The Modern Scottish Minstrel Volume Iv Part 27

Of sound religious principles and devoted Christian feeling, Still meekly submitted to the bitterness of his lot in life. He was fortunate in arresting the attention of some, who occasionally administered to his wants, and contributed, by their patronage, to the increase of his reputation. His verses are largely pervaded with poetical fervour and religious sentiment, while his songs are generally true to nature. In person he was tall and slender, of a long thin countenance, large dark blue eyes, and curling black hair.

JEANIE'S LAMENT.

AIR--_"Lord Gregory."_

I never thocht to thole the waes It 's been my lot to dree; I never thocht to sigh sae sad Whan first I sigh'd for thee.

I thocht your heart was like mine ain, As true as true could be; I couldna think there was a stain In ane sae dear to me.

Whan first amang the dewy flowers, Aside yon siller stream, My lowin' heart was press'd to yours, Nae purer did they seem; Nae purer seem'd the draps o' dew, The flowers on whilk they hung, Than seem'd the heart I felt in you As to that heart I clung.

But I was young an' thochtless then, An' easy to beguile; My mither's warnin's had nae weight 'Bout man's deceitfu' smile.

But noo, alas! whan she is dead, I 've shed the sad, saut tear, And hung my heavy, heavy head Aboon my father's bier!

They saw their earthly hope betray'd, They saw their Jeanie fade; They couldna thole the heavy stroke, An' baith are lowly laid!

Oh, Jamie! but thy name again Shall ne'er be breathed by me, For, speechless through yon gow'ny glen, I 'll wander till I die.

YE NEEDNA' BE COURTIN' AT ME.

AIR--_"John Todd."_

"Ye needna' be courtin' at me, auld man, Ye needna' be courtin' at me; Ye 're threescore an' three, an' ye 're blin' o' an e'e, Sae ye needna' be courtin' at me, auld man, Ye needna' be courtin' at me.

"Stan' aff, noo, an' just lat me be, auld man, Stan' aff, noo, an' just lat me be; Ye 're auld an' ye 're cauld, an' ye 're blin' an' ye 're bald, An' ye 're nae for a la.s.sie like me, auld man, Ye 're nae for a la.s.sie like me."

"Ha'e patience, an' hear me a wee, sweet la.s.s, Ha'e patience, an' hear me a wee; I 've gowpens o' gowd, an' an aumry weel stow'd, An' a heart that lo'es nane but thee, sweet la.s.s, A heart that lo'es nane but thee.

"I 'll busk you as braw as a queen, sweet la.s.s, I 'll busk you as braw as a queen; I 've guineas to spare, an', hark ye, what 's mair, I 'm only twa score an' fifteen, sweet la.s.s, Only twa score an' fifteen."

"Gae hame to your gowd an' your gear, auld man, Gae hame to your gowd an' your gear; There 's a laddie I ken has a heart like mine ain, An' to me he shall ever be dear, auld man, To me he shall ever be dear.

"Get aff, noo, an' fash me nae mair, auld man, Get aff, noo, an' fash me nae mair; There 's a something in love that your gowd canna move-- I 'll be Johnie's although I gang bare, auld man, I 'll be Johnie's although I gang bare."

THE BUCKET FOR ME.

The bucket, the bucket, the bucket for me!

Awa' wi' your bickers o' barley bree; Though good ye may think it, I 'll never mair drink it-- The bucket, the bucket, the bucket for me!

There 's health in the bucket, there 's wealth in the bucket, There 's mair i' the bucket than mony can see; An' aye whan I leuk in 't, I find there 's a beuk in 't That teaches the essence o' wisdom to me.

Whan whisky I swiggit, my wifie aye beggit, An' aft did she sit wi' the tear in her e'e; But noo--wad you think it?--whan water I drink it Right blithesome she smiles on the bucket an' me.

The bucket 's a treasure nae mortal can measure, It 's happit my wee bits o' bairnies an' me; An' noo roun' my ingle, whare sorrows did mingle, I 've pleasure, an' plenty, an' glances o' glee.

The bucket 's the bicker that keeps a man sicker, The bucket 's a shield an' a buckler to me; In pool or in gutter nae langer I 'll splutter, But walk like a freeman wha feels he is free.

Ye drunkards, be wise noo, an' alter your choice noo-- Come cling to the bucket, an' prosper like me; Ye 'll find it is better to swig "caller water,"

Than groan in a gutter without a bawbee!

ROBERT NICOLL.

One of the most gifted and hopeful of modern Scottish song writers, Robert Nicoll, was born at Little Tulliebeltane, in the parish of Auchtergaven, Perthshire, on the 7th January 1814. Of a family of nine children, he was the second son. His father, who bore the same Christian name, rented a farm at the period of his birth and for five years afterwards, when, involved in an affair of cautionary, he was reduced to the condition of an agricultural labourer. Young Nicoll received the rudiments of his education from his mother, a woman of superior shrewdness and information; subsequently to his seventh year he tended cattle in the summer months, to procure the means of attending the parish school during the other portion of the year. From his childhood fond of reading, books were his constant companions--in the field, on the highway, and during the intervals of leisure in his father's cottage. In his thirteenth year, he wrote verses and became the correspondent of a newspaper. Apprenticed to a grocer and wine-merchant in Perth, and occupied in business from seven o'clock morning till nine o'clock evening, he prosecuted mental culture by abridging the usual hours of rest. At the age of nineteen he communicated a tale to _Johnstone's Magazine_, an Edinburgh periodical, which was inserted, and attracted towards him the notice of Mr Johnstone, the ingenious proprietor. By this gentleman he was introduced, during a visit he made to the capital, to some men of letters, who subsequently evinced a warm interest in his career.

In 1834, Nicoll opened a small circulating library in Dundee, occupying his spare time in reading and composition, and likewise taking part in public meetings convened for the support of Radical or extreme liberal opinions. To the liberal journals of the town he became a frequent contributor both in prose and verse, and in 1835 appeared as the author of a volume of "Poems and Lyrics." This publication was highly esteemed by his friends, and most favourably received by the press. Abandoning business in Dundee, which had never been prosperous, he meditated proceeding as a literary adventurer to London, but was induced by Mr Tait, his friendly publisher, and some other well-wishers, to remain in Edinburgh till a suitable opening should occur. In the summer of 1836 he was appointed editor of the _Leeds Times_ newspaper, with a salary of 100. The politics of this journal were Radical, and to the exposition and advocacy of these opinions he devoted himself with equal ardour and success. But the unremitting labour of conducting a public journal soon began materially to undermine the energies of a const.i.tution which, never robust, had been already impaired by a course of untiring literary occupation. The excitement of a political contest at Leeds, during a general parliamentary election, completed the physical prostration of the poet; he removed from Leeds to Knaresborough, and from thence to Laverock Bank, near Edinburgh, the residence of his friend Mr Johnstone.

His case was hopeless; after lingering a short period in a state of entire prostration, he departed this life in December 1837, in his twenty-fourth year. His remains, attended by a numerous a.s.semblage, were consigned to the churchyard of North Leith.

Possessed of strong poetical genius, Robert Nicoll has attained a conspicuous and honoured niche in the temple of the national minstrelsy.

Several of his songs, especially "Bonnie Bessie Lee" and "Orde Braes,"

have obtained an equal popularity with the best songs of Burns. Since the period of his death, four different editions of his "Poems" have been called for. The work has latterly been published by the Messrs Blackie of Glasgow in a handsome form, prefaced by an interesting memoir. Nicoll's strain is eminently smooth and simple; and, though many of his lyrics published after his decease had not the benefit of his revision, he never falls into mediocrity. Of extensive sympathies, he portrays the loves, hopes, and fears of the human heart; while he depicts nature only in her loveliness. His sentiments breathe a devoted and simple piety, the index of an unblemished life. In person Nicoll was rather above the middle height, with a slight stoop. His countenance, which was of a sanguine complexion, was thoughtful and pleasing; his eyes were of a deep blue, and his hair dark brown. In society he was modest and un.o.btrusive, but was firm and uncompromising in the maintenance of his opinions. His political views were founded on the belief that the industrial cla.s.ses had suffered oppression from the aristocracy. The solace of his hours of leisure were the songs and music of his country. He married shortly prior to his decease, but was not long survived by his widow. A monument to his memory, towards which nearly 100 has lately been subscribed, is about to be erected on the Orde Braes, in his native parish.

ORDe BRAES.

There 's nae hame like the hame o' youth, Nae ither spot sae fair; Nae ither faces look sae kind As the smilin' faces there.

An' I ha'e sat by mony streams, Ha'e travell'd mony ways; But the fairest spot on the earth to me Is on bonnie Orde Braes.

An ell-lang wee thing then I ran Wi' the ither neeber bairns, To pu' the hazel's shining nuts, An' to wander 'mang the ferns; An' to feast on the bramble-berries brown, An' gather the glossy slaes, By the burnie's side, an' aye sinsyne I ha'e loved sweet Orde Braes.

The memories o' my father's hame, An' its kindly dwellers a', O' the friends I loved wi' a young heart's love Ere care that heart could thraw, Are twined wi' the stanes o' the silver burn, An' its fairy crooks an' bays, That onward sang 'neath the gowden broom Upon bonnie Orde Braes.

Aince in a day there were happy hames By the bonnie Orde's side: Nane ken how meikle peace an' love In a straw-roof'd cot can bide.

But thae hames are gane, an' the hand o' time The roofless wa's doth raze; Laneness an' sweetness hand in hand Gang ower the Orde Braes.

Oh! an' the sun were shinin' now, An', oh! an' I were there, Wi' twa three friends o' auld langsyne, My wanderin' joy to share.

For though on the hearth o' my bairnhood's hame The flock o' the hills doth graze, Some kind hearts live to love me yet Upon bonnie Orde Braes.

THE MUIR O' GORSE AND BROOM.

I winna bide in your castle ha's, Nor yet in your lofty towers; My heart is sick o' your gloomy hame, An' sick o' your darksome bowers; An' oh! I wish I were far awa'