The Modern Scottish Minstrel Volume I Part 17

To Joanna, Scott inscribed his fragmental drama of "Macduff's Cross,"

which was included in a Miscellany published by her in 1823.

Though a penury of incident, and a defectiveness of skill in sustaining an increasing interest to the close, will probably prevent any of her numerous plays from being renewed on the stage, Joanna Baillie is well ent.i.tled to the place a.s.signed her as one of the first of modern dramatists. In all her plays there are pa.s.sages and scenes surpa.s.sed by no contemporaneous dramatic writer. Her works are a magazine of eloquent thoughts and glowing descriptions. She is a mistress of the emotions, and

"Within _her_ mighty page, Each tyrant pa.s.sion shews his woe and rage."

The tragedies of "Count Basil" and "De Montfort" are her best plays, and are well termed by Sir Walter Scott a revival of the great Bard of Avon.

Forcible and energetic in style, her strain never becomes turgid or diverges into commonplace. She is masculine, but graceful; and powerful without any ostentation of strength. Her personal history was the counterpart of her writings. Gentle in manners and affable in conversation, she was a model of the household virtues, and would have attracted consideration as a woman by her amenities, though she had possessed no reputation in the world of letters. She was eminently religious and benevolent. Her countenance bore indication of a superior intellect and deep penetration. Though her society was much cherished by her contemporaries, including distinguished foreigners who visited the metropolis, her life was spent in general retirement. She was averse to public demonstration, and seemed scarcely conscious of her power. She died at Hampstead, on the 23d of February 1851, at the very advanced age of eighty-nine, and a few weeks after the publication of her whole Works in a collected form.

The songs of Joanna Baillie immediately obtained an honourable place in the minstrelsy of her native kingdom. They are the simple and graceful effusions of a heart pa.s.sionately influenced by the melodies of the "land of the heath and the thistle," and animated by those warm affections so peculiarly nurtured in the region of "the mountain and the flood." "Fy, let us a' to the wedding," "Saw ye Johnnie comin'?" "It fell on a morning when we were thrang," and "Woo'd, and married, and a'," maintain popularity among all cla.s.ses of Scotsmen throughout the world. Several of the songs were written for Thomson's "Melodies," and "The Harp of Caledonia," a collection of songs published at Glasgow in 1821, in three vols. 12mo, under the editorial care of John Struthers, author of "The Poor Man's Sabbath." The greater number are included in the present work.

[28] _Literary Gazette_, March 1851.

THE MAID OF LLANWELLYN.

I 've no sheep on the mountain, nor boat on the lake, Nor coin in my coffer to keep me awake, Nor corn in my garner, nor fruit on my tree-- Yet the maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly on me.

Soft tapping, at eve, to her window I came, And loud bay'd the watch-dog, loud scolded the dame; For shame, silly Lightfoot; what is it to thee, Though the maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly on me?

Rich Owen will tell you, with eyes full of scorn, Threadbare is my coat, and my hosen are torn: Scoff on, my rich Owen, for faint is thy glee When the maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly on me.

The farmer rides proudly to market or fair, The clerk, at the alehouse, still claims the great chair; But of all our proud fellows the proudest I 'll be, While the maid of Llanwellyn smiles sweetly on me.

For blythe as the urchin at holiday play, And meek as the matron in mantle of gray, And trim as the lady of gentle degree, Is the maid of Llanwellyn who smiles upon me.

GOOD NIGHT, GOOD NIGHT!

The sun is sunk, the day is done, E'en stars are setting one by one; Nor torch nor taper longer may Eke out the pleasures of the day; And since, in social glee's despite, It needs must be, Good night, good night!

The bride into her bower is sent, And ribbald rhyme and jesting spent; The lover's whisper'd words and few Have bade the bashful maid adieu; The dancing-floor is silent quite-- No foot bounds there, Good night, good night!

The lady in her curtain'd bed, The herdsman in his wattled shed, The clansman in the heather'd hall, Sweet sleep be with you, one and all!

We part in hope of days as bright As this now gone--Good night, good night!

Sweet sleep be with us, one and all!

And if upon its stillness fall The visions of a busy brain, We 'll have our pleasure o'er again; To warm the heart, to charm the sight, Gay dreams to all! Good night, good night!

THOUGH RICHER SWAINS THY LOVE PURSUE.

Though richer swains thy love pursue, In Sunday gear and bonnets new; And every fair before thee lay Their silken gifts, with colours gay-- They love thee not, alas! so well As one who sighs, and dare not tell; Who haunts thy dwelling, night and noon, In tatter'd hose and clouted shoon.

I grieve not for my wayward lot, My empty folds, my roofless cot; Nor hateful pity, proudly shown, Nor altered looks, nor friendship flown; Nor yet my dog, with lanken sides, Who by his master still abides; But how wilt thou prefer my boon, In tatter'd hose and clouted shoon?

POVERTY PARTS GUDE COMPANIE.[29]

AIR--_"Todlin' Hame."_

When white was my owrelay as foam of the linn, And siller was c.h.i.n.king my pouches within; When my lambkins were bleating on meadow and brae, As I gaed to my love in new cleeding sae gay-- Kind was she, and my friends were free; But poverty parts gude companie.

How swift pa.s.s'd the minutes and hours of delight!

The piper play'd cheerly, the cruisie burn'd bright; And link'd in my hand was the maiden sae dear, As she footed the floor in her holiday gear.

Woe is me! and can it then be, That poverty parts sic companie?

We met at the fair, and we met at the kirk; We met in the sunshine, we met in the mirk; And the sound of her voice, and the blinks of her een, The cheering and life of my bosom have been.

Leaves frae the tree at Martinmas flee, And poverty parts sweet companie.

At bridal and in fair I 've braced me wi' pride, The _bruse_ I hae won, and a kiss of the bride; And loud was the laughter, gay fellows among, When I utter'd my banter, or chorus'd my song.

Dowie to dree are jesting and glee, When poverty parts gude companie.

Wherever I gaed the blythe la.s.ses smiled sweet, And mithers and aunties were mair than discreet, While kebbuck and bicker were set on the board; But now they pa.s.s by me, and never a word.

So let it be; for the worldly and slie Wi' poverty keep nae companie.

But the hope of my love is a cure for its smart; The spaewife has tauld me to keep up my heart; For wi' my last sixpence her loof I hae cross'd, And the bliss that is fated can never be lost.

Cruelly though we ilka day see How poverty parts dear companie.

[29] This song was written for Thomson's "Melodies." "Todlin' Hame," the air to which it is adapted, appears in Ramsay's "Tea-Table Miscellany"

as an old song. The words begin--"When I hae a saxpence under my thum."

Burns remarks that "it is perhaps one of the first bottle-songs that ever was composed."

FY, LET US A' TO THE WEDDING.[30]

Fy, let us a' to the wedding, For they will be lilting there; For Jock's to be married to Maggie, The la.s.s wi' the gowden hair.

And there will be jilting and jeering, And glancing of bonnie dark een; Loud laughing and smooth-gabbit speering O' questions, baith pawky and keen.

And there will be Bessy, the beauty, Wha raises her c.o.c.k-up sae hie, And giggles at preachings and duty; Gude grant that she gang nae ajee!

And there will be auld Geordie Tanner, Wha coft a young wife wi' his gowd; She 'll flaunt wi' a silk gown upon her, But, wow! he looks dowie and cowed.