AIR--_"Good-morrow to your night-cap."_

Behave yoursel' before folk, Behave yoursel' before folk; And dinna be sae rude to me, As kiss me sae before folk.

It wad na gie me meikle pain, 'Gin we were seen and heard by nane To tak' a kiss, or grant you ane, But, guid sake! no before folk.

Behave yoursel' before folk, Behave yoursel' before folk; Whate'er you do when out o' view, Be cautious aye before folk.

Consider, lad, how folk will crack, And what a great affair they 'll mak O' naething but a simple smack That 's gi'en or ta'en before folk.

Behave yoursel' before folk, Behave yoursel' before folk, Nor gie the tongue o' auld or young Occasion to come o'er folk.

It 's no through hatred o' a kiss That I sae plainly tell you this; But, losh! I tak it sair amiss To be sae teased before folk.

Behave yoursel' before folk, Behave yoursel' before folk; When we 're our lane ye may tak ane, But fient a ane before folk.

I 'm sure wi' you I 've been as free As ony modest la.s.s should be; But yet it doesna do to see Sic freedom used before folk.

Behave yoursel' before folk, Behave yoursel' before folk; I 'll ne'er submit again to it-- So mind you that--before folk.

Ye tell me that my face is fair; It may be sae--I dinna care-- But ne'er again gar 't blush sae sair As ye hae done before folk.

Behave yoursel' before folk, Behave yoursel' before folk; Nor heat my cheeks wi' your mad freaks, But aye be douce before folk.

Ye tell me that my lips are sweet, Sic tales, I doubt, are a' deceit; At ony rate, it 's hardly meet, To pree their sweets before folk.

Behave yoursel' before folk, Behave yoursel' before folk; Gin that 's the case, there 's time and place, But surely no before folk.

But, gin you really do insist That I should suffer to be kiss'd, Gae get a licence frae the priest, And mak me yours before folk.

Behave yoursel' before folk, Behave yoursel' before folk, And when were ane, bluid, flesh, and bane, Ye may tak ten before folk.[25]

[25] "The Answer" is of inferior merit, and has therefore been omitted.

LOVELY MAIDEN.

Lovely maiden, art thou sleeping?

Wake, and fly with me, my love, While the moon is proudly sweeping, Through the ether fields above; While her mellow'd light is streaming Full on mountain, moon, and lake.

Dearest maiden, art thou dreaming?

'Tis thy true-love calls awake.

All is hush'd around thy dwelling, Even the watch-dog 's lull'd asleep; Hark! the clock the hour is knelling, Wilt thou then thy promise keep?

Yes, I hear her softly coming, Now her window 's gently raised; There she stands, an angel blooming, Come, my Mary, haste thee, haste!

Fear not, love, thy rigid father Soundly sleeps bedrench'd with wine; 'Tis thy true-love holds the ladder, To his care thyself resign!

Now my arms enfold a treasure, Which for worlds I 'd not forego; Now our bosoms feel that pleasure, Faithful bosoms only know.

Long have our true-loves been thwarted, By the stern decrees of pride, Which would doom us to be parted, And make thee another's bride; But behold, my steeds are ready, Soon they 'll post us far away; Thou wilt be Glen Alva's lady, Long before the dawn of day.

THE PEASANT'S FIRESIDE.

AIR--_"For lack o' gowd."_

How happy lives the peasant, by his ain fireside, Wha weel employs the present, by his ain fireside; Wi' his wifie blithe and free, and his bairnie on his knee, Smiling fu' o' sportive glee, by his ain fireside!

Nae cares o' state disturb him, by his ain fireside; Nae foolish fashions curb him, by his ain fireside; In his elbow-chair reclined, he can freely speak his mind, To his bosom-mate sae kind, by his ain fireside.

When his bonnie bairns increase, around his ain fireside, What health, content, and peace surround his ain fireside, A' day he gladly toils, and at night delighted smiles At their harmless pranks and wiles, about his ain fireside; And while they grow apace, about his ain fireside, In beauty, strength, and grace, about his ain fireside, Wi' virtuous precepts kind, by a sage example join'd, He informs ilk youthfu' mind, about his ain fireside.

When the shivering orphan poor draws near his ain fireside, And seeks the friendly door, that guards his ain fireside, She 's welcomed to a seat, bidden warm her little feet, While she 's kindly made to eat, by his ain fireside.

When youthfu' vigour fails him, by his ain fireside, And h.o.a.ry age a.s.sails him, by his ain fireside, With joy he back surveys all his scenes of bygone days, As he trod in wisdom's ways, by his ain fireside.

And when grim death draws near him, by his ain fireside, What cause has he to fear him, by his ain fireside?

With a bosom-cheering hope, he takes heaven for his prop, Then calmly down does drop, by his ain fireside.

Oh! may that lot be ours, by our ain fireside; Then glad will fly the hours, by our ain fireside; May virtue guard our path, till we draw our latest breath, Then we 'll smile and welcome death, by our ain fireside.

AH, NO! I CANNOT SAY "FAREWELL."

Ah, no! I cannot say "Farewell,"

'T would pierce my bosom through; And to this heart 't were death's dread knell, To hear thee sigh "Adieu."

Though soul and body both must part, Yet ne'er from thee I 'll sever, For more to me than soul thou art, And oh! I 'll quit thee never.

Whate'er through life may be thy fate, That fate with thee I 'll share, If prosperous, be moderate; If adverse, meekly bear; This bosom shall thy pillow be, In every change whatever, And tear for tear I 'll shed with thee, But oh! forsake thee, never.

One home, one hearth, shall ours be still, And one our daily fare; One altar, too, where we may kneel, And breathe our humble prayer; And one our praise, that shall ascend, To one all-bounteous Giver; And one our will, our aim, our end, For oh! we 'll sunder never.

And when that solemn hour shall come, That sees thee breathe thy last, That hour shall also fix my doom, And seal my eyelids fast.

One grave shall hold us, side by side, One shroud our clay shall cover; And one then may we mount and glide, Through realms of love, for ever.

JOHN WILSON.

John Wilson, one of the most heart-stirring of Scottish prose writers, and a narrative and dramatic poet, is also ent.i.tled to rank among the minstrels of his country. The son of a prosperous manufacturer, he was born in Paisley, on the 18th of May 1785. The house of his birth, an old building, bore the name of _Prior's Croft_; it was taken down in 1787, when the family removed to a residence at the Town-head of Paisley, which, like the former, stood on ground belonging to the poet's father.

His elementary education was conducted at the schools of his native town, and afterwards at the manse of Mearns, a rural parish in Renfrewshire, under the superintendence of Dr Maclatchie, the parochial clergyman. To his juvenile sports and exercises in the moor of Mearns, and his trouting excursions by the stream of the Humbie, and the four parish lochs, he has frequently referred in the pages of _Blackwood's Magazine_. In his fifteenth year he became a student in the University of Glasgow. Under the instructions of Professor Young, of the Greek Chair, he made distinguished progress in cla.s.sical learning; but it was to the clear and masculine intellect of Jardine, the distinguished Professor of Logic, that he was, in common with Jeffrey, chiefly indebted for a decided impulse in the path of mental cultivation. In 1804 he proceeded to Oxford, where he entered in Magdalen College as a gentleman-commoner. A leader in every species of recreation, foremost in every sport and merry-making, and famous for his feats of agility and strength, he a.s.siduously continued the prosecution of his cla.s.sical studies. Of poetical genius he afforded the first public indication by producing the best English poem of fifty lines, which was rewarded by the Newdigate prize of forty guineas. On attaining his majority he became master of a fortune of about 30,000, which accrued to him from his father's estate; and, having concluded a course of four years at Oxford, he purchased, in 1808, the small but beautiful property of Elleray, on the banks of the lake Windermere, in Westmoreland. During the intervals of college terms, he had become noted for his eccentric adventures and humorous escapades; and his native enthusiasm remained unsubdued on his early settlement at Elleray. He was the hero of singular and stirring adventures: at one time he joined a party of strolling-players, and on another occasion followed a band of gipsies; he practised c.o.c.k-fighting and bull-hunting, and loved to startle his companions by his reckless daring. His juvenile excesses received a wholesome check by his espousing, in 1811, Miss Jane Penny, the daughter of a wealthy Liverpool merchant, and a lady of great personal beauty and amiable dispositions, to whom he continued most devotedly attached. He had already enjoyed the intimate society of Wordsworth, and now sought more a.s.siduously the intercourse of the other lake-poets. In the autumn of 1811, on the death of his friend James Grahame, author of "The Sabbath," he composed an elegy to his memory, which attracted the notice of Sir Walter Scott; in the year following he produced "The Isle of Palms," a poem in four cantos.

Hitherto Wilson had followed the career of a man of fortune; and his original patrimony had been handsomely augmented by his wife's dowry.

But his guardian (a maternal uncle) had proved culpably remiss in the management of his property, he himself had been careless in pecuniary matters, and these circ.u.mstances, along with others, convinced him of the propriety of adopting a profession. His inclinations were originally towards the Scottish Bar; and he now engaged in legal studies in the capital. In 1815 he pa.s.sed advocate, and, during the terms of the law courts, established his residence in Edinburgh. He was early employed as a counsel at the circuit courts; but his devotion to literature prevented him from giving his heart to his profession, and he did not succeed as a lawyer. In 1816 appeared his "City of the Plague," a dramatic poem, which was followed by his prose tales and sketches, ent.i.tled "Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life," "The Foresters," and "The Trials of Margaret Lindsay."

On the establishment of _Blackwood's Magazine_, in 1817, Wilson was one of the staff of contributors, along with Hogg, Lockhart, and others; and on a difference occurring between the publisher and Messrs Pringle and Cleghorn, the original editors, a few months after the undertaking was commenced, he exercised such a marked influence on the fortunes of that periodical, that he was usually regarded as its editor, although the editorial labour and responsibility really rested on Mr Blackwood himself. In 1820 he was elected by the Town-Council of Edinburgh to the Chair of Moral Philosophy in the University, which had become vacant by the death of Dr Thomas Brown. In the twofold capacity of Professor of Ethics and princ.i.p.al contributor to a popular periodical, he occupied a position to which his genius and tastes admirably adapted him. He possessed in a singular degree the power of stimulating the minds and drawing forth the energies of youth; and wielding in periodical literature the vigour of a master intellect, he riveted public attention by the force of his declamation, the catholicity of his criticism, and the splendour of his descriptions. _Blackwood's Magazine_ attained a celebrity never before reached by any monthly periodical; the essays and sketches of "Christopher North," his literary _nom-de-guerre_, became a monthly treasure of interest and entertainment. His celebrated "Noctes Ambrosianae," a series of dialogues on the literature and manners of the times, appeared in _Blackwood_ from 1822 till 1835. In 1825 his entire poetical works were published in two octavo volumes; and, on his ceasing his regular connexion with _Blackwood's Magazine_, his prose contributions were, in 1842, collected in three volumes, under the t.i.tle of "Recreations of Christopher North."