Volume I Part 9 (2/2)

Come hither, my dove, I 'll write to my love, And send him a letter by thee.

To find him, swift fly!

The letter I 'll tie Secure to thy leg with a string.

Ah! not to my leg, Fair lady, I beg, But fasten it under my wing.

Her dove she did deck, She drew o'er his neck A bell and a collar so gay; She tied to his wing The scroll with a string, Then kiss'd him and sent him away.

It blew and it rain'd, The pigeon disdain'd To seek shelter; undaunted he flew, Till wet was his wing, And painful his string, So heavy the letter it grew.

It flew all around, Till Colin he found, Then perch'd on his head with the prize; Whose heart, while he reads, With tenderness bleeds, For the pigeon that flutters and dies.

JOHN TAIT.

John Tait was, in early life, devoted to the composition of poetry. In Ruddiman's _Edinburgh Weekly Magazine_ for 1770, he repeatedly published verses in the Poet's Corner, with his initials attached, and in subsequent years he published anonymously the ”Cave of Morar,” ”Poetical Legends,” and other poems. ”The Vanity of Human Wishes, an Elegy, occasioned by the Untimely Death of a Scots Poet,” appears under the signature of J. Tait, in ”Poems on Various Subjects by Robert Fergusson, Part II.,” Edinburgh, 1779, 12mo. He was admitted as a Writer to the Signet on the 21st of November 1781; and in July 1805 was appointed Judge of Police, on a new police system being introduced into Edinburgh.

In the latter capacity he continued to officiate till July 1812, when a new Act of Parliament entrusted the settlement of police cases, as formerly, to the magistrates of the city. Mr Tait died at his house in Abercromby Place, on the 29th of August 1817.

”The Banks of the Dee,” the only popular production from the pen of the author, was composed in the year 1775, on the occasion of a friend leaving Scotland to join the British forces in America, who were then vainly endeavouring to suppress that opposition to the control of the mother country which resulted in the permanent establishment of American independence. The song is set to the Irish air of ”Langolee.” It was printed in Wilson's Collection of Songs, which was published at Edinburgh in 1779, with four additional stanzas by a Miss Betsy B----s, of inferior merit. It was re-published in ”The Goldfinch” (Edinburgh, 1782), and afterwards was inserted in Johnson's ”Musical Museum.” Burns, in his letter to Mr George Thomson, of 7th April 1793, writes--”'The Banks of the Dee' is, you know, literally 'Langolee' to slow time. The song is well enough, but has some false imagery in it; for instance--

”'And sweetly the nightingale sung from the tree.'

In the first place, the nightingale sings in a low bush, but never from a tree; and, in the second place, there never was a nightingale seen or heard on the banks of the Dee, or on the banks of any other river in Scotland. Creative rural imagery is always comparatively flat.”

Thirty years after its first appearance, Mr Tait published a new edition of the song in Mr Thomson's Collection, vol. iv., in which he has, by alterations on the first half stanza, acknowledged the justice of the strictures of the Ayrs.h.i.+re bard. The stanza is altered thus:

”'Twas summer, and softly the breezes were blowing, And sweetly the _wood-pigeon coo'd from the tree_; At the foot of a rock, where the _wild rose was growing_, I sat myself down on the banks of the Dee.”

The song, it may be added, has in several collections been erroneously attributed to John Home, author of the tragedy of ”Douglas.”

THE BANKS OF THE DEE.

'Twas summer, and softly the breezes were blowing, And sweetly the nightingale sung from the tree, At the foot of a rock where the river was flowing, I sat myself down on the banks of the Dee.

Flow on, lovely Dee, flow on, thou sweet river, Thy banks' purest stream shall be dear to me ever, For there first I gain'd the affection and favour Of Jamie, the glory and pride of the Dee.

But now he 's gone from me, and left me thus mourning, To quell the proud rebels--for valiant is he; And, ah! there's no hope of his speedy returning, To wander again on the banks of the Dee.

He 's gone, hapless youth! o'er the rude roaring billows, The kindest and sweetest of all the gay fellows, And left me to wander 'mongst those once loved willows, The loneliest maid on the banks of the Dee.

But time and my prayers may perhaps yet restore him, Blest peace may restore my dear shepherd to me; And when he returns, with such care I 'll watch o'er him, He never shall leave the sweet banks of the Dee.

The Dee then shall flow, all its beauties displaying, The lambs on its banks shall again be seen playing, While I with my Jamie am carelessly straying, And tasting again all the sweets of the Dee.

HECTOR MACNEILL.

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