Volume Iii Part 30 (2/2)
I look'd owre the braid blue sea, sae lang as could be seen A wee bit sail upon the s.h.i.+p that my sodger lad was in; But the wind was blawin' sair an' snell, and the s.h.i.+p sail'd speedilie, And the waves and cruel wars hae twinn'd my winsome luve frae me.
I never think o' dancin', and I downa try to sing, But a' the day I speir what news kind neibour bodies bring; I sometimes knit a stocking, if knittin' it may be, Syne for every loop that I cast on, I 'm sure to let doun three.
My father says I 'm in a pet, my mither jeers at me, And bans me for a daut.i.t wean, in dorts for aye to be; But little weet they o' the cause that drumles sae my e'e, Oh! they hae nae winsome love like mine, in the wars o' Germanie.
THE MIDNIGHT WIND.
Mournfully, oh, mournfully This midnight wind doth sigh, Like some sweet plaintive melody Of ages long gone by: It speaks a tale of other years-- Of hopes that bloom'd to die-- Of sunny smiles that set in tears, And loves that mouldering lie.
Mournfully, oh, mournfully This midnight wind doth moan; It stirs some chord of memory, In each dull heavy tone: The voices of the much-loved dead Seem floating thereupon-- All, all my fond heart cherished, Ere death hath made it lone.
Mournfully, oh, mournfully This midnight wind doth swell, With its quaint pensive minstrelsy, Hope's pa.s.sionate farewell.
To the dreamy joys of early years, Ere yet grief's canker fell On the heart's bloom--ay, well may tears Start at that parting knell!
HE IS GONE! HE IS GONE!
He is gone! he is gone!
Like the leaf from the tree, Or the down that is blown By the wind o'er the lea.
He is fled--the light-hearted!
Yet a tear must have started To his eye when he parted From love-stricken me!
He is fled! he is fled!
Like a gallant so free-- Plumed cap on his head, And sharp sword by his knee; While his gay feathers flutter'd, Surely something he mutter'd-- He at least must have utter'd A farewell to me!
He 's away! he 's away!
To far lands o'er the sea, And long is the day Ere home he can be; But where'er his steed prances Amid thronging lances, Sure he 'll think of the glances That love stole from me!
He is gone! he is gone!
Like the leaf from the tree, But his heart is of stone If it ne'er dream of me; For I dream of him ever-- His buff-coat and beaver, And long sword, oh! never Are absent from me!
DAVID MACBETH MOIR.
David Macbeth Moir was born at Musselburgh on the 5th January 1798. His elementary education was conducted at a private seminary and the Grammar-school of that town. He subsequently attended the medical cla.s.ses in the University of Edinburgh, and in his eighteenth year obtained a surgeon's diploma. In partners.h.i.+p with Dr Brown, a respectable physician of long standing, he entered on medical practice in his native place. He wrote good poetry in his fifteenth year, and about the same age contributed some prose essays to the _Cheap Magazine_, a small periodical published in Haddington. In 1816 he published a poem ent.i.tled ”The Bombardment of Algiers.” For a succession of years after its commencement in 1817, he wrote numerous articles for _Constable's Edinburgh Magazine_. Soon after the establishment of _Blackwood's Magazine_, he became one of its more conspicuous contributors; and his poetical contributions, which were generally subscribed by his literary _nom de guerre_, the Greek letter Delta (?), long continued a source of much interest to the readers of that periodical. In 1824 he published a collection of his poetical pieces, under the t.i.tle of ”Legend of Genevieve, with other Tales and Poems.” ”The Autobiography of Mansie Wauch,” originally supplied in a series of chapters to _Blackwood_, and afterwards published in a separate form, much increased his reputation as an author. In 1831 appeared his ”Outlines of the Ancient History of Medicine;” a work which was followed, in 1832, by a pamphlet ent.i.tled, ”Practical Observations on Malignant Cholera;” and a further publication, with the t.i.tle, ”Proofs of the Contagion of Malignant Cholera.” A third volume of poems from his pen, ent.i.tled ”Domestic Verses,” was published in 1843. In the early part of 1851 he delivered, at the Philosophical Inst.i.tution of Edinburgh, a course of six lectures on the ”Poetical Literature of the Past Half-century,” which, afterwards published in an elegant volume by the Messrs Blackwood, commanded a large share of public attention. In a state of somewhat impaired health, he proceeded to Dumfries on the 1st day of July 1851, hoping to derive benefit from a change of scene and climate. But his end was approaching; he died at Dumfries on the 6th of the same month, having reached only his 53d year. His remains were interred, at a public funeral, in the burying-ground of Musselburgh, where a monument has been erected to his memory. Indefatigable in the discharge of his professional duties, Moir regularly devoted a portion of his time to the gratification of his literary tastes. A pleasant prose writer, he will be remembered for his inimitable drollery in the adventures of ”Mansie Wauch.” As a poet, his style is perspicuous and simple; and his characteristics are tenderness, dignity, and grace. He is occasionally humorous, but he excels in the plaintive and elegiac. Much of his poetry breathes the odour of a genuine piety. He was personally of an agreeable presence. Tall in stature, his countenance, which was of sanguine hue, wore a serious aspect, unless kindled up by the recital of some humorous tale. His mode of utterance was singularly pleasing, and his dispositions were pervaded by a generous benignity. He loved society, but experienced his chief happiness in the social intercourse of his own family circle. He had married in 1829; and his amiable widow, with eight children, still survive. A collected edition of his best poems, in two duodecimo volumes, has been published since his death, by the Messrs Blackwood, under the editorial superintendence of Thomas Aird, who has prefixed an interesting memoir.
CASA WAPPY.[49]
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