Volume Iii Part 5 (1/2)
Could a la.s.s, sae sweet an' comely, Ever bless a lover's arms?
Could the bonnie wife o' Vulcan Ever boast o' hauf the charms?
While the zephyrs fan the meadows, While the flow'rets crown the lea, While they paint the gowden simmer, Wha sae blest as her an' me?
WOO ME AGAIN.
TUNE--_”On a Primrosy Bank.”_
Whan Jamie first woo'd me, he was but a youth: Frae his lips flow'd the strains o' persuasion and truth; His suit I rejected wi' pride an' disdain, But, oh! wad he offer to woo me again!
He aft wad hae tauld me his love was sincere, And e'en wad hae ventured to ca' me his dear: My heart to his tale was as hard as a stane; But, oh! wad he offer to woo me again!
He said that he hoped I would yield an' be kind, But I counted his proffers as light as the wind; I laugh'd at his grief, whan I heard him complain; But, oh! wad he offer to woo me again!
He flatter'd my locks, that war black as a slae, And praised my fine shape, frae the tap to the tae; I flate, an' desired he wad let me alane; But, oh! wad he offer to woo me again!
Repulsed, he forsook me, an' left me to grieve, An' mourn the sad hour that my swain took his leave; Now, since I despised, an' was deaf to his maen, I fear he 'll ne'er offer to woo me again!
Oh! wad he but now to his Jean be inclined, My heart in a moment wad yield to his mind; But I fear wi' some ither my laddie is taen, An' sae he 'll ne'er offer to woo me again.
Ye bonnie young la.s.ses, be warn'd by my fate, Despise not the heart you may value too late; Improve the sweet suns.h.i.+ne that now gilds the plain; With you it may never be suns.h.i.+ne again.
The simmer o' life, ah! it soon flits awa', An' the bloom on your cheek will soon dow in the snaw; Oh! think, ere you treat a fond youth wi' disdain, That, in age, the sweet flower never blossoms again.
STUART LEWIS.
Stuart Lewis, the mendicant bard, was the eldest son of an innkeeper at Ecclefechan in Annandale, where he was born about the year 1756. A zealous Jacobite, his father gave him the name of Stuart, in honour of Prince Charles Edward. At the parish school, taught by one Irving, an ingenious and learned person of eccentric habits, he received a respectable ground-work of education; but the early deprivation of his father, who died bankrupt, compelled him to relinquish the pursuit of learning. At the age of fifteen, with the view of aiding in the support of his widowed mother, with her dest.i.tute family of other five children, he accepted manual employment from a relation in the vicinity of Chester. Subsequently, along with a partner, he established himself as a merchant-tailor in the town of Chester, where he remained some years, when his partner absconded to America with a considerable amount, leaving him to meet the demands of the firm. Surrendering his effects to his creditors, he returned to his native place, almost penniless, and suffering mental depression from his misfortunes, which he recklessly sought to remove by the delusive remedy of the bottle. The habit of intemperance thus produced, became his scourge through life. At Ecclefechan he commenced business as a tailor, and married a young country girl, for whom he had formed a devoted attachment. He established a village library, and debating club, became a diligent reader, a leader in every literary movement in the district, and a writer of poetry of some merit. A poem on the melancholy story of ”Fair Helen of Kirkconnel,” which he composed at this period, obtained a somewhat extensive popularity. To aid his finances, he became an itinerant seller of cloth,--a mode of life which gave him an opportunity of studying character, and visiting interesting scenery. The pressure of poverty afterwards induced him to enlist, as a recruit, in the Hopetoun Fencibles; and, in this humble position, he contrived to augment his scanty pay by composing acrostics and madrigals for the officers, who rewarded him with small gratuities. On the regiment being disbanded in 1799, he was entrusted by a merchant with the sale of goods, as a pedlar, in the west of England; but this employment ceased on his being robbed, while in a state of inebriety. Still descending in the social scale, he became an umbrella-maker in Manchester, while his wife was employed in some of the manufactories. Some other odd and irregular occupations were severally attempted without success, till at length, about his fiftieth year, he finally settled into the humble condition of a wandering poet. He composed verses on every variety of theme, and readily parted with his compositions for food or whisky. His field of wandering included the entire Lowlands, and he occasionally penetrated into Highland districts. In his wanderings he was accompanied by his wife, who, though a severe sufferer on his account, along with her family of five or six children, continued most devoted in her attachment to him. On her death, which took place in the Cowgate, Edinburgh, early in 1817, he became almost distracted, and never recovered his former composure. He now roamed wildly through the country, seldom remaining more than one night in the same place. He finally returned to Dumfriess.h.i.+re, his native county; and accidentally falling into the Nith, caught an inflammatory fever, of which he died, in the village of Ruthwell, on the 22d September 1818. Lewis was slender, and of low stature. His countenance was sharp, and his eye intelligent, though frenzied with excitement. He always expressed himself in the language of enthusiasm, despised prudence and common sense, and commended the impulsive and fanciful. He published, in 1816, a small volume, ent.i.tled ”The African Slave; with other Poems and Songs.” Some of his lyrics are not unworthy of a place in the national minstrelsy.
LANARK MILLS.
AIR--_”Miss Forbes' Farewell to Banff.”_
Adieu! romantic banks of Clyde, Where oft I 've spent the joyful day; Now, weary wand'ring on thy side, I pour the plaintive, joyless lay.
To other lands I 'm doom'd to rove, The thought with grief my bosom fills; Why am I forced to leave my love, And wander far from Lanark Mills?
Can I forget th' ecstatic hours, When ('scaped the village evening din) I met my la.s.s 'midst Braxfield bowers, Or near the falls of Corhouse Linn!
While close I clasp'd her to my breast, (Th' idea still with rapture thrills!) I thought myself completely blest, By all the lads of Lanark Mills.
Deceitful, dear, delusive dream, Thou 'rt fled--alas! I know not where, And vanish'd is each blissful gleam, And left behind a load of care.
Adieu! dear winding banks of Clyde, A long farewell, ye rising hills; No more I 'll wander on your side, Though still my heart 's at Lanark Mills.