ALEXANDER CARLILE.

Alexander Carlile was born at Paisley in the year 1788. His progenitors are said to have been remarkable for their acquaintance with the arts, and relish for elegant literature. His eldest brother, the late Dr Carlile of Dublin attained much eminence as a profound thinker and an accomplished theologian. Having received a liberal education, first at the grammar-school of Paisley, and afterwards in the University of Glasgow, the subject of this sketch settled as a manufacturer in his native town. Apart from the avocations of business, much of his time has been devoted to the concerns of literature; he has contributed to the more esteemed periodicals, and composed verses for several works on the national minstrelsy. At an early period he composed the spirited and popular song, beginning "Oh, wha's at the window, wha, wha?" which has since obtained a place in all the collections. His only separate publication, a duodecimo volume of "Poems," appeared in 1855, and has been favourably received. Mr Carlile is much devoted to the interests of his native town, and has sedulously endeavoured to promote the moral and social welfare of his fellow-townsmen. His un.o.btrusive worth and elegant accomplishments have endeared him to a wide circle of friends. His latter poetical compositions have been largely pervaded by religious sentiment.

WHA'S AT THE WINDOW?[30]

Oh, wha's at the window, wha, wha?

Oh, wha's at the window, wha, wha?

Wha but blithe Jamie Glen, He 's come sax miles and ten, To tak' bonnie Jeannie awa, awa, To tak' bonnie Jeannie awa.

He has plighted his troth, and a', and a', Leal love to gi'e, and a', and a', And sae has she dune, By a' that 's abune, For he lo'es her, she lo'es him, 'bune a', 'bune a', He lo'es her, she lo'es him, 'bune a'.

Bridal-maidens are braw, braw, Bridal-maidens are braw, braw, But the bride's modest e'e, And warm cheek are to me 'Bune pearlins, and brooches, and a', and a', 'Bune pearlins, and brooches, and a'.

It 's mirth on the green, in the ha', the ha', It 's mirth on the green, in the ha', the ha'; There 's quaffing and laughing, There 's dancing and daffing, And the bride's father 's blithest of a', of a', The bride's father 's blithest of a'.

It 's no that she 's Jamie's ava, ava, It 's no that she 's Jamie's ava, ava, That my heart is sae eerie When a' the lave 's cheerie, But it 's just that she 'll aye be awa, awa, It 's just that she 'll aye be awa.

FOOTNOTES:

[30] The t.i.tle of this song seems to have been suggested by that of a ballad recovered by Cromek, and published in his "Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song," p. 219. The first line of the old ballad runs thus: "Oh, who is this under my window."--ED.

MY BROTHERS ARE THE STATELY TREES.

My brothers are the stately trees That in the forests grow; The simple flowers my sisters are, That on the green bank blow.

With them, with them, I am a child Whose heart with mirth is dancing wild.

The daisy, with its tear of joy, Gay greets me as I stray; How sweet a voice of welcome comes From every trembling spray!

How light, how bright, the golden-wing'd hours I spend among those songs and flowers!

I love the Spirit of the Wind, His varied tones I know; His voice of soothing majesty, Of love and sobbing woe; Whate'er his varied theme may be, With his my spirit mingles free.

I love to tread the gra.s.s-green path, Far up the winding stream; For there in nature's loneliness, The day is one bright dream.

And still the pilgrim waters tell Of wanderings wild by wood and dell.

Or up the mountain's brow I toil Beneath a wid'ning sky, Seas, forests, lakes, and rivers wide, Crowding the wondering eye.

Then, then, my soul on eagle's wings, To cloudless regions upwards springs!

The stars--the stars! I know each one, With all its soul of love, They beckon me to come and live In their tearless homes above; And then I spurn earth's songs and flowers, And pant to breathe in heaven's own bowers.

THE VALE OF KILLEAN.

O yes, there 's a valley as calm and as sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet; So bland in its beauty, so rich in its green, 'Mid Scotia's dark mountains--the Vale of Killean.

The flocks on its soft lap so peacefully roam, The stream seeks the deep lake as the child seeks its home, That has wander'd all day, to its lullaby close, Singing blithe 'mid the wild-flowers, and fain would repose.

How solemn the broad hills that curtain around This sanctuary of nature, 'mid a wilderness found, Whose echoes low whisper, "Bid the world farewell, And with lowly contentment here peacefully dwell!"

Then build me a cot by that lake's verdant sh.o.r.e, 'Mid the world's wild turmoil I 'll mingle no more, And the tidings evoking the sigh and the tear, Of man's crimes and his follies, no more shall I hear.

Young Morn, as on tiptoe he ushers the day, Will teach fading Hope to rekindle her ray; And pale Eve, with her rapture tear, soft will impart To the soul her own meekness--a rich glow to the heart.

The heavings of pa.s.sion all rocked to sweet rest, As repose its still waters, so repose shall this breast; And 'mid brightness and calmness my spirit shall rise, Like the mist from the mountain to blend with the skies.

JOHN NEVAY.

John Nevay, the bard of Forfar, was born in that town on the 28th of January 1792. He was educated at the schools of his native place, and considerably improved himself in cla.s.sical learning, at an early age, under the tuition of Mr James Clarke, sometime master of the Burgh School, and the friend and correspondent of Burns. Fond of solitary rambles in the country, he began, while a mere youth, to portray in verse his impressions of the scenery which he was in the habit of surveying. He celebrated the green fields, the lochs and mountains near the scene of his nativity, and was rewarded with the approving smiles of the family circle. Acquiring facility in the production of verses, he was at length induced to venture on a publication. In 1818 he gave to the world a "Pamphlet of Rhymes," which, obtaining a ready sale, induced him to publish a second small collection of verses in 1821. After an interval devoted to mental improvement, he appeared, in 1834, as the author of "The Peasant, a Poem in Nine Cantos, with other Poems," in one volume, 12mo. In the following year he published "The Child of Nature, and other Poems," in a thin duodecimo volume. In 1853 he printed, by subscription, a third volume, ent.i.tled "Rosaline's Dream, in Four Duans, and other Poems," which was accompanied with an introductory essay by the Rev. George Gilfillan. His latest production--"The Fountain of the Rock, a Poem"--appeared in a pamphlet form, in 1855. He has repeatedly written prose tales for the periodicals, and has contributed verses to _Blackwood's Magazine_ and the _Edinburgh Literary Journal_.

From the labour of a long career of honourable industry, John Nevay is now enjoying the pleasures of retirement. He continues to compose verses with undiminished ardour, and has several MS. poems ready for the press.

He has also prepared a lengthened autobiography. As a poet, his prevailing themes are the picturesque objects of nature. His lyrical pieces somewhat lack simplicity. His best production--"The Emigrant's Love-letter"--will maintain a place in the national minstrelsy. It was composed during the same week with Motherwell's "Jeanie Morrison," which it so peculiarly resembles both in expression and sentiment.

THE EMIGRANT'S LOVE-LETTER.

My young heart's luve! twal' years ha'e been A century to me; I ha'e na seen thy smile, nor heard Thy voice's melodie.

The mony hardships I ha'e tholed Sin' I left Larocklea, I maun na tell, for it would bring The saut tear in thine e'e.

But I ha'e news, an' happy news, To tell unto my love-- What I ha'e won, to me mair dear That it my heart can prove.

Its thochts unchanged, still it is true, An' surely sae is thine; Thou never, never canst forget That twa waur ane langsyne.

The simmer sun blinks on the tarn, An' on the primrose brae, Where we, in days o' innocence, Waur wont to daff an' play; An' I amang the mossy springs Wade for the hinny blooms-- To thee the rush tiara wove, Bedeck'd wi' lily plumes.

When on the ferny knowe we sat, A happy, happy pair-- Thy comely cheek laid on my knee, I plaited thy gowden hair.

Oh! then I felt the holiest thocht That e'er enter'd my mind-- It, Mary, was to be to thee For ever true an' kind.

Though fair the flowers that bloom around My dwallin' owre the sea-- Though bricht the streams, an' green the bowers, They are na _sae_ to me.

I hear the bulbul's mellow leed Upo' the gorgeous paum-- The sweet cheep o' the feather'd bee Amang the fields o' baum.