OH, I LO'ED MY La.s.sIE WEEL.

Oh, I lo'ed my la.s.sie weel, How weel I canna tell; Lang, lang ere ithers trow'd, Lang ere I wist mysel'.

At the school amang the lave, If I wrestled or I ran, I cared na' for the prize, If she saw me when I wan.

Oh, I lo'ed my la.s.sie weel, When thae gleesome days were gane; 'Mang a' the bonnie an' the gude, To match her saw I nane.

Though the cauld warl' o'er me cam, Wi' its c.u.mber an' its toil, My day-tide dool was a' forgot, In her blithe e'enin' smile.

Oh, I lo'ed, nor lo'ed in vain; An' though mony cam to woo, Wha to won her wad been fain, Yet to me she aye was true.

She grat wi' very joy When our waddin' day was set; An' though twal' gude years sinsyne hae fled, She 's my darling la.s.sie yet.

JAMES HISLOP.

James Hislop, a short-lived poet of considerable promise, was born of humble parents in the parish of Kirkconnel, Dumfriesshire, in July 1798.

Under the care of his grandfather, a country weaver, and a man of piety and worth, he taught himself to read. When little more than a child, he became a cow-herd on the farm of Dalblair, in the neighbourhood of his birth-place. About the age of thirteen, he obtained a year's schooling, which was nearly the whole amount of his regular education. He had already read many books on the hillside. In his fourteenth year, he became a shepherd and tended his first flock at Boghead, parish of Auchinleck, Ayrshire, in the immediate vicinity of Airsmoss, the scene of the skirmish, in 1680, between a body of the soldiers of Charles II.

and a small party of Covenanters, when their minister, the famous Richard Cameron, was slain. The traditions which still floated among the peasantry around the tombstone of this indomitable pastor of the persecuted Presbyterians, essentially fostered in his mind the love of poetry; and he afterwards turned them to account in his poem of "The Cameronian's Dream." Some years having pa.s.sed at this place, he removed to Corsebank, on the stream Crawick, and afterwards to Carcoe, in the neighbourhood of Sanquhar. Instead of a course of indiscriminate reading, he now followed a system of regular study; and ere his twentieth year, was not only a respectable cla.s.sical scholar, but tolerably conversant with some of the modern languages and the exact sciences. He opened an evening school for the instruction of his humble pastoral a.s.sociates; and about the close of 1819, was induced to remove to Greenock, there to make the attempt of earning a livelihood by teaching. In October of the same year, he began to contribute verses to the _Edinburgh Magazine_, which excited no inconsiderable attention, and especially called forth the kindly criticisms of the amiable editor, the Rev. Mr Morehead. Visiting Edinburgh, he was introduced by this gentleman to Mr Jeffrey and the Rev. Mr Alison, who had both been interested by his poetry.

The Greenock school adventure was unfortunate, and the poet returned to the pastoral scenes of Carcoe. At this period he composed "The Cameronian's Dream," which appeared in the _Edinburgh Magazine_ for February 1821, and attracted much attention. He now commenced teaching in Edinburgh; but soon obtained, through the recommendation of Mr Jeffrey, the appointment of schoolmaster in the "Doris" frigate, about to sail for South America. At sea, he continued to apply himself to mental improvement; and on his return from a three years' cruise along the coasts of the Western world, he published, in the pages of the _Edinburgh Magazine_, a series of papers, under the t.i.tle of "Letters from South America," describing the scenes which he had surveyed. In 1825 he proceeded to London, and there formed the acquaintance of Allan Cunningham, Joanna Baillie, and J. G. Lockhart. For some time, he reported to one of the London newspapers; but this employment proving uncongenial, was speedily abandoned. The fidelity with which he had reported a sermon of the famous Edward Irving, gained him the personal acquaintance of that extraordinary individual, who presented him with some tokens of his regard. In 1826, he was appointed teacher of an extensive free school in the neighbourhood of London--an office which, at the end of a year, he exchanged for that of schoolmaster on board the "Tweed" man-of-war, ordered to the Mediterranean and the Cape of Good Hope. While the vessel was cruising off the Cape de Verd islands, Hislop, along with the midshipmen, made a visit of pleasure to the island of St Jago. Sleeping a night on sh.o.r.e, they were all seized with fever, which, in the case of six of the party, including poor Hislop, proved fatal. After lingering for twelve days, he died on the 4th December 1827, in his twenty-ninth year.

Of a clear head, a warm heart, and exemplary steadiness of character, Hislop was much beloved; and a wide circle of hopeful friends deeply lamented his premature decease. By Allan Cunningham, his genius has been described as "elegant rather than vigorous, sweet and graceful rather than lofty, although he was occasionally lofty, too." As the author of "The Cameronian's Dream," he is ent.i.tled to a place among the bards of his country.

THE CAMERONIAN'S DREAM.

In a dream of the night, I was wafted away To the muirlands of mist where the martyrs lay; Where Cameron's sword and his Bible are seen Engraved on the stone where the heather grows green.

'Twas a dream of those ages of darkness and blood, When the minister's home was the mountain and wood, And in Wellwood's dark valley the standard of Zion, All b.l.o.o.d.y and torn, 'mong the heather was lying.

'Twas morning, and summer's young sun from the east Lay in lovely repose on the green mountain's breast; On Wardlaw and Cairntable, the clear shining dew Glisten'd sheen 'mong the heath-bells and mountain-flowers blue.

And far up in heaven, in a white sunny cloud, The song of the lark was melodious and loud; And in Glenmuir's wild solitudes, lengthen'd and deep, Were the whistling of plovers and bleating of sheep.

And Wellwood's sweet valley breathed music and gladness, The fresh meadow blooms hung in beauty and redness; Its daughters were happy to hail the returning, And drink the delights of July's sweet morning.

But, ah! there were hearts cherish'd far other feelings-- Illumed by the light of prophetic revealings-- And drank from the scenery of beauty but sorrow, For they knew that their blood would bedew it to-morrow.

'Twas the few faithful ones who with Cameron were lying, Conceal'd 'mong the mist where the heath-fowl were crying; For the hors.e.m.e.n of Earlshall around them were hovering, And their bridle-reins rung through the thin misty covering.

Their faces grew pale, and their swords were unsheath'd, But the vengeance that darken'd their brow was unbreathed; With eyes raised to heaven, in calm resignation, They sung their last song to the G.o.d of salvation.

The hills with the sweet mournful music were ringing, The curlew and plover in concert were singing; But the melody died 'midst derision and laughter, As the host of unG.o.dly rush'd on to the slaughter.

Though in mist and in darkness and fire they were shrouded, Yet the souls of the righteous were calm and unclouded; Their dark eyes flash'd lightning, as, proud and unbending, They stood like the rock which the thunder was rending.

The muskets were flashing, the blue swords were gleaming, The helmets were cleft, and the red blood was streaming, The heavens grew black, and the thunder was rolling, As in Wellwood's dark muirlands the mighty were falling.

When the righteous had fallen, and the combat was ended, A chariot of fire through the dark cloud descended; Its drivers were angels on horses of whiteness, And its burning wheels turn'd upon axles of brightness.

A seraph unfolded its door, bright and shining, All dazzling like gold of the seventh refining; And the souls that came forth out of great tribulation, Have mounted the chariot and steeds of salvation.

On the arch of the rainbow the chariot is gliding; Through the path of the thunder the hors.e.m.e.n are riding; Glide swiftly, bright spirits! the prize is before ye-- A crown never fading, a kingdom of glory!

HOW SWEET THE DEWY BELL IS SPREAD.

How sweet the dewy bell is spread Where Spango's mossy streams are lavin'

The heathery locks o' deepenin' red, Around the mountain brow aye wavin'!

Here, on the sunny mountain side, Dear la.s.sie, we 'll lie down thegither; Where Nature spreads luve's crimson bed, Among the bonnie bloomin' heather.

Lang hae I wish'd, my lovely maid, Amang thae fragrant wilds to lead ye; And now, aneath my tartan plaid, How blest I lie wi' you aside me!

And art thou happy--dearest, speak-- Wi' me aneath the tartan plaidie?

Yes; that dear glance, sae saft and meek, Resigns thee to thy shepherd laddie.

The saftness o' the gentle dove, Its eyes in dying sweetness closin', Is like thae languid eyes o' love, Sae fondly on my heart reposin'.

When simmer suns the flowers expand, In a' their silken beauties shinin', They 're no sae saft as thy white hand, Upon my love-warm cheek reclinin'.

While thus, aneath my tartan plaid, Sae warmly to my lips I press ye; That hinnied bloom o' dewy red Is nocht like thy sweet lips, dear la.s.sie!

Reclined on love's soft crimson bed, Our hearts sae fondly lock'd thegither; Thus o'er my cheek thy ringlets spread, How happy, happy 'mang the heather!

ROBERT GILFILLAN.

A respectable contributor to the Caledonian minstrelsy, Robert Gilfillan was born in Dunfermline on the 7th July 1798. His parents were in humble circ.u.mstances; and owing to the infirmities of his father, he was required, while a mere youth, to engage in manual labour for the support of the family. He found a solace to his toils in the gratification of a turn for verse-making, which he inherited from his mother. In his thirteenth year, he entered on an apprenticeship to a cooper in Leith; and at the age of twenty, became a grocer's a.s.sistant in his native town. From his twenty-third till his thirty-ninth year, he acted as clerk to a wine-merchant in Leith. In 1837, he was preferred to the office of Collector of Poor's-rates in Leith, and continued to hold this appointment till his death. This event took place on the 4th December 1850, in his fifty-second year.

A man of amiable and social dispositions, Gilfillan was much cherished among the wits of the capital. A volume of lyrics from his pen pa.s.sed through two editions; and several of his songs have been set to music, and have attained a well-merited popularity. His style is remarkable for graceful simplicity.

MANOR BRAES.

TUNE--_"Logan Water."_