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By lanely 'Clouden's hermit stream,

How rosie are thy parting lips, Dwalls monie a gentle dame, I trow!

How lilie-white thy skin.

An' weel I wat thae kissing een 0, they are lights of a bonnie kind, As ever shone on vale or hill;

Wad tempt a saint to sin.' But there's a light puts them a' out,

Tak aff thae bars an' bobs o' gowd, The lovely lass o' Preston Mill.

Wi' thy gared doublet fine;

An' thraw me aff thy green mantle, We finish our quotations from this Leafed wi' the siller twine. somewhat mysterious volume with the An' a' in courtesie fair knight,

A maiden's mind to win, longest poem in it; and as there is

The gowd lacings o' thy green weeds, no doubt whatever, that it is by Allan

Wad harm her lilie skin.' Cunningham, our readers will, from Syne coost he aff his green mantle,

Hemmd wi' the red gowd roun'; its perusal, judge for themselves of his

His costly doublet coost he aff, powers as a poet.

Wi' red gowd flow'red down.
There's a maid has sat o' the green merse side • Now ye maun kame my yellow hair,
Thae ten lang years and mair;

Down wi' my pearlie kame;
An'every first night o' the new moon

Then rowe me in thy green mantle, She kámes her yellow hair.

An' take me maiden hame.' An'ay while she sheds the yellow burning gowd, But come first tauk me 'neath the chin, Fu'sweet she sings and hie,

An' syne come kiss my cheek; Till the fairest bird that wooes the green wood,

An' spread my hanks o' watry hair, Is charmed wi' her melodte.

l'the new-moon beam to dreep.' But whae'er listens to that sweet sang,

Sae first he kiss'd her dimpled chin, Or gangs the fair dame te;

Syne kissed her rosie cheek; Ne'er hears the sang o' the lark again,

An' lang he woo'd her willin' lips, Nor waukens an earthlie ee.

Like hether-hinnie sweet! It fell in about the sweet simmer month, l' the first come o' the moon,

0! if ye'll come to the bonnie Cowehill, That she sat o' the tap of a sea-weed rock,

"Mang primrose banks to woo,

I'll wash thée ilk day i'the new milked milk, A-kaming her silk-locks down.

An' bind wi' gowd yere brow. Her kame was o' the whitely pearl,

An' a' for a drink o' the clear water Her hand like new-won milk;

Ye'se hae the rosie wine, Her breasts were o' the snawy curd,

An' a' for the water white lilie, In a net o' sea-green silk.

Ye'se hae these arms o' mine.' She kamed her locks owre her white shoulders,

But what 'll she say, yere bonnie young bride A fleece baith bonny and lang;

Busked wi' the siller fine; An' ilka ringlet she shed frae her brows,

Whan the rich kisses ye kept for her lips, She raised a lightsome sang.

Are left wi' vows on mine? l' the very first liit o' that sweet sang,

He took his lips frae her red-rose mou', The birds forhood their young;

His arm frae her waist sae sma'; And they flew i' the gate o' the gray howlet, • Sweet maiden, I'm in brydal speed. To listen the sweet maiden.

It's time I were awa.' I the second lilt o' that sweet sang,

O gie me a token o'luve sweet May, O sweetness it was sae fu';

A leal luve token true;' The tod lap up owre our fauld-dyke,

She crapped a lock o' yellow gowden hair, And dighted his red-wat mou.

An' knotted it roun' his brow, l'the very third lilt o' that sweet sang,

O tie nae it sae strait, sweet May, Red lowed the new woke moon;

But wi' love's rose-knot kynde; The stars drapped blude on the yellow gowan tap,

My head is fu' o' burning pain, Sax miles round that maiden.

O saft ye maun it bynde.' • I haedwalt on the Nith,' quo' the young Cowehill,

His skin turned a' o' the red-rose hue, · These twenty years an' three,

Wi' draps o' bludie sweat; But the sweetest sang e'er brake frae a lip,

An' he laid his head 'mang the water lilies, Comes through the greenwood to me.

• Sweet maiden, I maun sleep. O is it a voice frae twa earthlie lips,

She tyed ae link o' her wat yellow hair, Whilk makes sic melodie ?

Aboon his burning bree; It wad wyle the lark frae the morning lift,

Among his curling haffet locks And weel may it wyle me!'

She knotted knurles three. • I dreamed a dreary thing, master,

She weaved owre his brow the white lilie, Whilk I am rad ye rede;

Wi' witch-knots mae than nine; I dreamed ye kissed a pair o' sweet lips,

* Gif ye were seven times bride-groom owre, That drapped o' red heart's-blude.'

This night ye shall be mine." • Come haud my steed, ye little foot-page,

O twice he turned his sinking head, Shod wi' the red gowd roun’;

An' twice he lifted his ee; Till I kiss the lips whilk sing sae sweet,

O twice he sought to lift the links An' lightlie lap he down.

Were knotted owre his bree. • Kiss nae the singer's lips, master,

* Arise, sweet knight, yere young bride waits, Kiss nae the singer's chin;

An' doubts her ale will sowre; Touch nae her hand,' quo' the little foot-page, An' wistly looks at the lily white sheets, • If skaithless hame ye'd win.

Down spread in ladie-bowre.' O wha will sit on yere toom saddle,

An' she has prenned the broidered silk, O wha will bruik yere gluve;

About her white hause bane; An' wha will fauld yere erled bride,

Her princely petticoat is on, l' the kindlie clasps o' luve?'

Wi' gowd can stan’ its lane. He took aff his hat, a' gowd i' the rim,

He faintlie, slowlie, turn'd his cheek, Knot wi'a siller ban';

And faintly lift his ee, He seemed a' in lowe wi' his gowd raiment,

And he strave to lowse the witching bands As thro' the greenwood he ran.

Aboon his burning bree. • The simmer-dew fa's saft, fair maid,

Then took she up his green mantle Aneath the siller moon :

Of lowing gowd the hem; But eerie is thy seat i' the rock,

Then took she up his silken cap, Washed wi' the white sea faem.

Rich wi' a siller stem; Come wash me wi' thy lilie white hand,

An' she threw them wi' her lilie hand Below and 'boon the knee:

Amang the white sea faem. An' i'll kame thae links o' yellow burning gowd,

She took the bride ring frac his finger Aboon thy bonnie blue ee.

An' threw it in the sea :

"That hand shall mense nae ither ring

She sat high on the tap towre stane, But wi' the will o' me.

Nae waiting May was there; She faulded him i' her lilie arms,

She lowsed the gowd busk frae her breast, An' left her pearlie kame;

The kame frae 'mang her hair ;

She wiped the tear-blobs frae her ee,
His fleecy locks trailed owre the sand
As she took the white sea-faem.

And looked lang and sair!
First raise the star out owre the hill,

First sang to her the blythe wee bird, And niest the lovelier moon:

Frae aff the hawthorn green ; While the beauteous bride o' Gallowa

• Loose out the love curls frae yere hair, Looked for her blythe bride-groom.

Ye plaited sae weel yestreen.' Lythlie she sang while the new-moon raise,

An' the spreckled woodlark frae 'mang the clouds Blythe as a young bride May,

O' heaven came singing down; When the new-moon lights her lamp o' luve,

« Tauk out the bride-knots frae yere hair An' blinks the bryde away.

An' let thae lang locks down.' • Nithsdale, thou art a gay garden,

Come, byde wi' me, ye pair oʻsweet birds, Wi' monie a winsome flower ;

Come down an' byde wi' me; But the princeliest rose o' that garden

Ye sall peckle o' the bread an' drink o' the wine, Maun blossom in my bower.

An' gowd yere cage sall be.' An' I will kepp the drapping dew

She laid the bride-cake 'neath her head, Frae my red rose's tap,

An' syne below her feet; An' the balmy blobs o ilka leaf,

An' laid her down 'tween the lilie-white sheets I'll kepp them drap by drap.

An' soundlie did she sleep! An' I will wash thy white bosom

It was i’ the mid-hour of the night, A' wi' this heavenly sap,'

Her siller-bell did ring; An' ay she sewed her silken snood,

An' soun't as if nae earthlie hand An' sung a brydal sang;

Had pou'd the silken string. But aft the tears drapt frae her ee,

There was a cheek touch'd that ladye’s, Afore the gray morn cam.

Cauld as the marble stane;

An' a hand cauld as the drifting snaw
The sun lowed ruddie 'mang the dew,

Was laid on her breast-bane.
Sae thick on bank and tree;
The plow-boy whistled at his darg,

cauld is thy hand, my dear Willie, The milk-may answered hie;

cauld, cauld is thy cheek; But the lovely bride o' Gallowa'

An' wring thae locks o' yellow hair, Sat wi' a wat-shod ee.

Frae which the cauld draps dreep. Ilk breath o'wind 'mang the forest leaves

• O seek anither bridegroom, Marie, She heard the bridegroom's tongue,

On thae bosom-faulds to sleep; And she heard the brydal-coming lilt

My bride is the yellow water lilie, In every bird which sung.

Its leaves my brydal sheet !' We have seen what a great genius has lately been able to make of the Scottish character in those wonderful Prose Tales which have revealed to us secrets supposed to have been for ever buried in forgetfulness. Ten thousand themes are yet left untouched to native poets-for, after all, Burns has drawn but few finished pictures, and was, for the most part, satisfied with general sketches and rapid outlines. It is not easy to imagine the existence of a more original poet than Burns, who shall also be moved by an equal sympathy with lowly life ;-but it is very easy to imagine the existence of a poet who shall possess a far deeper insight into the grandeur and pathos of that lowly life, who shall contemplate it with a more habitual reverence, and exhibit it in a nobler, yet perfectly natural, mould of poetry

With all our admiration of the genius both of the Ettrick Shepherd and of Allan Cunningham, we are not prepared to say that either of them is such a poet—but we have not the slightest doubt, that if either of them were to set himself seriously to the study of the character of the peasantry of Scotland, as a subject of poetry, he might produce something of deep and universal interest, and leave behind him an imperishable name.

THE CLYDESDALE YEOMAN'S RETURN.
An excellent new ballad to the tune of Grammachroe.

Written and Sung by DR SCOTT.
'Twas on a Wednesday evening, John Craig came darkling hame,
The bairns they a' were sleeping, but wakefu' was the dame,
Yet rose she not when John came in-a thought displeased was she,
That John so late, on market days, in coming home should be.
And 'tis, Oh, John Craig, I wonder-what a decent man like you
Can find so late, in Glasgow town, on Wednesday for to do?"
“ Gude words, gude wife," quoth Johnny, “ I'm sure you cannot say
That black the white is o' my ee, since e'er our wedding-day-
What past before's as weel forgot, for your sake as for mine
What signify late comings-home--that were sae lang sin' syne?
Come gie's a cupfu' of your best, and I'se tell you where I've been-
For I've been at the Meeting, and the Radicals I've seen.'
Vol. VI.

2 S

a

And 'tis, " Oh, John Craig ! wae woman, full surely ye'll make me,
If ye tak to these evil ways, like other lads I see-
An orra cup I might forgie--but oh ! the night is black,
That frae a weaver-meeting I see my man come back.
And ’tis, oh, John! think and ponder, for they're neer-do-weels, I trow,
And the day that ye gaed near them first, that day we all shall rue."
“ Cheer up, gudewife, cheer up, Jean—what's all this fuss?" quoth John-
“ Gude troth a little matter gars a woman to take on-
It was but Charlie Howatt persuaded me to stay
To see the fun for once, and hear what the callants had to say,
But 'tis true ye speak, they're neer-do-weels--they are a Godless crew,
And I'll gang back nae mair, Jean, for I've seen and heard enow.”
And ’tis, “Oh, John Craig-blythe woman-me now your words have made"-
And with that a rowth o' peats and sticks aboon the fire is laid-
And the auld green bottle is brought furth, and John his quaigh runs o’er,
Sae kind the mistress had not been this mony a night before !
“ And 'tis-touch your cup, John Craig, my man—for a weary way ye've been,
Now tell me all the fairlies—here's to you John," quo' Jean.

A good ten thousand weavers and colliers from Tollcross,
Came marching down the Gallowgate in order firm and close,
In even file and order due, like soldiers did they come,
And their feet did beat, in union meet, to trumpet; fife, and drum.
And they had captains of their own, and banners red and blue,
That o'er their heads, with wicked words, and fearful symbols flew.

They played the tune, whose echo brings to our ears delight-
They played God save the King, Jean, but I trow 'twas all in spite;
For I fear, had they their evil will, they would pull the old man down,
And place upon some rascal head old Scotia's golden crown.
But when I looked upon the loons, for feckless loons were they,
Thinks I, we'll have a tussel yet, ere ye shall have your way.
Now when they came into the field—the music it did cease,
And up a weaver mounted, that had better held his peace;
For when I heard him raving against both Lord and King,
Thinks I, your throat deserveth no neckcloth, save a string.
And when against God's word and law with merry jibes he spoke,
Thinks I, the day will come yet, ye'll repent ye of your joke.
But the darkest sight of all I saw, was the women that were there,
For they all had knots of colours three, entwined among their hair ;
And well I knew what meant the same, for knots like these were worn
When the French began to curse their king, and laugh their God to scorn;
When, to strumpets base, devoid of grace, the fools did bend their knees,
'Twas then three-coloured ribbons drove out the flower-de-lys.
“But, by God's grace, no such disgrace shall come upon our head,
Or stain our ancient Scutcheon's face-old Scotia's Lion Red ;
For be the weavers what they will, we Country Lads are true,
And the hour they meet the country boys, that hour they'll dearly rue ;
For our hearts are firm, our arms are strong, and bonny nags have we,
And we'll all go out with General Pye, and the upshot you shall see.”

Nay, God preserve the King,” quoth Jean, “and bless the Prince, his son, And send good trade to weaver lads, and this work will all be done ; For 'tis idle hand makes busy tongue, and troubles all the land With noisy fools that prate if things they do not understand. But if worse fall out, then up, my man-was never holier cause, God's blessed word-King George's crown—and proud old Scotland's laws !"

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THE WARDER.

No II.

"LET MINE ENEMY BE AS THE WICKED, AND HE THAT RISETH UP AGAINST ME AS THE

UNRIGHTEOUS. --JOB XXVII. 7.

When we last addressed our readers now visible in the character of British on the state of Public Affairs, and on statesmen. But not to fear, or at least the symptoms of the diseases of the not to prepare for resistance, when the times, the country was looking for- object threatened or assailed is no other ward with strong and high hopes— than the Religion of our country, would which have not been disappointed-to betoken a shocking insensibility to the the meeting of Parliament. All the blessings which it bestows, and a lovers of freedom, order, and religion, shocking ingratitude to the God by and none but they can be lovers of the whom it was revealed. land in which all these Sanctities have It is not to be wondered at, thereso long dwelt inviolated, well knew, fore, that almost all

persons of

any

dethat when the Grand Council of the gree of knowledge and education, have Nation assembled, the voice of Britain expressed alarm for their country, and, would be there lifted up in recognition along with that alarm, a determination and defence of those principles by to guard its threatened blessings. The which alone the glory of a great Peo- language of impiety has come upon ple can be upheld. That a black and their ears, not from the dark dens aevil spirit had been too long brewing lone of our crowded cities, but even among the dregs of society, and that from the hamlet and the village that that spirit had been stirred up, and fed, once stood in the peacefulness of naand strengthened by wicked men, ture, like so many little worlds, happy who hoped to see it ere long burst out in the simplicity of their manners, the into conflagration, was, we may safely blamelessness of their morals, and the say, an almost universal belief; and confidence of their faith. Accustomed the only difference of opinion among as they had been to look with delight, good and wise men was with regard to and awe, and reverence, on all those the greatness and the proximity of the forms and services of religion by which danger. When the character of a its Spirit is kept alive in men's hearts, people seems to be not only shaken and which have been created by the and disturbed, but vitiated and pois- devout aspirations of human nature oned,—when it is no longer mere dis- seeking alliance with Higher Power, content, or disaffection to government the most ordinary men were startled that is heard murmuring throughout and confounded to hear all religious the lower ranks of life but a bold and establishments with the foulest exefierce and reckless spirit of impiety and crations threatened and assailed, and irreligion, it is the bounden duty of all that Book from which all truth and who are free from that malignant dis- knowledge has spread over the world, ease, and resolved to arrest its progress, daily and weekly exposed, beneath the to become Alarmists. There is no re- skies of Britain, to the most hideous proach, but true praise in the epithet, profanation. The danger has not when bestowed not on mere sticklers for struck only the clear-sighted and the men and measures—but on them who high-souled—but it has forced itself know,from the melancholy history ofhu. upon the thoughts of men of every man nature, how rapid and deadly is the character and condition; and the humcontagion of infidelity-how fearful its blest and lowliest Christian has looked ravages when it is spread among the forth with sorrow from the quiet poor-how difficult the cure, but how homestead of his own inoffensive and easy the prevention. There is some- retired life, on the loud and tumultuous thing cowardly in being prone to fear spirit of infidelity abroad in the world. even the most angry and threatening But it is not to be thougit that, in discontent of the people--more espe- a country like Britain, whore there is cially in times of distress and priva- and so long has been so much talent, tion

; and there is no such proneness genius, philosophy, and erudition,

a

the attacks now made on Christianity, told, that if our religion is from God, though they ought to awaken among its it stands in no need of the support of defenders the watchfulness, need ever man, while, at the same time, we are awaken the trepidation of fear. Every beholding the hearts and the souls of all man, in truth, who loves Christianity who join in such blasphemies, polluted, and obeys its laws is a defender of the seared, and blasted? Who, but the infis faith,—but there is a mightier band, del himself, ever ventured to affirm, that both of the living and the dead, drawn God gave us Christianity to be a blessup in this land of light around the ing, that was to exist among us for strong-holds of our religion. And be- ever, in spite of all ingratitude, confore Christianity could cease to be our tempt, scorn, and blasphemy? If it creed, not only would it be necessary is from God, why care for seeing it to burn or obliterate the magnificent subjected to the puny attacks of man? library of the genius of England-but Oh! blind, base, and wieked thankto root out from the deep soil of the lessness to our Benefactor! It is, we English heart all the grand thoughts reply, because our religion is from and lofty associations that have for cen- God, that we will not suffer it to be turies there grown and prospered—to profaned. If it were even the mere hucut down the mysterious groves of the man invention of some benign philoimagination to strip the whole region sopher, who had seen farther than his of the English spirit naked and bare fellow-mortals into the mysteries of and to leave it without hope, or me- our souls, even then so much perfect mory, or emotion, or passion, one wide beauty, and stainless purity, and unand cheerless blank of sterility and de- approached sublimity, though of morsolation. This is a catastrophe which tal birth, would have been guarded never can befall us. We have no fears both by righteousness and by law, lest the temples of the living God and wo would have been to their should be pushed from their base by blasphemers. But when God has the fierce but feeble hands of their sent down in mercy his own word wretched assailants. These blind and unto earth, shall we dare to pride ourimpious hordes seem to us like mad- selves on our poor virtues of liberality, men impotently dashing themselves and toleration of what we are pleased against impediments which to them to call the opinions of our brethren, seem tottering or air-built, but against and stand by without smiting the ofwhose massive and enduring strength fender in his guilt, while the revethey fall down in miserable pain and lation that made us what we now baffled ferocity. We who know what are, and worthy of the higher desChristianity is and what is and what tinies of futurity, is mocked by the has been the Christian church-will mouths of the ignorant, the profligate, not endure the degradation of one mo- the ferocious, and the wicked ? What ment's fear, lest the mean should over- promise has our Creator ever given to throw the mighty-lest the wretched us what reason can we draw from hands of the ignorant, the vile, and his moral government, that he will not, the wicked, stretched forth through to punish sin and iniquity, allow the the darkness in which they dwell, light of Christianity to be darkened should be permitted to touch, much all over the earth? The sins of a naless to scatter, the unextinguishabletion bring upon it all kinds of evilbeacon-light that burns on the altar weakness, disorder, convulsions, and of Religion.

revolution. Thence, too, the decay of But is there any man so senseless as all human virtues, and of all human not to know that Christianity may re- knowledge. And are we to suppose, main, pure and undefiled, the Religion that Christianity is still to abide of the land; and yet that there may, among the melancholy ruins-and at the same time, be in that land that the wickedness of the creature much of the wickedness and the shall no more move the Creator unto wretchedness of infidelity. Though wrath? Let no man, then, dare thus - we have no fears for Christianity, to speak of his religion ; for, after all, which is of God, are we to have none its temple is in the heart ; and if our for Christians, who are but mere frail hearts can be so cold, so dead in the and erring men ? Are the blasphemies frost of ingratitude as not to burn and of a Paine not to be put down by pun- kindle up into indignation, when God ishment, because, forsooth, we are himself is insulted, how may Chris

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