Volume Iii Part 15 (2/2)

No, by heavens we will stand to our honour and trust!

Till our heart's blood be shed on our ancestors' dust, Till we sink to the slumber no war-trumpet breaks, Beneath the brown heath of the dear land of cakes.

O, peace to the ashes of those that have bled For the land where the proud thistle raises its head!

O, peace to the ashes of those gave us birth, In a land freedom renders the boast of the earth!

Though their lives are extinguish'd, their spirit remains, And swells in their blood that still runs in our veins; Still their deathless achievements our ardour awakes, For the honour and weal of the dear land of cakes.

Ye sons of old Scotia, ye friends of my heart, From our word, from our trust, let us never depart; Nor e'er from our foe till with victory crown'd, And the balm of compa.s.sion is pour'd in his wound; And still to our bosom be honesty dear, And still to our loves and our friends.h.i.+ps sincere; And, till heaven's last thunder the firmament shakes, May happiness beam on the dear land of cakes.

THE LAMENT.

She was mine when the leaves of the forest were green, When the rose-blossoms hung on the tree; And dear, dear to me were the joys that had been, And I dreamt of enjoyments to be.

But she faded more fast than the blossoms could fade, No human attention could save; And when the green leaves of the forest decay'd, The winds strew'd them over her grave.

TO MARY.

Farewell! and though my steps depart From scenes for ever dear, O Mary! I must leave my heart And all my pleasures here; And I must cherish in my mind, Where'er my lot shall be, A thought of her I leave behind-- A hopeless thought of thee.

O Mary! I can ne'er forget The charm thy presence brought; No hour has pa.s.s'd since first we met, But thou hast shared my thought.

At early morn, at sultry noon, Beneath the spreading tree, And, wandering by the evening moon, Still, still I think of thee.

Yea, thou hast come to cheer my dream, And bid me grieve no more, But at the morn's returning gleam, I sorrow'd as before; Yet thou shalt still partake my care, And when I bend the knee, And pour to Heaven a fervent prayer, I will remember thee.

Farewell! and when my steps depart, Though many a grief be mine, And though I may conceal my own, I 'll weep to hear of thine.

Though from thy memory soon depart Each little trace of me, 'Tis only in the grave this heart Can cease to think of thee.

WILLIAM THOM.

William Thom, commonly styled ”The Inverury Poet,” was born at Aberdeen in 1789. His father, who was a shopkeeper, dying during his infancy, he was placed by his mother at a school taught by a female, from whom he received the greater amount of his juvenile education. At the age of ten, he was put to a cotton-factory, where he served an apprentices.h.i.+p of four years. He was subsequently employed, during a period of nearly twenty years, in the large weaving-factory of Gordon, Barron, & Co. In 1827, he removed to Dundee; and shortly after to the village of Newtyle, in Strathmore, at both of these places working as a hand-loom weaver.

Thrown out of employment, in consequence of a stagnation in the manufacturing world, he was subjected, in his person and family, to much penury and suffering. At length, disposing of his articles of household furniture, he purchased a few wares, and taking his wife and children along with him, commenced the precarious life of a pedlar. In his published ”Recollections,” he has supplied a heart-rending narrative of the privations attendant on his career as a wanderer; his lodgings were frequently in the farmer's barn, and, on one of these occasions, one of his children perished from cold and starvation. The contents of his pack becoming exhausted, he derived the means of subsistence by playing on the flute, and disposing of copies of verses. After wandering over a wide district as a pedlar, flute-player, and itinerant poet, he resumed his original occupation of weaving in Kinross. He subsequently sought employment as a weaver in Aberdeen, where he remained about a year. In 1840 he proceeded to Inverury; and it was while he was resident in this place that his beautiful stanzas, ent.i.tled ”The Blind Boy's Pranks,”

appeared in the columns of the _Aberdeen Herald_ newspaper. These verses were copied into many of the public journals: they particularly arrested the attention of Mr Gordon of Knockespock, a landed proprietor in Aberdeens.h.i.+re, who, ascertaining the indigent circ.u.mstances of the author, transmitted to him a handsome donation, and desired to form his personal acquaintance. The poet afterwards accompanied Mr Gordon to London, who introduced him as a man of genius to the fas.h.i.+onable and literary circles of the metropolis. In 1844 he published a small volume of poems and songs, with a brief autobiography, under the t.i.tle of ”Rhymes and Recollections of a Hand-loom Weaver.” This volume was well received; and on a second visit to London, Thom was entertained at a public dinner by many distinguished literary persons of the metropolis.

From admirers, both in India and America, he received pecuniary acknowledgments of his genius. He now attempted to establish himself in London in connexion with the press, but without success. Returning to Scotland, he took up his abode in Dundee; where, after a period of distress and penury, he breathed his last on the 29th February 1848, in his 59th year. His remains were interred in the public cemetery of the town; and it is pleasing to add, that an enthusiastic admirer of his genius has planted flowers upon his grave. Though long in publis.h.i.+ng, Thom early wrote verses; in Gordon, Barron, & Co.'s factory in Aberdeen, his fellow-workmen were astonished and interested by the power and vigour of his poems. That he did not publish sooner, is probably attributable to his lengthened career of poverty, and his carelessness regarding intellectual honours.

In respect of pure and simple pathos, some of his lyrics are unequalled among the compositions of any of the national bards. Than ”The Mitherless Bairn,” it may be questioned whether there is to be found in the language any lyrical composition more delicately plaintive. It is lamentable to think that one who could write so tenderly should, by a dissolute life, have been the author of many of his own misfortunes, and a constant barrier to every attempt for his permanent elevation in the social circle. In person, he was rather below the middle stature; his countenance was thoughtful, but marked with the effects of bodily suffering. Owing to a club-foot, his gait was singularly awkward. He excelled in conversation, and his manner was pleasing and conciliatory.

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