next thirty years he could give his son but a scanty education. finally settled at Duntiblae, near Kirkintilloch, When eight years old he was sent to herd cows where he died September 13, 1854. His rein summer, picking up a little more instruc- mains were interred in the churchyard of his tion during the winter months. After trying native parish, and a handsome granite monuweaving and other occupations for a time he ment was erected to his memory in 1875. at length, in 1799, enlisted in the famous cavalry regiment the Scots Greys, where he remained for three years, and was discharged on the reduction of the army after the peace of Amiens. It was about this period that he became known as a poet by the songs "Jockie's Far Awa," "Sae Will we yet," and others, which have acquired great popularity. After leaving the army Watson resumed his former trade of weaving, married, and settled in his native village. Encouraged by the success of his fugitive pieces, he published in 1808 a small volume of songs and ballads, which gained him something more than a local reputation. In 1823 a second volume appeared, and in 1843 a third collection of miscellaneous poems from his pen was pub A notice of the poet written at the time of his death says: "Independent of his merit as one of the best of our minor Scottish poets, he was a good and worthy man, beloved by all who knew him;" and the kindly hand of a brother poet thus sketches him in old age: "In the course of nature he is now drawing near the close of his career, and amidst age and the infirmities incident to a more than ordinarily extended span is now earning his living on the loom in the village of Duntiblae. Yet is the old man ever cheerful. He has many friends among his lowly compeers, and the respect in which he is held by them has been manifested in many ways, which must have been alike gratifying to his feelings and ameliorative of his necessities." MAGGIE AN' ME. The sweets o' the simmer invite us to wander Amang the wild flowers, as they deck the green lea; An' by the clear burnies that sweetly meander, To charm us, as hameward they rin to the sea. The nestlin's are fain the saft wing to be tryin', As fondly the dam the adventure is eyein', An' teachin' her notes, while wi' food she's supplyin' While lapt in its leaves lies the strawberry dainty, The future, by thee, is made almost the present; peasant, Thou lang hast befriended my Maggie an' me. Her tender young offspring, like Maggie an' Ere life was in bloom we had love in our glances, me. The corn in full ear, is now promisin' plenty, The red clusterin' row'ns bend the witchscarrin' tree, VOL. II.-C An' aft I had mine o' her bonnie blue e'e; We needit nae art to engage our young fancies, 'Twas done ere we kent, an' we own it wi glee. Now pleased, an' aye wishin' to please ane anither. |